Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Vomit & Victory

Hello, my name is Matt and I'm a people watcher. I don't know when it started but there's no doubt I am addicted to people-watching. Addicted isn't even the right word--it implies some awareness of an unhealthy habit that can be broken--my people watching is more like breathing, an involuntary act woven into my daily natural rhythms. . .

One of my favorite things to observe is parenting (NOTE: I said observe and not judge. Although I make observations, I am not judging most of the time. The only perfect parents are those with no kids.) I love the spectrum of techniques and tricks, graces and disciplines that exist among parents and their wonderfully unique kids. . .

They dropped their pacifier! Do you. . .
A. Get out the Haz-Mat suit, pick it up with tongs, and send it off to the dry cleaners? Or
B. Put some extra dirt & hair on it and pop it back into their mouths to build up their immune system?

They just purposefully pulled the plant off the table which has crashed into a pile of pottery shards and dirt onto your floor. Do you. . .
A. Grab their one wrist and hold it above their heads and try to swat their bottom as they wail and spin around like a merry-go-round full of demons? OR
B. Look them in the eye and explain their behavior is a root condition of the Fall and they are going to be disciplined now and the purpose of discipline is redemptive behavior which is truly only possible through the sanctifying work of the Spirit which starts with repentance but it has to be sincere because God knows our hearts?

They've done their best to write manuals and provide parenting blogs, etc. but there isn't a once-for-all parenting book that gives the exact blueprint for raising children. . .and even those resources won't help when you're in the heat of a moment when your toddler waddles into the room, proud and smiling, with diaper contents in both hands and smeared on their face. . .

I remember the first time our first daughter, Micah, was old enough and sick enough to require medicine a little more potent than the Standard Issue Red Syrup. We thought she was ready to learn how to swallow a pill. . .

"OK, honey, this is a big person pill, you don't chew this, OK? You take a drink and you swallow it, OK? You just swallow it."

(We tend to say "OK" a lot when we're teaching kids new things.)

She filled her cheeks up with water and kept them poofed out.

"OK, now swallow it!"

She spits it all out into the sink. . ."It tastes terrible!"

"Yes it does, that's why you have to swallow it quickly. It's not that hard, it's just like swallowing. . ."

("A pill" is what I was going to say. . .Swallowing a pill is just like swallowing a pill. . .Arrggh, where's my parenting manual?!?)

"It's like swallowing a penny, remember that time you swallowed a penny?"

"You told me not to do that."

"Yes, yes I did. But now I'm telling you to swallow the pill like the time you swallowed the penny, but I'm not saying you now have a license to start swallowing money again."

Blank stare.

"Do you ever eat food so fast that sometimes you swallow, I don't know, like a piece of macaroni, without chewing it? It's just like that."

"You told me not to do that too."

"Suddenly you remember and are willing to obey everything I've ever told you."
(I can't remember if I thought that or said it out loud.)

Eventually, Team Awesome Parent went to go watch LOST. . .and we left her alone in the bathroom with the "if you want to feel better, you'll swallow that pill" ultimatum. Somehow through the many more projectile spits into the sink and a good half dozen wasted pills she figured out how to gulp it down on her own.  . .

One of my favorite passages in the Bible is where Jesus describes how as imperfect and sinful parents we love our children, giving them the best we can, and not intending to harm them. He then describes how much greater the love and desire to give good gifts is from our Heavenly Father towards us as His children (Matthew 7, Luke 11).

It's such a powerful thought and concept, given to us by Christ Himself. . .that we are loved with a perfect parental love, a divine other-wordly affection and protection. . .a parental love we can only imagine in part as we examine our own imperfect love and care for our kids.

I think about the concept frequently, and I often think of it in the "how much more" way Jesus shared. Recently, a friend of mine had his first real medical situation with his first child, barely a toddler in age. We discussed that hopeless feeling as your kid feels terrible but there's no way to help them understand why things are the way they are. . .we can only offer what comfort we can. You want them to know: you're there for them. . .and one day it will be all better.

The worst is when the kid is throwing up for the first time: the poor thing gives you those puppy dog eyes, pleading with you to explain what's happening, as the vomit just uncontrollably comes from their mouth. . .

"How Much More?" came back to me in the midst of our discussion. . .

Does God (and through our history of development as people, Has God,) had "swallow a pill" moments with us? Moments where we as a people, a culture, or an individual are crying to Him in prayers and puppy dog eyes asking Him why things are the way they are and there just aren't  words for us to comprehend? No perfect analogy to describe it?

I think of the problem of evil and suffering in the world. . .we as God's toddler creations experiencing vomiting sickness (some way worse than others). . .and I picture God as a parent. . .wanting to explain why things are the way they are. . .and knowing there's no way for us to grasp fully what's going on. . .

I'm not trying to solve the problem of evil, or make light of it. . .by no means. But I do know, when I am confronted with the fact a benevolent God exists but yet great and seemingly random suffering exists as well. . .that our God is a parent who cares and comforts even when we receive nothing but silence to our questions of "Why?". He gives us all the answers we can handle and all the comfort He can. . .

I know this because this is the message and hope He's given us in the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ, a message we can understand:
God knows the illness and has done something about it. . .and is doing something about it even now and one day will completely and forever do something about it.
In the meantime, His Spirit is with us in the illness. . .individual and indwelling care from the Parent who perhaps wishes they could explain more but knows it is beyond our understanding.

It may not make the vomiting any less painful, but it helps to know our Parent is there for us. . .and one day it will be all better. . .

Matt O.



