see you soon - coldplay

catching up on family time

I finally got the chance to post some pictures on facebook of some great family moments we've had in the middle of all this medic school chaos. And...due to that chaos and business, I'm gonna be lazy and just put the link to the album here on this page:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=223282&l=95152c2f09&id=628423586

I'm so thankful for these little moments when I can sneak home for a few hours at a time, shake off the horrors of the trauma I've witnessed, forget about emergency medicine, and soak up my family. What a lucky guy I am to come home to those three beautiful people.

fun being a father

Everett is learning how to sit up, and as with Simone when she was this age, watching him learn his new skill is our favorite way to entertain ourselves. It's shocking how many hours Crystal and I spend just watching our kids and getting a royal kick out of them!

Here's a picture of some home-made doughnuts Crystal made for Fathers' Day! I almost passed out when I took my first bite.





When I told Simone we were gonna eat doughnuts her eyes bulged and she said, "Yaaaay! I haven't eaten doughnuts in like 3 DAYS!" I laughed hard. And then I wondered what Crystal feeds her when I'm gone.

I feel like the luckiest guy in the world on this Fathers' Day. Crystal made me feel special. The kids made me laugh all day. Didn't have to work, so I got to be at church with my family, which is rare lately. I was caught up enough in school to mostly take the day off and just enjoy these beautiful people I get to live life with.

Thank you, Abba. Thank you, Amma. Thank you, Creator.

don't jump

One of the blogs I follow is PostSecret, a website that publishes postcards sent in by people anonymously. Most of them are confessions, secrets that the senders aren't comfortable telling their loved ones, but need to be expressed. It is sometimes so sad, sometimes shocking, sometimes so eye- and mind-opening to see what my fellow humans carry around with them every day - the good, bad, and ugly.

About a week ago, someone posted this postcard:





And within seven days 59,000 people had joined an online community through PostSecret and Facebook offering notes of encouragement and hope to this lost person. Here are a few postcards sent in response:











This movement even caught the attention of Time magazine. Here's a link to the article in Time's News Feed.

This story just blows my mind. I am such a cynical person sometimes, and I often feel totally disgusted by humanity, myself included. What a startling counter-attack to the pervasive middle-finger-stuck-out-at-the-world mentality of today. For that many people to care so much that one person who is lost, who they don't even know, be found before it's too late - What a divine display of humanity and love for a total stranger.

mountain man

Yesterday was too beautiful a day to be inside. Once the rain left there was a misty, overcast sky that made the grass look so green it felt like a dream or a cartoon. Unlike a sunny day, when all the colors seem kind of washed out, gray skies allow all the colors of the earth to shine in a way that I find startling and always have (hence the picture I use as my blog header).

I knew of one place where we could really enjoy this. So we went for a hike at Devil's Den State Park. There's a trail there that leads to a lookout called Yellow Rock, where you feel like you can see the whole world in front of you. You have a vantage point of miles and miles of Ozark mountains, and snaking rivers. A place where you can't help but feel at peace.

This was the first trip to the mountains for Everett. We were a little concerned about how a four-month-old would tolerate an hour and a half hike in the Bjorn, but let me tell you...Like a wild mountain lion, he scampered over logs, adeptly scaled rock walls, caught muskrat with his bare hands, and gnawed on them with his eager gums.

I'm kidding - the doctor says he won't be able to do those things for at least two more months. He sat pretty still, went along for the ride, eyes glazed over, half asleep, and didn't do or say much of anything. We had a blast.





















(this is what happens when you try to take your own family picture: two-year-old looking at a bug, baby trying to eat his arm, vein popping out of the cameraman's head, and stunning wife doing exactly what she's supposed to be doing)

moses

I have been officially accepted into this year's Paramedic program, and will be starting in two weeks. This is an advancement from EMT to Paramedic that I've been looking forward to for a long time. Here's the catch. Every paramedic I talk to asks if I'm ready for my year in hell. One told me that his year in the program should count for credit as time served in hell, in case he ends up there. The head of the program told me to take lots of pictures of my kids in the next couple of weeks, 'cause otherwise I won't remember what they look like by the end of the year. Why? Well, for eleven months I will be working my normal fifty to sixty hour weeks at Central EMS, in school for sixteen hours a week (four college classes for each of the three semesters), doing clinical rotations in the ER for twelve to twenty hours a week, and somewhere in between, finding the time to do homework.

