Red Scarf and Rob Base

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I got a kink in my neck at church yesterday.

What would you guess caused it?

It was a red scarf.

Apparently this scarf needed a seat. On our pew there were five in my group, plus this lady, her husband, and a red scarf. (total of eight if you count the scarf). My five, (which included a 6’9″ 275 pound 17 year old Serbian boy, who takes up a seat and a half), used about two-thirds of the row. The lady, her husband, and the red scarf took up a solid third.

When we started to sit, the lady appeared annoyed that we wanted to sit there. I was kind of annoyed that I wanted to sit there too. My wife told me to lead us to a seat, so I walked one way (honestly feeling like a man, since my wife was willing to follow me), but I got about ten feet to my right and looked back and my family was walking up the middle of the church toward the front. So, I changed my mind about where I wanted to lead our family, and decided to sit by the red scarf. My indecision is frustrating to me. Why didn’t I realize where I wanted to sit before my wife had to show me?

At one point I thought the lady was going to move the scarf because she saw that I was contorting my body. But she simply adjusted it a little and looked at me askew with what appeared to me to be a look of disdain. Maybe I was reading into it. But the whole thing confused me. Do scarves require a seat? Why is this lady treating me with contempt? Is there something sacred about red scarves on the last Sunday of the year?

Also, I genuinely like people and treat them well. I tend to get kindness in return. Kids like me, peers like me, ladies love me, girls adore me, I mean, even the ones who never saw me like the way that I rhyme at a show , the reason why man, I don’t know.

If I just lost you, my apologies, those were some lyrics from Rob Base. If you don’t know him, don’t worry about it. He’s not internationally known, but he is known to rock the microphone. Stay away from him if you’re contagious. And for Heaven’s sake, whatever you do, do not give him a Big Mac. And do not sit next to a lady’s scarf in church. Lesson learned.

Thanks, Cry Babies

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Babies and toddlers should teach us more.

“He’s grumpy because he didn’t get a good nap.”
“TOO much sugar.  She can’t settle down.”
“He’s acting out because he is just trying to get attention.”

Adults are just over-sized babies.  We need good rest.  We need to have the right foods and avoid the wrong ones.  And we mostly just want somebody to like us.

But the best thing about babies and toddlers is that they are honest about their emotions.  They don’t hide the fact that you are making them angry because they want that candy.  Then we adults do this wonderfully awful thing to our young ones.  We teach them to hide their feelings and avoid honest dialogue.

Sure, we do need to teach them to know when to act out and when not to act out.  But, if their emotions are suppressed over one issue, it will come out in another way.  It is the EXACT same thing for you and me.

What I have attempted to do is to realize that I am toddler before God.  I do not rest enough, I want things that are not good for me, and I really just want people to like me.  If I am honest about that, and realize that I need guidance, I tend to have a better chance at resting, will likely get more of what I really need, and will probably be more likable to people.

Thanks all you cry babies.  You teach me a lot.

Respect Hyperbole

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Hyperbole are the best.

That line reminds me of comedian Steven Wright’s line, “A metaphor is like a simile.” If that doesn’t make you laugh, you are probably smarter than me…well, that should be assumed.

I’ll prove how not smart I am. I am about to call out most people for their use of hyperbole (I am trying to make the word plural, but I keep getting corrected. I am pretty sure I can just add an “s” to hyperbole to make it plural, but I think the word itself has convinced auto-correct that it has no need for plurality).

I’ve always responded poorly to hyperbole inside my head. And I sometimes let that frustration out. I’m probably wrong to be bothered, but let me explain.

The use of hyperbole seems to immediately discredit the intention of the statement.

My kids are the best ever!
It has NEVER rained like this before!
That was the worst flight!

I won’t try to tell you that your kids aren’t your favorite. I hope you like them more than you like mine. But, when you say they are the best, in all honesty, it kind of seems like you are trying to convince yourself of something you do not believe. And the truth is, they are not the best ever. Because nobody really can say that. Except maybe Mary and Joseph (Jon Acuff, was that a Jesus Juke? If I understand the word correctly, I think it was.)

Never rained like this before. Really? You may be correct. And it is verifiable. But as soon as you say it, all I can do is stop listening to anything else you are saying and think about how to prove you right or wrong. I mean come on…The Flood. You know, Noah. (Is it a Jesus Juke if it is in the Old Testament?) Even if I eliminate The Flood of Genesis, I am pretty sure it has rained more somewhere sometime.

