:Count:

My name is Sam, and I often have a hard time living 'thanksgivingly'.

We have all certainly heard the now-clichés about counting our blessings, and living with an 'attitude of gratitude', or how we all have more to be thankful for than we realize, such as every breath we breathe and every day we wake up again to see the sun rise.

But like any 'cliché', it only is a cliché in the first place because it touches on a fundamental truth about our lives as people (and yes, I am aware as I write this that even that statement has become a cliché in its own right).

There is something to be said for the way in which you begin to approach every situation in life when you choose to operate from a place of gratitude, rather than the typical ignorance or indifference. When I say ignorance or indifference, I am not speaking here of being ignorant or indifferent, but rather of the typical 'ignoring' of the 'little things', or the general non-acknowledgement which so often accompanies our responses to life. See, it's not that we're necessarily ignorant, or particularly indifferent... It's just that we don't tend to live our lives with those 'little blessings' in the forefront of our minds, shaping the way we perceive the world (i.e. presumably prompting us to more positive, grateful responses). Then again, perhaps the fact that we don't live with those things front-and-center to a greater extent does make us ignorant and indifferent...at least in regards to life's blessings.

I've found it to be an extremely positive exercise (when I take the time to do it, which, unfortunately, is not nearly often enough) to write down, in any given moment, the things I am thankful for right then and there. No matter how small, no matter how big. No matter if I've written that thing on the list before, no matter if I've written it a thousand times. There is something about naming your blessings--calling them out--that holds the power to shift your focus and change your outlook in powerful ways. Because it's true: we've all got at least a couple of things in any given moment that we can be thankful for. And it's good practice to remind ourselves of those things: I am breathing. I'm alive. The sun is shining. I have a home. I have food. I have a job. I've been forgiven and set free. 

The list goes on.

It's just not always easy to live in this mindset, especially because we get so preoccupied with our busyness and everything else in our lives, and we tend to dwell on what isn't  working, rather than what is, which is actually quite a natural response, because, after all, what isn't working obviously needs to be fixed, and what is working is working, so why mess with it (or in some cases, even pay attention to it at all)?

And this is why it's important to make the conscious choice to recall these things to mind, no matter what they are. To write them where they will remind us how fortunate we are to even have the chance to sit down and reflect on our lives in peace and comfort. We need the reminders, because we so easily forget.

I, for one, want to spend more time trying to remember.

My name is Sam, and I often have a hard time living 'thanksgivingly'.

:Snow:

My name is Samuel, and I love snow days.

I know, there are a good majority of people out there who will hate me just for having said that. But it's true. I love being snowed in.

Maybe it's the quiet that comes with a heavy blanket of snow--the fact that noise seems to fall flat in front of you, travelling only inches before falling to the ground.

Maybe it's the white--the bright, unblemished canvas on which the sun plays and dances, and everything which passes leaves its unique mark--its personalized print--a signature in time.

Maybe it's the softness...the world's edges blurred for a while, made downy and less harsh by the abrasion of icy cotton.

Maybe it's the demands snow makes: 

     Slow down!

          Watch where you step!

               Take a look around you!

                    Hibernate a while!

Maybe it's the allure...its sultry drifting from the sky...the casual, free, unapologetic covering of anything it touches...the mesmerizing motion of a million frozen molecules making magic momentarily tangible.

Maybe it's the fact that I was born in the winter...in Canada...during a blizzard. Or the fact that I grew up tobogganing, skating on frozen ponds and canals, Christmas tree hunting in knee-deep drifts, drinking hot chocolate on lazy, long-night snow rides, tapping maple trees with friends and boiling the sap down around a cozy fire, bundled up against the cold, despite the fire's warmth. Building snow forts during recess, and having massive, school-wide snowball fights. Making igloos in the backyard. Going out snowplowing with my dad. 

I loved being sent home early from school because of the snow. Or not having to even go in the first place! Nothing beats that as a kid. And as an adult, you never get snow days. Unless you make them.

No matter how you cut it, I love a good, solid snowfall. 

Go ahead and disagree. I'll just stay over here, enjoying the magic of winter, while we still have winters to enjoy.

My name is Samuel, and I love snow days.

:Poppy:

My name is Sam, and the older I get, the more important remembrance seems to be.

It's an interesting thing to watch in your own life-- you're young, and you want nothing to do with the traditions and stale routines of the older generations...you have a hard time understanding their importance and value, and find little joy and comfort in spending time focused on things that happened in the past, or "the way we used to do it". Everything is new, and fresh, and exciting, and if it's never been done before, even better!

But then you begin to realize that...wait... It really has all been done before. And these traditions and routines hold value... And there's a reason we keep ourselves rooted and grounded in where we have been...because it helps us to keep a handle on who we are now and where we are headed in the future.

Take the old hymns in church; I used to get sick of them. I know, it's something akin to sacrilege to say so, but it's true. I remember sitting in church ahead of the service, looking up each of the songs in the hymnal, to see how long they were, hoping against hope that the pastor and the worship director had picked short songs (or at least only the first, third, and fith verses!). I remember being excited when the doxology was the threefold amen, rather than the sevenfold. And I remember wondering if the services were ever going to end, especially on years where Christmas landed in such a way that we were in church for Christmas Eve, Christmas, and the Sunday (morning and evening) services all in the same three days, back to back to back. It was too much for a little guy to take (or at least, I seemed to think so at the time)!

Now, I know, can see, and have experienced the richness of the rooted-ness that comes from knowing that you are singing songs that have been sung throughout the generations of faith. Songs that tell the story of our beliefs and theology in a completely unique way. Songs that bring out he themes of sin, redemption, salvation, revelation, and so much more in a powerful, and often timeless, way. Does it mean that I don't subscribe to the newer songs and traditions within the church? Absolutely not! But there is a richness to be found in the combination of the old and the new-- the new song alongside the timeless classic-- that cannot be fully expressed in words. There is a comfort, too, connected to the fact that these songs are our history, the legacy of those who have gone before us in the faith. Through them, we can feel a connection with people long gone; without these songs, we might find very little in common with them at all. There is a deep sense of belonging to be found in many traditions we so easily dismiss.

Or take the picture above: Remembrance Day. As a kid, I thought the poppies were cool. I wanted one because everyone else had one. Not because I understood. Then, we moved away to the US for about eight years. Coming back to Canada, I felt a strange nostalgia and connection to this simple action of pinning a poppy on my lapel each November. I began to think about the reason we do this in Canada; to remember those who gave their lives in the service of our freedom. And it's become a simple, yet profound way for me to express the pride I take in the country I am from, and the thankfulness I have for the freedoms that I all-too-often am guilty of taking for granted...freedoms that we didn't always have.