And so, logically, I am filled with anxious thoughts about the coming year. When am I going to be with my family? What's Crystal going to do this year? I'm used to being a very involved dad, spending lots of time during the weekdays with my kids, since I work such strange night and weekend hours. Will they forget me? Will our marriage be o.k.? Will this even be worth it?

Yesterday, I had the little ones while Crystal did one of her cleaning jobs, and Simone was in a musical mood. She spent no less than an hour singing out loud about everything under the sun. It was a really hilarious and touching window into her mind. For a while I was distracted with Everett, and wasn't paying close attention to her musical monologue. But one line was so melodic that it caught my attention, and I began to notice what she was singing in her angelic voice:

"Don't be sad...anymore
Don't be afraid...anymore
You don't need to worry...anymore"

I said, "Simone, that's so pretty, what are you singing about?"
She said, "I singin' about Moses."

It gave me the chills. In the Hebrew story, Moses was a great mediator between God and people. He had a special connection, and spoke to the people from God.

I suddenly had the sense that God was speaking to me through my little singing Moses. Do not fear. Do not be anxious. There's no need.

Alright, then.

chicken wings and everett

The two are not connected in any way. Except the obvious fact that Everett's gonna love 'em like his daddy does. I made some home-made buffalo wings tonight and I thought they turned out great! Crystal's not too thrilled about chicken wings, so I had Stephen over, and we devoured them. Here are some pictures; and I can't help but throw in a few cool ones of my little man...



(there they are, fryin' up in the dutch oven)



(here they are, after the fryin', before the sauce)



(the finished product!)

And now, for some Everett:











In case anyone ever wants to make buffalo wings and thinks, as I did 'til tonight, that they're too hard and wouldn't taste anything like the restaurant...not so! Here's what you do:

Separate the joints of 4lbs of chicken wings, and discard the wing tips. Dredge each remaining piece in flour (seasoned with salt). Heat about four inches of oil or shortening in a dutch oven or deep pot to 400 degrees (about high to medium-high heat). Fry the wings in batches for about 12-14 minutes or until nice and crispy. While the chicken is frying, mix one 6 0z. bottle of Louisiana hot sauce with one stick of melted butter in a large bowl. Drain the wings and toss in bowl of buffalo sauce. Plate 'em, and eat up! Really easy, and tastes crispy and tender.

waiting room

Remember when the waiting room at the doctor's office had plastic magazine racks bolted to the wall and something to read for any kind of person? Now, the magazine rack has been replaced with a neat little sign alerting us that this is a "Wi-Fi Hot Spot!" The sound of pages flipping has been replaced with intermittant chimes from peoples' smart phones, letting them know their car insurance is due. (Wouldn't want to have to wait 'til I get home to know THAT!)

[DISTRACTING SIDE THOUGHT: in the future, I think babies will learn texting before they learn how to talk. Awww, Honey, Jimmy just sent his first text: "gaga. googoo. lol :-)" Isn't he so smart?]

In every public place, everywhere and every time people are sitting around waiting for something, it seems that more noses than not are buried in their phones. I don't know if this is a bad thing, a good thing, or just the same old thing people have always been doing, with a technological flare. Nobody knows what to do with themselves when they have to wait.

I am the chief of sinners.

I've never procrastinated. I'd love to claim this as a by-product of my superduper work ethic. But I think I just can't stand unfinished business. I'd be such a pissy ghost. I'm gonna be one of the busiest hospice patients anyone's ever seen.

I can tell, though, that life wants to strip me of that tendency. Lately, I have been so dogone tired that I have let things go to an appalling degree. I've looked at lists I've made of things to be done and just laughed. That won't be happening anytime soon. It goes against my own nature, but maybe my own nature is neurotic and unreasonable.