Your flight was the worst ever? It landed I assume. You are talking. Those two realities alone disqualify your statement. Unless you were on the flight that crashed landed and you had to eat people to survive, I don’t really think you have a case. It seems to me that a plane that crashes and you die is better than one in which you would have to eat people. I don’t mean to be humorous about that. It kind of is funny, I think. But I mean it as serious.

I guess using hyperbole for emphasis is fine. That is the intention. I just don’t like it. That is an indicator of my conflicted mind. But, I might suggest that you replace hyperbole with more subjective terminology.

My kids are my favorite. I really love them.
This rain is crazy. And it gives me something to talk about.
That flight was bad. But at least I didn’t crash and have to eat someone to survive.

Respect hyperbole. It is the best word ever!

Bathroom Etiquette

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My question to you is this…

Do you turn the light off when you leave a public restroom?

I have more questions…

If you are planning to turn the light off when leaving a public restroom, do you think it is important to confirm the presence of another person using the facility?

What is the first clue to you that someone just might be in that restroom?
I think it is the fact that the light is already on.

Second clue?
Maybe that the one stall door is closed.
Maybe an odor.

Another clue?
That person makes a noise.  Maybe a cough or a whistle or just some movement to make it clear that they are present.

These questions were in my mind the first time someone turned off the light in my office restroom while I was busy.  But I did not wrestle with those questions. I just let them go. You might say I dropped them.  Or I dumped them.  I wiped them away. I flushed them out of my mind.  I let them drift away into the unknown.

You know, I make it a point to be up to date on men’s room expectations.  Which urinal should I use?  How do I respond when someone “toots” a loud or funny one?Is it ok to whistle or sing while doing number one?  Or number two?

There are countless considerations that most gentlemen seem to learn without ever being taught.  For instance, the public restroom is essentially a conversation free zone.  There might be a few words spoken. And sometimes there are jerks who just do not get it…we all just want to pretend this public restroom experience is not happening, so please don’t connect any real world to it.  Just look down, shut up, do what you have to do, and get out.

I am  currently trying to remember if I even breathe while I am in a public restroom.  I’m not sure.  I hope not.

Well, today, I am writing this only minutes after the second time here at work that someone has turned the light off on me while I was sitting down.

COME ON DUDE!!!!  I know who you are.  I saw your shoes!

The light was on!
The stall door was closed!
I shuffled my feet!
I coughed a little (which means I breathed…ugh).
I even whistled.

Also…I know for a fact that you can see through the crack in the stall walls to tell if someone is sitting there.  I look there myself precisely because I don’t want to turn off the light on someone.  No other reason at all, trust me.

So, dude.  TWICE I have let you know that I am in there through the expected methods and you have disrespected me and turned off the lights.  Don’t get me wrong, I make the best of it.  I am not really upset.  I find it to be quite intriguing.  It simply makes me think about these deep questions.

The other part of this is that this guy works in the same building as me.  There are only two guys in this building, which is why I am willing to use that restroom.  Otherwise, I would just wait for home court advantage.  But this is manageable.  This other guy and I have never spoken to each other.  Which, for our place of work, is extremely strange.  I know everyone and talk to everyone. However, this restroom thing must have something to do with our lack of relationship.  That is an entirely different discussion for another time.

People.
Especially guys…listen to me.  If the light is on, the first assumption is that someone is in here.  Second thing to notice, is the stall door closed?  Third, listen for rustling, shuffling, coughing, whistling, or even breathing. Forth, take a glance at the stall–do you see feet? A coat hanging?  Any sign of movement?

Am I way off on this?

I have been using home toilet advantage for years until I started this new job in July, so maybe I should not be so confident about these expectations.  I don’t want to be in the dark on this.

The Invisible Cable

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I can still remember really clearly a time I was riding around with my parents in a Chevy Suburban (my grandparents’) in Central Florida. Actually, I probably am confused and blending several memories together. Whatever…I always tell the story as if it is true. I am, however, confident about the lesson I learned as a result of this distorted recollection.

By the way, I fell in love with Suburbans back then. My grandparents had this 70’s Suburban, vinyl seats, smelled like old people (umm…maybe, something like a mothball smell…was that just MY grandparents? Do you even know what mothballs smell like?), and it had the coolest window tinting in the back. I wonder how many people remember those original tinted windows that were pictures and had tiny little holes in it…you could see out but not in. It seems like they had a picture of mountains.