So it's made me think: maybe that's the secret...the connection. These things; these traditions, memorials, routines, whatever, become important when we begin to understand the meaning behind them. When they take on a personal meaning because of experience, or simply being able to grasp and understand the depth of the tradition in a more concrete way. See, without meaning, traditions are just that-- things we do because we've always done them. But once you connect meaning to them, they become personal. They become important. The become...well...meaningful.

In the past few years, especially since getting married and having kids, I've begun to realize that tradition is a beautiful thing. Sure, there are traditions that are pointless, and some that I'll never adopt in my own life. But there is a richness of heritage, history, and faith in my ancestry, and in some of these things, I can find a grounded-ness and rooting that I'd be hard-pressed to find in many other places. So I make some of these things a part of my life, and a part of the life of my family...

...Lest we forget.

Because, in the end, if we forget who we are, and where we've come from (in any area of life whatsoever), doesn't it leave us stranded somewhere, disconnected? Aren't we doomed to repeat history's mistakes? To think that we've got it figured out, because, after all, we're the only ones we are comparing ourselves to?

I don't know about anyone else...but I, for one, like to remember. To be connected. To look back and learn. And to celebrate where I've come from, as I continue to head where I'm going.

My name is Sam, and the older I get, the more important remembrance seems to be.

:Fore!:

My name is Sam, and for me, golf is kryptonite.

Of course, I should say that in all honesty, I've mostly only ever (how's that for 3rd-grade English?) played mini-golf...

...as in, I've only ever been real golfing once in my life. And it was only nine holes, at that. With clubs that were likely too short for me. And no official training whatsoever.

It was an interesting experience. We (my brother and I) played the back nine holes at a local course  with a couple of guys we knew, who were actually pretty big into golf. Ben and I had never (at that time anyway) cared much fore the sport (no pun intended)...in fact, you couldn't convince me at that point in my life that it actually was a sport, much like country music isn't music...

Wait, that's my 14-year-old self speaking.

Needless to say, things change over the years (don't worry, my definition of 'sport' and 'music' are much, much, much broader, now...)

So we decided to give it a shot (no pun intended) anyway, and see how it turned out.

I'm pretty sure I broke every golf rule there is that day. 

Being new, I had no clue the different tee-off spots were gender-specific (they may not be as tight about this everywhere, but at this particular place, it was a big faux-pas. So I teed off several times from the wrong place until I was corrected.

Then, I couldn't get the swing of (again, no pun intended) hitting with the driver (I found it awkward and didn't feel like I could get control of it properly), so I did all my driving with an 8-iron.

My drives were almost always good, and I'd usually make it to the green in two shots, unless there was a water feature on the hole...in which case, I always found the drink, rather than the green.

A fair ways (okay, okay, these puns are definitely intended) in, I realized that, aside from the water, what was hurting my score was my putting. Which seemed really ridiculous to me, since all I had ever done with a golf ball (aside from playing baseball with them) was mini-putting. Seemed to me I should have been pro at that part of the game. Apparently not.

By the end of the game, I hadn't really improved on my hole-to-hole score, and ended the nine holes with a score of 99. 

My only consolation? My brother scored 111 on the same nine holes.

I haven't been since then, partly because I don't think those two guys ever wanted to be seen on  by golf course with us again, and partly because I've never had the money to give it an honest try--it's a pretty pricey game.

Maybe one day. I'd imagine, that at the very least, I'd do better than I did that time. Then again, who knows?

My name is Sam, and for me, golf is kryptonite.

:Keys:

My name is Sam, and I have actually only done this once.

It was a complete "brain fart", as they say. I had been driving since three in the morning, on my way back to Alberta from Kelowna for my then-fiancee's (now wife) graduation from college. I was in Banff, Alberta, fueling up my little, red Dodge Colt for the second leg of the journey.

At the time, in typical late-nineties/early 2000's fashion (even though it was by now the mid-2000's), I kept my keys on a lanyard. It was an easy way for me to keep track of them, with what essentially amounted to a bright red ribbon hanging off of them. 

But one thing you need to know about me: I am anal when it comes to my keys, wallet, phone, etc. I always put them back in the same spot...they never leave my hand if they aren't either in my pocket, the ignition, or that spot...and I never ever lock my house or car without first checking that I've got my keys in my hand.

So, I got out of my car, started pumping gas, and went inside to pay (unlike in BC, Alberta still allowed post-pay at some places, rather than always being pre-pay). When I came out and attempted to get into my car, I found it locked.

No problem, self! I thought, reaching into my pocket for my keys. I'll have us out of here in a jiffy! (Though, why I was talking as if my self was several different people, and why one of them used the word 'jiffy' is still a mystery to me). But then, these thoughts were quickly followed by: Oh, no, self! We have a BIG problem!, along with all the heart-dropping-to-your-feet, stomach-roiling-like-a-hurricane sensations a roller coaster fanatic could ask for (please note: none of the aforementioned 'selves' are roller coaster fanatics).

For you see, unbeknownst to me until this moment, this particular time, I had failed to check that my keys were in my hands before locking the door. They were, therefore, hanging cheerily from my ignition without a care in the world, waiting for me patiently. They weren't in any hurry.

So I ran back into the kiosk, and asked the attendant if he had a slim jim or a coat hanger I could use to jimmy my lock...he had neither. So he directed me to the phone number for the only towing company in town.

Now, the thing is, when you are the only company who provides a service in a particular town, and the town in question is the only town for miles and miles in any direction, you can charge whatever you want for the services you offer. When I called the towing company, I expected the price it currently cost  to pop a lock in Kelowna, which was about $40 (I knew this because I worked at a dealership in town...not because this had happened before). As much as I hated the idea of spending $40 I didn't really have on something like this, it had to be done.

When the trucker arrived, he took out a small wedge (it looked like a door stop), shoved it between my window and the rubber seal, slipped a slim jim into the gap, popped the lock, and began writing up the invoice for his services.

Yes, it was that fast. I'm pretty sure you can't read that sentence faster than he popped the lock.

When he handed me the invoice, I just about fell over backwards.

$70.

Yes, $70 for thirty seconds of work. I'm in the wrong business.

I paid him (obviously), and went on my way. Needless to say, I haven't made that same mistake ever again since that day.

And I've since then always carried a spare, just on the off-chance...

My name is Sam, and I have actually only done this once. Thank goodness.

:Brave:

My name is Sam, and as I've said before, I may *sometimes* have a hard time working up the courage to say the things that need to be said.

The above could literally be true of me, were I to actually have a crush that I was interested in calling up to ask out on a date.

Of course, once upon a time, I did. Have a crush, that is. And yes, I had to work up the courage to tell her I liked her (which is a story I've already told here)... And I may have had to work up the courage for a couple other things, as well.

