tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91559649260518881902024-03-05T10:16:19.278-06:00taste dangerously randomAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.comBlogger97125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-54328679760205259242014-09-24T19:50:00.002-05:002014-09-24T20:00:02.618-05:00your pettiness is embarrassing.<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ask us Millennials what denomination church we got to, and we’ll look at you, confused. Why does it matter? So you can put us in a box, something definable? “Oh, that’s the way you think” is what would run through your mind if we picked a church and gave you a name. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">No thanks. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Obama didn’t salute? He doesn’t respect our military!” “Foul! Foul! Foul!” I blandly scrolled through the previous generation’s cries, shares, and likes. Surprise, a day later the rest of the clip is revealed, where the Commander in Chief stops in his tracks and realizes his absent-minded faux pas, and takes the time to shake the hand of the Marine who’s salute he barely gestured to. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stood in a friend’s screen printing shop and listened to a middle-aged woman order shirts that said “Team Phil.” They were not for groundhog day, they were for an immensely wealthy television personality the Christian religious sector felt had been misrepresented by the media. My heart sank and the words “why do you give a shit?” resounded in my mind louder than I wanted them to. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With 23,000 employees and revenue of $3.3 billion, Hobby Lobby stood it’s own without the help of the general public and defended their religious rights, much to the relief of Conservatives nationwide. This, while thousands of illegal immigrant children flooded into the United States each week. Congratulations, you loudly protected your local store worker’s right to not have more choices while hundreds and hundreds of malnourished and terrified small children’s bodies flooded across the border.</span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Christians, what is it about crowd-sourcing your passions and values that’s so attractive? Stand. On your own. Two. Feet. Read your bible and see who Jesus truly was. The church, as a whole, is undeniably struggling more than it has in the previous two decades. I can’t be sure, but I have a few ideas as to why. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Firstly, your idea of community is foreign and forced. It doesn’t belong. Church as a modern-day structure doesn’t work that well outside of the religious context. That isn’t a good sign. Compare it to the ecclesiastical model, and the church building fund looks a little fundamentally frail. And can you tell me what your church does to integrate the more introverted individuals? What about people that are going through a divorce. What happens when the church community catches wind? Because I can say first-hand that people immediately pick sides, which is insane. My family aside, my Athiest friend did a better job loving me through my divorce than most of my church community did. The pervading question was “what happened? I’ve heard her side of the story, I need to hear yours.” Or “I heard this, is it true?” </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So much of church is conformance to the culture. Standing, sitting, listening, laughing, reading, conversing comfortably….everything is a dance, the church building contains it’s own culture, and it is ALL foreign to non-believers. Which means it’s missing the point.</span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Good friends I grew up with informed me about their weekly “outreach”, and my heart hurt. They go (and this is not made up) and protest at abortion clinics outside their town. As someone who has been very close to someone who had an abortion and was alongside them during their decision-making process, I can tell you that as a God-fearing Jesus-loving Christian, the practice of protesting outside of abortion clinics is barbaric and has no place in this faith. Why? Because it focuses on fear-mongering, guilt-tripping, and threatening people who are hurting. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Two important facts to note: if you’re about to make an intensely personal decision and a stranger out of nowhere approaches you to demand your attention, it will not be taken any other way than threatening. Also, the actions of Jesus himself do not ever reflect those of one who protested in front of clinics. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Against abortion? Focus elsewhere. Either the alternatives to abortion, build into those systems and structures, volunteer there. Or go after abortion legislation. Do not “protest” outside clinics. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So where’s the hope? What are you suggesting should be different? How do you fix it?” my Mom always asks. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stop being petty, Christians. Stop looking for causes to champion your beliefs and point out the brokenness of the world -- that isn’t what Jesus came to do and it isn’t what He did when he arrived in this incredibly broken world. Love others in humility. Serve them. That’s what Jesus did. He told stories about people, talked with people, walked amongst people, and showed them who God was. He wouldn’t have chosen “Team Phil” or played along with the bullshit of arguing which was better: to legalize marijuana or keep sending people to jail for carrying more (or less) than an ounce on their person in public. </span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jesus, if he were here today, would be no different than he was in the bible, other than probably more culturally relevant. He would say “I know you’re scared to keep the baby, I don’t think you should get an abortion, you have options, but if you do, I’ll still love you.” He wouldn’t’ve darkened the door of a church van headed to protest for a damn second. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Live your faith in and for the hope that you say it has Christians. Quit being so insecure about what you believe that you’re pointing out ghosts and agendas all over the place. Even if you’re right (and you usually aren’t), no one wants to hear or be a part of that. Start practicing what you preach and not getting people to go to church, but instead getting them to share their struggles with you so you can love them. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you start seeing individuals as an outreach, you’ve already lost. Don’t be like that (a judgemental jackass). Jesus didn’t say “Zaccheus, come down from their so I can minister to you.” He said “let’s do lunch.” </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So do lunch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unlike most of the older generations I’ve enjoyed talking to, I do have a lot of hope for the future. I think the world is right now bright and ripe for so many opportunities to make huge differences, and I plan on being a part of as many as I can. So just cut out the gossip, don’t make people go to church, take them to lunch instead, quit liking and sharing the junk food yellow journalism of the internet, and don’t entertain pettiness. </span><br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-33073460161111472422013-08-18T08:15:00.000-05:002013-08-18T08:21:01.619-05:00an open letter to my brother.Thanks for your incredible work with James+James. These last two years working with you have been the best years of my working history, with no exception.<br />
I thank God for every single day we got to work together as brothers, and I attribute a huge volume of our growth as a company to your hard work, relentless serving, leadership, decision making and relationship growth.<br />
<br />
Each time you walked into the office it was very clear that you were setting the tone for the rest of the team -- whether you knew it or not -- and it was a very calming, honest attitude you brought with you. This was very important, as it set the culture for many of our management's interactions and how they processed through issues with each other.<br />
<br />
During most meetings whether formal or informal, you shared focused emotions and took the time to ask very specific questions that helped guide our team towards becoming more successful together.<br />
<br />
One of the traits that set you apart and made you extremely good at your job was your inability to ignore the nuances of someone's statements. You would pursue how someone felt past the situational context, really listening to who they were and what their needs at that moment might be, asking penetrating questions to ensure you were responding in the most appropriate manner.<br />
<br />
You have an excellent leadership voice, one that meets those around you at their level and challenges each individual in very specific ways.<br />
<br />
Throughout the difficulties with managing a crew, learning and gathering financial reports, training, and purchasing, you were able to establish the right levels of energy and passion. This proved essential in connecting with the team, accomplishing your goals, and working through the growing pains that were heaved on you from time to time.<br />
<br />
Often rather than lecturing or trying to teach a member of our company, I would overhear you telling them a story instead. Rare was the time you would simply tell an employee "do it this way because I asked you" as you understood that was a poor way to manage. Instead you would encourage them with an example or narrative, bringing you together rather than making a top-down demand.<br />
<br />
In whatever you pursue next, brother, I hope you will continue to lead and serve in the same way you did with our team here in Northwest Arkansas.<br />
<br />
Hebrews 13:7 "Remember your leaders, those who spoke to you the word of God. Consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith."<br />
<br />
Your brother,<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-86486196644184242532013-02-03T12:46:00.001-06:002013-02-03T12:46:59.167-06:00tiny meals.I'd close my eyes and try really hard to think about Jesusy things.<br />
It's what Dad did.<br />
<br />
I wasn't always sure exactly what I was supposed to do, but from what the Pastor said every fourth week or so I figured it had something to do with sins. I'd think back to something I did that week, apologize for it to God, then work really hard to fill all the rest of the seconds thinking about the Holy Spirit or something.<br />
It was a "long Sunday" or Communion Sunday. And until today -- just over a month after I've turned 25 -- I haven't really known exactly what to do when I get my cracker and grape juice.<br />
<br />
Some crackers are really hard. They're more stale than others, a sign the church had bought in bulk. If I was lucky the church I was at would serve bread instead (usually French bread, delicious) and I'd get to rip off my own portion.<br />"Not that much" my Mom (or later on in life after I got married my wife) would tell me. Did it really matter to God that I was a little bit hungry? Or sometimes a lot? Besides, he made me. He knew all about that. And I was trying. That's the important part.<br />
<br />
I've always seen this communion experience as one of the holiest things a Christian can do. It's right up there with baptism, the laying on of hands, weddings, and casting out of demons. Entirely unique to our faith, it is a community event that manifests it's value in your intimate relationship with Christ, a paradox right up there with the fact that the bits of food and drink directly represent the body and blood of a Savior.<br />
I would once a month for almost the entirety of my life, take the carbohydrates and hydrates in my hand and think back on how important a moment in history this was, and how Jesus meant so much by it, and how much it must've meant to his disciples that he was saying this to them.<br />
<br />
But today I realized they probably didn't have a clue.<br />
They were at a meal, sitting all splayed out on the ground like the pictures, lounging about eating.<br />
Jesus stands up and announces these very foreign concepts to them, and maybe he gets their attention, maybe he doesn't.<br />
This was new to them. What were they supposed to make of it? I like to think it bothered them, that they had no idea what it meant and that it must be important, but really, it started with obedience.<br />
They interacted with Jesus at his level. When he said "this is really important, this is me I'm talking about" they listened. Then over time as they grew in their faith, the value and the significance of that event became much, much more special to them.<br />
Eventually it was documented, they wrote about it as if it was one of the holiest moments in their walk with Jesus, and celebrated it even after he was gone, pushing the churches to do the same.<br />
<br />
Thousands of years later I find myself at the same place as they were that first night.<br />
I've been practicing in obedience for so long assuming it was instantly significant and I was just missing it, when in fact the disciples very likely felt that same way.<br />
It was as they grew, and likewise as I grow in faith that it becomes apparent the magnitude of what communion meant when Jesus first offered it.<br />
I don't fully understand it, but he knows that. I have a lot of learning to do. So did the disciples.<br />
<br />
My mouth will always start to water when I see that plate of crackers or hopefully bread start my direction from the front of the room. But that's how Jesus made me, always hungry.<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-5787908911815366532012-09-28T07:41:00.000-05:002012-09-28T07:44:36.750-05:00'Merica's rough past.In the last quarter of the seventeenth century, a series of crises rocked the European colonies of North America. This would become the first time Apple outsold themselves, as there was an issue with one of their factories and it rapidly became apparent that while there were enough iSextants, the glass manufacturer was not able to keep up with the demand. Also, there were hundreds of rich v. poor, free v. slave, and settler v. Indian conflicts that began to erupt as people in the New World, or "Brooklyn" tried to learn how to get along.<br />
The bloodiest and most bitter conflict occurred in southern New England, where in 1675 an Indian alliance launched attacks on farms and settlements that were encroaching Indian lands, all the while yelling incomprehensible gibberish about "unfair wages" and "3 cents an hour with 3 cents an hour tax isn't fair."<br />
New Englanders described the Wampanoag (named after the snow monster from planet Hoth in Starwars who makes "lemonade" snow cones) leader "Metacom" (predecessor to Kim Dotcom) as the uprising's mastermind. This proved to be false, as the Indians operated under no leadership for this attack. This was the second misconstrued idea in the New World. For the first, Google: Half-Way Covenant on your iSextant.<br />
