The Surprise Massacre

This year I turned 40 years old, and my spousal unit and brother decided to band together to coordinate a surprise party for me.  Somehow, they actually managed to do it all in secret, none of the usual weak links blabbed about it, and I was actually surprised when it all went down.  The main factor that my spousal unit had going for her is that I trust her completely.  So, the endless stream of text messages with persons unknown that went on for weeks didn’t peak my suspicions.  Maybe some jealous husbands would have thought she had some sort of secret lover and would have broken her phone passcode to find out what was going on…but not me.

The second factor that she had going for her was being in cahoots with my brother.  He could do things in the background, like coordinating guests and ordering party supplies, so my spousal unit didn’t get caught doing that.  But even still, the whole affair was quite a well-planned operation, worthy of a military offensive.  My spousal unit pulled out all of the stops.  As I previously-stated, I am a trusting person, so I generally leave my phone sitting on the counter when I’m at home.  I don’t obsessively carry it around with me, so it’s easily-accessible at all hours of the day.  I also don’t lock it; because one, I have nothing to hide, and two, I get annoyed after the first effort to unlock it.  This gave my spousal unit the perfect opportunity.

The third factor that she had going for her is the fact that she’s pregnant, which gave her some cover excuse.  I didn’t think anything of it when she would get up at 2 o’clock in the morning and head into the den.  I thought she was just uncomfortable and needed to sit up on the couch, which was actually true on some nights, but she also used the same excuse to grab my phone off the counter and raid my contact list.  I would find out later that in addition to some of my sister-in-law’s family, my spousal unit had invited some of my friends from work, my friends from different states, my friends that lived on the other side of Texas, and even my old roommates from college that just happened to be visiting family for the holidays.  Unfortunately, not everyone could make it, but it’s the thought that counts, and my spousal unit pulled out all of the thoughts…er…stops.

So, the key to any good surprise birthday party is getting the naturally, home-bodied birthday boy out of the house for some extended period of time.  This allows the collaborators to set up decorations and get food, and allows the guests to sneak into the house unnoticed.  To truly pull this off well, the excuse has to be simple enough that you don’t have to make up a lot of details and elaborate enough that it involves extended period of time outside of the house.  Too many details are what makes people ask questions and be suspicious, which is bad.  You want people to have their guard down and not delve too deeply into the motivation behind suddenly needing to do…fill in the blank.

In this instance, my brother asked me to take him and my nieces to the mall to go shopping.  My spousal unit and sister-in-law decided to stay behind.  This was not suspicious, because my spousal unit is pregnant and often doesn’t feel well, and my sister-in-law is the type of person that would rather sit on her phone than participate in a physical activity.  It was my brother that almost let the cat out of the bag with his reason for why he wanted to go to the mall.  But it was still a simple enough request not to have my alarms going off, and any questions I might have had were squashed by my unconditional love for my nieces and my desire to make them happy.

So, we went to the mall.  I won’t bore you with those details, but needless to say, they stalled for hours by going into every…single…store.  Again, nothing unusual when shopping with young ladies.  When we finally left and headed home, it had grown dark outside.  The large volume of cars parked up and down the street is quite common in my neighborhood, so that didn’t even raise my suspicions.  By this point I was so oblivious, that even when I saw some strange kid walking up my driveway to my front door, I didn’t think anything of it.  I thought I recognized him as my friend’s son, but just assumed that maybe they were in town visiting family and had decided to make an unannounced stop at our house.  And that’s why the first words out of my mouth when I walked in the door, arms full of shopping bags, was, “Are we expecting someone…?”

A mob of people then jumped out from around the corner and yelled, “Surprise!!!”  Now, I must pause a moment and digress a little.  If you know me at all, then you know that I absolutely hate to be startled like this.  They say that when you’re properly motivated, you will either fight or take flight.  I am a fighter.  I will instinctively lash out at the perceived threat to my well-being.  So, it is a good thing for everyone involved that at that moment, I am not a carrier of a concealed handgun.  Because it could easily have turned into the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre up in that house.  I imagine the duplicit difficulty with either trying to explain to the police how a surprise birthday party turned into a mass murder or with trying to find a way to hide twenty-three bodies in a backyard the size of small closet.

But I did not go Al Capone on my party guests, and nobody was harmed in the making of my surprise party.  The house was decorated with “Vintage 1978” signs and banners, which was much better than that “Over the Hill” crap that most people get.  BBQ from Hard Eight was piled en masse on the stove top.  And a cake shaped like a tombstone, etched with the words “Here Lies His Youth” lay invitingly on the counter.