Like actually starting to date her. You see, once I had told (my now wife) that I liked her, I left the conversation at that. We went back to the coffee shop, and played a game of cards with a friend.

It was the week after by the time I finally realized that I should probably do something about this newfound affirmation that she liked me as well. So there ensued another (this time not quite so painfully cold or drawn-out) conversation on the subject of "now what?" (It took me some time to work up the guts to suggest anything).

But that wasn't the last time it took me a while to muster up the gumption to actually say or do something important.

Like the first time I held hands with my wife. We had been dating for a little while, and I was nervous somehow that I would still scare her off. We went on several walks a week, just to talk and get off campus and hang out for a while. On one of these walks, it took me almost an hour (the end of our walk) to finally just reach over and grab her hand. Apparently, I didn't scare her off!

Or the time I finally decided to tell her I loved her for the first time. I may have fumbled through this conversation even more so than the first one when I told her I liked her. And by "May have", I mean I definitely did. Even when I finally "got up the courage", what came out was: "Uh, so I think I....uh....might uh....know.....this guy....um...who kinda...well,...he might just...love you"

Ouch.

Yup, that's me. The king of romantic speech.

Which is funny, because I'm usually pretty good with my words. I guess it's just tough when it holds so much weight.

I mean, I still remember the first (and close to only) time (while still living at home) that I ever called my parents to task on something. It scared the spit out of me. And it took me forever to work up the courage to do. Not because my parents are scary people (or my wife, either, for that matter...)... But just because I have a tough time with this stuff.

Thankfully, I DID have the courage to tell my crush I liked her...and ask her out on a date... And hold her hand... And tell her I loved her... And ask her to marry me (which actually seemed easier at the time than the first few steps had seemed)...and here we are, 5 1/2 years later.

Now it's just a matter of working up the courage to ask someone to babysit our kids so we can have an evening alone from time to time... :-)

My name is Sam, and as I've said before, I may *sometimes* have a hard time working up the courage to say the things that need to be said.

:Time:

My name is Sam, and sometimes, I feel like this.

Really, haven't we all? In fact, I'd be willing to venture a guess that most of us feel this way almost all the time. Before you go arguing with me in your head (or out loud--you really, really, should hold off on arguing with me out loud), think about this with me:

Have you ever, after eight hours of sleep, said to someone (or even to yourself) "I'm still exhausted"?

Have you ever double-booked yourself?

Have you ever had to cancel plans?

Have you ever written out a to-do list?

Have you ever completed said to-do list?

Have you ever complained about how busy you are?

Have you ever said the words: "I need a vacation"?

And on and on and on and on... I don't think that any one of those things by themselves necessarily constitutes being pulled in too many directions, but I'm also fairly certain we've all said many of them at the same time.

But this is my (and many other people's) quandary: we just get so darned busy. There are too many good things, too many interesting events or groups or organizations to be a part of, and there's just not enough time in the day (or week...or month) to accomplish it all or be present (really present) for any of it.

I mean, take me, for example (since I'm not doing an exposé on anyone else, here...). I work 50-55 hours a week at one job, and 10-15/week and another, depending on the time of year. I have a wife and two kids, who I try desperately to be involved with, and extended family and friends to try and remain connected to as well. With all this comes a desire to pursue my interests (writing, reading, photography, etc.), as well as supporting my wife and children as they pursue theirs. Add housework, maintenance, and trying to be a nice guy and help out family and friends from time to time, and there are a lot of things placing demands (real and imagined) on my time. 

Now, I'm not saying that I've necessarily got it bad (who am I to say whether or not you've got it worse?), but I will say this:

In high school, I used to think I had no time to do things.

In college, I realized that I wished I had the kind of time I had in high school...and thought that now, I had no time to do things.

Once I got married, I realized that I wished I had the kind of time I had in college, and that my high-school-self's opinion on time was a joke, and thought that now, surely now, I have no time to do things.

And then I had kids. And wouldn't you know it, kids are time vacuums. They suck up every little piece of remaining time, and then go running around the room, waiting for more. I'm pretty sure Dr. Who could put out an episode where children are somehow devouring the space-time continuum, and interrupting the wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey-ness of it all, and he has to save humanity from their hungry grasp. And it would probably be legitimately frightening, at least to parents.

So now I realize that, if there is ever a time in your life where you can legitimately think you have no time for things, it's when there are kids in the house.

Except for this: as long as you are still alive, you have time for things. Maybe not the amount of time you want, and maybe not for the exact things, in the exact order, that you want to tackle them... But as long as you are breathing, there is still time to accomplish.

Now, that being said, I would submit that we all still have a LOT to learn when it comes to managing said time, and ensuring we are not allowing ourselves to be pulled too many directions at the same time...

A colleague of mine put it well once: "It's like we're making minimum payments on all our commitments"

That hit me. It was probably the clearest way of putting it that I had ever heard. And it made me realize that I have to find a way to consolidate and strip my schedule down so that I don't simply make minimum payments on my commitments. I need to find ways to be fully present in whatever I am doing, so that the other things aren't bleeding their way into devouring the time I do have for the really important things...things like my family...my wife and kids...

If I'm still breathing, I've still got time. It may not always feel like it, but it's there. Life is a series of moments never lived again. What am I doing with them?

My name is Sam, and sometimes, I feel like this.

:Taxi:

My name is Sam, and even though I have been driving taxi for almost a year an a half, I have never actually taken a taxi anywhere.

So it's not that I can't actually hail a cab. It's just that I am usually the hailee, rather than the hailer. 

And here come the confessions: I wouldn't recommend taxi as an affordable method of transportation--which is why I have always found other means of mobility. I just can't justify the cost. Now, in a pinch, I think I could, or for some special occasion, but not as a general rule.

Which is interesting...my job is to peddle a service I myself am not keen on using. The service itself is great... Just highly costly if used often. In fact, it's actually considered to be a luxury service. As in, along with cable tv and Internet, it's a thing that we technically don't need to be able to afford, but all try to anyway (at least if you're the bar-hopping type). 

Also, when people ask me what I do for fun, and I explain that I play music, and write, and read, and hang out with my family, they don't believe me. They push to find out when I go out partying since I'm driving on the weekends, and, in fact, most nights of the week. I apparently have about the most boring-sounding social scene of many living human being; possibly even more boring than that of some dead humans (at least they get their own tv shows).

So, I work a luxury service job, in a seasonal tourist town, on commission, and have a deadbeat boring social life.

No wonder I can't hail a cab.

My name is Sam, and even though I have been driving taxi for almost a year an a half, I have never actually taken a taxi anywhere.

:Paralysis:

My name is Sam, and I *may* sometimes worry myself into a paralysis when I face big decisions.

Thankfully, when I DID finally pop the question, my wife didn't sit there, rolling her eyes, wondering what took me so long. 

