For Keeps

If you are neurotic like me then you probably have had dreams in which your loved ones have died. I have dreamed about friends and family falling off of buildings, getting murdered, getting in accidents, getting sick, you name it. I had a few of those dreams this week. (This is a thing that happens to everyone, right? It’s not just me?)

As I was driving around last night, I was reminded of the truth that even if our loved ones leave us in this life, they’re going home to God. Nothing can separate us from God’s love and therefore from each other. We’ll see each other again.

Growing up in the Church of Christ gave me a chance to hear a lot of the church’s older hymns. One of my favorites has always been When We All Get to Heaven by Eliza Hewitt. Here’s an awesome bluegrass version of that song (try not to tap your foot):

I thought I loved playing bass more than anyone, but obviously my heavenly sister in that video does.

Here’s Brad Paisley, slowing things down and keeping things cool with his own version:

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. – I Corinthians 15:26

MLK Day: Blessed Are the Peacemakers

We must live together as brothers or perish together as fools. - MLK

In honor of MLK Day, I want to share a few resources that may be helpful to you in making peace in both your personal and public life.

The Peacemaker (Ken Sande): I read this book for a grad school class and absolutely loved it. It was transformative. The Peacemaker is a biblically based guide to resolving personal conflict. It has practical, Biblical advice on checking yourself (prior to wrecking yourself), deciding if a conflict is appropriate for confrontation, how to discuss conflict with others, and forgiveness. If you are married, have friends, or would like to interact with other human beings, please read this book! I think it was great for taming my Latin temper. In other words, it made me less of a jackass.

The Art of Forgiving (Lewis B. Smedes): I am lucky in that I’ve never really had anyone do anything horrible to me. If you have, I think that this book may be helpful for you in thinking through what forgiveness means, what it does and doesn’t include, and how it will free you. I’m basing that on in-depth group discussions that I’ve had with others who have read the book. One of the most interesting points in the book to me is that forgiveness requires a wrong, so it requires naming an evil. I think that is very powerful both for the victim and the offender. You can’t truly move on unless you have an event from which to move.

Difficult Conversations (Stone, Patton, Heen): My main takeaway from this book is that “when we fail to share what’s most important to us, we detach ourselves from others and damage our relationships.” In other words, a failure to have a difficult conversations is a failure to value yourself and your friend. You’ve decided that the relationship isn’t worth the effort.

This book also has great practical advice about how to fight. For example, if your main point is, “I want to spend more time with you,” don’t start with or make subtextual arguments like, “Why do you have to go out with your friends all the time?”

I hope these are helpful for you. If you have questions about these or other resources, let me know!

Truth from an Old Fashioned

We’re playing with house money, and it’s all a game, and we’re all ok.  If you love someone, if you really love them, then of course of you tell them, because that’s what we’re here for.  Singing should be done at a high volume and with low self-regard.  Dancing is the same.  Even if it’s never in front of anyone but you and your dog.  If your heart and your soul are telling you something, then you better damn well listen, because that’s why God made you.  Love your God and love the people around you, and do it with your whole heart. Don’t sell yourself short.  This is a beautiful, heartbreaking place, and you owe it to everyone around you to man up and really be there.  Enjoy your work, your play, and most of all, the ones that you love.  That’s your blessing from God.

The Texas State Fair

Last weekend, we visited some good friends up in the Metroplex.  The main event of the weekend: The Texas State Fair.  While I consider myself to be a diehard Texan, I have to admit that I had previously never been to the fair.  Probably because of this guy:

From Wikipedia.

Wow.  Big Tex.  This guy is creepy.  He is either the non-organic reincarnation of some sleazy old cattleman, or he is a Trojan horse delivered to Texas by Oklahoma.  Either way, I never stood directly in front of him.

I overcame my fear of Big Tex because of one thing: fried food.  For years, I’ve been hearing stories of a glorious treasure trove of weird and amazing fried foods.  Fried pizza? Fried Oreos? Fried beer? I want to go to that.

Last Saturday, my dreams came true.  I got try all of the following fried foods:

Fletcher’s Jalapeno and Cheese Corny Dog (A+):  I didn’t cry when I ate this, but my vision did blur for a little bit.  This freshly made, gooey, spicy hunk of mystery meat was so delicious that I wanted to flip over the picnic table at which I was sitting.  I would’ve, had my bride not been sitting on it.  I cannot recommend this item highly enough.  Unless you have high cholesterol or you are trying to look like shirtless Ryan Gosling.  Because this won’t help.

Fried Oreos (B):  Was it tasty? I guess so.  It was kind of like when you eat brownies that haven’t quite set yet, except that it wasn’t real chocolate, it was Tootsie Roll chocolate.  They kind of made me feel bad about myself.