The attacks continued, and soon the Indians had attack nearly half of the New Englander's settlements. A year and a half later the tide finally turned when the Indians bent down to tie their shoes all at the same time, and the New England settlers gained the upper hand immediately.<br />
Needless to say, Metacom was captured and executed, or maybe executed then captured, no one really knows.<br />
No longer welcome, the Indians were forced to move from their homes and board ships to become servants in the West Indies "it's really fun there, we promise", and the New England colonists walked around feigning surprise at all the property and crops that were now at their disposal.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
The restoration of the English monarchy when Charles II (or Charles the Two Eyes as he was more commonly referred to as) assumed the throne in 1660 sparked a new period of colonial expansion.<br />
This was done through new trading ventures, such as the chartering of the Royal African Company (they had to do with Africa) and giving them monopoly of the slave trade. Or giving the slaves Monopoly games to trade, no one really knows.<br />
Within a generation, the number of English colonies in North America doubled. The first area to come under English control was "New Netherlands," seized in 1664 during an Anglo-Dutch war that also saw England (or the Anglos) gain control of Dutch trading posts in Africa.<br />
This took place during a several hundred-year world-wide event not mentioned in the textbook called a "Seizing Party" wherein every nation on the planet worked on seizing as much land, resources, trade or mercantilism as possible. Originally there was a planet-wide agreement that this party was "not for keeps" but as is always the case with "not for keeps" it was in fact, for keeps.<br />
King Charles the Two Eyes awarded New Netherlands colony to his brother James the Duke of York after an embarrassingly short arm wrestling match, conceding to him that he could have the region "and make all the rules he wants to." This is actual history. He really told his brother that. Hence the colony became "James the Duke of York", a name every "James the Duke of Yorker" loathed, so they promptly shortened the name to just New York, but haven't stopped being bitter about everything since.<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-18884241966645102482012-09-20T11:26:00.000-05:002012-09-20T11:30:12.061-05:00TKTCTDETSomeone asked me what I did for work at school the other day. Curious as to their reaction, I answered "I'm in sales."<br />
The person I was talking with got up, packed his books, walked out of the classroom and dropped out of college.<br />
<br />
People loathe individuals in sales because pretty much everyone has had a crappy experience from a bad sales guy.<br />
It probably looked something like this:<br />
<br />
"Do you carry any [insert need]?"<br />
<i>"No but we have this. This is better. This is more expensive. You don't know it but you actually need this. You're stupid for not knowing you need this. If you don't buy this right now you run the risk of being very very stupid."</i><br />
"Oh, okay. How much is it? I only have six dollars."<br />
<i>"I can run a credit report and we'll get you on an easy payment plan today this very second don't delay because you don't want to climb the stupid ladder. Get in my office. Sign all this paper work. Get a 9th credit card because ours is better. It has worse rates. No one cares about the APR anymore, that doesn't matter. You need this. I can see you getting stupider by the second."</i><br />
"Alright. When will I get this [insert thing needed]."<br />
<i>"Three weeks. Any other questions?"</i><br />
"No, I'm just sad about everything that happened here today."<br />
<i>"There's free popcorn over there if you want some."</i><br />
<br />
Want to avoid being the bad guy in sales?<br />
<br />
The Key To Closing The Deal Every Time (or TKTCTDET)<br />
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<b>1. Ask them what they're looking for. </b>This is important because if you don't ask them, you probably won't find out. Plus it gets them to talk more, which gives you +5% in hit points because everyone likes the sound of their own voice more than yours. By extension that means the more they talk, the more they like you.<br />
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<b>2. Listen to them tell you what you're looking for. </b>This is important because if you don't listen to them while they're speaking, you won't know what they're saying. Unfortunately some people share urban myths or suggested methods around this when in fact, there are none. This gives you +5% hit points as well.<br />
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<b>3. Say something to make them laugh. </b>If you don't do this, they run the danger of feeling like a customer. This gives you +6 hit points.<br />
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<b>4. Say these exact words: "Good news, we have exactly what you're looking for." </b>Often times this step is avoided for the reason that the sales person is mildly dumb or alcoholically incapacitated at some level. Why is this so imperative? Because if you don't say the words "we have exactly what you're looking for" it leaves the customer wondering "do they have exactly what I'm looking for?" This gives you +4% health.<br />
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<b>5. Tell them as few details about the product that best fits their needs. </b>Why not tell them more? Let me put this as simply as I can: THEY DON'T CARE. They already explained in great detail what they needed from you, and if you followed step 2, then you both know that what you're giving them will meet those needs. This gives you +8% experience.<br />
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<b>6. Tell them the price. </b>If you don't tell them the price, they won't know. While this may be complicated, it's still vitally important. Continuing on to step 7 without them knowing the price can cause much bruising of feelings, which should be avoided at all costs. This gives you +5% hit points.<br />
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<b>7. If the customer disagrees with the price, agree with them. </b>I like to call this the "defense game." The person who is on defense automatically loses and after the phone call/interaction is over, must punch themselves in the face thirty times. If the customer doesn't like the price and wants to haggle, take the product away from them and move to a cheaper product. Tell them that this less expensive product was created with them in mind, and that the first, best product is now out of their reach.<br />
They can't have it.<br />
You can tell them this any way you choose. I suggest something like this:<br />
"I agree. That is a lot of money. Great news though (everyone likes to hear great news all the time) we do have this product. It's less expensive and will suit your needs just peachy. We've altered these aspects to make it cost less, which seems to be exactly what you're looking for. This gives you +10% special powers.<br />
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<b>8. Close the deal. </b>Some suggested ways of making this happen are as follows.<br />
"May I go ahead and get your order? I'll need your credit card information or you can send me a check."<br />
"How would you like to pay for this?"<br />
"Would you like me to send you an invoice? We'll need half upfront to start work on this for you."<br />
"Unless you have any other questions, I'd like to go ahead and get the payment process started."<br />
If you walk away from the sale with a promise of purchase or another appointment, you have lost and should punch yourself in the face thirty times. +5% experience points.<br />
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<b>9. Accept their credit card information for the first, more expensive product you showed them. </b>Everyone only wants what they can't have. For instance, I have literally never stopped wanting a dinosaur. Why? Because I know I can't have one. If by some miracle I was given a dinosaur, I'd want a comet. This would be fine with me, as it would probably kill the dinosaur so I could go back to wanting one again. +100 gold coins.<br />
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Once you've leveled up you can move on to more advanced equipment and training in things like:<br />
<br />
Avoiding the Awkward Pauses.<br />
How to Meet Anyone<br />
Dealing With People Who Have Already Decided They Hate You<br />
Fixing Your Mistakes<br />
Connecting With Weird People<br />
The 5am Phone Call Sale<br />
Someone Who Just Wants To Email Forever<br />
The Sale Under Pressure or: Talking While Holding Explosive Diarrhea In<br />
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*Quick Fact: it was also the worst film in universe history. <div class="blogger-post-footer"><!-- Start -->
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-9477079540758439082012-09-12T03:45:00.004-05:002012-09-12T03:45:48.056-05:00Businessy Things.Now that I have been in business for approximately 30 (minutes) I would consider it an honor to bestow much wisdoms upon your brains and tell you some of what I've learned.<br />
Hopefully you'll be able to take what I know and apply it to your self and your business selves, and those business elves can go and make you many more monies. This is a time-honored tradition that the corporate world loves to reserve for events like "Rotary" "Executives Association" "Entrepreneurial Alliance" and the "Men's Restroom."<br />
<br />
<b>The Business Lunch.</b><br />
The reason this specific (and delightful couple) of terms is capitalized in such a way is because Business Lunches are the absolute pinnacle of achievement; the top triangle of the pyramid; the uppermost animal carving on the totem pole... you get the point.<br />
Every entrepreneur's first goal: to learn how to spell "entrepreneur." Note: with the advent of personal computers and consequently, spell check, this goal has become almost obsolete. Almost.<br />
The next goal an entrepreneur has is to set up a business lunch. With someone. Anyone. The words "I'm sorry, I have a business lunch, can I meet with you on a different day?" mean that said person is at least somewhat successful. If they actually have a business lunch. Some slimy folk (usually the competitors) have been known to make up lunch events just to seem important. This usually signifies a "C" or lower in their local Community College "Business Ethics" class.<br />
<br />
Business Lunches usually take place when there are either a.) two parties and/or b.) they have something to talk about.<br />Most of us have seen someone on a Business Lunch with their self before, and while this is strange, it's not entirely dis-honest and if put in essay form would still earn a deserved "A" at a Business Ethics class, because as long as there is a phone-piece present, it can still count as a Business Lunch. *See: Tax-write off.<br />
<br />
"I'd like to take them to lunch" or "Let me take you to lunch" are two power-house phrases I would suggest you use in the workplace to get these sorts of things off and rolling. Once seated with food present, even if one party deals in socks and the other multi-grain cereal or a specific non-gravity based solar shield for a space ship, if they're strong enough entrepreneurs, the Business Lunch will not only go better than crappy, but they may meet once or twice more in a year together, just on the basis of mere creative stimulus.<br />
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<b>Important to note.</b> (From now on, wherever you see these three words in bold you'll know that what follows is important to note.)<br />
When someone who has a potential future with either a.) you and/or b.) your company, and the first words out of their mouth is "I'm a family man" you know one of two things. a.) they are not a family man, and/or b.) they probably don't even really like their family.<br />
Real family men will sit down with you and say nothing. Why? Because real family men don't have to justify to you that they're family men. They don't care if you know or not. You should be able to tell that just by the fact that they a.) look tired and haggard with bags under their eyes, and/or b.) order anything with and/or without caffeine. If they order something with caffeine you know they've had five entirely sleepless nights in a row with at least four infants. If they order something without caffeine you know it's because they don't let their kids have caffeine.<br />
What does this have to do with the Business Lunch you ask?<br />
Because everything.<br />
<br />
<i>Example: </i>A<i> </i>man sits down after saying "I'm a family man" asks the waitress "is this really hot? What's really hot on the menu?" Orders a beer to start, then tells you three personal stories in a row that bore you to death.<br />
<i>What should this tell you?</i><br />
The bid he is going to ask you to make for his eleven thousand tract homes will net you approximately seven dollars and take the next six years of your life away entirely.<br />
Because he'll think that's what it takes for you to really get the work and after all, he deserves it. And he'd like to talk about it every day on the phone with you, conferencing you in to his twelve board members who live in Northern California. He'll have you believe that there is literally no one else doing business on the planet except him, and he is the big breakthrough you've been working your entire life to reach.<br />
<i>What should you do based solely off this hunch and what he ordered?</i><br />
Order a beer as well to make him comfortable, but only drink half because it's 11:30am and your stomach is churning at the thought. Then let him know the bid you gave him is exactly what you can do the work for because you are the best option for that job the local market has to offer and watch him squirm. As he yells into his cajun chicken that came with twelve chili peppers next to the name on the menu, smile and nod like you understand him, but reiterate your thoughts, all the while thinking of other business things that will net you more money. This can be anything that will net you a value of more than seven dollars.<br />
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Should it matter what you eat at a Business Lunch? Not at all. The food is secondary. Why is the food there, you ask? Well a.) because OBVIOUSLY if it was called the "Business" instead of "Business Lunch"... well, that wouldn't make very much sense now, would it? and/or b.) just in case the person becomes an inanimate object or the whole world blows up and there's just the two of you at the table, at least there's still the food to talk about.<br />
The food should be secondary, the drinks should be secondary (with the obvious exception if everyone is getting together for "Drinks" in which case it may matter .07% what you order) and the initial conversation should be secondary. That's the point. Everything about a Business Lunch should be secondary, just as it's written.<br />
"Business" then "Lunch."<br />
<br />
<b>The First Rule.</b><br />
The first rule is to never call yourself a "Start-Up."<br />