*audible sigh of relief*

But I DO tend toward a paralyzing fear of rejection, whether it's from someone I know, or a stranger.

Take the night I told my wife I liked her. LIKED HER. Not loved her, not wanting to marry her. No, this was at the start of our relationship, when I was informing her of the fact that I simply liked her.

I told her I had something I wanted to talk about, and she likely knew right away what it was, but she played coy and went along with my process. We met at the coffee shop on our college campus, because it was warm, as opposed to the outdoors in Alberta in January, which are far from warm. She ordered a London Fog, as they're called--an earl grey tea latte, if you're a Starbucks aficionado. We sat down together, and I was about to start talking, when I realized that we weren't alone in the coffee shop.

No, I'm not talking about the barista. Obviously, she was there.

There was a whole team of high school hockey players playing table hockey and fooseball and being generally rowdy. Why I hadn't really noticed them before this moment is anyone's guess... Though it likely had something to do with the fact that it was creating a busy enough soundscape that I didn't feel like I could concentrate on my own thoughts.

I asked if she'd be okay with taking a walk outside (remember where we were?), and, like a true American, she said "it's cold out there"... And like a true Canadian, followed it up with "but we can do that, sure."

So we set out, her London fog in hand, through what honestly was everything shy of an actual blizzard. It was dumping snow, and very cold. Only saving grace was it wasn't windy.

We walked for a very long time. I don't dare venture a guess, because I'm sure that in the moment, my sense of time was skewed. However, it was long enough for my wife's tea latte to turn to a puck of solid ice. I'm serious. It took me that long to actually get the words "I like you a lot" out of my mouth.

Except, it took even longer than that. I kept stumbling over my words and worrying aloud about how what I had to say might change everything for us, and not wanting to spoil our friendship with a bombshell and whatever else I could think of to say...except what I actually wanted to say.

Really, if she hadn't known what was coming before this moment, she knew by now.

So she tells me to spit it out, or she's going back inside where it's warm.

I miraculously manage, in a halting way, to tell her I like her, and she responds simply " I like you too."

We headed back inside, and that was that.

We have laughed often since then at this story, because it does seem a little ridiculous. Probably because it is a little ridiculous.

But it's how I have often functioned. I worry easily. It's not something I'm proud of, but it's there. I'm learning, but it's still there from time to time. And that worry can be paralyzing. It can make it impossible to do or say the things you know you need to; the things you know you should.

Thank goodness it doesn't take me that long to get around to saying the important things now.

At least, not in that area of life.

My name is Sam, and I *may* sometimes worry myself into a paralysis when I face big decisions.

:Tree:

I have decided, since having kids, that one of the most difficult and potentially awkward questions for new parents to have to answer is: "do you plan on having any more?"

It's not actually that the question is, in and of itself, that awkward. And it's really not an issue of whether or not I (or most parents, for that matter) have a problem answering it. It has more to do with the way in which people respond to your answer. In fact, I would argue that this is pretty well the reason any question becomes awkward: the asker's response to the askee's answer.

We're all familiar with the scenario: person approaches new parent, sees cute little baby, attempts to pinch said baby's cheeks whilst dodging the flailing attempts of the mother to block this stranger from passing now goodness-knows-what germs to their beloved little one, and after this awkward exchange occurs, the conversation ensues (I should note here that this occasionally happens with relatives and non-strangers as well, though there is generally less germ-avoidance involved in those cases). Inevitably, the question of whether or not more children are on the horizon comes up, and the parent will coincidently give their answer, only to receive a response that, most times, would be enough to wilt an oak tree. 

This seems to be the case no matter what answer the poor parent gives: the asker always seems to have a differing view on whether or not it is worthwhile to birth or not to birth, or how long you should separate your children by, or whatever it may be.

And I really have to wonder: if you are going to disagree so vehemently with the parent in question, why do you bother asking in the first place? What I mean is; if you're just looking for an opportunity to voice YOUR opinion on children and family planning, then just give your opinion, instead of hiding behind a seeming curiosity regarding someone else's family planning habits. Or, at least, make sure that when they DO voice their thoughts (after all, you asked the question), you treat it as a valid response, realizing that they likely have a good grip on their own person, at least more so than a complete stranger would.

And the point of all this?

First, to discover that I actually DO have an opinion on this...which is news to me. Huh. There's my new thing for the day.

But the real reason is this: coming up on Christmas, there's another, almost equally as awkward, similarly volatile question that floats around, causing conversational avoidance en-masse:

"Do you have a fake tree, or did you get a real one?"

Everyone has their reasons why one or the other is best, and everyone seems to have an opinion on whether or not the other person is rot regarding his or her view on this festive dead plant (or plastic shrub). Personally, I'm a huge fan of the real trees... But I currently have an artificial one up in my living room because I didn't have the time this season to go up into the hills and cut one down (yay for Canada's crown land laws!), nor did I care to spend exorbitant amounts on a pre-cut shrub that has been dead and dropping needles for three weeks already.

All this being said: it's the "family planning" question of the Christmas season. Don't deny it: you've received the dirty looks regarding your Yule-tree choices over the years. You've endured the scorn and the ridicule, and wondered whether or not it was even worth opening your mouth in answer to the question in the first place.

I say it is. Because it's you. Doesn't matter what the other people say. I love real trees. I'm a real tree guy. I'm cheating on my real tree right now by keeping a fake one in my living room. But I've come to grips with that. 

Surely, if I can be okay living with my festive shrubbery choices, you can, too? 

:Pencil:

My name is Sam, and I am somewhat addicted to office supplies.

I don't know what it is, but I am. Whether it's the clean, fresh look of a brand-new 10-cent notebook (or a stack of thirty for only $3!), the sharpness of a new highlighter, or the novelty of owning 27 different shades of Sharpies, there's just something about all things stationery that draws me in.

I'm not even kidding--these things full-on inspire me. I've got poetry and short pieces of prose I've written in ode to a new pen or a blank sheet of paper (ironically enough, neither of which are new OR blank by the time the piece is finished being written). Empty journals beg me to fill them, blank papers scream to be noticed. 

The smell of a freshly sharpened pencil--the taste of the wood and cheap paint as you ponder a thought before writing... The feel of the callouses on your fingers every time you pick up a pen after a long separation from this tangible extension of your imagination...

For me, there is very little that compares with the feeling of approaching a new writing project or exercise with a new medium or method of transferring thought to paper (and, in an INCREDIBLE break from my self-proclaimed love of the physical, tangible, "real thing"), or filling the blankness of a white screen with line upon line of thought.