I knew then that I would one day own a Suburban. Around the year 2003 my wife and I bought one that was just about as old as my grandparents’ (as old as the Suburban they owned, NOT as old as THEM!, come on, read with some understanding…don’t be so literal). I LOVE that thing. It is way over 200,000 miles. The driver side door won’t open from the inside. But that is ok because the window sometimes will roll down/up (but other times it doesn’t–it is better to be happy about it than mad about it…imagine if I accomplished my goals about 50% of the time…that would be better than now, so why should I be mad or disappointed about a WINDOW that works 50% of the time? I thank it when it works…unless it is raining.) Also, the brakes don’t really work. I have to down shift to slow down and really think ahead about where I am going, how I will get there, and if I might need to stop…which I really like because I like challenging games. It is boring if you know exactly how things are going to develop or if you don’t have to really think. Plus, the tag has been expired since April (it is almost November) so I don’t take it off campus here at Rabun Gap, unless I have to do secret missions late at night, which I did a couple of weeks ago and only a few people know about that mission. If you care, the mission was super successful. I doubt I will ever write about it, but I sure want to. So maybe one day. Keep quiet you people who know!

So….ok, that Suburban got me off track a little. But it occupies a pretty big portion of my mind, so it has to come into the conversation at some point, right?

My mind really does work like this. One thought leads to another thought, to another, to another…it rarely stops. Not at all saying I am smart. Just saying my mind never ceases to make connections to other thoughts. Though it is entertaining in my head, it does actually irritate me. I get on my own nerves. Haha..I just remembered that my brother, J.R., used to say, “…you are getting on my nervous…” It was adorable. But not as adorable as how he said TRUCK. My friends would come over just to make him say truck. Let’s just say, you wouldn’t hear him say truck now. At least not how he said it then. He is a gentleman.

Late 1970’s.
Balmy Central Florida night.
Driving around in a mothball smelling Suburban with a mountain picture window tinting on the back.
Head on my mom’s lap.
I was about 6 or 7 years old.
No seat belt (no seat belt laws then…horrible evil times they were)

As we drove I noticed the moon. I looked at it and thought about it. When we drove this way, it was there. When we drove that way, it was there. No matter where we went, the moon was with us. Hmmm. I wondered how this worked. I thought about the other cars. Could they too see the moon wherever they went? What if we went different directions? I just could not quite make sense of this. I really wanted to figure it out so I asked my mom.

I said, “Mom, the moon seems to be wherever we go. How does it stay with us? Is it connected to us by an invisible cable?” I have no idea what she said. I do not even remember a response. But I have always remembered that question in my head. And I now have a better understanding of how the moon remains visible to us as we travel.

We learn things. At points in our lives, we can only understand things based on what we already know. Knowledge has to build on other knowledge. An invisible cable was the best possible solution I could come up with at that time based on my understanding and experiences.

So what makes me think that I have it all figured out? About anything…

Do I understand what our country should do as it relates to war? Maybe I think we shouldn’t be involved because it costs us too much money and we don’t need to kill other people, or risk the lives of our soldiers, and we don’t need to be the world’s bully any more. Sounds smart.

Until you hear from an Afghani girl who says that the people of her country are scared and confused as to why the U.S. is leaving them vulnerable and unprotected. Or the Bosnian lady in the 1990’s who described the greatest evil in the world as the United States for NOT involving themselves in a war to protect innocent and terrified people. She didn’t even say her enemies were evil. She said her allies who did not help were the evil ones.

Do I understand how we can solve our country’s economic problems? Health care problems?

Maybe an invisible cable would come in handy. It solved my moon problem.

The most important realization for me was and still is this:

God

If I can think I understand something at one point, but then learn new things that help me comprehend better, why would this not be true about God? Faith? Truth?

Understanding grows. Knowledge is built on knowledge.

Truth is constant. But my understanding of it is not. My goal in life is to keep walking towards truth. If I ever feel like I have figured it out, I am a fool.

I hope I can always be that little boy with my head in my mom’s lap wondering about the moon. If that invisible cable remains invisible, I will always keep trying to understand. If I let someone convince me I can see the cable, I’ll stop trying to learn. I don’t want things to make complete sense. I want to wonder.

God is awesome like that. The more I search, the more I find, but also…the more I realize I just do not understand. Is that what Jesus meant when He said we should be like children?

The Company of My Father

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At the beginning of this inter-web log post I would like to offer my sincere apology to true hikers.  The thru-hikers.  Those who spend months carrying 20-30 pound packs over 2000 miles on the Appalachian Trail.  Trust me, I realize that it is ridiculous for me to really express any understanding of what it means to hike the trail.

 

Nevertheless, I have done 115 miles on the AT.  From Springer Mountain, Georgia to Winding Stair Gap (Franklin, North Carolina).  I have some stories and lessons to share, but I do want to make sure that true hikers understand that I know I am not one of them.

