More Than Muscles

“Show me your muscles!” I say.

My boys shrivel up their faces with a scowl, strike a pose, and conjure up their pre-hormone physiques. The experience is similar to that of a Jedi warrior invoking the force.

“Look at those strong boys!” I say as I examine their arms.

Every time, my young men smile back. They usually bounce away with their chests a little higher and hearts fuller. I am too proud for words—with or without notable muscles. They are mine. My sons.

I turned thirty-six last year, and I can subtly sense the creeping shadow of a mid-life crisis looming over me. It’s probably much more about longing to see Jesus face to face than sports cars and cheap thrills. Those things never satisfy middle-aged people anyway, and I’m not interested in that kind of emptiness. Whatever the shadow is, it won’t find me waiting on a couch of discontent. I’m after something deeper.

I’m still asking the question: is the Lord really proud of me? 

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Weep Together

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The woman in the purple dress said, “My eight-year-old granddaughter was diagnosed with cancer this week—and I wanted a drink so bad.”  The room fell silent.  Suddenly I could feel my heart stand at attention.  It was like a queen had entered, speaking to her most trusted advisers. We all listened close.

Tears fell down her face as she shared her story. When she finished, I looked across the room at an older man shaking his head in the corner. He whispered in an honorable tone, “That’s horrible, just horrible—but I’m glad you didn’t take a drink.”

It was my first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

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Leaving Should-Town

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Should happens everywhere.

You should floss, you should lose weight, you should make your bed, and you should read this biography. You should see this new movie (it’s soooo good). You should love cottage cheese and enjoy broccoli and brussels sprouts. You should eat super foods like kale (even though they don’t taste super unless cheese is involved).

You’ve heard the infamous imperative, “You should drink less coffee”—yeah, right. You should go to church more, put your kids in a certain school, read the Old Testament more, and you should go to that birthday party wearing a smile. You know, just make an appearance, at least. You should.

And the should-ing continues.

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The Last Box

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“Is Christmas really over?” I asked under my breath.

Under the tree I saw the yuletide leftovers: there were a few pine needles, some glitter, and a few lonely name tags. Everyone was thinking it, “Really? No more presents?” The holiday anticipation had swelled to this moment, and then it was gone with a sigh.

We linger around the tree and wonder—maybe it’s not quite over—and especially ‘round Christmas time we’re allowed a little hope. After all, there could be one more. Maybe Dad saved the best toy for last, or Grandma will get her check book out again this year, and there’s always the chance of that super-secret gift in the garage too big to fit through the door!

I remember sifting through my wish list as a child to see if Santa forgot something. Like most kids my list was about twenty three items unrealistic. Each year I circled more than enough toys in the Sears catalog, and without fail I secretly hoped for all of them.

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A Different Kind of Thanksgiving

ThanksgivingIt’s Thanksgiving. The pumpkin pie is perfectly baked. The football game is on. At last, you’re sitting at the table ready to enjoy a juicy turkey and Grandma’s infamous dressing. You hold hands, say grace, and finally take your first bite. “Huh?—this tastes a little untraditional,” you say to yourself. “This wasn’t at all what I was expecting!”

The flavor is good, but different. You realize your Aunt twice removed on your Dad’s side—who just happened to be in town from Milwaukee—made the dressing this year instead of Grandma. What was she thinking? You’re a little offended by her odd seasoning. There’s too much thyme and sage; it’s like you’re eating a spice rack. Has she served up a turkey-day travesty?

I had the strangest dream about Thanksgiving.

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