The only people who call their companies "Start-Ups" are young hipster recent college-grads who want to short-cut everyone and everything to make lots of money with no work. Who likes anyone who cuts in line? And correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't the word "Start-Up" in any combination (Start-up, startup, start-Up) look like a great branding for toddler diapers?<br />
Anyone who calls their company a "Start-Up" has just presented you with a kaleidoscope vision of their future. No matter how you turn it, things will always look amazing and pretty and bright, but it'll drop away into nothing when it reaches six inches from your face.<br />
"I've helped launch a bunch of Start-Ups" says every young entrepreneur.<br />
"Oh yeah, well how many have you seen through into successful companies with things like a "payroll" and "happy investors" or even "a franchise"?" says every old guy.<br />
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Go forth now, un-Start-Up-ify thyself, and order many hot things on the menu!<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-4734888507983366422012-07-10T23:19:00.000-05:002012-07-10T23:19:08.851-05:00Radical Hope.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I dare you to read this. </span><br style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Written by someone I admire, love, and one of the few people on earth who I feel was created identical to me, my good friend Jon opens up and shares something I think every Christian should read. </span><br style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Jon helped me t</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">hrough the darkest times in my life. He relentlessly encouraged, challenged, and reached out to me.<br /><br />Let him do the same to you in a way that only someone speaking Spirit-breathed truth can.</span></div>
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The hand of the Lord was upon me, and carried me out in the spirit of the Lord, and set me down in the midst of the valley which was full of bones, and caused me to pass round about: and, behold, there were very many in the open valley; and, lo, they were very dry. And He said unto me, Son of Man, can these bones live? I answered, O Lord God, thou knowest. - Ezekiel 37:1-3</div>
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Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blessed assurance control: That Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and has shed His own blood for my soul. - "It Is Well With My Soul", Horatio Spafford </div>
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My dear friends, brothers, and sisters,</div>
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If but one life can be spared by this testimony, or one soul be snatched from the clutches of Hell, my life and experience will not have been in vain.</div>
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One of my favorite passages in all of scripture can be found near the end of the book of Ezekiel, in which God brings His prophet to a valley of utter destitution, where bleached and dried bones populate the barren ground. God then commands His prophet, Ezekiel, to prophesy over these bones, causing them to reanimate, regaining flesh, blood, and the breath of life. God then explains to Ezekiel that these newly reconstructed bodies are the sons and daughters of Israel, who claimed "our bones are dried, and our hope is lost" (Ezekiel 37:11). The Lord then commanded Ezekiel to prophesy to His people, saying "behold, O my people, I will open your graves, and cause you to come up out of your graves, and bring you into the land of Israel ... and shall put my spirit in you, and ye shall live" (vs. 12, 14). </div>
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This passage not only presents stark images of the awesome and incredible power of God, but also points to several key attributes of His being: healer, restorer, and rebuilder. It is in God's very nature to work the miraculous, and to restore hope to those who are broken.</div>
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For those who are hopeless, I offer this testimony as living proof of God's miraculous, all-encompassing love and provision in the lives of His children, as well as a testament to the very real and eminent nature of sin and death, exacerbated and perpetuated by an enemy who roams like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour (1st Peter 5:8). Our faith alone does not make us impervious to the Evil One, but rather gives us the mechanism through which to combat his objectives and claim victory through Christ Jesus our Lord. It is only through His infinite grace that I am afforded the opportunity to write this message of hope to those who are suffering, and encouragement to those who desire to help them in a way that is effective and glorifying to the Lord. </div>
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<span class="fbUnderline" style="text-decoration: underline;">The Subject of Suicide:</span></div>
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The subject of suicide has become taboo in American society. In many ways, this is entirely understandable. The topic does not make for pleasant dinner conversation. Frankly, it does not make for good conversation at all in nearly every social context. For some, it is simply a morbid and unsavory talking point. For others, it is a painful reminder of the loss of family, friends, or acquaintances to fatal, self-inflicted wounds. Above all, it is a stark reminder of the very real cost of human suffering, and of life laid to waste by hopelessness and despair. It is a very real issue, and an equally important one. </div>
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I write this note predicated upon a foundation consisting of four pillars: 1) honesty, 2) sensitivity, 3) exposure, and 4) hope. I pray fervently that this letter would serve as a spark to a helpful and meaningful dialogue, as well as uplift, encourage, and give hope to those who are or know someone who is struggling with this issue. More importantly, this letter is intended to glorify Jesus Christ, Emmanuel, without whom I would not be presently typing this letter. The personal testimony recounted here is a testament to the power and presence of God in the lives of hopeless, broken people, whose worth and value are inestimable to a Savior whose strength is made perfect in weakness. Life and relationship are the most precious gifts we have been given by God, both in temporal and eternal contexts, and it is my hope that these words would instill not only a deeper compassion and understanding concerning those who are suffering from suicidal thoughts and behavior, but an insatiable desire for life, lived to the full in Christ.</div>
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As a disclaimer. I must also confess that I am not an expert on the topic of suicide. I do not hold degrees in psychology or biology, and do not consider myself particularly well-versed in either of these fields. I speak strictly from my limited research and experience. Any factual errors or inadequate explanations are faults of my own, and should not diminish the serious nature of this topic.</div>
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<span class="fbUnderline" style="text-decoration: underline;">The Statistics</span>:</div>
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According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP), 12 of every 100,000 Americans committed suicide in the year 2009. This may seem an insignificant sum in the grand scheme of population number-crunching, but such a number is equal to 36,909 deaths annually. Additionally, the AFSP reports that nearly 100,000 Americans make a suicide attempt every year. On an annual rubric, the rate of suicide in the United States is at its highest level since 1993 (www.afsp.org). In 2008, the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) labeled suicide as the 10th leading cause of death in the United States. Statistically, 11 suicides are attempted for every successful endeavor, reinforcing the numbers reported by the AFSP concerning the ratio of suicides that are attempted each year (www.nimh.nih.gov). According to The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) in their annual National Vital Statistics Report, suicide in the United States constitutes three times more fatalities per year than homicide (www.cdc.gov). On a global scale, particularly given the current volatile state of the world economy, suicide rates have skyrocketed, especially in Western Europe ("Debt Most Deadly", Newsweek, 2012). Particularly in the nations of South Korea and Lithuania, suicide has been perennially considered one of the leading causes of death nationally, with rates of up to 30 persons per 100,000 committing suicide each year.</div>
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<span class="fbUnderline" style="text-decoration: underline;">The Roots and Demographics of Suicidal Behavior:</span> </div>
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Such statistical data is certainly striking enough to give pause to even the most skeptical of souls. However, numbers alone do not fully encapsulate the issues surrounding suicide, its causes, or its impact on the lives of millions each year. It is imperative to understand the emotional, biological, spiritual, and psychological motivations behind suicide attempts before one can helpfully participate in the prevention of such actions. The roots of suicidal thoughts and behavior are as diverse and varied as the individuals who suffer from them, and are by no means easily compartmentalized. According to the NIMH, major depression, family history, broken relationships, physiological and neurological imbalances, and post-traumatic stress all can serve as primary motivators for suicidal tendencies, impacting the ways in which the brain processes and reacts to emotional and intellectual stimuli on a daily basis. However, these are by no means the only significant patterns existent within suicidal behavior. Age also plays an important role when dissecting suicide rates internationally, as well as gender. According to analysis compiled by the AFSP, the older an individual is, the more likely he or she is to commit suicide. Additionally, men tend to successfully commit suicide at a higher rate than women, although women make more attempts per year. Judging by these factors, it can be deduced that the roots of suicide are expansive and highly individualistic, creating many dilemmas when attempting to address the topic in a statistical, academic, and/or scientific fashion.</div>
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The above statements are by no means attempts to boil down suicide to a science, or ignore the deep-seated spiritual and emotional issues entangled within this topic. Rather, they are intended to present an accurate description of current research on the subject, highlighting the serious and diverse nature of this tragic global malady. </div>
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<span class="fbUnderline" style="text-decoration: underline;">So... Why Talk About It?</span></div>
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I had never fully contemplated or understood the implications of the act of suicide before I decided to take my own life. The subject has rarely been broached in my family due to its prevalence on both sides. On the whole, the topic of suicide has been neglected by society at large, and particularly within the Christian community. It is not an easy topic to broach, nor is it in nearly every context an enjoyable and fulfilling conversational experience. However, popular neglect of this topic does not facilitate its removal from society, nor does it offer effective methods of understanding and assistance to those who contemplate ending their lives. Due to the lack of positive exposure this topic receives, many individuals who stand on the brink of suicide feel intense isolation, guilt, and shame due to their feelings, and often do not express their struggles for fear of further humiliation. I speak strongly in this regard and without reference because my words stem from experience. </div>
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Recently, I attempted to end my own life. I had planned this event thoroughly and with conviction, down to the slightest detail. For the first time in my life, my entire being was overwhelmed by complete and utter hopelessness. Two years of silent depression, broken relationships, feelings of inadequacy and total failure, and an oppressive fog of confusion and despair culminated in an attempt to commit a selfish act from a heart that I sincerely believed to be broken beyond repair. </div>
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The night my life should have ended, God intervened, proving beyond doubt that even the best laid plans of men cannot withstand the power of God to save, restore, and renew the lives of His children. As proclaimed in Zepheniah 3:17, the Lord my God was in my midst, and was indeed mighty to save.</div>
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As I prepared that night for my expected end, my plan went inexplicably awry. The mechanisms through which I had planned to terminate myself, present within my home just days before, could not be found. Anywhere. Seemingly vanished into thin air. Undeterred, I went instead toward the first of several contingency plans. Subsequently, these various contingency plans fell through one by one in what can be explained as none other than miraculous means. The bizarre circumstances that kept me from executing my very meticulously planned death can only be described as divine intervention. Frantic and broken, I grabbed my keys and headed to my truck, determined to find oblivion. As I reached for the doorknob of my front door, I heard my phone vibrate from within my room. Oddly compelled, I returned to my room to check this message. It was a simple text from my 14 year old sister, from whom I receive a text at maximum once or twice per month. This text message consisted of a reference to Ecclesiastes 3:1-15, and was followed by the words "I love you". At that moment, my resolve for self-destruction snapped. I fell to the floor and wept for I am unsure how long. Utterly spent, I crawled into my bed, held my bible to my chest, and fitfully slept. If not for that text message and the intervention of the Lord, I would not be alive to write to you this message that is so deeply impressed upon my heart. </div>
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Suicide is not a punchline. It is not a simple compilation of statistics. It is a frightful reality in the lives of hundreds of thousands of Americans and millions worldwide. It is a method utilized by the Enemy to extinguish the most precious gift we have been given by God: life. It exists in every facet and corner of society; within every socioeconomic, religious, and ethnic group on earth. It is destructive not only to the lives of those who attempt or commit suicide, but to all who love and care for these individuals. It is an issue that must be addressed.</div>
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What should we then do?</div>