 

In June of 2012 I started out with my 67 year old dad.  We went 30 miles in three days.  I later continued on my own and went another 55. We had an absolute blast together.  Even in our misery we laughed and enjoyed each other’s company. We were in pain.  Our feet were throbbing, backs hurting, hips locking up, legs did not want to keep moving, got stung by hornets, could not sleep well, stunk…yet, all I remember with my dad was that I had fun.  By myself, I had no fun.  What is the logical conclusion then? Being with my dad is fun.  Pain, discomfort, heat, injury, smelliness….none of that can take away that being in the presence of my dad is enjoyable.  I like him.  I like being with him.  He made my journey enjoyable.  When he left, I faced the exact same situation, but it was not fun.  The lesson is obvious then, I assume.  I am boring.

 

Well, I was originally thinking that the obvious lesson is that being with my father brings me joy. Joy is powerful and can override other things in life.  Being with my father is powerful.  Goosebumps, yes or no? Imagine our Heavenly Father.  Imagine being with God.  He came and was with people on earth.  That must have been great…except that they could not quite figure out that they were actually with…the…Father. And then it got better.  When Jesus left, he said that it would be better with Him being gone, because He then could be present with them all the time in the form of His Spirit.  I wish I would have been able to keep my dad with me on the trail.  But I also wanted to learn how to be in the presence of my Heavenly Father.  I am still learning, but I am pretty slow.

 

Even as I am writing this lesson He is speaking to me.  God just wants to be in our company.  He just wants to be with us.  He does not promise we won’t stink.  Does not promise we won’t have hurting feet, legs, hearts, minds.  He does not promise we won’t be attacked by hornets or people.  Quite the contrary.  He promises us that we will certainly face troubles.  All he really tells us is to have courage, be not afraid, trust Him, love Him, and love others.  And really, we cannot do any of those things if we are not in His company.

 

I decided to start hiking the Appalachian Trail about one week after my 40th birthday.  I had never done any real hiking, but I knew I want to do something new and I knew I wanted to put myself in a position to learn new things.  I had a pretty good idea I would learn new lessons.  This was a good one.  I have others.  Some of which are just funny.  But this one is my favorite.  I enjoy the company of my father.

When You Have A Chance To Be Weak, Be Strong

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It has been a while since I last posted.  So, I decided to have someone else do my work for me.  I put out a request from former players at Rabun Gap to write a testimonial about playing basketball and attending Rabun Gap.  A 2008 graduate, Chris Shackleford, took the bait and did my work for me.  Below is his brief testimonial.  I love this guy…

Going to Rabun Gap was one of the greatest experiences of my life. It was a blessing in every way imaginable. I grew, emotionally, physically and spiritually. But nothing helped me grow as much as my time with the basketball team. And it wasn’t the good times I remember. It is the tough ones. The ones I looked at my feet and said “I can’t move these anymore. How does he expect me to keep going?” Those were the best. 

I remember one practice as the worst of all time, Coach Cox was new to the program and trying to instill good habits so when we went home for Christmas break, he gave us each a workout sheet with 11 days on it. When we got back, not only did no one do the workouts, 11 out of 15 people had lost the sheets (yes, I was one of them). Coach didn’t get mad. He didn’t yell. He just said “you each have to realize there is a consequence to every single one of your actions. The consequence to this one is you are going to run a timed suicide for each day on each sheet that wasn’t turned in. If you don’t make the time, we will add one second to the time and try again. Officially, we were supposed to run 121 suicides. We only “officially” ran 77. In reality, we ran 157 because we kept missing the times. I cramped up so badly on 154 that I missed the last 3.

The next day, we came out to practice, sore, tired, dead. I had no desire to be there. But Coach Cox didn’t let us quit. He just kept saying “when you have a chance to be weak, be strong.” He kept yelling to quit acting tired. That “we didn’t have the luxury of being tired.” He said there were people more talented, in  a better position than us and we couldn’t act weak or they would win. So I took each drill, step by step, minute by minute for two hours. And did the same the next day. And the next. It took a full week to get my legs back. 

Flash forward 4 and a half years. I am working for the Charlotte Bobcats as an intern in their scouting department. I had spent the previous night in the Emergency Room, dealing with some medical issues. Vertigo that left me literally unable to stand. Bouts of dizziness that were so bad, I couldn’t tell where the floor was. I left at 3am and had to be at the arena at 6am. I was presenting to Michael Jordan about some draft prospects including UConn’s Kemba Walker and Butler’s Shelvin Mack (who had both just played each other in the National Championship). MJ, the greatest basketball player of all time, was going to listen to me, a 20 year old punk intern. I had a choice. I could give in to being tired. I could make excuses. I could tell MJ that I had been in the emergency room and I was really sorry. That would be the easy way. It would be reasonable. I mean I was legitimately sick. I could give in. And I would have missed my shot to present to the Best Ever.