Between all the waiting I've done lately for things outside of my control, and just waiting for the energy and motivation within myself to do things, I should be a certified and centered monk. My mind should be a monastery. But I'm still a young man with a lot of nervous energy and intestinal turmoil.

This is clearly something that I won't be conquering today. In fact, I should probably wrap things up - my phone's telling me I've gotta pay my water bill.

redemption

For years, I have been in a serious philosophical quandary about prayer. I have spent most of my life imagining God as someone who stands above us, sifting through emails and phone calls, deciding which prayers to answer and which to ignore for some unknown reason. What happens when two people are praying opposing prayers? I'm reminded of a verse in the Tom Wait's song The Day After Tomorrow. The song is written from the perspective of an American soldier fighting in a war, and feeling disillusioned:

"You can't deny, the other side don't wanna die anymore than we do.
what I'm trying to say is, don't they pray to the same God that we do?
tell me, who does God choose.
whose prayers does he refuse..."

As a kid, growing up watching the Cardinals play, I would get so wrapped up in the game that I'd be begging God to help them win. I never thought about the prayers of the Astros fans.

The most interesting thing about the view of prayer I adopted for most of my life is my own reaction to what I perceived as God's anwser, his action or lack there of. When I felt that God answered my prayers, I would thank him. When I felt that he didn't, I had to find some way of rationalizing it. Isn't it such an ingrained way of thinking f0r so many of us? When good things happen, we thank God - all blessings come from God. But when bad things happened, we don't blame him (or we know we shouldn't) - after all, they don't come from him, do they?

How is it that all good things that happen were caused by God, and all bad things were simply not stopped by God?

How is it that God helped deliver my babies safely into the world, gave us money to live, kept me safe every day at a dangerous job, helped me do well on a test, helped my baseball team win, but let 200,000 people die in an earthquake, let a friend die a slow and painful death to cancer, let millions of people starve, oppressed by the wealthy and powerful? I work on an ambulance. I've seen selfish, bitter, and abusive people live to a ripe old age, continuing to abuse their family and destroy lives. And I've seen thirty-year-old men drop dead without a moment's notice in front of their families that loved them. Why answer the trivial, and ignore the astronomical prayers?

Is it possible that God doesn't routinely alter the course of events, things that would or wouldn't have happened had someone not prayed. If God is eternal, and we are eternal, than God must be infinitely patient. Eternal, infinite significance doesn't lie in the events of life themselves, but in how they change us, who we become from them, what they teach us. I have to believe the concern of God, from his eternal perspective, would be our hearts, our nature, redeeming us to our true selves, his spirit empowering us to become who we were created to be.

That is why Easter has so much significance to so many people.

"God did not abolish the fact of evil. He transformed it. He did not stop the crucifixion. He rose from the dead." -Dorothy Sayers

Why would God need to make things happen or stop them from happening, when everything can be redeemed; everything can teach us and grow us; and we have eternity to learn? My prayers have changed. I wonder if prayer benefits the one praying more than the person or situation they are about. I pray for God's presence. I pray for peace. I pray for encouragement and strength. Pray these things for my children, my wife, all my family, all the world.

I pray for and believe in redemption.

disturbing the peace

A puke-green streetlight just came on, and I'd like to accuse the buzzing transformer of disturbing the peace.

I really mean this when I say that I was VERY close to solving one of the world's greatest and most pressing problems. And now, I've been thrown back into the moment, where I'm sitting in the bed of my truck and supposing that I should fix my own problems first, then move on (time permitting). My thoughts aren't connected in the same linear way they used to be. Whether it's the sleep loss or just the atrophy of an undisciplined mind, I don't know. But I'm lucky if I think two things in a row that make any sense together. Tonight I'm going to embrace the chaos and let my free-radicals flow at near atomic levels and hope that no one around me gets cancer:

Peace is possible. The kingdom of heaven is a way of living, a way of seeing the world. With a mask over your eyes that blinds you to all the things in the world that could never hurt you but you fear anyway. A chemical in the air you breathe, ubiquitous oxytocin connecting everyone with Divine love. A knowledge of what and who you were created to be.