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<span class="fbUnderline" style="text-decoration: underline;">Suicide Prevention:</span></div>
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With the above information in tow, it is now imperative to stress that there is an incredible amount of hope for prevention and recovery for individuals who suffer from suicidal thoughts and behaviors and those who care for them. There is hope for recovery. Hope for healing. Hope for the full restoration of the promise of life, made full and complete through the blood of Christ. As we are told through scripture, God has plans only for our good, that we may have a future and a hope (Jeremiah 29:11). For those who suffer, here are some important things to consider and remember:</div>
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1) You Are Not Alone, and You Are Loved: When in the midst of suicidal contemplation, there is an enormous amount of shame, guilt, and isolation that exists within ones mind and heart. It is important for you to realize that you are not alone, you are not forgotten, and that you are loved by God. There is no shame in your hurt, and no condemnation to be found in the arms of Christ. Your life is precious to God, and is worth the price of His son, who came to earth as a sacrifice so that you may have life, and life to the full. Remember that your life is infinitely precious to God, and that your existence is purposeful, meaningful, and significant in the eyes of the Creator of the Universe. You are not alone, and you are loved.</div>
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2) Talk to Someone You Trust: It is very difficult to express your heart to another in an honest fashion concerning any topic, let alone your very life. It makes you open, exposed, and vulnerable. But this is exactly what you must be in order to fully combat your feelings of despair and hopelessness. I cannot stress this point more strongly. It is absolutely imperative that you open your heart to trusted individuals and be honest concerning your plight. Without open and honest communication, it is extremely difficult for others to help you in your struggle. In humility and honesty, you must open your heart to those you trust. A pastor, a parent, a sibling, a dear friend, or all of the above. It is very important to establish honest communication habits that foster an open dialogue, accountability, and trust. </div>
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3) Distance Yourself From Negative Emotional Triggers: If there is a song that feeds your feelings of hurt and destruction, delete it. If there is a book or story that causes you to feel inadequate, guilty, or full of despair, get rid of it. Scripture clearly teaches this principle in Matthew 5:29, and encourages us in Philippians 4:8 to meditate on things that are noble, pure, true, virtuous, and praiseworthy. Your feelings of negativity and despair will not easily or quickly subside, but feeding these emotions will only serve to prolong and exacerbate emotional decline. Know your triggers, avoid them, and replace them with things that promote peace.</div>
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4) Seek Medical Attention: Particularly in cases of moderate to severe depression, suicidal thoughts and behavior become increasingly common. For some, much of this could be due to biological or physiological imbalances, perpetuating further feelings of despair and frustration. If you have been in a consistent state of depression for many weeks or months, it may be necessary to seek the attention of your physician. If you are uncertain concerning the biological nature of your symptoms, there are a plethora of resources online and in print (medical and psychiatric journals, WebMD, etc) that are easily accessible and can assist you in determining whether or not your emotional state could be attributable to physiological causes. If able, seek the counsel of your physician to determine whether or not further medical attention may be necessary. If you have attempted suicide, see your doctor immediately.</div>
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In my own struggle, each of the above have proven themselves to be enormously beneficial in my road to full recovery and healing. It is imperative that you do not remain silent in your struggle. There is hope, help, and healing for you. It is in God's heart to restore and heal you, to repair your life like the dried bones of Ezekiel 37. There is radical hope for the broken. There is grace for those who suffer in the arms of Christ. As the church, it is our commission to serve as the active, living hands and feet of Christ in the lives of the lost, broken, and hurting. Within the body of Christ, there are many who silently struggle for their very lives. We must be the hands that lift them, the arms that hold them in the love of Christ, and the feet that walk with them through their journey. </div>
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With sincerity and humility, I dearly love you all. God bless you and keep you through His son, who paid the ultimate price so that we may live.</div>
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In Him,</div>
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Jon</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><!-- Start -->
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-38046350457567654512012-06-12T00:59:00.001-05:002012-06-12T00:59:49.505-05:00logical colons.<p>I don't do logic. Ever heard the saying "you can have too much of a good thing?" Of course you have, because you wanted to purchase a more-than-acceptable amount of candy in the presence of an adult. In the grown-up world, logic is everywhere, and there's too much of it around all the time, regardless of how good it is. <br> It's at work: "no, we don't need a pool installed out back"; in church: "you're not a child, don't go up to the front when he says it's time for the children's sermon"; and in writing: "that's not how you use semi-colons and colons." <br> Well world that tells me how to use punctuation, may your colon explode for some reason unexpectedly one day. </p> <p>None of this worked, my wife said I still needed to shave off the second half of my mustache and get out of kitchen because it wasn't a restroom. So I stepped out of the sleeping bag, untied my boots, took them off and put on a shirt, then stomped upstairs to the bathroom to sulk. </p> <p>Logic is ruining our planet.<br> When I was a kid, if a bully came up to you and said brusquely "What up. I'm a bully and I'm gonna punch you in your face if you don't give me your lunch money" the correct response would be to grab the nearest light saber and fight him off the nearest cliff, because in real life bullies never spoke that way. It was a dream. Not logical. <br> Nowadays if a bully says that to you I'm told kids are supposed to reach in their pockets and hand him their money then go find the nearest adult and explain calmly to them exactly what happened. This is logical. Do you not see the problem though? LOGIC MAKES AWESOME FIGHTS EXTINCT. <br> I was in high school when I got in my first fight. What happened? I'll tell you. I lost. I lost completely. It was astonishing the sheer volume of losing that one skinny little white guy was handed, and yet I took every bit of it. Did I cry? Absolutely. Why? Because. <br> Ask me this though, did I lose the next fight? No. I chose it very carefully, at a time and place of my own choosing. I wasn't going to let another big Hawaiian kid get the best of me again. So I waited until the time was right, then I chose a kid much smaller and weaker than myself. <br> "Get off the slide."<br> "But it's my turn!"<br> "Not any more it isn't."<br> "Aw man! Okay." And he stepped off the ladder. That was it. I won with almost no bloodshed. Scraped my knee at the bottom of the slide because I came off it sideways, but no biggie. I was tough and didn't tell anyone, I just got water from the water fountain and drank it instead. Ever seen a pro boxing match? UFC fight? Wrestling championship? What's the first thing they do when it's over? Drink some water. Exactly like I did. Stand down.</p> <p>To you, logical world, I ask this: which ended better – the fight I lost logically, or the second fight I won illogically? The second, of course. <br> Logic is also demanding. You have to use it all the time, like toilet paper. Who originally proposed that idea for a hipster startup? </p> <p>"We need something people will keep coming back for over and over again for the rest of their lives."<br> "Haircuts?"<br> "Already been invented, Steve."<br> "Oh, sorry. Um… batteries?"<br> "No Steve. If it has a name then it's already been invented and we can't use it for an awesome startup."<br> "Oh, sorry. Um… knackeries?"<br> "What's knackeries, Steve?"<br> "Don't know. But it isn't a thing yet, we could use that, right?"<br> "No Steve. We can't. Let's just use our original idea and make using your hand to wipe a really gross thing and sell people paper instead."<br> "Sounds good. Like letters and journals and books and stuff?"<br> "No, like butt-kleenex." </p> <p>Once someone finds out that you know how to use logic, you're expected to use it all the time, every time, and I find that high of maintenance exhausting. Folks should learn to drive to the store in reverse every once in a while, just to break free of the chains that bind society. Free yourself up from the butt-kleenex and get creative. Stick it to the status quo and disobey logic occasionally, I think you'll find it exhilarating. Like using colons however you please. </p> <p>What am I listening to right now? A lecture on the environment given at a Korean summit. Do I speak Korean? No. Will I let that limit my mind expanding into unknown territories, just because it's "illogical"? Definitely not:</p> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><!-- Start -->
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-79551000294778095552012-06-08T00:03:00.000-05:002012-06-08T00:13:06.450-05:00walls.<br />
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I’ve rarely met a wall I ended up hating. Walls are like
people: most of them get along with me, and I with them. You can mostly depend
on walls. I say mostly because one time I tipped my Dad’s wheely office chair
backwards and the wall moved so I fell and hit my head on the floor. Got mad
about that one. Did the wall move? Psh. Of course not, where do we live,
Narnialand? No. The wall didn’t move which is good, because that would be stupid. What the
wall also DIDN’T do was lean forward just enough to catch me. Which is why I got mad
at that particular wall. Was it the wall’s fault? Let’s talk about that for a
minute. </div>
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No. Good talk.</div>
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It wasn’t the wall’s fault because walls don’t move. They
can’t. I learned that at a very early age.<br />
"Wait, what did he learn?"<br />
I learned that because something can’t do
something to stop something else from happening doesn’t mean you don’t necessarily get mad at
that thing that didn’t do what you wanted it to do.<br />
Obviously.</div>
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Case in point. Gas prices. You mad at them? Probably. Is it
the gas prices fault that they’re so high? No. They aren’t smoking anything
illegal, otherwise it would be their fault they are as high as they are, but
they’re not, so it isn’t. That doesn’t mean you’re not mad at them though. I
hear you, standing in line at your grocery stores and after church. “Gas
prices” you say. “They’re so high!” And you’re mad about it. Which is cool,
cause I’m mad too.</div>
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When I fell that early October morning (yes, it was October)
and hit my head against that particular wall, my sister was watching. She laughed
at me. “Why are you mad at the wall?” she sneered, with her sneering face.
“Because it wasn’t there and it was supposed to be” I explained, only driving
her vicious mirth onward. To you, laughing sister, I present this: how happy
were you when you last filled up your minivan? That’s what I thought. Gas prices are pretty high, aren't they?<br />
And the wall wasn't where it was supposed to be.<br />
Blam.<br />
I only recently (two months ago) acquired all the words in my vocabulary
necessary to complete the mammoth task of documenting this phenomenon. After
extensive research I’ve determined that my ability to reason at this level of
complexity at such an early age as this instance occurred (seventeen and a
half) meant I had a very special gift of extreme intelligence. </div>
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<br /></div>
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For six months of my life I was a child prodigy. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><!-- Start -->
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-48638298355518511062012-06-07T02:32:00.001-05:002012-06-07T02:32:48.289-05:00Ears.<p>Lots of people have too much ears. My wife would kindly point out "Sweetie, that isn't correct grammar" but in this case, she hasn't read what I've written yet. So it is correct grammar. Because the issue isn't the way the words are arrange or in what tense I'm writing – in fact I'm very relaxed right now, not tense at all – the issue is, plainly put, each ear just has too much ear to it. Not anything startling mind you. Just enough that while you're speaking to/with them, you privately notice "wow. God blessed you with some ears there champ, didn't he?" It doesn't matter how proper and composed you are, it's a unique fact of life that if someone has a physical anomaly attached to either side of their head, the rest of the world is obligated to notice. <br> This is 2012. Why haven't we (and by "we" I obviously mean some mildly overweight dude in his 50's) invented a solution to this problem that plagues America? I'm not being sarcastic either. "But James, you must be sarcastic. You can't mean that seriously." Oh, I do mean it. In all sincerity. Because I'm 24 and somehow have "all" the planet's sincerity within my grasp. I say that this is a problem that plagues America because it is A.) a problem and B.) because this is America. Gone are the plagues of locust, rivers turning to blood and crickets who play the banjo. We have entered into a new era. One where we have normal, everyday conversations with folks who have extremely large ears and pretend they don't know we're holding back our comments. If society allowed it I'm sure many people would come out with public statements such as "Yeah, I saw you there while we were talking. I could tell you were listening to me but you were distracted by my huge ears. I knew you weren't just talking with me about sports, you were really just not talking about my massive, oversized ears." But this is the world of CNN, MSNBC and Fox News. The truth is held captive and the world is forced to stay silent on the topic of large ears. <br> Not me. I stand before you clean and reconciled like a freshly mopped floor (yes, I know how to mop). No longer am I bound by the chains of other's physical features. I am free. You, random sir, and you, random ma'am, have large ears. And I can't stop looking at them. The fart in the room is out in the air and you may sniff if you like, but I for one, feel much, much better. <br> </p> <div class="blogger-post-footer"><!-- Start -->