The night was spent eating and visiting with friends and family, some I had seen a month earlier and some I hadn’t seen in years.  I did my part; wearing a giant, black Mad Hatter hat with the number 40 on the side and bouncing from group to group to chat and express how grateful I was that they had come.  It was a great mix of people, not too many, but enough.  We had a variety of ages and personalities, and we even had a band of kids running around destroying things upstairs.  I was happy that each and every one of them was there.  But the grand surprise was when my old friend SM from Missouri walked into the door.  Apparently, he had hopped a flight at the last minute, armed with nothing but a backpack of supplies, to be here to celebrate with me.  I have not seen him for almost six years, so I was overwhelmed with joy at being able to pull him into a warm embrace.

All in all, not a bad surprise birthday party.  The only downside (if you can even call it that) is that I’ll be eating BBQ every meal for the next week!  I can’t thank my spousal unit and brother enough for putting it altogether for me.

Just Drop the Blanket

I came across this online blog post by Jason Soroski, and it seemed like the perfect way to share Christmas this year.

https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/just-drop-the-blanket/

This month “A Charlie Brown Christmas” aired on national primetime television for the 50th time. In a world where the latest greatest technology is outdated in a matter of months, and social media trends come and go in a matter of days, 50 years of anything becomes quite meaningful.

I am a fan of all things nostalgic and all things Christmas, and so when the two are combined I am hooked. The Charlie Brown Christmas special falls squarely into that category.

I was in the first grade back when they still performed Christmas pageants in schools (less than 50 years, but still a very long time ago), and our class performed a version of the Charlie Brown Christmas. Since I was kind of a bookworm and already had a blue blanket, I was chosen to play the part of Linus. As Linus, I memorized Luke 2:8–14, and that Scripture has been hidden in my heart ever since.

8 And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. 10 And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. 11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. 12 And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” 13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, 14 “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

But while working so diligently to learn those lines, there is one important thing I didn’t notice then, and didn’t notice until now.

Right in the middle of speaking, Linus drops the blanket.

Charlie Brown is best known for his uniquely striped shirt, and Linus is most associated with his ever-present security blanket. Throughout the story of Peanuts; Lucy, Snoopy, Sally, and others all work to no avail to separate Linus from his blanket. And even though his security blanket remains a major source of ridicule for the otherwise mature and thoughtful Linus, he simply refuses to give it up.

Until this moment. When he simply drops it.

In that climactic scene when Linus shares what “Christmas is all about,” he drops his security blanket, and I am now convinced that this is intentional. Most telling is the specific moment he drops it: when he utters the words “fear not.”

Looking at it now, it’s pretty clear what Charles Schulz was saying through this, and it’s so simple it’s brilliant.

The birth of Jesus separates us from our fears.

The birth of Jesus frees us from the habits we are unable (or unwilling) to break ourselves.

The birth of Jesus allows us to simply drop the false security we have been grasping so tightly, and learn to trust and cling to him instead.

The world can be a scary place, and most of us find ourselves grasping to something temporal for security, whatever that thing may be. Essentially, it is a world in which it is very difficult for us to “fear not.”

But in the midst of fear and insecurity, this simple cartoon image from 1965 continues to live on as an inspiration for us to seek true peace and true security in the one place it has always been and can always still be found.

Gifts of the Magi - Part 2

I wanted to provide an update to the last post, as more has been revealed to me about our attempt to help the homeless men on that little corner near my wife’s office.  I saw the FedEx man again one morning, and he was wearing the gloves from his bag.  I didn’t see any trace of anything else, so I’m not sure what happened to the rest of it.  I didn’t see the Beard man again, but one evening, I saw a homeless woman crossing the street in front of my car wearing the coat from Beard man’s bag.  So, apparently, he had shared his “spoils” with his friends.  I saw the Oklahoma man on the next morning, and he was wearing the coat from his bag.  Again, I didn’t see anything else, so perhaps he had also redistributed some of it, or perhaps it was hidden away under the freeway overpass somewhere.

I know that this venture started out as God changing lives through me, but it ended with Him changing my life as well.  I am less put-off and less afraid of these men of the streets.  It may not be the life I would choose for myself, but there is still a sort of family and camaraderie between them.  I saw acts of kindness, acts of nobility, and acts of gratitude.  None of them acted entitled or deserving.  They were all gracious and humble.  When I compare that to many of the pompous, stuck-up people I meet that are decidedly more well-off, I find the homeless men to have a richer spirit.  And the bonds of survival between them is tied more deeply to brotherly love than the ways that many of us treat each other.