I feel like when stores hire marketing executives, they hire specific. As in specifically for me. It's like Staples and Walmart and Chapters and all these places get together every back-to-school season and sit down to figure out what is going to tempt me most to come in to their stores and purchase sixty new pens (I already have a gallon-sized ziplock of them at home). I somehow have to fight the urge to drool over the flyers much as a kid drools over advertisements from Toys 'R' Us, or the local bulk food candy store. And then I have to stand strong as I walk past the shelves upon shelves of back to school supplies, always located conveniently to your left or right IMMEDIATELY once you walk into any major box store anytime after the beginning of August. 

And the thing is,  I don't even always want to buy these things just because I need them... Matter of fact, often, I don't (and thank goodness I've been able to translate that into generally not buying them)...it's an urge because I just want them. It's like some kind of weird infatuation. 

Maybe it's because it feels like in some way I am 'buying inspiration'. Maybe I feel like it'll spark some latent creativity...maybe it's a somewhat Pavlovian response to the fact that these inanimate objects have, indeed, fostered creativity in the past...much as the proverbial 'new page' has given many a man a new start in life.

Most people don't understand what's so exciting about a pen. Or a journal. Or a highlighter. But I've come to grips with that. I don't need everyone to understand...

...just so long as they keep making office supplies.

My name is Sam, and I am *somewhat* addicted to office supplies.

:Photos:

My name is Sam, and I dislike being in photos.

Forget forcing a smile-- I dislike being in photos, period. I'm not exactly sure why, but it's the truth.

Maybe it's a learned behaviour, going back generations in the family; something I picked up from my Mother's Father...who also avoids photos at all cost. His philosophy? If I'm paying for photos, then I'll sit, and smile, and take nice photos. If not, why am I taking photos? Everyone that matters knows I'm here, and remembers that I was at this or that event...

Maybe it's a survival tactic--an avoidance method perfected over the years and years of dealing with relatives who, whenever they have a camera within arms' reach, constantly call for those in the room to pose or look at the camera, rather than engaging in the wonderful world that is "candid photography". I mean, really, does anyone look for a camera when they're holdding a conversation, just so they can look at it? Nope. So if I'm looking at a camera for a posed shot that is supposed to be an accurate representation of the enjoyable evening I just shared discussing pretzel prices in Peru, it has already failed at its mission. Sad. Such a short lived mission, too.

Maybe it's related to a self-image issue (or is it an accurate reaction?), due to how I feel I look in said photos...my nose is a funny shape, my teeth are crooked, and I'm tall and thin as a GUMBY on growth hormones. Obviously, if I was as dashing as Joseph Gordon-Levitt, or as tempting as Chris Hemsworth, I'd take my shirt off and prance about in front of the camera, or suit up and strut my stuff wherever I figured the nearest camera would be. But I'm not, so I tend toward the side of the population that doesn't seem destined to appear sexy in every single photograph taken...and therefore tends also toward seeing oneself as at least somewhat un-photogenic.  

My wife says that all of this doesn't matter. 

Now, I should clarify this, and say that by this statement, she's not saying that my thoughts or opinions are invalid or pointless, or that I might not have a realistic perspective in any or all of these areas (although I like to think she finds me as gorgeous as any of the men above)...she's simply saying that these photos are important. It's a documentation method. Turns out, the fact that my parents took a thousand photos a day of me as a baby didn't mean I was stockpiling "get out of photos free" cards to pull out and use in the future. I suppose I could argue the theory that taking a photo steals part of your soul, as some cultures believe... but then I guess I'd be resigning myself to the fact that I am slowly becoming soul-less, and probably will be completely devoid of all soul-ness when I reach 65...which doesn't sound like a very attractive retirement plan to me, when I sit down and think about it.

So I'm left with this fun little catch-22; having no valid excuse to use to avoid photos, and yet understanding that these moments in time are indeed fleeting, and I may never have the opportunity again to speak about pretzel prices or suit up and prance about, and should probably just allow the opportunities to be taken, before they're gone.

Besides, there's a hole in my Grandfather's logic...being Dutch, what ON EARTH is he doing PAYING for having photos taken? Shouldn't he be ecstatic at all the free photo ops he can get his hands on?

So... understand their value? Yes. 

Love taking them? Yes. 

Admit that sometimes they turn out great despite the fact that I'm in them? Okay. 

Love being in them? Well...

My name is Sam, and I dislike being in photos.

:Write:

I've made it a personal goal to write SOMETHING every day.

This has become easier as of late, because things have really slowed down at work. The summer tourists are gone, and with them, the easy nights of not having to think in order to find work...the nights where it just comes to you.

It sounds on some level like a lofty goal, but really, it's not. 

Rather, it's wide open (which could, in and of itself, make it more complicated some nights).

See, the goal doesn't state WHAT I have to write... Merely THAT I write. So I have been having fun with it. Blogging, letters, random thoughts, etc.

The newest thing I have re-picked-up (haha, how's that for writing?) is poetry. I haven't even really dabbled much in poetry since high school, which is when I first explored the genre. It came along with my songwriting, kind of a natural extension of the craft.

But, similarly to my songwriting, it followed the emotions and feelings of my life to a very strict degree, seldom deviating from that subject matter which is so readily available to teenagers at a moment' snot ice. Wow. I love auto correct. It just turned "moment's notice" into what you just read above...

Moment' snot ice.

Beautiful.

And it definitely makes more sense than what I was trying to type, no?

Anyway, I've recently discovered the joy of magnetic poetry on my iPad. So I guess it isn't really magnetic, then, but you get the picture.

And as a result, I've begun to explore abstract poetry. Sentences that don't necessarily make sense on the surface, but paint a picture in your head somehow that makes your thoughts run.....oh....somewhere. Anywhere.

Phrases which borrow the beauty inherent in words, and strings it together along some metric until you are left with something which flows, breathes, and sparks.

It's been fun. And the interpretations I've received from the few who have read it are as varied as I had hoped they would be. You see, to me, words should inspire. They should ignite. Poetry can paint a clear picture, with a clear message in mind, or it can splash some colours on the wall of your skull and see what your mind interprets from the mayhem. I feel like I've found both, somehow, in a way that I, at least, enjoy.

I hope you can, also.

:Always:

“Live in peace with each other. 14 And we urge you, brothers and sisters, warn those who are idle and disruptive, encourage the disheartened, help the weak, be patient with everyone. 15 Make sure that nobody pays back wrong for wrong, but always strive to do what is good for each other and for everyone else.

 

16 Rejoice always, 17 pray continually, 18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

 

19 Do not quench the Spirit. 20 Do not treat prophecies with contempt 21 but test them all; hold on to what is good, 22 reject every kind of evil.

 

23 May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. 24 The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.”

 

The first week of December this year will mark 6 years since I came and “auditioned” for the position of worship leader here. Wow.

 

One of the first things that grabbed my attention when I was in the interview process with Ron and the lead team here at The Well was one particular line in our vision and mission statement:

 

We also believe that prayer is as important as the air we breathe.