Fried Ice cream (B+): I don’t even understand how this works, but I ate some of it. Tasty, but kind of like ice cream with a churro base.  I don’t love churros.  I am, however, intrigued by Charro.

Fried Ice cream + Fried Oreos (A): I don’t understand how they combine so well, but it works.

Fried Frito Pie (A+): It’s like a gooey, extra crunchy tater tot.  I wasn’t sure how this would work, because how do you fry something that is already a giant mess?  The answer is to turn the gooey mess into neat, little hush-puppy sized fried balls. These were like a Latin hush puppy.  By themselves, a solid A-.  With sour cream and salsa? A+.  Since the fair, I have had daydreams of shoving fistfulls of these into my mouth.  Then my stomach hurts, even though it was only a daydream.  Or was it?

Fried Beer (F): I shook my head in disgust when I ate this monstrosity, this abomination.  Beer? Great.  Ravioli? Delightful.  Fried food, see the rest of the post. So how do you combine these things to make a horrible, horrible “food”.  The answer is that you don’t.  Let me back up.  I had no idea what to expect when I ordered fried beer.  I was thinking funnel cake coated with beer instead of powdered sugar.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  Here’s what happens.  They take a pasta-looking thing similar to ravioli, inject it with skunky beer, fry it, and then pump old nacho cheese sauce on it.  That is wrong.  You bite into and then get a squirt of hot, nasty beer.  It basically taste like vomit (hot, acidic, etc).  I applaud the “audacity of hope” that combining these great loves could create something great.  I weep for the result.

In sum, the Texas State Fair was pretty great.  I saw a robot, some people running around with swords, weird food, and lots and lots of carnies.  I don’t know what else you could look for in a weekend.

A Lesson in Stress Management

Texas is struggling through a drought.  It wasn’t surprising, then, when the unfamiliar sounds of a thunderstorm woke me up on Sunday morning.  I looked at the clock and smiled when I saw that it was only 5:45am.  I still had a good hour of sleep left.

What did surprise me was the shrieking I heard fifteen minutes later.  I heard Sam screaming from somewhere else in the house and I was immediately out of bed.  Within half a second, I was aware that our burglar alarm was also howling.  I grabbed the golf club I keep by the bed for situations just like this one.  The dread I felt in my stomach was outmatched by all of the adrenaline surging through me.

George and I ran towards the screaming and found Sam in the hall, screaming, “What’s happening?”  My dog and I ran through the house, looking for any signs of a smashed window or an open door.  Nothing.  I kicked open the closed door in our guest bedroom and raised the golf club, ready to mess somebody up.  Nothing.

Confident that no one had broken into the house, I breathed a deep sigh of relief.  Or, at least as much of a sigh of relief as someone can breathe when a burglar alarm is howling at 6:03am.

Sam and I regrouped in the front hallway and stared at the burglar alarm.  “What do we do?” we shrugged at each other.  The alarm system came with the house and it wasn’t connected to any monitoring system.  We typed in typical codes (1111, 1234, etc.) I called the alarm company number listed on our unit (and got stuck in a phone tree). Sam googled the company and found out that they weren’t even in business anymore.

Do you know how loud a burglar alarm is?

I went into the garage and tried to see if the alarm was attached to any particular breaker.  It wasn’t.  I called my dad.  He said the same thing happened to them once, and they had to go into the attic to cut the cord to the alarm.

I climbed into the attic, flashlight and golf club in hand.  Of course, the light bulb didn’t work.  I made a quick sweep of the area surrounding my person with my club, just to scare off any furry woodland creatures who may have made a home up there.  The place where the alarm was was covered by insulation.  Of course it was.

I went back down and realized how badly I needed to use the restroom.  It was, after all, 6:15am.  That damn alarm was so loud that George just stayed in the garage, away from the speaker.

I stalked back into the front hallway and asked Sam, “Should I just cut the wire?”  She said yes.

In a moment of Latin fury, I ripped the alarm unit off of the wall, threw it on the ground, and cut the cord.  I then immediately swore, because that move made no sense.  None.

I climbed back into the attic,  ready to meet my fate with either electrocution or death by a rabid rock squirrel who had taken a wrong turn sometime in the mid 2000s.

The alarm, in an act of God so beautiful and merciful that I can’t even describe it in human language, stopped alarming.  I went back downstairs to find Samantha on a ladder, with the speaker in her hand.

“Igot it!” she smiled, very proud of herself.

Let me pause and re-run through the events of 6am to 6:28am from Sam’s point of view.

Sam woke up in the guest bedroom to the sound of the alarm.  She had fallen asleep in there because she couldn’t go to sleep the night before and had been reading.  When she woke up, her Fort Worth roots kicked in.  She assumed that somehow our non-monitored system was hooked up to the National Weather Service, and that a tornado was about to rip the roof off of our house and kill us all.