My wife said that she could always tell when I handed out a bag, because I had a glow about me, and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.  It’s true that I was so grateful for the Lord to use me to bless these men, that I couldn’t contain my euphoria.  I got nothing tangible from this…no recognition…nor did I need or want that.  It was the pure joy of seeing someone else get and appreciate a gift.  I also found myself already thinking about the bags I want to create next year.  My wife was even excited about it, talking about maybe creating more bags and touching more lives.  Who knew that such a simple question to God would so completely change our lives?

Gifts of the Magi

Near my wife’s office, there are a rotating group of homeless men that panhandle near the freeway.  They appear to be harmless enough, and many of them even wave at the drivers as they go by.  Most of them are wearing dirty, shabby, mismatched clothing; and they look as if they haven’t bathed or shaved in years.  But they are out there every day, regardless of the weather, with their little cardboard signs, seeking a small bit of kindness where they can find it.

As the weather has started to turn colder, I asked my wife if there was a shelter nearby where the men would go at night to stay warm.  She said that apparently there used to be one, but it was closed down due to complaints from businesses in the area.  While one part of my brain understands this, the other part was greatly troubled by it.  Regardless of their choices or misfortune in life, nobody should freeze to death on the streets.

I remember a story that my pastor shared one Sunday in church.  He said that a man was watching the news one day, and he was appalled by the horrors he was seeing around the world.  On every channel, it was the same theme…people suffering.  So, he prayed to God, “God, why are you letting this happen?!  You need to do something about it!”  And God replied, “I did.  I created you.”  One of the messages for our church this year was serving the needs of the people around you.  You don’t necessarily need to go to the other side of the world to find someone to serve.  There are people in your own backyard.

So, with this in mind, I asked God what I could do to help.  And just like the man in the story, God answered…clear and precise.  It was so specific that it made me feel like I was getting exact dimensions to build an ark or something.  He said, “I want you to create a care package with a warm coat, hat, and gloves and give it to the next man you meet panhandling by the freeway.”  I asked the Lord, “Just one?  That doesn’t seem like enough.  There are so many men in need, how is one going to make a difference?  Surely, we can do better than that.”  Again, He responded, “Not one…three.”

I tentatively shared this revelation from God with my wife.  I wasn’t sure how she’d take it.  I know she has a rational fear of these homeless men, because she’s witnessed some of their drug-related encounters with law enforcement.  I don’t think it’s the same men, but the images are stuck in her head nonetheless.  Besides which, I was talking about a significant chunk of money; money that we definitely could use for other things.

Nothing could have prepared me for her reaction.  She was just as enthusiastic to participate as I was!  In fact, she suggested that we also add some food to the bag, so they wouldn’t be hungry.  And that’s one of the reasons that I love her so much.  Not just because she can still surprise me, but because she’s supportive of my hairbrained ideas.  She never even hesitated to give me free rein to fulfill my calling or be obedient to God’s instructions.  She just asked what she could do to help.  On top of that, she unconsciously showed the underlying layer of kindness that makes up her fundamental core by adding the food; her contribution to the gift.

So, the next night, we set off to the store and started to purchase the items.  As I was sifting through the winter clothes, I found some warm, fleece pullovers.  I decided to throw them in the basket too.  Then, I grabbed some scarves and socks, because necks and feet get cold too.  I mean God didn’t say I couldn’t add more than he directed.  He didn’t say I couldn’t be more generous.  So, these extras were my contribution to the gift.  We all had put a part of ourselves into it, and we affectionately called the enterprise the Gifts of the Magi.

In the story of Jesus’ birth, the magi were kings or wise men from the East who followed a star to worship the newborn King of the World.  They brought with them gifts to pay homage to the One that God had sent to save us…gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  Even though there is no mention of the exact number of magi in the Bible, common belief has always been that there were three of them, because of the mention of three gifts.  The gifts themselves also hold meaning and significance.  Gold was commonly used to represent kingship, showing that Jesus would be King of the World.  Frankincense was commonly used to represent deity, showing that Jesus was God in human flesh.  And myrrh was commonly used to represent death, showing that Jesus would die for our sins and in our place.

So, like the magi of the Bible, we packaged up our gifts and set out to deliver them.  Our recipients might not have been a baby from a virgin mother, but they still deserved a little Christmas kindness.  The giving of the gifts proved to be more difficult than you might think.  Timing the traffic and stoplights with being properly positioned to hand a bag out of the window was not easy.  Not to mention that the first couple of mornings that we drove by the corner, there wasn’t a single homeless man in sight!  But I persevered, and was finally rewarded one evening on my way to pick up my wife from work.