 

Now, there's a lot of other good stuff in our vision statement, and plenty of exciting stuff to put your time and energy into if you get involved in the down-to-earth, nitty-gritty of the vision we claim as a church.

 

But for some reason or another, THIS line is the one that I remember jumping out at me. THIS line made me stop and think. I was curious to see this. To see how it all worked out.

 

And 6 years later, it's still jumping out at me. I know I've dragged it out in messages before. I know Ron's talked about it. We've done months of prayer, and 48-hour prayer weekends, and stations of prayer during services in church.

 

But this line STILL makes me stop and think.

 

And I guess, in a way, I'm still curious to see this. To see how it all works out.

 

See, we've talked over this past year particularly about these memorials that the Israelites set up to remind themselves of what God had done for them in the past. We've started up this “memorial jar” of things we're thankful for or ways we've seen God at work in our lives and the life of the church here. We talked about living out of an attitude of thankfulness last week with Thanksgiving, and how easy it is to forget...how simple it is to break or dismantle those memorials (much like our jar broke) and forget...to lose focus...to center our lives on something else...

 

But then that line comes back to me: WE ALSO BELIEVE THAT PRAYER IS AS IMPORTANT AS THE AIR WE BREATHE...

 

If that's the case, HOW CAN WE center our lives on something else?

 

In theory, if it's our very breath, then our life depends on it. Not just us, personally, but perhaps even more so, our life as a church, as a congregation in this community.

 

If we stop breathing, don't we also stop living?

 

 

Now, this has been rattling around in my brain for quite some time, now. Like I said, it's the thing that jumped out at me right from the get-go six years ago. But really, it's been shoved into the limelight in my life in a bunch of ways lately that just won't leave me alone.

 

Okay, so one way in particular that won't leave me alone. And I'm glad she doesn't.

 

Maelle has been, from time to time, like most kids, a challenge. She's kept us on our toes, and taught us more about ourselves and each other than we possibly knew before. She has made us laugh, cry, tested our patience, and scared the heck out of us plenty of times.

 

A few months back, Milena looked at me after Maelle had been up to something for the millionth time after being told no, and said: “It's a miracle any of us ever turn out as decent people”. It's a funny statement, but it made me think about how we learn. We learn, from a young age, by having the lessons in life repeated again and again and again and again and again... over and over and over until we understand, and it changes the way we behave in that particular scenario.

 

And I don't know what happened, but somewhere along the line, for me, anyway, I began to get frustrated with having the same lesson put in front of me all the time. I hit a point in life where I'd look at a situation, and wonder why I had to learn this lesson all over again... why I had to go through this, rehash it, over and over and over again... but then, if I have to learn it, DID I ever learn it in the first place? If I had already learned it, I'd have the answer—the appropriate response—and it wouldn't be a lesson that was staring me in the face right now. I'd just move through, on to the next thing.

 

If I have already learned that 2+2=4, it's not a lesson every time I face it. I already know it.

 

So we've been working with Maelle, as every parent does with their young kids, on teaching her how she should live and respond to other people...what things she should say or not say, the things that she should and shouldn't do...trying to teach her important values that will help her later on in life.

 

And in that, God has been using her as he has been teaching me immense lessons about the passage I read at the start of the message.

 

Let's read it again:

 

MESSAGE

“13-15 Get along among yourselves, each of you doing your part. Our counsel is that you warn the freeloaders to get a move on. Gently encourage the stragglers, and reach out for the exhausted, pulling them to their feet. Be patient with each person, attentive to individual needs. And be careful that when you get on each other’s nerves you don’t snap at each other. Look for the best in each other, and always do your best to bring it out.

 

16-18 Be cheerful no matter what; pray all the time; thank God no matter what happens. This is the way God wants you who belong to Christ Jesus to live.

 

19-22 Don’t suppress the Spirit, and don’t stifle those who have a word from the Master. On the other hand, don’t be gullible. Check out everything, and keep only what’s good. Throw out anything tainted with evil.

 

23-24 May God himself, the God who makes everything holy and whole, make you holy and whole, put you together—spirit, soul, and body—and keep you fit for the coming of our Master, Jesus Christ. The One who called you is completely dependable. If he said it, he’ll do it!”

 

 

This whole passage is SATURATED, positively SOAKED in prayer. Paul is speaking these things to the church in Thessalonica, trying to remind them and teach them how to “be decent people”, in a sense, but can you HEAR the heart of prayer behind these words? Paul is PRAYING these words over this church even as he writes them on the page as encouragement.

 

The center section is the part that God has been placing in front of me so often lately. It's a lesson where I still have a lot to learn:

 

16 Rejoice always, 17 pray continually, 18 give thanks in all circumstances;

 

Always.

 

Continually.

 

In ALL circumstances.

 

Yikes. Those are hard words. Absolutes. They don't leave room for exceptions.

 

Always?

 

Continually?

 

In ALL circumstances?

 

Yeah, I fall short. Way short. Thank goodness that God doesn't give up on us, but instead, like a parent, keep teaching the lesson over and over and over again.

 

REJOICE. PRAY. GIVE THANKS.

 

NO MATTER WHAT.

 

As Ron shared last week, after I spoke in April, and challenged us all to find some way of creating these “memorials” in our lives, with a thankfulness jar, or something along those lines, Milena and I started one, where we'd stick things that we were thankful for. It's a simple, easy way to just begin to get into that mindset of rejoicing, praying, and giving thanks. But it's easy to forget. SO EASY.

 

Enter Maelle. She's been seeing us as we've struggled with trying to make these “attitudes of the heart” a habit... as we've sought to make these things a natural response to life as it happens around us.

 

She's been watching as her Daddy says to her over and over again that even when things don't go the way we want them to, we need to be thankful that we get the chance to keep moving forward and try again.

 

She's been watching as her Mommy asks her every night to list the things that she's thankful for, and tell God what they are.

 

But she's also been watching when her Daddy comes home, worn out and tired from work, frustrated at the pace of work, the hours, the pay...and complains to Mommy, rather than being thankful that he even has a job, and is able to work to help provide for his family.

 

And she's been watching when her Mommy calls Daddy, frustrated that things aren't working out, and the kids won't sleep, and...

 

She's been watching.

 

And even though she's never heard or read this passage yet, she's taught me more in the past six months about what this passage means than I ever knew before.

 

Then a couple of weeks ago, I was thinking through the whole concept of our thankfulness jar (now a thankfulness “tree”), and why it was so easy to forget to just do it...and thinking about what I might speak about this week, and thinking ahead to Ron's message this past week—trying to plan the service for it, and Maelle was watching a movie.