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-20331483693078761342012-02-25T13:20:00.003-06:002012-02-25T13:30:29.331-06:00AML.Someone was already at the table, but she looked nice. We didn't need an entire dining set to ourselves, just two chairs. Besides, milling around looking for an open table to eat at during a conference where two thousand other people are doing exactly the same thing gets boring incredibly quickly.<br />
"Is there someone sitting in either of these two seats?"<br />
<br />
Her answer was confusing at best. I gathered from inductive reasoning that at least one person was sitting in one of the other available spots. Thirty seconds in, she cleared up the murky waters of her surprisingly complex response by saying "why don't I move this and then you and your Grandpa can sit here with us. We'd love to have you."<br />
Why thank you, we'd love to eat with you too.<br />
<br />
Her husband appeared moments later carrying two iced teas with the liquid dancing in response to his shaking hands.<br />
"I'm Lorraine, this is Pete."<br />
I'm James, this my friend Harold.<br />
"Where are you visiting from?"<br />
<br />
Harold was excited to be around peers, and he didn't quite know how to contain himself as he launched into introductions for us both. At 75, being excited about something is an amazing idea, and I loved watching him expound on the most unnecessary and inconsequential facts about where he was from. Effortlessly he threw down all the details of exactly what disease it was he'd conquered, why he was attending the Lymphoma and Leukemia Society conference, and how he'd come to learn about what was next for him.<br />
He'd successfully fought off a particularly vicious blood cancer "CLL" he'd say gruffly, "stage 4. But then one day my white blood cell count started to drop for no apparent reason."<br />
Pete and Lorraine were captivated by his story.<br />
"Well, we're in the middle of this thing" Lorraine said, reaching over to touch her husband's hand. "We've been to all the events they've offered, this is our first conference, and I have to say we're learning a lot. Pete's a strong fellow, we're just wanting to soak up as much as we can."<br />
<br />
Everywhere I looked there were people from all walks of life with nothing but hope on their faces. Some had full heads of hair, others wore caps to mask their loss from aggressive therapeutic attempts to eradicate their disease, and the teenagers with a war waging inside their bodies against themselves most often chose beanies.<br />
<br />
Lunch was a dry sandwich -- no condiments. You never think about how much they matter until you have a dry club sandwich without any of them. Then you realize how important they are to complete your sandwich.<br />
<br />
The gentleman who spoke last just before break had lived through a particularly aggressive breed of lymphatic cancer, "macroglobulinemia" and had been on over a thousand different kinds of medication over the course of his disease.<br />
<br />
I sat and listened as Harold, Pete and Lorraine exchanged their stories, compared experiences, and spoke medical dialogue so quickly and efficiently it was hard to believe none of them had darkened the door of a medical class. But they hadn't -- they were living, breathing classrooms themselves.<br />
They were a case study, a statistic, and most avidly against the odds.<br />
<br />
"Pete and I visited Hawaii for our 25th wedding anniversary. We loved it so much! It was the most special present I think he's ever given me." Pete smiled and his eyes watched his wife as she dove into the deep blue sea of memories to pick out the best ones and show me.<br />
"We went to all four major islands together, but Kauai was our favorite. I wanted to sleep in -- all I wanted to do was sleep -- but Pete got me up dark and early one morning to watch the sunrise on top of that mountain, Haleakala, while we were in Maui."<br />
He was from Boston, they'd been married for 55 years and "plan on making it another 55 together!"<br />
<br />
Pete had "acute myeloid leukemia" but refused to say the words. "AML" he interrupted as his wife attempted say the full name for us. "They know what that is." Lorraine smiled and nodded, "well, Harold had CLL and it's in remission, and James is a nursing student. I'm sure he knows more about it than we do!"<br />
I don't Lorraine. I know almost nothing. But after my light lunch of a sandwich with chips and a side of cold pasta salad, I know more about it than the any of my classes could ever teach me.<br />
<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-30337057549678825852012-02-06T23:22:00.001-06:002012-02-06T23:31:36.310-06:00makin' stuff up. 'cause.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
What is it I've been trying so hard to do these last (almost) eight months since I've been married?<br />
Create.<br />
Create what?<br />
Pretty much everything.<br />
But it wasn't until tonight that I really understood what I'd been working so hard at realizing.<br />
<br />
My wife and I have come together on many, many issues trying to co-discover what we want "our home" to be.<br />
"I want our bathroom to always be clean."<br />
"I want to have just enough mess people feel comfortable."<br />
"There should always be food -- we should always offer people food."<br />
"And booze. Lots of it."<br />
"JAMES. No. We aren't going to be <i>that </i>couple."<br />
"But Jessa, we could reach out to people <i>through </i>liquor, you know, like a reverse-alcoholic thing."<br />
"No. Absolutely not."<br />
"Okay. Then cookies. We always have cookies."<br />
"No to that too."<br />
"Why no to that too?"<br />
"Because I don't want to make cookies that often."<br />
"Well then what <i>can </i>we do? If you say no to cookies, really you're saying no to everything."<br />
"The food idea. I like that. That one was nice."<br />
"Thanks Jessa!"<br />
<br />
As we've been slowly working through the countless minuscule, tiny issues that crop up as we determine what type of home we want to be, we are beginnings the foundation of what will be (for lack of a more descriptive term) us.<br />
Wherever we live in whatever home around whoever's close for however long, we'll always be "us". James and Jessa.<br />
That's the most exciting part.<br />
<br />
Tonight I found a much better term than just "us" to describe what Jessa and I are creating.<br />
We're creating our own culture.<br />
<br />
More than what people see when they first come in our door, what do they feel?<br />
What is a consistent response that they receive from both her and I at any point in time when we're asked certain questions?<br />
Do we sometimes just have popcorn to offer, but our guests know they'll be fed?<br />
Are we embarrassed about a mess or do we simply excuse it as less important to the relationships we're building?<br />
What music plays?<br />
Are we sit-and-talk-all-night type people, or do we proffer a game to keep things moving?<br />
Where does our faith come in?<br />
<br />
I would encourage you to find immense joy in and take on the challenge of creating your own culture for who you are.<br />
Maybe you're not an "us" yet -- that's totally fine, hang in there -- so then you're a "you." Who are "you"?<br />
It's pretty awesome to discover what you find important and realize that since it's your home or your life you can totally do things like put up a sign above the toilet that says "Get Naked."<br />
<br />
Culture is always changing.<br />
It's mold, it's growing, spreading, adapting to it's surrounding environment and reproducing rapidly.<br />
It's also a part of society that mimics mold in lots of ways.<br />
Instead of being a part of those vile-tasting cold-Christian comments that involve the words "that's what' s wrong with our culture today" or "a big problem with our culture is..." how about you <i>make your own culture?</i><br />
Create it from scratch.<br />
And if it tastes anything like cookies, I'm in.<br />
Because cookies are delicious and there should always be cookies.<br />
<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-73364967228979963672012-01-12T09:14:00.003-06:002012-01-12T09:17:52.895-06:00yes.I talk more both from and in the shower now that I'm married than when I was single. Being in the shower no longer says "indisposed" and now means "I'm somewhere that's normal to talk to from the other side of the house."<br />
Wife - "Why are you in the shower?"<br />
Me - "Because!"<br />
"Because why?"<br />
"Because I have that thing!"<br />
"What thing?"<br />
"I can't hear you."<br />
"Yes you can."<br />
"Oh."<br />
"What thing?!"<br />
"The thing at David Baker's tonight."<br />
"Man Night<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">™</span>'s tonight?"<br />
"Yep."<br />
"Is Man Night<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">™</span> every ni--never mind. Not asking that question."<br />
<br />
Water droplets fly everywhere. I open the sliding glass door and step out onto the frequently flattened bath rug and select a towel from a basket that has many options carefully folded and placed together. My life has neatened.<br />
Pull up the jeans... and they barely fit. I think the reason I didn't eat a regular, three-square meals a day in college was because I knew if I did, my clothes might fit and I'd have to buy newer, bigger sets of them.<br />
Which was a bad idea, because I was losing more money at the time than a lot of people make in a year.<br />
"The good side of this is I'm kind of working out" I kind of think to myself as I strain to pull the "nice" pair of jeans up as far as they need to go so I'm legal to be in public again today.<br />
"Do you want to work out today?"<br />
Somehow she heard my thoughts. "How did you know I was thinking about working out?"<br />
My lovely wife blinks, stares for a second, and then says plainly "you said it out loud, Sweetie." She's good. The word "Sweetie" does make things sound much better. I like it.<br />
"So do you want to work out?" Still somewhat newly-married, I'm not a hundred percent in-tune with that survival/safety net of answers a husband must learn.<br />
"Not really." Buzz. Wrong answer. The answer is *ding ALWAYS YES.<br />
No narrative is necessary here because it would be entirely good questions and bad answers, both of which you already know. Let's just say I didn't pass the exam.<br />
<br />
One of my Uncles has a great answer that he always tells me when the question of "do you want to work out" is brought up. He says "tell her you work out every day and if she wants to work out with you someday she should just go to work with you and find out how difficult it is."<br />
He is divorced and has a nice big belly.<br />
The answer is ALWAYS YES.<br />
<br />
"James" you think. "Sometimes the answer is no though."<br />
Nope.<br />
"But what if she asks..." and then you make up a really lame, dumb scenario where the answer is technically "no." Okay, maybe you're like tiny bit right? But that still makes you mostly wrong. Because even though the answer was "no" you were still saying "yes" to the wife. The goal. In life. Is to mostly say "yes" to the wife. Even when you say "no."<br />
"Wow James, you're figuring this marriage thing out early in life!" you think to yourself.<br />
Nope. I'm creating a persona in the cyber-world of myself understanding marriage hoping that it will crawl out of the television and hop into my body someday. Just like that movie we watched at Man Night<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">™</span>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-56503746273940052672011-12-30T22:03:00.000-06:002011-12-30T22:03:01.782-06:00lame coal.Someone gave us four bags of coal for Christmas. Which is dumb, because I've been good all year. I even filed taxes -- which for a college student is admirably laudable.<br />The bags of "coal" turned out to be chocolate. But not the good chocolate either. The cheaper, knock-off brand of Nestle's chocolate that has rice krispies in them and tastes delicious.<br />
That's right.<br />
Fake crunch bars. When you eat them they get all hot in your mouth and super sugary -- far more so than normal chocolate -- and you don't feel like eating tons and tons of it.<br />
These little bags of undeserved coal-turned-lame-wannabe-delicious-snacks truly served no purpose in our lives. My wife and I went on to have a cheery, joy-filled Christmas with family and a snack-sized portion of traveling to boot. I got an iPad, she a full-sized keyboard, but mostly we laughed, played games with random groups of people and sipped at copious amounts of bottomless coffee.<br />
December 29th we trundled in the front door laden with bags, groceries to restock our nearly-bare fridge, and we were content.<br />
It has been an amazing, albeit challenging season of newly-married life.<br />
<br />
And then my wife spotted the four little bags of darkness.<br />
"YOU'RE A BOY JAMES!" She yelled. This is both true and a fact.<br />
With that, she began hurling coal after fake, decidedly un-tasty coal at me.<br />
Four bags.<br />
She emptied both barrels at once and lit her husband up, who defended himself at the last second possible with a seat-cushion. Relentlessly she fired on him, laughing, yelling, and paying no heed to the fact that I was scooping up handfuls of the grounded munitions and attempting a fruitless recourse on her aggressive actions.<br />
<br />
People of the world who deliver cheap, lame coal to our door intending us to act docile and place it carefully in our stockings, be warned.<br />
We may just throw it right back at you and start a war.<br />
That's how we roll around here.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><!-- Start -->
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-92221225540253348832011-12-08T10:00:00.001-06:002011-12-08T10:22:07.826-06:00towel thing.It's a strange bird, being married.<br />
I haven't had to establish the importance of keeping my towel mine very own in a long, long time. Yes, when I was fourteen muchly yelling would take place over the ownership of such colored things as towels, but then again, I was fourteen. There was muchly yelling over everything.<br />
"I DIDN'T USE YOUR TOWEL JAMES! STOP YELLING AT ME ABOUT IT!"<br />
"Yes you did. I know because it's wetter than when I was done using it this morning. I checked just now."<br />
"Why are you checking your towel? YOU'RE SO WEIRD!"<br />
"I'm checking it because I have to. YOU WON'T STOP USING IT. STOP USING IT RIGHT NOW!"<br />
"I'm not using it right now, OBVIOUSLY."<br />
"You know what I mean."<br />
"Go away, I'm doing school."<br />
<br />
Now, any husband in his right mind knows this is no way to interact with his lovely wifey. Thankfully, I'm not left-minded, so I knew this conversational type was completely out of bounds. It now sounds more like this:<br />
"Lovey, did you use my towel?"<br />
"Yep."<br />
"Why? There are so many other towels in the basket. How come you couldn't just use one of those and hang it right up beside mine instead of using mine."<br />