The first man that God brought me to was a thin black man with an oversized FedEx coat that looked like it used to be blue, but now was more of a black or gray; a faded Texas A&M cap; and shoes that were so torn up that you could see his toes through the front of them.  I motioned him to the car, and he limped down to my window.  I handed him the first bag, and his response made me laugh.  He said, “Is this a bomb?”  I told him it was just a gift and wished him a very Merry Christmas.  That was it.  The light changed, and I had to move on.

The second man that God brought me to was a tall, white man with a big, bushy, gray beard.  I had seen this man on another day actually save another homeless man from walking in front of a semi-truck, so I knew that I already liked him.  Unfortunately, I was too far away and wasn’t able to time the stoplight with the position of the car.  So, after dropping my wife off at work, I circled back through as gas station, crossed all three lanes on the feeder road, and found myself directly beside him.  I motioned him to the car, and gladly came to the window.  I handed him the second bag, and he gently took it with both hands.  All he said was, “God bless you.”  To which I replied, “You as well.  And Merry Christmas.”

That same afternoon, God brought me to the third man.  He was dressed slightly better than the other two and didn’t have as much beard growth, so I assumed that he hadn’t been in the life quite as long.  I motioned him to the car, and handed him the third bag.  He responded, “Man…what is this?  All of this is for me?”  I replied that it was, and he said, “You have no idea, but I desperately needed a bag, and look here, the Lord provided one.”  He shook my hand, asked my name, and shared his story with me.  He was trying to save up enough money to get back to Oklahoma to see his family.

I was overwhelmed by the fact that this man acknowledged that the Lord cared about even something so small as a bag.  It made me truly appreciate that God is looking out for all of our needs, no matter how small.  It also felt good to actually do something to help, instead of just expecting someone else to take care of it.

Ethiopian Hand…Wrist…Shake…Grasp

Today, YG asked me how I would greet someone if I had something on my hands.  Normally, I would shake hands with someone when I greeted them, so obviously I couldn’t do that if I had something on my hand.  I told him that I might apologize and explain the situation, and possibly shake with my left hand.  He said that in Ethiopia, people will actually offer their wrist instead, and the other person thinks nothing of it to grasp their wrist in greeting.  This, of course, fascinated me, so I decided to do some research on this and came across the following list of Ethiopian etiquette as it relates to dining.

Traditionally, Ethiopian food is eaten with the hands. This is done by tearing off some injera and using it to scoop up some food and then eat all of it. For newcomers, this may feel slightly awkward at first, but usually it becomes fun after a while. Foreigners are not usually familiar with traditional Ethiopian etiquette, so here are some tips before you come:

• Communal plates are usually used for traditional meals, but reaching across the whole plate to get food is impolite, stick to eating what is close to you.
• The left hand is considered unclean in Ethiopian culture, so try to remember to eat with your right hand.
• You will always be able to wash your hands before and after the meal. A waiter may bring a basin and a water pitcher for you to do so. Hold your hands over the basin and the waiter will pour the water over your hands.
• Don’t be nervous or shy!! It’s completely normal to have your hands covered in food and grabbing food with the injera can prove difficult at times. It is acceptable to use your hands to grab food as well, but it’s usually easier to use injera.
• Often, when greeting people at the restaurant, they will have washed their hands already, but they may be covered in food. Instead of a handshake, lightly grasp their wrist, when they offer it, but do not shake it. If your hands have food on them too, touching your wrist to theirs is acceptable as well.
• A gesture that you may encounter is the gursha, which is when someone puts food in your mouth. This gesture is one of respect and it is polite to accept it.

Grandma Balboa

I was sitting here today, working on my blog, and I was doing some research on one of the stories.  All of a sudden, I noticed off to the side of the article an ad for a breaking news story about a 90-year old grandma that was viciously kicked during an unprovoked assault.  The article has video footage of the assault, as well as an inset of the bruised and battered grandma.  Just below that is another ad that shows a very similar-looking grandma in spandex shorts and running shoes training at a high school track.

I don’t think this is coincidence, and I pity the man that attacked her.  Because obviously this grandma is not taking this attack lying down.  She’s about to go a-la-Rocky-Balboa on his butt!  I saw Rocky IV, when he was running up a mountain in the snow.  The next picture in this series is going to be the grandma bench-pressing a cart full of people in Siberia.  If I were you, Mr. Idiot-Who-Attacked-a-Grandma, I would run.  She’s coming for you, and she’s got blood in her sights!