I didn’t. I had learned how to be tough before. I had been more tired, more exhausted, more beat up I presented and I acted like nothing was wrong. I pushed through, the same way I did on suicide 1. On 75. On 127. At the end of the presentation, Jordan said “good job” then promptly ignored me as he talked to people much higher paid than I am. I went home feeling frustrated that no one saw how hard I had pushed myself. But when my internship ended, I was offered an extended internship for an additional year (this typically leads to a job). I am not saying what I did that one day led to all of that. But I can say that had I been weak that day. If I had given up, I can promise you it doesn’t happen. 

I learned many things from basketball at Rabun Gap. Toughness is at the top of the list but it isn’t the only thing. I don’t have time to write down everything that I learned then. But this was probably the most important. When you have a chance to be weak, be strong. And that is something I will take with me for the rest of my life. 

Deprivation Breeds Appreciation

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Do you remember losing something when you were young? Then that thing you lost took on an entirely different level of importance…it became the greatest, most valuable item of its kind that you ever possessed.  But its gone.  You never forget it.

In the mid 1980’s I was playing on our church softball team.  We traveled to a tournament somewhere in Central Florida.  I do not recall where it was or what month.  It was HOT.  So it must have been some month between January and December.  Can’t remember for sure.
It seems like I was about fourteen.  I was either a really good softball player or many of the others on the team were not very good.  One thing for sure, my now brother-in-law Dick and his brother-in-law James were AMAZING softball players and athletes in general.  And those two guys taught me how to water ski, including how to slalom ski.
I am pretty sure that the only reason I even remember going on that trip is because I lost a shirt.  In my memory, it was the best shirt I ever owned.  I only had it a short time.  Maybe a week or two.  It was the shirt I wore to the field, but I didn’t want to play with it on so I put it down somewhere…it still haunts me (haunts is a very dramatic word for the losing of a shirt, but for me at the time, I just felt desperate and so disappointed).  It was a Nike shirt.  Red.  A little faded I believe.
Nike.
How would you pronounce that word…Nike?  If you had never heard it would you not pronounce it like bike?  Well, that is how we pronounced it back then.  Perhaps it was just a few of us.  But it sure seemed like to me that it was pronounced like “like” until Air got involved.  Bike Air doesn’t flow well.  But Nie Kee Air has a better ring to it.
I made the case several years into the mid 90’s that it should be pronounced with the silent E…by saying, “you wouldn’t say, ‘I likee to ride my bikee, then go on a hikee, while I wear my Nikees.  Eventually, I gave up…but it still makes me feel a little yuck inside.
It was almost 30 years ago that I had to leave that softball field feeling sick about losing that awesome shirt.  For all this time, more thought has been spent on the losing of that shirt than appreciation for the hundreds of other shirts I have owned.  That must mean that this particular shirt was super special. It was so much more important and more valuable than any other shirt I have owned, that it demanded my attention and regret.  My life stalled at that point.
Maybe that it is…I am emotionally stuck in the mid 80’s because of losing that shirt.  That explains the anxiety with the word Nike, my 80’s haircuts, my faded jeans that I still wear cuffed and rolled up, and my Sony Walkman that I still use.
Nah.  Not really.  Truthfully, I am pretty stylish.  For a 41 year old father of four at least.  I don’t wear black dress socks with shorts and tennis shoes.
That shirt taught me a lesson.
One of my favorite phrases now as a father, teacher, coach, mentor, and friend is deprivation breeds appreciation.
Take something away from someone and they are much more likely to appreciate it.  Give a kid too many toys and they don’t appreciate ANY of them.  Give an adult a job, a home, a family that loves them, more food than they need, instant access to entertainment, multiple cars with AC, credit cards that allow them to buy more things that they don’t need and what do you get…?
Well…
We are the most depressed and ungrateful people in the world.  We…who is we? Me. You? Americans? Developed countries?…Christians?
The Isrealites were captive in Egypt.  Forced laborers.  Oppressed.  Then they were set free, given protection, led into victorious battles, provided food and water in a desolate area and you know what they longed for?
They wanted that shirt they lost when they were 14.  They wanted what they lost.  In their foolish minds, what they had before was better than what they had now.  It is pretty easy to judge them as we read the story.  But when we think about it, their story is the story of us.
Friends that have spent time in some of the poorest parts of the world report regularly that people with “nothing” are happy…grateful for even one shirt.  Maybe that shirt I lost ended up with someone who could appreciate it more than I would have.  I hope so.  Same with the fifty dollar bill I lost 16 years ago.  I hope someone needed it more than I needed it.
Just yesterday I was at my nephew’s birthday.  Ezra turned seven.  And I promise you, I have never seen a more grateful and appreciative seven year old at his own birthday party.  He was adorable.  He was so genuine in his gratefulness and appreciation.  And he articulated extremely well.  Typically, over-indulged children will at best just rip open one gift after the other and will unemotionally respond like a robot after being instructed to say thank you.  That is if they don’t flop themselves on the ground because they didn’t get what they wanted or because the endless conveyor belt of gifts has ended.
Children are not the problem.  I am.
I am.
Does that mean anything to you?
Maybe you think the suggestion is that you and I are the problem.  That is partially it.  But I am is the answer.
As a father I have often struggled with understanding the balance of giving my children what they want/need with teaching them to be grateful.  Listen to this…I cannot give what I do not have.  I cannot give what I do not have.  If I want my children to be ANYTHING, I need to be that very thing.
I AM.
When Moses encountered God the first time, God called himself I AM.  Though we probably do not or cannot fully comprehend the meaning of that name, I can sort of get it in this sense.  I cannot give what I do not have.  He can give all because He is all…not lacking in anything.
I want to know how I can appreciate all of my other shirts and not just regret the shirt I lost.  I want to know how I can receive the blessings God so willingly wants to give me.  I want to know how to appreciate my family now and not later.  I want to know how to value the money and possessions I have without allowing them be too important to me.
It is simple.  Perhaps not easy.  But simple.
Lose it all.
That faded red Nike shirt taught me that if I lose it, I appreciate it more. I value it more.  I think of it as better than when I possessed it.  So it is simple.  Lose it.
And God has provided the example.  Anyone who wants to gain his life should lose it.  Jesus said to leave your family, possessions, comfort…leave it all.  Lose it all.  That which we lose we appreciate.  But a good father wants to give his children gifts.  God is a good father.  He does want us to have good gifts.  Our lives are a gift.  Everything in those lives is a gift.  All we have to do is lose it all.  The great thing is that we don’t have literally give them up.  In reality, if we convince ourselves that we have lost everything by giving them up emotionally and spiritually, then we will appreciate them so much more.  Deprivation breeds appreciation.