"I don't like your tone of voice, please take the edge out of it. How did you know I used it anyway? DID YOU CHECK JUST NOW?!"<br />
"No, of course -- yes. Yes I did."<br />"WHY WOULD YOU GO INTO THE BATHROOM TO CHECK YOUR TOWEL?! Should we name it? We should probably name your towel, that would be a good, healthy thing to do. Let's name it. Why did you check to see if I'd used your towel?"<br />
"It's just a thing I've had since I don't know... the second I was born. I didn't want anyone else to use my towel, ever. No other babies have been born on the towel my Mom first held me in. I made sure of that. Hospital incinerator. It wasn't tough to do when your legs have relatively no muscle structure and you're only 21" tall, but it was worth it. Please don't use my towel."<br />
<br />
That's what surprised me maybe the most about marriage. I never knew I had so many "things". And one way to truly show someone you love them is to take what matters a lot to you and dropkick it in the tushy. I'm slowly, ever so slowly learning this difficult, complex and delicate concept.<br />
"No, you can't use my toothbrush."<br />
"Please close the door when you pee. I'm making dinner and the pee sound makes it taste worse."<br />
"No, let's just sit and talk right now, we don't ALWAYS have to be cleaning EVERYTHING FOREVER."<br />
"In this house, we're Patriots fans. That's all. Please trust me and love me on this one and never question that and be a huge fan voluntarily. I said please."<br />
"Whenever you turn the music down you do it way too much and then it sounds like Alicia Keys is whispering. I don't like that."<br />
"You make way too much food every time you cook. There's only two of us, and you cook for like seven."<br />
And so on and so forth.<br />
<br />
Love isn't necessarily purchasing someone a candle you hate the smell of but know they'll love. That can be love, but true love -- I'm just now realizing more and more each day -- is setting aside yourself for the other person.<br />
The word sacrifice has gained a sort of greatness I think the Christian culture has projected on to it. Jesus was the greatest man that ever lived; both man and God, he was the epitome of sacrifice. But sacrifice does not always mean "do big things." Jesus lived a life full of serving and sacrifice, doing many seemingly small things that proved to be great in God's kingdom.<br />Often, sacrifice is realizing someone likes to pee while watching an awesome part in a movie, and hence, doesn't close the door all the way. Or even a little. Greatness can be allowing someone to vent safely, not taking everything to heart and allowing them to verbally process their day.<br />
And love?<br />
I'm still at an absolute loss as to what true love looks like in a marriage most of the time. But isn't that where grace and patience come in, unannounced and stand firmly in the way of selfishness? That's the idea anyway. Often discontentment and conflict muscle their way around goodness, loudly state their demands and wait to be served. But there's a reason love is the greatest.<br />
It completely OWNS.<br />
Marriage is a lot of work, most anyone will tell you that. But hopefully they'll also tell you that it's pretty awesome, a hell of a lot of fun, and incredibly affirming. Especially when you come home to the other person bouncing up and down saying "I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE HOME! I MISSED YOU!"<br />
Makes the towel thing seem pretty unimportant.<br />
<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-57729673249976729942011-12-08T00:31:00.001-06:002011-12-08T00:54:57.368-06:00back off.I came in outside from the blowing snow, stomping in a decidedly un-professional manner. The small clumps of frozen water stuck to the bottom of my boots had almost nothing to do with my actions -- I was frustrated. It'd been that type of week. My wife had traveled home after thanksgiving and I'd stayed behind to work Thursday through Sunday for the military, and I was exhausted. And angry.<br />
An accumulation of the last few weeks' small disagreements, some pretty rough extended family relationship struggles and a few sleepless nights from not feeling well had all piled on during my cold walk to the office.<br />
The cheery greeting by "Happy" as we all called her was harshly ignored and I moved quickly down the hallway.<br />
Now was not the time.<br />
I like to think I can play poker, that I can paste on an expressionless face, but in all reality... not so much. Today like most other days, my countenance yelled status updates about how I was feeling at everyone who looked up and saw me. As I slammed my bag down and took out my ID to put in the computer and wait for it to turn on, one of the officers I work with stepped quietly in to my cubicle and stood, waiting.<br />
I watched as of course, the friggin computer wouldn't turn on. Three times I hit the power button and waited patiently with no response. An odd number of times. There was absolutely no reason it shouldn't have turned on, even if it was just suspended -- whatever. I sat down, turned around and noticed her for the first time.<br />
"Good morning."<br />
"Everything alright?" The mother of four, she was a sea of calm and concern.<br />
"The damn computer won't turn on. We're the Department of Defense and here I am sitting at a PC that uses XP and takes eight minutes to boot up."<br />
She ignored my outburst and said simply "I wasn't asking about the computer. Are you alright? Do you want to talk about it?"<br />
It was startlingly direct, caring and shone a bright light on my insanely unprofessional and inappropriate attitude for work.<br />
I felt my fingers, nose, cheeks and heart begin to defrost a little.<br />
"I guess. It's just been one of those weeks you know. I've been apart from my wife over a month in days already and we've only been married six months. It seems like that won't ever change and I always, always feel like my duty weekend comes at the worst time. Always."<br />
The computer screen blinked blue, then presented me with an option to log on. I chose to.<br />
Captain Miazga waited until I had finished and swung my chair back around to face her again.<br />
"I've been married for a long time, and I've been in the military for 13 years now. That won't ever change. You'll get through it, just hang in there."<br />
The last of the frozen snow on the side of my boot fell off, and I heard people around the office talking on their phones and with each other. Someone stepped in, excused themselves, and pulled a stack of sheets from the printer I hadn't even heard working next to me.<br />
"Thank you Captain, I appreciate you making sure I was fine."<br />
"No problem, many people have done the same for me."<br />
She stood and left me to go back to setting up the nurse's schedule for the weekend, and I opened up my email.<br />
Outside, the wind was howling and swirling as much as before. A cold front had descended from Canada earlier that morning and brought with it the cool air from the adjacent Rockies. But inside what little snow there was left had just finished melting into the carpet.<br />
<br />
Proverbs 15:1 "A soft answer turns away wrath"<br />
James 3:17 "The wisdom from above is first pure, peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><!-- Start -->
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-71178457422605475562011-11-11T08:42:00.001-06:002011-11-11T09:25:52.270-06:00embrace the uncomfortable.It's unavoidable.<br />
<div>
Any time I travel in uniform, most of the time when I go out to eat in uniform, and definitely if I'm shopping in uniform for some reason, it's as if I send a flare up to whatever ceiling I'm under that says "come talk to me, veterans." Vets are not known for their timing or social graces. Their most common stereotype is "incessant story tellers" or "emotionally unstable." This is true. Some of the most relentless people I've ever met were the retired military folk that populate airports, restaurants and are sparsely scattered throughout wherever I'm living at the time. That and realtors -- maybe it's the commission, or maybe the entrance battery exam to sell homes is a test of how much love you can force on every person you know. </div>
<div>
Like any small child, a human that demands your undivided attention can be exhausting. I get that. But what is the redeeming grace that allows you to more than just "tolerate" a child hungry for your eye contact and heedfulness? Love. Love, and you realize that they need you.</div>
<div>
That is what your veteran needs. </div>
<div>
For you to love them and realize that they need you. They need your appreciation, your attention, your listening heart and your eye contact, like any small child. I do not imply that they're small children, however. In fact if anything, guaranteed those veterans that would approach you, a total stranger, and want to create from scratch an informal relationship, has had a sizable portion of his childhood taken away from him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
From 17-22 much of our nation spends it's time creating positive memories. </div>
<div>
Whether or not you go to college or stay home and drive too fast, drink too much, date the wrong people, spend too much or take a dangerously unintelligent vacation for five days at the last minute to a ludicrously far away place -- at those ages we were making positive memories. Albeit, not necessarily intelligent ones. </div>
<div>
Many, many veterans at that age were serving overseas in a war taking place on foreign soil. There are few alones like being apart from your family on a holiday, and many vets know that first-hand all too well. </div>
<div>
Those that fought in WWII or Korea have mostly passed on, those that haven't are more than likely not out and about very much. Many if not most though, saw things that cannot be shown on even HBO or Showtime, and never will be, they're that horrific. Those were violent, personal wars.</div>
<div>
Those vets that were in Vietnam were very likely to have been invited to attend against their will. Coming home from being overseas for a year or more, they returned home to protests, being spat on and outright assaulted. So they traveled in civillian clothes. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
How much would you trade the last few years of your childhood for? Most vets traded theirs for less-than good pay. The moment they stepped off the plane in whatever foreign nation we were fighting in, they lost the remaining years of joy and traded it in for experiencing things you probably never will. </div>
<div>
Not all vets, but many, many of them. And chances are, if you're socially uncomfortable with the veteran talking to you, he was one of those.</div>
<div>
Instead of dismissing a dirty old man wearing far too many accessories and articles of clothing that broadcast he served in the military at one time or another, what if you thank them?</div>
<div>
If you're a daring, adventurous, rebellious soul with blatant disregard for social safety, ask the vet a question that says sincerely "I care about you" or "I don't know you, but you seem interesting and I'd at least like to meet you." </div>
<div>
Look at a badge and ask where or how he got it. </div>
<div>
"What was the 34th Artillery?"</div>
<div>
Ask him how long it's been since he was in. He'll laugh, but it will get the conversation rolling.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I promise you, whatever you show up to a little bit late for today or in the future, if you smile and quietly explain yourself by saying "I'm sorry, I got caught up talking to a Mr. (insert name), who wanted to tell me about his 4 years serving in (insert place). Did you know that he (insert fact about the person)?" you'll be just fine. </div>
<div>
Sincerely caring about someone you've never met before can be unsettling, but to truly listen and be interested someone who gave some of the most exciting years of their life away in exchange for serving our nation is one of the best way to truly love them.<br />
<br />
Ephesians 4:2 "with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bear with one another in love."<br />
1 John 3:18 "Little children, let us not love in word or talk, but in action and in truth."<br />
<br /></div>
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com0Siloam Springs, Arkansas36.1585967 -94.459379135.953474199999995 -94.7752361 36.3637192 -94.143522100000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-74075884532183312302011-11-06T17:07:00.000-06:002011-11-07T12:08:36.515-06:00nothing crazy or out of the ordinary.<br /><br />Called my brother.<br /><br />"Ricky."<br /><br />"What."<br /><br />"The Patriots game today is on Fox. I don't get Fox with my stupid bunny ears. Can I watch tv at your house?"<br /><br />"Yeah. I just need a 50 foot cable. Let me pick one up, I'm at Walmart."<br /><br />I love that guy.<br /><br /><a href="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2007/12/30/sports/30patriots.xlarge5.jpg"><img border="0" src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2007/12/30/sports/30patriots.xlarge5.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Two days ago he came over with his girlfriend, Haley, to watch the next episode of Terra Nova with my wife and I. After popcorn chicken had all been devoured and the episode concluded, he and I adjourned to my room for some standard catch-up conversation.<br /><br />The girls sat in the living room talking about whatever it is womenfolk find important, and we largely paid them no mind.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"Check this out. (the trailer plays) Doesn't that look sick?"<br /><br />"Yeah. It'll probably be really good."<br /><br />"Oh, I've got to show you what I got on the ol' iPad."<br /><br />"What is it?"<br /><br />"Catan."<br /><br />"Sweeeeeet! How is it?"<br /><br />"Playable. The UI (user interface, or how the game "looks" over all) is a little bit convoluted, but I think on a long road trip it will be fun."<br /><br />"Or a plane flight. That's what the iPad is for. Yeah, I really like this."<br /><br />"I know."<br /><br />"Know what I miss?"<br /><br />He looked at me, patiently expressionless as only my brother can be. "What."<br /><br />"Throwing a football. Last week after the Pats lost I threw one to myself for like half an hour outside."<br /><br />"Straight up? Nice."<br /><br />"Yeah."<br /><br />"Well come over sometime. Give me a call and if I'm not busy, we'll throw a football around outside or on the quad."<br /><br />"Really?"<br /><br />"Sure. James. I love my new espresso machine. Robert picked it up for like ten bucks, and we use it all the time. It's like five cups of coffee in one cup, and delicious."<br /><br />"We just do coffee every morning and sometimes at night."<br /><br />"Lame. That is so 2011."<br /><br />"You idiot, that's what year we're in."<br /><br />"Robert and I live in the future."<br /><br />"How fun is that for you two, living in the future?"<br /><br />"Fun James. Very, very fun."<br /><br />Our conversations fly by quicker than when we talk with almost anyone else, but that's alright, we can do that.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />We're brothers.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9mBoGHmibMv2L7j2HW7utyHU541Wlgrnxia2rI9f8dhLmo40aQBVy8i52_q7AkupPcmQ8lT5pL3HB8SqO2oVr5mf_R_4KjnGiG1m4quj5z6fvTY7h46dtsELJV8HjK9vPl7FdM5d1kHf/s1600/301234_10150303318284962_500949961_8191530_1860703730_n.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9mBoGHmibMv2L7j2HW7utyHU541Wlgrnxia2rI9f8dhLmo40aQBVy8i52_q7AkupPcmQ8lT5pL3HB8SqO2oVr5mf_R_4KjnGiG1m4quj5z6fvTY7h46dtsELJV8HjK9vPl7FdM5d1kHf/s640/301234_10150303318284962_500949961_8191530_1860703730_n.jpg" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><!-- Start -->