She ran into the hall screaming (and maybe 1/3 awake), to see George and I skidding into the hallway, bumping into each other and looking to defend her to the death.  While I was scurrying around in the attic, she was furiously googling, like some kind of Southern belle computer wizard.  At one point, she heard me ask if I should cut the alarm cord.  Which is what I meant.  But then she turned around to try a new code, only to see the unit broken into four pieces by her hulked out Latin husband.

I assume at this point, her hatred of being woken up early ignited some kind of super strength, so she carried our aluminum ladder through the house, ripped off the alarm, and dismantled it with a giant screwdriver.  I can’t be sure because I was in the attic, covered in insulation and swatting at phantom rodents.

The moral of the story is that during the weekend, you should never wake up Sam early.  She will end you.

[PS We got a new system in the house now so don't try to break in unless you want the federalis and an angry country girl on you.]

Sam and Joey Go to an RV Show

Last Friday afternoon, on the way home from work, I saw it.  An RV show – a mere mile from our domicile.  “Sam,” I said, in hushed tones.  “Do you want to go to the RV show?”

I don’t know why, but for days I couldn’t think of anything else.  On at least four separate occasions on Saturday, I asked Sam about the RV show.  “Can we go? It’s free.”

I’m not even sure what the appeal was.  I struggle with comfortably driving our Camry, let alone an RV.  We don’t camp, we don’t go on trips.  We don’t have an extra $89,000.  But I had to see.

Finally on Sunday, we made our pilgrimage to the RV show.  It did not disappoint.

There was free swag.  We got an OFFICIAL RV water bottle (ice cold water included).  We also had the chance to get a free yard stick.  I’m not sure what the yard stick was for, so I didn’t take one.  What were we supposed to measure?

Other than the free stuff and a food stand (hot dogs, nachos, ICEEs), it was basically just rows and rows of RVs.  In each RV, the toilets were taped over with a sign that said, “Please use the portable toilets.”

Some of the RVs were the size of our first apartment.  Some of them were small and cute.  There is such a thing as a cute RV.  Behold:

Sam's favorite

Maybe that is technically a trailer since it’s not a vehicle.  It’s an RT.  It was like $15K, though.  Good looking, easy to haul, but expensive.

For my money, the best choice was the Livin Lite Quicksilver:

I think this one was only like 700 lbs, so even The Edge could tow it.  Plus, it was only like $6K.  Kind of Spartan for a married guy, though.  So, our overall winner was:

The Aliner Sport.

You can’t tell from that picture, but the pop-up part (the triangle) comes down in about 30 seconds, so you have a base about the same size as the Livin Lite above.  No obstructed views, plenty of room, more amenities, middle price point.  Winner.  I would actually buy one of these.  One day.  Far, far from now.

One fun fact about me is that I am very economical unless it is a giant purchase, in which case I will gladly fork over our hard-earned life savings.  So, we had to walk away. To the giant RVs.

Sam enjoys the outdoor kitchen.

That was pretty much it.  The moral of the story is that RV Shows are everything that I had hoped for and so much more.  Someone please go in on an Aliner with me.

Once in a while

I saw you in a river, I saw you as a rock. You faced everything that came against you, you protected everything that nestled behind you. The water was strong, but the water moved for you. What else could it have done? What else could you do?

I saw you as a rock.

The Four-Hour Work Week For the City by John Grisham

I’ve just finished reading For the City, a book co-authored by one of my church’s pastors, Matt Carter.  In it, Carter mentions that he wants to live in such a way that that at the end of his life, he has no doubt that what he accomplished could only be done through God’s power.

“Are you living in a way that requires God’s supernatural power for your calling to be lived out?” he asks.

My answer is a simple, “No.”  How sad is that?  I’m just kind of hanging out.  Coasting.

I’m also reading Tim Ferriss’ 4-Hour Workweek.  In it, he starts with what seems like another pretty easy question:  “What excites you?”

I had to sit and think for a long time (I’ve been coasting), and I realized that my answers don’t have much to do with working or life goals or self-actualization or anything like that.  I’m excited about friends, creativity, and God saving his Creation.  And, of course, alcohol.

What do those have to do with each other?  I think everything.

Because in the end, this will be the reality of all space and time:

“Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.  He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”  He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!”

I’m excited about the right things, but my actions don’t necessarily reflect that.  But I want them to.   I want to be living in a way that acknowledges that God is for us.  I want to be for my neighbors and co-workers and the Creation all around me.

So, after thinking about current station in life, I set the following goals for myself:

• Be a great husband.
• Be a great steward with the “talents” (finances and skills) God has given me.
• Be creative.
• Be involved in my town.
• Be a badass street lawyer.

That sounds like a life worth living.

The Good Lord and the Bad Shoulder

I haven’t written for a long time. The reason why is twofold. First, work has been busy, to say the least. Second, I have one arm.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I have two arms, but I can only use one of them.