Did you hear about the one…

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About six years ago I saw a monkey on a golf course in the North Carolina Mountains. I wish it wasn’t true. But it is. I promise.

My dad, my two brothers, and I were playing at Highlands Cove Golf Club, which is now the Old Edwards Inn Course. Oddly enough, I can’t really remember much else about that day. I don’t remember starting the round. I don’t remember finishing the round. I don’t remember what I shot (for non-golfers, that means my score), although if I really am honest, I bet it was over 100 (for you non-golfers, that is not good).

Here are the things I remember. It was a gorgeous day in the month of June, near Father’s Day. It cost $100 per person, but I had a gift certificate that I won at the school’s end of the year party and raffle. Actually, I think I traded it with someone. Seems like I had some sort of picnic bag and the other person had no interest in playing golf. We both won. There is no way I would have paid $400 for our crew to play a round of golf.

The thing that makes me remember it was so nice out was that my brother, JR, was taking lots of pictures. There were so many amazing views that it was tough to play well (haha…golfers always make excuses for their poor play). I cannot say enough to explain how pretty it was. Sunny. Not too hot. Exactly what you want to see when you are in the mountains and when playing golf.

We were having a good time together, as we always do. Making fun of each other but all in love. Three of us, I think, were on the 5th green. I believe I was standing over my putt; probably a birdie putt…it seems like my dad was still down in a little dry creek bed in front of the green. It had tall grass so that if he were on the other side of us, we wouldn’t be able to see him. I really don’t remember exactly where he was at that point, but I know he had been down in there looking for a ball. (Later he said that he heard or sensed something was in the tall grass). He probably started there looking for his own ball, but then started scavenging, which is pretty common for the Cox boys on a golf course.

As I was looking down at my ball about to putt, my youngest brother, Anthony, started saying in an excited but confused voice, “whoa, whoa, whoa..it’s a monkey!”

Hahahahaha…just writing that now makes me laugh out loud and my eyes start watering….

Anthony is funny in a nerdy kind of way. But he is not a goofball. I and my brother JR could be classified as goofballs. But JR is also smart.
I looked at Anthony…he was pointing…his face demonstrated a look of excited apprehension. He was confused. I looked over toward the dry creek bed and tall grass at the front of the green. This little spider-monkey-looking-thing was stopped, staring at us, maybe 50 feet away. It had a snake in its mouth, biting it right in the middle with half of the the 2 foot long snake on each side of its mouth hanging down. I’m not kidding.