 

I wasn't even really sure what movie she was watching, until this came on: (play video: “Thank You Song Girl”)

 

And it hit me how simple and true that statement is--

 

A thankful heart is a happy heart.

 

Listen to the words for a minute:

“I thank God for this day, for the sun in the sky,

for my Mom and my Dad, for my piece of apple pie

for my home on the ground, for His love that's all around,

That's why I say “Thanks” every day...

Because a thankful heart is a happy heart,

I'm glad for what I have; that's an easy way to start.

For the love that He shares, cuz he listens to my prayers,

That's why I say “Thanks” every day.”

 

A thankful heart, a heart that gives thanks regardless of the circumstances, is a happy heart—a heart that rejoices always.

 

And lo and behold, by simply saying “thanks”, you're offering up a prayer.

 

So maybe thanking God for what we have is JUST THAT... an easy way to start... to start being thankful in all circumstances... to start rejoicing always... and to start praying continually...

 

Woah. (And now you see how my mind works...)

 

All this from Veggie Tales. Who knew that they were summing up this passage in a simple song?

 

This song has become one of Maelle's favorite songs...and she'll quote it all the time, reminding me that “a thankful heart is a happy heart”. It's both heartwarming as a parent to see her taking this to heart, and at the same time, it hits me as a severe challenge in an area I KNOW I fall down in so often.

 

Maelle has also grabbed hold of another simple truth I so often forget—NOTHING is too small to thank God for. She'll thank him for her potatoes at dinner. For the color “oyndge”. For the bug that she saw outside. For seeing a friend. For the blueberries she got before bed. For watching a movie. For Christmas last year. For blowing her nose. For the doctor. For... the list goes on.

 

And I can't help but wonder... where did I lose that thankfulness?

 

What is it that happens in life that causes us to think that things are too trivial... that we're too busy... that God doesn't really care, doesn't listen to our prayers?

 

Where do we learn this idea that causes us to only go to God when things are hard? TO ask for help when we need it, or for things or money when we want them?

 

I mean, think about any other major relationship in your life...your parents, your siblings, your husband, your wife, best friends, etc...do you only talk to those people when you NEED SOMETHING from them? When something is going wrong?

 

No! We talk to these people all the time! About the good AND the bad... about the exciting AND the mundane! About EVERYTHING! And we don't sit there worrying about whether or not what we have to say to them is important enough to bother them with, or if they're going to care about it or not—we just say it!

 

Again, enter Maelle. And enter the childlike faith.

 

And now I understand.

 

We're called, by Jesus, to have childlike faith. So often, we think of this as a blind acceptance of what we've been told... or as something that's simplistic...

 

And, while it may be simple, it's not simplistic. While it may be simple, it's downright complicated. But somehow, our kids get it, while we don't.

 

In Genesis, we read about Adam and Eve—the first people on earth, walking with God in the evening, in the garden he had made for them to live in. You get the sense that God just came to meet with them every day, to hang out, to chat... to talk about life. They were God's children. God was their father.

 

'How are things going in the garden?'

 

'What did you do today?'

 

Anything. Anything at all. And not because God particularly NEEDED to know, but because he WANTED to know. He had created these people, and wanted to be a part of their lives, as much as his very breath and life was in them. God cared about it all. So he wanted to hear it all.

 

And then, came the fall. Adam and Eve disobeyed, rebelled, and were ashamed of it. They were afraid to share it with God. They experienced separation.

 

And I'd imagine, with that separation, a sense of “does God REALLY care about all these little things in my life anymore?”... “Does he REALLY want to know all of this... or just the really big things?”

 

See, when we're in close, meaningful, intimate relationship with someone, we don't have to question these things. We just KNOW.

 

When there's separation, the insecurity sets in.

 

The thing is, that separation doesn't need to be there anymore. In fact, through Christ, that separation ISN'T there anymore. His sacrifice on the cross tore down that wall for good. We are God's children. He IS our father.

 

And God wants to know what's going on in our lives. All of it. He cares! It matters to him! He created us to be in that relationship with him where we don't have to question these things... we just KNOW!

 

So faith like a child—faith that my father, my Daddy, cares about EVERYTHING that's going on in my life enough to say to me:

 

16 Rejoice always, 17 pray without ceasing, 18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

 

Wow. He wants to hear from me ALL THE TIME.

 

See, I think that separation occurs for us when we believe we can do it on our own.

 

Adam and Eve took things into their own hands and chose to rebel against God, choosing to do it on their own, almost questioning whether or not what God had said was true...forgetting that he was the very breath inside of their bodies.

 

We tend to almost ignore or forget God, unless we feel like we need him. So when things are going well, we don't pray as often, or at all. When we can see our way through our problems, we don't give thanks, we just pat ourselves on the back. When we accomplish something, we rejoice in ourselves.

Almost as if we can do it on our own. Forgetting that without God, we can't even breathe, let alone make these choices or take the next step.

 

We can't breathe on our own. It's God's breath that is in us, giving us life. Take God out of the picture for even a moment, and we would all cease to be. We NEED his breath to live.

 

We NEED to breathe.

 

So, for us here at The Well... do

 

We also believe that prayer is as important as the air we breathe?

 

If so, how do we demonstrate that? Do our neighbours see us rejoicing always, praying continually, and giving thanks in all circumstances? Do we see each other doing this? When you think of The Well, do you think of prayer?

 

If so, great. If not...does that mean we aren't breathing?

 

Let's watch this again: (play video: “Thank You Song Junior Asparagus”)

 

A thankful heart, a heart that gives thanks regardless of the circumstances, is a happy heart—a heart that rejoices always.

 

And lo and behold, by simply saying “thanks”, you're offering up a prayer.

 

So maybe thanking God for what we have is JUST THAT... an easy way to start... to start being thankful in all circumstances... to start rejoicing always... and to start praying continually...

 

Woah.

 

So now what? How do we start Rejoicing always? How do we pray continually? How do we give thanks in all circumstances?

 

I don't know.

 

And what I mean by that is, I'm still learning. I don't have all the answers, I've only got some ideas. And I have a little girl who reminds me all the time, as she thanks God for every little thing in her life, and sings that a thankful heart is a happy heart.

 

Turns out, it IS an easy way to start.

 

So I'm going to put that challenge in front of us again. This is the fourth time, now. Even if you think you're a pretty thankful person, let's do this together. Get yourself a jar. Make yourself a tree. Buy window markers and scribble it on your bathroom mirror. Whatever.

 

DO WHATEVER IT TAKES to write down ONE THING, JUST ONE THING every day (more if you want, but start with one!) that you are thankful for. And it doesn't matter if it's the same thing you've written before... if it's what comes to mind, be thankful for it!