A few weeks ago, I was driving to work on a misty Monday morning. I always listen to podcasts on the way to work. It was hard to focus on the subject, though, because the bus driving next to me was so loud. Sadly, once the bus drove on, I noticed that the noise was actually my back left tire exploding.

Rush hour highway blowout!

Luckily, I was able to pull off the highway and into a parking lot. Quick inspection confirmed the worst – my tire was eviscerited. It was like my tire had picked a fight with Wolverine and lost. It was like my tire and my wheel broke up. Very publicly.

Anyway, I didn’t have the best tools to fix the flat, so I called my trusty uncle to bring his industrial jack and help me out.

After I hung up, I reached into the back seat to grab my puny jack and get started.

Boom. White light.

Let’s pause here. If you know me personally, you know that I have a horrible right shoulder. It dislocates all the time. It’s been popping out for a decade. Usually, I can knock it back in by ramiing it against a wall, a bleacher, a boat dock, etc. Or it spasms back into place.

Not this time. My shoulder was out. As in, below my armpit out. As in, I couldn’t use my arm out. As in, I created new bad words out.

Keep in mind I’m half-way in the back seat, with my butt in the air, right off the highway during rush hour.

I tried all the usual tricks. Wiggling, pushing it against the seat, flexing it to help the spasms, nothing. I could feel everything inside my shoudler rubbing, scratching, maybe tearing.

I managed to prop myself up by my forehead and dialed my uncle and Sam with one hand.

My uncle tried to get me out but I could get up without my arm going nuts.

With nothing left to try, Sam and my uncle called the ambulance.

Talk about embarrassing. Hi, I’m Joey, you’re talking to my butt because it’s in the air and my face is down and my arm fell off and I’m accidentally using adult interjections.

Anyway, these pros were able to get me out of the truck, hit me with some crazy pain meds 8x stronger than morphine, and get me to the hospital for x-rays.

Props to my wife for taking away my phone when I kept calling my boss. And for not taking any pictures of me when my butt was in the air, surrounded by EMTs.

That’s the bad shoulder part. Now the God part.

First, I’m blessed to have an uncle and a wife willing to drop everything to help me. Second, my boss and co-workers have been amazing. Even though we’re really busy, they’ve let me know it’s ok to heal and get better. It’s been great to have that support.

Finally, there’s the issue of finances. I don’t have great insurance so none of what I described was covered. When our tax return almost exactly matched the ER and ambulance bill, it became pretty obvious where the money came from.

So thanks to family, friends and God for having my back. And my sad, exploded shoulder, which probably looks like my blown out tire.

The shadow proves the sunshine, as they say.

Also, I hope I get a robot arm.

My Favorite Theologian

A few nights ago, I had a dream.  I was living in some kind of post-apocalyptic zombie wasteland.  Most of humanity was already gone, or changed.  I was still alive because I had stumbled across a small group of people living in rural America.  They stayed alive with one rule – if someone is touched, they’re out of the group.  They’re exiled.

In my dream, it seemed like I had been with the group for awhile.  I was in long enough to know everyone.   We were like a small, rag-tag family.  Foraging, gathering, eaking out some kind of life.

One of the survivors was Samantha.  We weren’t married in the dream – we didn’t even really know each other.  Another person in the dream was a middle-aged man who was kind of like my father figure.  Or a cool uncle.  His name was Mr. Thomas.

Mr. Thomas was touched by one of the bad creatures, so he was exiled from the group.  I secretly still took him food, played cards, and hung out with him.  Eventually, the group found out.

“You’re out,” they told me one night.  They had weapons drawn – they weregoing to kill me if I didn’t leave.  I broke the rules, I could mean death to them.

In my dream, I remember looking out into the darkness and the woods.  Into death.  I remember feeling empty.  My life was over.  It could be that night, it could be in a week.  But I was done.

Then I heard a little, quiet voice.

“Let’s go,” Samantha said.  She walked out of the group, took my hand, and walked into the darkness with me.  Without hesitating, she sacrificed herself so I wouldn’t have to go alone.  That’s Sam.

I woke up in the middle of the night and thanked God for the amazing woman that God placed in my life.

I believe in God, but I’ve always struggled with my faith.  In one year, Samantha has taught me more about loyalty and faith and love than I ever understood.  She’s shown me glimpses of the kind of love that God has for me.  Glimpses of Heaven, of the kingdom come.

If that dream seems like a bummer, don’t worry.  Last night the dream continued.  We were picked up by rescuers.  Happily ever after.

I don’t know who is reading this, but I promise you that you are loved by a God who would do anything for you.  You’ll get your happily ever after.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.  And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down our of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.  And I hard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man.  He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God.  he will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore.

Happy Valentine’s Day.