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-61343502456952958592011-11-01T13:25:00.001-05:002011-11-07T12:12:41.893-06:00first respiratory movements<br />
<br />
I read a simple descriptive paragraph today in my book "Atlas of the Anatomy" that painted a beautiful picture. The italicized words are from the text, the un-italicized words are the imagery married to to science.<br />
<i>"Simple Cuboidal Epithelial Tissue" covers all the tubular cavities that divide the lungs of a fetus.</i><br />
An unborn infant.<br />
<br />
<i>The cells are tightly aligned with each other and have a cube-like shape. At birth, with the first respiratory movements, the cavities begin to dilate</i><br />
Baby's first breath. The empty spaces in the tiny him or her begin to shrink, they are no longer needed. Life pours in, relentless, filling every area of the small, quivering body. <br />
As arms lurch and legs stab at the air below tightly squinted shut eyes, the lungs continue to change.<br />
<br />
<i>the connective tissue that separates the epithelial layers shrinks, and the cuboidal epithelium transforms into a simple pavement epithelial tissue.</i><br />
It is finished. There is no going back. The lungs have changed and are no longer content to live in murky, weightless darkness. They will forever need. Need air, a heart, blood flow.<br />
<br />
Life is paved in the lungs, literally knit together in the womb and irreversibly born into the world.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
John 3: 4-5: "How can a man be born when he is old?" Nicodemus asked. "Surely he cannot enter a second time into his mother's womb to be born!"<br />
<br />
Jesus answered, "I tell you the truth, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.stegen.k12.mo.us/tchrpges/sghs/ksulkowski/images/17_Simple_Cuboidal_Epithelial_Tissue.jpg"><img border="0" src="http://www.stegen.k12.mo.us/tchrpges/sghs/ksulkowski/images/17_Simple_Cuboidal_Epithelial_Tissue.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-14010420523770107692011-10-28T10:41:00.000-05:002011-10-28T11:24:45.845-05:00kinetic learningOut of the just over 900 students that lived in "Challenger Hall", or the "medical squadron" as it was more commonly referred to as, I was probably the only one who didn't want to go to Las Vegas.<br />
21, single, and very happy with the decidedly upward turn my life had taken -- the last thing I wanted was to be stationed for six weeks in what I saw at the time as the "Sodom & Gomorrah of the U.S."<br />
When the day came for our nursing instructor to read us the results of our "Phase II" lottery, Major Allen had no issue piping up to his students "now calm down. As usual no talking, as usual no one gets to trade, and as usual I'll read yours last Airman Eldridge." Beyond unfair, I voiced my opinion of said injustice. And as usual Major Allen stated my opinions were what got me where I was in the first place. Last.<br />
The names flew by. The class either lauded or protested where they'd end up next to continue their career training, but until your name was heard and you knew what group you were with, it didn't matter.<br />
More names. Good, Vegas came and went and my name wasn't attached to the location.<br />
"And for Keesler Air Force Base we have Barnett, Rodriques, Singletary and Eldridge -- is at Vegas with Shook, Anthony, Dantes and Chavez-Vallero."<br />
A week later we took a taxi from the base to the airport, flew, and took a taxi from the airport to our next base. Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas, Nevada. Not interested in going out every weekend for six weeks in a row drinking and gambling with my "of age" peer group, I worked out a lot, ate dinner at the base food court to take a break from the meals at the dining facility, and played a lot of pool.<br />
Within a few days of playing pool in one of the local dormitory common areas I had made several friends. Kinley was a quiet, very small individual who wanted very much to be appreciated and feel like he was accepted. Hardly over 5 feet tall, he was surprisingly strong and spent much of his time staring up at you while you talked to him. Military folk are quite adept at new relationships however shallow, so soon we were talking. His parents were divorced, all his friends back home somewhere in the nameless south were nothings, and he was now a something. An aircraft mechanic, he had PCS'd (permanent change of station) to Nellis six months prior.<br />
<br />
It was a Thursday night and the common area downstairs was full. Someone had the bright idea to put the couches on top of the tables to make arena-style seating, and there was big fight on tv.<br />
The alcohol flowed freely, as did the military-typical yelling, arguing and toasting. Young military males do not hang out in groups at parties, they group around the girls that are always outnumbered. Tonight was no exception, there were three girls and six to eight guys gathered around each competing for their attention.<br />
"C'mon, just have one drink, just stick around for a little bit." Kinley was drunk.<br />
"No, I'm going to work out and wanted to come by and see who was yelling."<br />
"Most of these guys are legal, don't sweat it man! Just do one shot with me." The alcohol culture in the military is so prevalent and potent it leaves in it's wake a plethora of underage drinkers.<br />
"You know I don't care. I don't know any of these people and I don't even know who's fighting tonight."<br />
"What the hell man? How do you not know Fedor?"<br />
I smiled, shrugged, put in my headphones and walked out.<br />
<br />
The next morning I caught the 6am bus to the hospital, walked through the quiet whoosh of the E.R. double-paned sliding glass doors, and put my backpack down in the break room.<br />
"Eldridge, don't change into scrubs. You're wearing the radio today, here." Driving the ambulance. Sweet.<br />
"I don't know the base streets."<br />
"I'll be with you up front and you'll know your way back here."<br />
<br />
The first call came at around 9am. My building.<br />
Someone had called 911 because there was a person passed out in a recliner.<br />
When we picked Kinley up he was pale and starting to turn a pastel-tinted hue of blue. He had drunk 3/4 of a bottle of vodka, passed out, and then was left alone. During the night he vomited, and because no one was there to turn him on his side, he aspirated into his lungs and was had choked. At some point he turned over on his own and coughed some of it out, but his pulse was weak and he was completely unresponsive.<br />
Fifteen minutes later he was in the Emergency Department, lying in a bed. He'd been intubated and his stats were rising.<br />
<br />
Halfway through my shift I was walking by his room with a stack of sheets to put on one of the beds next to his when he started moving, attempting to sit up. Doubtless his mind was still foggy; his eyes were still closed as his hands gripped the side of the bed.<br />
"Kenny, I need you to lie back down." Patients -- anyone, really -- are most responsive to their first name. When he realized he was intubated it startled him and only half-conscious, he grasped at it, gurgling.<br />
"No, don't -- I NEED A NURSE NOW!"<br />
I barely made it across the room and leapt on top of him, trying in vain to pin his incredibly strong arms to the bed. It was too late. Within seconds he reacted violently to the severe discomfort of the tube in his throat that had saved his life and in one massive movement he bent forward, tearing it completely out. A moment later medical personnel flooded into his room. One doctor put both palms on either side of his head pinning him to the bed, a nurse put both forearms on his chest and a second physician said "Ativan and restraints."<br />
<br />
Later that day I returned from another ambulance run to pick up an elderly man with chest pains to find Kinley had been moved upstairs to the ICU.<br />
I never found out what finally happened to Kenny Kinley.<br />
Not everything delivers the satisfaction of a conclusive ending.<br />
<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com0Siloam Springs, AR, USA36.1881365 -94.540496236.136874999999996 -94.6194602 36.239398 -94.461532200000008tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-27020687313790268292011-10-23T01:02:00.000-05:002011-10-23T09:40:01.331-05:00against the sea."We need more. Get more, quick!"<br />
<div>
The urgent command barked by my older sister sliced through the air, relentlessly pushing us to move faster and more efficiently. Obedient we turned up the heat and sped back to the water, diving our hands under the surface and bringing them up, cupped together and full to overflowing, our little fingers containing just ounces of salt water. </div>
<div>
"Hurry up with that bucket Ricky!" </div>
<div>
Time was of the essence. We ran to and from, back and forth, each time bringing tiny, insignificant amounts of the ocean back with us to dump at her side. That was for the "concrete" or wet sand we'd use to finish the castle walls, "The tide" was coming soon and in our rapidly developing minds, the immediate need to support the role of the wall-maker was most important.<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
I'm 23 now and I'm startled, disappointed and saddened that it's been more than four months since I've built a sand castle. It didn't quite have the same magic either -- somehow between building a small water pit by myself on our honeymoon as my wife tanned on the "dry sand area" and the moments that occurred eleven years ago, I've lost that sense of urgency.<br />
As a child I lived wholly in the moments as they came. Day by day the greatest agonies, tragedies, humors and experiences came with the ebb and flow of a sea I had almost completely no control over. Now that I'm old I look at an Almanac, plan for the best time to build my castle, assemble a crew of able and experienced workers and we calmly construct with more than enough time to spare. That's what I find myself striving for.<br />
I catch big visions, make plans, and though I live day by day still it's become so much more safe. So much more controlled with so fewer unknowns. And it's good.<br />
Someday though you may catch me on a beach and if you see me running back and forth with water in my hands to make "wet mud" do not interrupt me. Before I was too small and had to run around people that got in my way. Now that I'm older I can't promise that when I resurrect said urgency -- the imagination can create such vivid, potent actions -- what maturity I have will be able to stand it's ground.<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
"Dianne, go stall Mom. We need to finish this wall. Help her pick up the towels or get the foster baby's stuff or whatever. We'll take care of things down here."<br />
"No, I don't want to."<br />
"Dianne, we NEED you too."<br />
Time for an argumentative booster shot. "Dianne, I'll give you my bag of chips in the van."<br />
Suspicious eyes. "What kind do you have, Ricky? Are they the good kind?"<br />
"Cheetos." Score.<br />
"Okay, fine."<br />
<br />
The wall would be built.<br />
<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-52525582166485823992011-10-22T17:42:00.004-05:002011-10-22T17:42:52.878-05:00oh yeah.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I tend to be someone who values length in writing -- I get caught up in the size of a delivery and somehow attribute strength in the ability to produce longer lengths of work.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">From my friend Abram Lueders this week: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>"This isn’t a screed against hipsters, or so-called 'hipster Christianity.' Many of the people that get branded as hipsters aren’t trying to put on a phony identity. Some people (including Christians) have a passion for art, listen to obscure bands because they genuinely enjoy them, and wear retro glasses because they have bad eyesight, and thought they just looked good, dangit! That’s okay. But it isn’t a sin to wear dad shorts and listen to Casting Crowns. The chronically un-hip aren’t second-class citizens in the kingdom of God."</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">From my younger sister Dianne who works as a CNA at an "old folk's home."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>There's a resident who cannot talk cognitively and rarely opens his eyes.<br />I have to be extra careful to make him comfy because I never know if he is or not.<br />Often he spits his dinner out and is completely limp when I transfer him.<br /><br />At 4 o'clock this morning, I was turning him over and tucking the sheets around him.<br />Imagine my surprise when suddenly he mumbled, "Good Morning."<br />I jumped, "Good Morning to you!"<br />In 6 months of routinely caring for him, this was a first.<br />Second-guessing my ears, I stared and said, "How are you feeling?"<br />He opened his eyes, looked at me then turned to the football game on the tv, "Mgoodm."<br />It was amazing to hear his voice, I wanted him to keep talking.<br />For once I knew that he was ok.<br />He was not "out of it".<br />He was not in a void, mindless coma.<br />He could hear me.<br />And he could reply.<br />"Do you like this show?"<br />"Yup."<br />I really grinned now, but I had to finish my rounds.<br />"Ok, well, have a good morning!"<br /><br />He closed his eyes, "Ok, you too."<br /><br />Dancing down the hall, I tried to make sense of his shocking change in conscienceness.<br />Was it a miracle?<br />An incorrect dosage?<br />A wierd before-death experience?<br /><br />When I got to the nurse's station, I pulled his chart and read, "..."<br />Well, I can't really say what I read.<br />You know.<br />HIPAA and all that.<br />Let's just say, my curiousity was satisfied.<br /><br />My dear resident was ok.<br />He told me himself.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Both were excellent reminders that in order to be heard, their words didn't have to be a page and-a-half long.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-62392516824252997002011-10-03T17:46:00.003-05:002011-10-03T17:48:22.823-05:00no small resemblanceThe plethora of NFL games competed for attention on the myriad of screens that hung above the bar, each boasting waves of highlights, statistics and high definition re-plays of the most important or fascinating moment of the sport.<br />
I walked past the bartender who smiled congenially and welcomed me. Exhausted from my last three weeks of non-stop travel and work with only one day off in the middle, I set my shoulder-bag down and walked to the counter. In one of those stool-chairs that only seem to appear in public and never in the dining room or kitchens of the home sat another person in uniform almost identical to mine. The picture on his collar indicated he was an officer and the figure of the bird notated that he was Colonel. Stitched on the left side of the chest was the label <i>U.S. Air Force </i>and above it were wings. "Ah, a flier" I thought to myself as I greeted him.<br />