Children help you see that. They live very close to the kingdom of heaven.

But two children screaming and inconsolable at the same time is a Purgatory.

I wonder all the time why we think we have discovered a comprehensive view of God, based on the writings of only a few, and why modern theological writing cannot be viewed as Scripture. I think St. Paul would be mortified to know that a few embarrassing, angry emails shot off to a rebellious group of his followers would someday be Holy Scripture. I wonder why it took me so long to realize that when Paul said "all scripture is God-breathed" he obviously wasn't referring to his own writings but of the old scriptures, the ones that people were reading in his time. All positive communication is God-breathed, including many of St. Paul's writings, and many of our words and writings to each other.

Beauty is EVERYWHERE. Every moment is redeemable when you realize that. You are never stuck somewhere. I love the excerpt from William Blake's Auguries of Innocence:

"To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wildflower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour"

Finally, God is present.

I withdraw my accusation to the streetlight.

my sweets

not enough silence

"Where shall the word be found, where will the word resound? Not here, there is not enough silence." T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday

Crystal put this up on her facebook page the other day and it hit me like a ton a bricks.

What a world this could be if we knew how good silence was for us. What a different person I could be if I didn't look for ways to keep myself busy whenever I have the chance to sit, meditate, breathe. I'm so happily surrounded by people, my beautiful family, and so addicted to their presence that I almost cower when I'm alone.

But when I do manage to embrace the space when I have it, something profound happens to me spiritually. I know who I am. I know who I want to be. I feel divine love. I feel peace. My head defragments. I am energized and renewed.

Where will we find truth? Where will God reside? Here in the silence.

i love this crazy job

I am a full-time EMT working for Central EMS, still green by many standards, having worked a little less than two years in this field. When people call me green, I tell them I like to think of myself as “fresh.” But rather than starting off on the streets full of excitement and wonder, and then gradually burning out as many have, it’s been a strangely upside-down experience for me.

Before I became an EMT, and when I was looking into this field, I had a lot of delusions of fast driving, lights and sirens, excitement, getting away from my office job, and saving lives every hour. And that's why it was so disillusioning at first to see what EMS really is. What I had to learn (and feel like I'm just arriving at) is far different than what the world would have you believe EMS is all about. That we are here for people. We are here to help people no matter what. And especially, the people who aren't easy to help.

If we're twenty hours into a twenty-four hour shift...how can we have a good attitude at three in the morning when we desperately need sleep and a drug seeker or homeless person is abusing our service? We can, but only by realizing that we are here as much or more for them as the ones in critical condition from a car wreck or heart attack. It's easy and fun to help someone who got hurt by accident, who didn't deserve this. But what really excites me about being a paramedic is that when I come to work, I know I will have the chance to help people in all situations - some of them who legitimately need my skills, advanced-life-support knowledge and equipment, and others calling me only because they can’t afford normal care, or they’re afraid and don’t know who to call.

Every day I get to be in a position of leadership, capable of influencing the way people in these vulnerable situations will be treated. For that, I am finally beginning to be so grateful for this crazy job, and learning to love it more than I thought possible two years ago.

forgive me...

Ok, ok, I promise this blog isn't going to be just a bunch of silly pictures. But I came across this and, being the bacon lover that I am, I absolutely could not help myself:





Yes.

This is a beef and cheese patty wrapped in a bacon turtle shell, with hot dog legs and head! Bar-b-que style.

Yes! Where can I get one of these? Is it possible that things like this really exist? Or is this a mere fantasy designed to ruin my chances of ever enjoying lentil soup and salad? If I was ailing and contacted the Make A Wish foundation, or was on death row and had my final meal request, could they find this for me?

One can only hope.

tell me something good

After years of resistence, I've finally decided to start my own blog (I'm going to do my best to not let it become a self-indulgent vent-fest). And if it ever does get that way, you know what to do...

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some thinking to do.