This guy stared at us for just a few seconds, but long enough for us to really get a great look. It was sort of like it was looking at us and sizing us up. Not to attack us. Although, I was genuinely nervous. I just assumed it could have and wanted to jump from that point right onto my face. In hindsight, it felt like it was looking at us and thinking, “are these dudes worth my time? will anyone believe them that they saw me here?….nah, nobody will believe these fools…” then he dashed off with that snake in its mouth into the nearby woods. But not too fast. He wasn’t scared. He was confident that we were not coming after him and that nobody would ever believe us.

WHAT?

I said, “WHERE ARE WE?…Are we really in North Carolina?” I seriously had to question where we were. We chattered. I don’t remember what else we said exactly. I just know we looked at each other, recounted what we saw, asked if it could have been a squirrel, a fox, or anything. We kept coming back to the fact that we just saw a monkey. The way it ran (on two feet), its size, its tail, and the fact that it looked EXACTLY LIKE A MONKEY.

We all wondered then and still wonder why JR did not take a picture. All I can say is that I completely understand. We were stunned. Shocked. Confused. All we could do at the moment was look with our mouths open and try our best to individually to process what we were seeing.

Then it was over.

When we made the turn (came to the clubhouse to go from hole 9 to hole 10…which means we were half way through our round) I approached and asked the cart guy if they there were monkeys on the course. Before he answered, I assured him with visual evidence that NONE of us were drinking alcohol (none of us really do…and I know some of you were assuming we were…completely understandable).

He said in a slight southern drawl, “Nooo. But we do have a bunch of bear.” Then started telling us about the most recent sighting. I have no recollection of that story. I said, “Well, we just saw a monkey, on #5 green.” He was unimpressed and displayed no interest in our story.

We went on, still quite confused, unsettled, laughing, but really wanting some help. We didn’t want to have just seen a monkey, unless this was a reasonably common sight here on this Alice in Wonder Land Golf Course.

A few holes later, keep in mind that I do not remember any actual golf that day except for my putt on #5 (which I missed), we saw some grounds crew guys. This was it! These guys would know. They are out early and often all around the course. No doubt they have seen or at least heard about the wildlife here.

Being the spokesperson for the group, I said to the six or seven guys, who were all lined up on there respective lawn mowing machines waiting for us to play through, “hi guys, have any of you ever seen a MONKEY out here?”. They just looked at me. They gave no sign of interest. They just looked at me. It dawned on me that they may not speak English. So, I asked if any of them spoke English, “habla ingles?” Then they started to look at each other and speak Spanish. I know SOME Spanish, but I can’t follow a conversation. They ended up pointing out one guy, and he said, “I do.” So I asked him again the same question. And before he answered, I told him what we saw. He said, “I have only been here one week.” I said, “Oh. OK. Can you ask them if they have ever seen a monkey out here?” He did. I think. Who knows what he said. Then he just said, “no…they haven’t”.

They too seemed unimpressed and uninterested.

We ended the round. Went home. Told our families. They laughed at us. Not with us. At us.

JR emailed us a picture later that day that looked like the monkey we saw. I think it was a rhesus monkey. It did look like what we saw. Look here at this picture that JR inserted.

Now picture it on a North Carolina golf course, with a snake in its mouth. Yep. That’s it. That’s what we saw.

Mistakenly I started to tell others that story. Of course, not one person believed us. There was one time when I was being forced to tell this story at a coaches get together so they could all laugh at me…well…this guy stopped me. I know the following is not going to help support our story…this guy is a great guy, sort of a southern guy, basically, he told us that his Uncle Cletus, hunts in the area and has for years told people that he has seen a monkey out there more than once.

Well, everyone just laughed even more. Uncle Cletus is always the guy you want on your side when trying to prove you saw a monkey on a golf course in the mountains.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t care if people laugh. It is funny. Very funny. But I’m telling you. We saw a monkey.

My friend Pastor Allen Speegle uses an excellent phrase that applies here. It is best used when speaking of our relationship with God and the Truth that is known to us individually. But I think it applies perfectly here too.

“A man with an experience is never at the mercy of a man with an argument.”

We saw a monkey. Your belief in our story does not make it true or untrue. Our experience is all we need.

But, honestly, if anyone out there does in fact believe our story, it would feel nice to be believed. hahahaha

Les Mis

Standard

If you have not seen a presentation of Les Miserables, what are you doing reading this non-blog? Seriously. Stop now and go acquire a copy and watch.

Right. I’m sure you did.