 

It can be a new car. It can be a new job. It could be  potatoes at dinner. For the color “oyndge”. For the bug that you saw outside. For seeing a friend. For the blueberries you got before bed. For watching a movie. For Christmas last year. For blowing your nose. For the doctor. For... the list goes on... NOTHING is too small.

 

Simply by doing this, you'll be rejoicing always in the things that God has given you and done in your life. You'll be praying prayers of thanks continually, as you write these things out. And you'll be giving thanks in all circumstances by engaging an attitude of thankfulness EVERY DAY.

 

This should be as natural to us as breathing. It should be as important to us as the air we breathe. Let's be the church that people think of when they hear the word “prayer”. Let's be the people who know, believe, and REVEL in the fact that we have a God who wants to walk with us, and hear what's going on with us SO MUCH that His only SON gave up his life so that the separation between us could be erased.

 

Seriously, if we can't at least write THAT as something we're thankful for on a slip of paper every day, where are we?

 

It's humbling to me at times to think that there are things that my children grasp in a deeper sense than I do... things that they have an easier time walking out from day to day.

 

But then I remember what I mentioned earlier—we've been challenged to live life with the faith of a child. So maybe it's not something to be threatened by... but rather something to be thankful for. I have a living, breathing example running around my house every day, keeping me up at night, and reminding me almost daily that:

 

“Daddy, a sankfow hawt is a happy hawt!”.

 

It really IS an easy way to start.

 

 

 

 

I think this passage is such a beautiful encouragement and prayer. God inspired these words in Paul's heart through the Holy Spirit, as a prayer to build into the church he was ministering to, and I want to use them as a prayer of blessing over all of us here today:

 

“Be at peace among yourselves. 14 And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle,[c] encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all. 15 See that no one repays anyone evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to everyone.

 

16 Rejoice always, 17 pray without ceasing, 18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

 

19 Do not quench the Spirit. 20 Do not despise prophecies, 21 but test everything; hold fast what is good. 22 Abstain from every form of evil.

 

23 Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. 24 He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it.”

 

Amen.

:Courageous:

"The only way we'll ever stand is on our knees with lifted hands"

This is a line from a song by a band (haha, vague statement of the century!) that I used to listen to all the time. I mean ALLTHETIMESEVER. 

Not this song specifically, because it only came out a year or two ago... But their previous  albums. I listened because they brought challenge. They were willing to speak out against the laziness and hypocrisy they saw in the lives of the average North American believer--but to do so in a challenging and grace-filled way...a way that made no bones about what was wrong, and yet didn't come across as whacking someone across the forehead with a crowbar.

Their music was refreshing to me in its honesty and challenge. The band is called Casting Crowns.

The line above is a line from a song off their (I believe) newest album, called "Come To The Well". The song is titled "Courageous", and speaks of the challenge and calling of what it means to be a godly man, leading your family, etc.

I've heard the song in the background many times before our Sunday morning services at The Well, the church where I lead worship every week. Yet somehow, I never listened to the lyrics. It's funny how so often the things that are right in front of us are the things that we miss the easiest.

It was also one of several  songs my wife gave me as a gift for Christmas this past year (she did the 12 days of Christmas for me, with a new gift each day...), and yet, for some reason or another, I have listened to all the other songs she gave, except for this one. And now, having listened to the words, I am humbled and blessed by the godly woman I am married to--a woman who often knows the things I need to hear before I even realize I do myself. A woman who has been praying fervently for me as I've struggled with my depression, and has been an anchor and support in more ways than I even realized...

Because I've been missing what is right in front of my eyes.

I've known that she's been praying--but I don't think I grasped how hard.

I know that she's been support--but I don't think I always see clearly the weight resting on her shoulders.

I know that she's been rooting for me--but I haven't always seen how diehard a fan she really is.

I know that she cares for and loves me--but I don't always notice how deeply and stubbornly.

All this, not because she hasn't been saying it or demonstrating it all along...

But rather, because I've been too distracted to notice it as often as I should be. I've never questioned once anything that I mentioned above...but I also certainly haven't always told her what it means, or even been aware of the vastness of detail and thought put into everything--even a song that voices a prayer that she's been praying since the day we were married, and probably before.

I love my wife more than words can say. The depth of who she is represents a miracle I don't think I will EVER be able to grasp. The words of the Holy Spirit come out through in challenge, love, and rebuke, but always, ALWAYS from a place of desiring to see me be the man that she saw inside of me the day we first met...even when I'm scared that I don't know how to be that man, or when I'm feeling too tired to fight to be who I know I am.

She has demonstrated courage through my depression in a way that I have never understood...and set an example for me that I am floored by. She has been courageous.

I pray that as I stumble my way through this season, I would come to see and experience what it truly means to "stand...on my knees with lifted hands"... Because that's the only way...it's the only chance I've got at being the man I've so often got difficulty seeing, but my incredible partner in life sees relentlessly and cheers on through her tiredness, frustration, tears, and own set of challenges.

I don't know what else to say. I'm humbled and amazed to be called your husband, and to be the lucky guy who gets to walk alongside you and receive your love, not because I always deserve it, but because of who and what you see in me, and your desire to see that come through. You truly are more than any guy could ask for.

Here's to stepping forward in courage. Here's to living life because He has "made us to be courageous".

Honey, here's to you. ;-) 

Every guy should be as lucky as me.

:Honesty:

I think that when I'm honest, I scare myself.

I am scared to admit the things that are running through my head, scared to entertain the things that may actually be going on... All because it somehow makes me feel like I'm more broken than I'm willing to allow myself to be.

I'm scared to admit that I am upset that things aren't going the way I want me to be going. I am frightened to even dare suggest that I am sometimes choked at God, and that I feel like I am being picked on or beat up on, even though I know that it's not true. 

I am scared to admit how scared I am of not having direction, how prideful I am to think that I should somehow have  all the answers, and how foolish I am to think that I have any control whatsoever on the outcome of my daily decisions (in the sense that I cannot change the effect that my actions have--do this, and x, y, z WILL inevitably happen).

I'm scared to admit that I am broken. That I don't know. That I wish I was doing something that is meaningful with my working hours, but that at the same time, I understand that my attitude towards the jobs I DO have may be part of what is keeping me from actually achieving productivity and meaning within that realm (not to say that I couldn't be doing something else, but everything CAN have meaning if its approached properly).

Really, I'm scared. And maybe what scares me the most is that I thought by this time in my life, I wouldn't be. I thought, growing up, that when I was an adult, I wouldn't have these fears that plague me now. And now, I find myself wishing for when life was simple again... Oh, the things we don't see from our limited perspectives. 

So yeah, I'm scared that I am scared. And I know who has the solution, I've just made excuses (and been too busy) to really take the time to sit down and listen. 

I'm still overly busy... That hasn't changed, even though it does have to, and soon.

But I DO need to be more intentional about listening.