"Good afternoon sir." Proper courtesy rendered, he responded with the appropriate respect, nodding, and returning the phrase.<br />
"Good afternoon." We were professionals. Our training was ingrained deeply in our personality. I glanced at the shelf behind the bar and chose a Stella Artois. Light, somewhat hoppy and non-commital, it was my favorite served ice-cold alone and unaccompanied by another at the end of the day.<br />
I reached behind to my back pocket, pulled out my wallet and flipped to the I.D. carrier. I've long since abandoned the need to wait and be asked for proof of my age. I look too young to drink and have nothing to prove any more by inconveniencing those serving me. It isn't cool anymore to rib them for doing their job.<br />
"You can show hand him your I.D. so he can see how old you are, but go ahead and put your credit card away" the Colonel looked at the bartender as he finished his sentence "I'll get his."<br />
I glanced up, surprised. After a brief moment of inward discussion with myself I realized was pointless -- there was only a small chance the Colonel had less than three hundred people under him. He would not give in to a simple argument on the matter.<br />
"Thank you sir."<br />
He waved off the words with his left hand supported in the air by an elbow relaxed on the bar as he sat slightly forward in his seat. "No problem. How are you?"<br />
The bartender glanced at the identification and handed it back to me.<br />
For several minutes we exchanged formal pleasantries that also came from, ironically, training. There was a way to and not to speak with someone of certain rank. We abided by those rules easily, both of us comfortable to interact with one another at the appropriate level. Everything was as it should be.<br />
A minute or two in, he responded to the posed query "no, I'll be here for a while. My flight isn't boarding until 4:05." The same time as mine, only he would fly to Denver on his way home to Las Vegas while mine left for Dallas so I could change planes to one bound for my home in Northwest Arkansas.<br />
<br />
The Commander of a squadron that flew A-10's, he had been in the Air Force for 33 years: 10 active duty and the rest Reserves.<br />
<br />
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<br />
An hour and a half before we parted company.<br />
For the next 90 minutes, the Colonel (as the rank was nicknamed) poured as much wisdom and perspective into my life as he could.<br />
<i>"When I was 24 I thought of myself as a failure. I was a Captain in the United States Air Force with a daughter and a divorce, and because I wasn't where I thought I should be, I felt worthless. In most people's eyes I was a huge success. But not in mine. You need to be careful that you don't do that. Don't let yourself do that. Continue to pursue what you're passionate about."</i><br />
<i>"What would the people that work under me say are my priorities? Well I have 600 people that work under me, and I think they would say the prevailing lead tier of my priorities is education. If you have the desire to pursue more education and better yourself, we will do anything we can to help you. We as an Air Force should do that."</i><br />
<i>"If there is someone else who can do your job so that you can do something else to better yourself, whether it's training or education, we need to help you do that."</i><br />
<i>"I'll be honest. I've been married three times. It will always be a battle between what you want and what she wants, now if you can figure that out, great. But it's always about selfishness and the desire to put what you want ahead of her. That's where the problem lies the majority of the time. So never stop fighting that."</i><br />
<i>"I am very blessed. I have four grown daughters; three with degrees and another one who's just finishing up beauty school."</i><br />
<br />
When our time was up and we'd concluded our conversation so we could make our flights, we again rendered proper courtesies. This time however it was sincere, as only a meaningful, deep conversation could give value.<br />
We talked about a wide variety of topics and covered a huge amount of conversational ground quickly as only two extremely intense personalities can.<br />
What made the experience unique is each time we moved on to a new topic the Colonel found a new way to either affirm or challenge who I was. He relentlessly encouraged me in all manners of ways, daring me to become the height of my potential.<br />
Thank you, Herman Brunke, Sir. Colonel, Commander, and pilot of a group of planes that were my favorite growing up, you gave me an incredible picture of who a leader is, even if only for a moment.<br />
<br />
Commander Brunke reminded me so much of my Dad in the way that he so intentionally built into someone he didn't even know.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><!-- Start -->
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-23535853374725251602011-09-27T21:48:00.001-05:002011-09-27T22:15:17.904-05:00what're we doing today?We sat and stared at each other, unblinking, knee-to-knee and shoulder-to-shoulder, shifting our blank looks occasionally to see who would fold first. Who was weak. Who would think this take-off was exciting.<br />
There.<br />
A Master Sergeant looked up at the ceiling and held on, white-knuckled, to her cargo belt that crossed at her chest. One by one we noticed her desperate stare and smiled. The ice was broken. Someone found the plane ride terrifying.<br />
The webbed straps we sat on shook as the aircraft shuddered and banked steeply. There's nothing like a few officers with a sense of humor, a couple steering columns and a plane load of military personnel to show off to.<br />
<br />
Two hours and change later we did a sharp version of the opposite and landed, the same Sergeant just as nervous as before -- if not more -- looking longingly at the ceiling and gritting her teeth. Maybe just a little bit bleary-eyed too; it's not as if dozing off in such a setting could lend itself to any relief whatsoever, regardless of how exhausted one was.<br />
We landed, unbuckled, and sat tight.<br />
We weren't tasked (told) with dismounting the sky-cow yet.<br />
Someone with some kind of authority boarded the stairwell quickly and yelled confidently.<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><b>"Listen up! You're here now. There are people all lined up waiting to greet you so you need to ensure you're at a 100% as of RIGHT NOW. </b></i><br />
<i><b>You will need your Airman's manual in your right pocket, not your left. </b></i><br />
<i><b>Your gas mask needs to have it's fit test in the pocket WHERE IT GOES. </b></i><br />
<i><b>Wear your helmet and flak jacket and earplugs at ALL TIMES while on the flightline. </b></i><br />
<i><b>Do you understand? You're here now. You're ours for the next five days and you'll be representing the Wing, so GET IT TOGETHER."</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i><br />
There was a pause as she allowed it all to sink in for a moment before saying simply:<br />
<br />
<i><b>"Now get off my plane."</b></i><br />
<br />
Sergeant Enlightened Loud Voice disappeared just as quickly as she appeared entirely ignoring the flurry of activity that ensued.<br />
Everyone's pulses raced at least just a little as our training flooded back and hearts pushed against the bulletproof vests that sat on our chests like sleeping german shepards.<br />
None of us joined for the Form 55's, DNIF paperwork or computer-based training. We joined for the money, the war, the games, and it was game time.<br />
<br />
<i>Check yourself. </i><br />
<i>Check again.</i><br />
<i>Check your buddy.</i><br />
<i>Does anyone not have a buddy that's standing close enough to check? </i><br />
<i>Check them too.</i><br />
<br />
It had begun.<br />
That evening as the eighty people from my unit sat around in the fourth of six briefings trying to stay awake, we were handed a small pamphlet with Volk Field's insignia emblazoned loudly across the front.<br />
I flipped to the middle page and read for the sake of occupying my starved mind.<br />
Barely able to contain my laughter, I surreptitiously elbow-bumped Sgt. Mitchell who sat next to me.<br />
"Look, look at this" I whispered. "Read that!"<br />
Snorking audibly, Chris found the humor in it the moment he saw the center day of our schedule for the week.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Wednesday:</b></i><br />
0400-0630 -<i> Breakfast</i><br />
0700-1800 - <i>War</i><br />
1800-1930 -<i> Dinner</i><br />
<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com1Colorado Springs, CO, USA38.8338816 -104.821363438.6359796 -105.13722039999999 39.0317836 -104.5055064tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9155964926051888190.post-84147359555861195472011-09-15T03:48:00.003-05:002011-09-15T03:49:33.392-05:00the challenge."This is Calvin, he's 91 years old and called us after he fell while getting out of his vehicle this evening." The paramedic stood with clipboard in hand and watched us work while he gave "<i>report</i>" to the male nurse who was busy undoing the straps that held the frail old man to the plastic board that kept his fragile frame coldly rigid.<br />
"Calvin reports that he may have hit his head when he fell out from the vehicle, although he's not quite sure. He said he has some neck, lower thoracic, left and right lower quadrant pain, pelvic pain, and when we hooked him up to our 3-lead we noticed an irregular heart rhythm, somewhat V-fib."<br />
The nurse bent over the top of the bed and spoke directly, loudly.<br />
"Calvin. Calvin, can you hear me?"<br />
"Yep." The reply had only a hint of quavering.<br />
"Calvin, how are you doing?"<br />
"Oh, I'm alright." The old man's startlingly bright blue eyes glimmered tiredly as he responded.<br />
"Do you know where you are?"<br />
"Oh, I'm in the hospital I suppose."<br />
"Good. Now Calvin we're going to take real good care of you, okay? Just sit tight and while we take you off this board I don't want you to move at all. You just let us do all the work."<br />
"Okay." His eyes closed and the loose skin on his jutting chest slid gently back and forth as his ribs shot upwards and dropped back down often.<br />
Six bodies worked in unison as only a healthcare team can. Hands, elbows and arms all bumped relentlessly as they glided over his elderly body. Feet stepped on each other, shoulders moved back and forth, and progress sped along quickly, propelled by a symphony of performances.<br />
<br />
<i>Straps on the left side undone.</i><br />
<i>Shoes off.</i><br />
<i>Straps on the right side undone.</i><br />
<i>The IV in his left AC was flushed and re-opened, checked to make sure it was good, and ready for more fluids or medications if need be.</i><br />
<i>Do you want me to cut his clothes off?</i><br />
<i>No, not yet. Let's not do that unless we have to.</i><br />
<i>Behind you with the EKG.</i><br />
<i>Hand me the BP cuff. </i><br />
<i>Untwist the pulse ox.</i><br />
<i>Go ahead and draw labs for me, a rainbow (all standard-colored labs).</i><br />
<i>Glance up at the vitals monitor and notice the patient's oxygen level is at 99%, a very good sign. </i><br />
<i>Gown placed over the patient's now exposed waist. </i><br />
<i>Step around two people to reach the monitor, tweak the settings and hit "every two minutes" in the settings for how often the patient's blood pressure would be taken.</i><br />
<br />
Words were very rarely spoken unless in the form of the question, answered each time by the nurse, who was in command of the room until the doctor arrived. It was only a few minutes.<br />
"Calvin, this is Dr. --------. He'll be taking care of you."<br />
"Hi Calvin, how are you?"<br />
"Oh, I'm good."<br />
"I bet you are."<br />
The nurse looked at the paramedic.<br />
Work continued.<br />
"Do you want me to give report or do you?"<br />
"I will, you can head out" the nurse answered, and the paramedics stepped out through the curtain, pulling it closed behind them.<br />
"First, let's go ahead and take this board out from underneath him."<br />
The nurse took over.<br />
"Both of you reach here and here. Then we'll roll him up on his left side. James, you'll take the board out from under him and then I want you two to keep holding him so Dr. -------- can do his exam."<br />
The two medics reached where they were told, and I held the edge of the board loosely.<br />
The nurse stood over the head of the bed and looked at Calvin's eyes as he spoke loudly and clearly.<br />
"We're going to move you and the doctor's going to take a look at you, okay?"<br />
No one moved.<br />
We waited, a synchronized pause.<br />
The nurse looked up, then said "1, 2, 3 roll."<br />
Lectures, notes, practices, tests, final exams, grades, on the job training, it was all so cold and clear in our minds as we moved, standing room only, around a hurting person.<br />
We had all progressed to this. Work was a synchronized performance of triage; we all acted, communicated and moved in descending order of what was most important to the preservation of life.<br />
<br />
A few minutes later after there was a lull and the immediate needs of the patient had all but subsided, I walked over towards the nurse's station to grab my Pepsi and heard a nurse call a medic over. "You have to see this. Check this out, watch how he falls."<br />
Youtube flashed and glowed as it replayed the clip for what would be almost the three-millionth time.<br />
"Watch what happens, this guy is going to go halfway down the stairs on his skateboard."<br />
"No, no he isn't. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Oh my God, that sucks so bad. Did you see his head, how it hit the railing? He's out cold. Damn, he's out."<br />
"Eldridge, can you wheel "Charlie" (<i>Bed C</i>) to x-ray?"<br />
"Sure." I set my drink down on the desk and greeted Calvin. "We're going to take some pictures now, there's some people who want to see how your bones look."<br />
He smiled and nodded ever so slightly.<br />
<br />
<i>Unlock the bed.</i><br />
<i>Lift the monitor onto his mattress, the vitals come with.</i><br />
<br />
As we moved down through the dark hallway the silence hung in the air stagnant and reluctant. Calvin was awake, aware, and waiting to find out how badly he'd been hurt.<br />
"Calvin, I think you lied to me. Were you really just getting out from your car when you fell? Or were you trying to impress some young ladies with your skateboarding skills? Because I when I took your shoes off I thought your calves looked pretty athletic."<br />
Calvin's mouth moved slowly upwards as he thought for a moment before answering slowly.<br />
<br />
"If you have a skateboard with you we could find some ladies and figure that out right now."<br />
<br />
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<!-- End --></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15762979548383737424noreply@blogger.com1Travis AFB (SUU), 631 Travis Blvd, Fairfield, CA 94533, USA38.2630667 -121.949698438.213196700000005 -122.0286624 38.3129367 -121.8707344