HOV Me

Every day when I’m leaving the office to go pick up my spousal unit, I text her to let her know that I’m on the way.  Since the traffic between my office and hers is terrible in both directions at that time of day, I ask her to turn on the HOV, so we can get the discounted rate and zoom past the worst of the traffic.  It takes some time for it to kick in, so I have to get her to turn it on early to use it.

In order to place this request, I have simply resorted to two little words, “HOV me.”  After she turns it on, she sweetly sends back, “You are HOVed!!”  It’s cute, and it’s ours, and I love it.

The Kick That Saved His Life

If you don’t think that God’s plan for your life is always in action, even when it seems that things are going wrong, then take a look at Ryan O’Connor, an Irish jockey working in Australia last year.  He was kicked in the back by his horse Karlakee Miss.  The kick itself didn’t appear to do too much damage.  But later in the day, he started complaining of back pain, so he decided to go to the hospital and get it checked out.  While they were running tests, they found out he had an aggressive form of testicular cancer.  He had a three-and-a-half-inch tumor, which required multiple surgeries and chemotherapy to treat.  He was finally given the all-clear earlier this year.

I don’t know too many of us that would willingly get kicked by a horse.  But in this case, getting kicked by a horse actually saved this man’s life.  Apparently, he hadn’t been feeling “right” for some time, but shrugged it off as nothing major.  Sometimes, I guess we need a good swift kick to wake us up…in this case literally.  But it definitely helps you see the silver lining to bad situations.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”  Jeremiah 29:11

Who knew those “plans” included getting kicked by a horse?!

The Peacock

My entire world was shattered today when I found out that the bird that I’ve always known as a peacock is not in fact a peacock.  It’s actually called a peafowl.  The peacock and peahen are the male and female specimens of the peafowl, respectively.  I’m blown away by this revelation.  I feel as if my entire life has been a lie.  And it took my sister to reveal it to me...also a disturbing fact considering that she will now hang it over my head that she was right, and I was wrong.  When I really think about it, perhaps this is actually what I’m upset about after all!

The Couch

Yesterday, we went shopping for couches, which is something that we have been attempting to purchase unsuccessfully for years.  After 3 hours, my wife was so fed up with the process, that she impulsively bought the very next couch that I said was passable.  Unfortunately, it ended up being an extremely expensive purchase, so after the sales lady walked away, my wife said that she hoped that I enjoy my Christmas gift.  I quickly exclaimed that we needed to back that roller coaster up one minute.  How is it that somehow my wife got a new laptop for Christmas, courtesy of Black Friday, and I get the couches that everyone in the house gets to use?!

Well that ain’t happening.  If it’s my gift, then nobody else gets to sit on it!  I want free rein to sit in any seat I want any time I want.  If someone wants to park their tuches on MY couch, then I’m going to charge them rent by the hour.  I’m going to develop a webpage where they can sign up and enter their credit card information, so they can automatically be billed.  And there won’t be any proration either.  Any part of an hour is charged the whole hour!  I figured that my couch tariff should net me enough money to afford a laptop of my own next year.

With an Audience of One

Deke Duncan, a DJ from Hertfordshire, England is getting a one-hour radio special this Christmas.  Why is that so significant, you might be wondering?  Well, for 44 years, Deke Duncan (his real name is Eric Thorp) has been running a “pirate” radio station out of his garden shed.  He set up Radio 77 in 1974 to fulfill his life-long passion of being a DJ; however, due to licensing restrictions, he was only able to broadcast to his own property.  So, he set up a speaker in his house and broadcast to an audience of one…his faithful wife, Teresa.

He was featured in a TV story on the program “Nationwide” in 1974 as the DJ with the smallest audience in the country.  In the story, Deke is shown complaining that “the station’s entire audience has decided to go down to the shops.”  The clip also shows his wife cleaning and going about her day, as the radio plays in the background.  At one point, Deke sends a shout-out to his number one fan.

A couple of months ago, the BBC’s Archive service dug up the clip and reposted it on Twitter, and the response prompted journalists at the BBC Three Counties Radio to track Deke down.  They found him still broadcasting from the garden shed to his wife (now his second wife, Pamela).  He never gave up on his dream over the last 44 years.  The radio show invited Deke to join them on air where they announced that they were giving him a one-hour Christmas special.  He gladly accepted the offer, saying, “For the first time in my life I’m speechless.”