Ha. I just wrote the word acquire. I bet there are a handful of people out there who think EXACTLY what I do when that word is used. They know. If you don’t, you will. But not now. I love that word and what it represents to me and those others I mentioned.

I’m getting back to Les Mis soon.

But, I need to pause and sing…”if I were a rich man….bididibidibi…….HUH” It is on Pandora. My station is called “If I Were a Rich Man.” I love it. Since I started my new job on July 1, I have listened to this station exclusively (except like the first hour or so when I had it on Praise and Worship). I am enamored with Fiddler on the Roof, Sound of Music, Phantom of the Opera, and Les Miserables.

Les Miserables. First and foremost. I referred to it as Les Mis above. I did that on purpose. Even though it grates on my nerves like the word BLOG. I just don’t like shortened words. They annoy me. SUV. Seriously? Just say Sport Utility Vehicle. Do we not have enough time to say the words? Ugh! It bothers me. But then it bothers me that it bothers me. Its an endless loop. Yes. I realize, that means I’m not far from some form of mental disorder. So be it. I love God and I love people. That’s what Jesus said is most important. Being crazy is not wrong.

You know something though, I am not self-righteous about taking shortcuts on things like words. I hate it. Maybe it is my love of grammar…uh oh…I think if I keep that last phrase in here, I have opened myself up to endless grammatical attacks from now on. But you know what, bring it on. I love grammar discussions. And if I make a mistake, I thoroughly embrace the correction. Got it? Bring it!

Whew…back to the not original topic…I take short cuts in strange areas, so I have no right to judge. I try to only have shoes with no shoe strings, or get them large enough that I can slip them on and off without tying, untying….then doing that over and over hundreds of times for the life of that shoe. WHAT??? Its not the time loss that bothers me. Just the thought of doing that task again makes me want to throw a shoe. And seriously, do not get me started on buttons on shirts. ohhhh, boy….anxiety is setting in. If a neck button on my oxford shirt does not go in the first time, it is possible that I have a terrible day. That button has nothing to do in life except

go
in
the
button
hole (I reallly wanted to use another word)

Mom. Its ok. I just leaned back. Took a breath. I’m good. I’m back on topic.

(You’ll read about my mom later. And my dad. They are simply amazing. You’ll see if you don’t already know)

Les Miserables. That story captures me. There is no doubt that my heart expands watching it, listening to the sound track, and even talking or thinking about it. I used to show the Liam Neeson version to my drop-out prevention classes. Just because I thought they needed to see it. And I wanted to talk to them about the message. I never got to see it on stage. Though I’ve heard its not necessarily as good to watch on stage.

Stay here.

Man. The story of redemption. Love. Forgiveness. Ransom. WOW!

Jean Valjean. What a hero. Maybe the best there is outside of Jesus of course. And little ones, Jesus IS a hero. The best. Why don’t more adults pattern their life after him you might wonder? I wonder too. I wonder why I don’t too. I think I do. Then I realize that I fall so far short.

Which brings me to my main point. I love Jean Valjean. If you seriously haven’t seen it, I recommend maybe starting with Liam Neeson version. Not a musical. It just tells the story. In short, Jean is redeemed by a man who had every right to condemn him. Jean spends the rest of his life carrying on that love and forgiveness. The story is not that simple. Yet, at the same time, it is just that simple.

So, I was watching it recently. The 2012 version with Hugh Jackman and Russell Crowe (shhhhh…don’t start in on him…enough…he did fine). Boy, I tear up so much watching it. I so badly want to identify with Jean Valjean. And I try. I often think I am succeeding. But I’m telling you something my friends, when I heard Inspector Javert singing about the righteous being rewarded for following the law and working hard, I got absolutely punched in the face and stomach at the same time. (“One Day More” is on now…I’ve got chills). Javert simply could never get the point. And we are so much more like him than we want to acknowledge. He wanted people to suffer for their sins, their crimes. Even himself. He could not grasp redemption. He could not understand grace. It was cut and dry to him. Follow the law and you are rewarded with peace. Break the law and you suffer. Jean Valjean completely destroyed the Inspector. With love. Grace. Redemption. The Inspector could not accept it. He ended his life lost. Alone. Only because he could not forgive. Couldn’t forgive others. Nor himself.

I’m trying hard to be like Valjean. I want to be like him. I want to be like Jesus who said, “Father forgive them. They know not what they do.” Freedom.

But I find myself too often wanting justice. For me and for others.

That is fine. If I let the judge decide. He knows how to judge. I don’t. Can you help me remember that? I am not the judge. I am not the jury. There’s only one judge. And He judges me unjustly by my own standards. Why can’t I let him do the same for all?