Tuesday, November 13, 2012

The Grandma Loop

Pete was a gangly Mormon with an easy smile. I was a scrawny late-blooming eighth-grader good at turning that smile into laughter. Our friendship blossomed on the Jr. High track team one spring as we both tried out for the distance team knowing everyone got to run the mile and there would be no cuts.

Each afternoon practice our chiseled coach who doubled as the shop teacher would give us a Xeroxed  map (Today you would say "printed" or "copied") with a hand-drawn line on the roads we were to run. In the upper corner, in perfect all-capitals printing, was the name of the "Loop" for the day's training and its distance. A popular one we received that I remember was the Falling Springs Loop, 4.1 miles. . .and an ungodly amount of hills.

Pete and I ended up running the loops together most days at a pace known as a "slog", a slow jog. It's the pace most of us normal humans run after age 35. . .not like those abnormal jerks out there peeling off a half marathon at a six minute pace when they should be eating dinner at 4:30 pm and watching Judge Judy. . .

It became apparent in my soul at the tender age of thirteen that I was not what people in the biz would call a runner, and so my little mind began to think about other Loops Pete and I could run together. . .

I ran some quick figures and pitched a scheme to Pete. . .

Let's slog away from the school like everyone else except today we'll bring some cash in our pockets and peel away when the pack gets drawn out. . .

. . .and go to Dunkin Donuts. We'll eat a few or eight donuts and pace our return to arrive at our normal mediocre time and also to prevent projectile vomiting. . .

It was a rush, both of adrenaline and sugar, our friendship growing in the way only possible by a shared secret, powdered sugar on our faces as we laughed at the world and Kenyan marathoners and algebra and girls who were missing out on our looks and character.

It was also very scary. The risk-reward ratio was just too high in my nefarious mind so I went back to the deception drawing board and came up with the Grandma Loop. . .

My town in Pennsylvania is very typical of northern towns, arranged in blocks by mostly perpendicular streets, houses going at least two stories in the air and tightly pressed together. The design makes it easy to navigate and allows many homes and businesses to be concentrated in a small area. My grandparents lived right across the street from the elementary school I had gone to and had watched me every day after school, and now they lived just a few blocks away from the high school where our track team practiced. . .

The Grandma Loop gave us a few advantages over the Donut Loop: it was closer, it was much easier to avoid getting spotted, and Grandma wouldn't charge us for snacks. . .

The first time Pete and I knocked on the door, Grandma about exploded with joy. . .grandparents love visits but they really love surprise visits. She busted out the Pepsi and  pretzels and we had a great conversation; Grandma was always so good at asking questions about your life and about what you thought about certain things (usually prompted by the local news or the old Donahue talk show)

My grandfather, or Pappy as we called him, sat on the couch with his legs stretched out, ankles crossed, working a cigarette in the corner of his lips, hands free, the way the old school guys can, making it dangle there effortlessly, giving off the aura of the greatest generation in steady wisps of cancerous cloud. . .

He would join in the conversation slightly, but not with his usual gusto or wit. Pappy was my hero in many ways but particularly the way he moaned as the victim in every situation with self-deprecating exaggeration, winking at you after he'd made the case of why his life was so horrible. . .

Or maybe I looked up to him so much because when we all went out to eat at a buffet together, everyone would return to the table carrying a salad, except Pappy, who often came back with a plate of pudding and would sit down and simply say "I love pudding." (He often washed down the main course with another round of pudding by declaring "That pudding was good, I think I'll have another.")

It was the third time Pete and I had run the Grandma Loop, and the pretzels and Pepsis were already on the coffee table and Grandma had been looking for us at the door. . .

Two minutes into the conversation and Pappy interrupted the flow, taking over. . .and I will never forget his speech that day.

"Matthew, we need to talk. We love you and we love seeing you, we really do. But you're deceiving your parents and your coach and your team by coming here every day, and though we love having you here--we can't be a part of the deception any longer. You need to be honest Matthew; it's called integrity."


"Butch, you're being too hard on him."

"No I'm not Posey, this is what he needs to hear."

They used their pet names with each other and then they caught each others' eye and Grandma knew he was right. . .

. . .and I knew he was right, and I still know he was right to this day. I always remember The Grandma Loop: there may be a way to get some free snacks and still fool everyone but it's not the way an honest life is supposed to be lived.

But I do know of a time when Pappy himself wasn't honest-- when he deceived not a track team, but an entire military. . .and he didn't do it for donuts. He needed to be seventeen to fight in World War II, but he was only sixteen. . .but back then a little white lie like that was easy to pull off. . .

My Pappy passed away a few years ago and I miss him greatly. The last times I visited him in PA we would go to the local Veteran's club and have soup together, surrounded by forgotten pillars of integrity as they meticulously crumbled saltines into plastic bowls, cold draft beers standing diligent at lonely tables, heads nodding to each other with a weight and depth of knowledge being lost in our social networked era. . .

Last night on Veteran's Day we broke our usual dinner routine and actually had a dessert. And as my thirteen year old daughter and I ate our pudding together, we remembered a man of integrity who I was blessed to call Pappy. . .

Matt O.

(RIP Wendell Paul "Whitey, Butch, Skeetz" Orth, I hope they have horseshoes where you are. . .)



Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Apocalypse & Utopia

This post is entitled Apocalypse & Utopia. The first section is for you Christian Romney voters and the second part is for you Christian Obama voters.

If you voted for Romney please read this:
Late last night as news tickers crossed the screen of my preferred news channel, professionally dressed reporters doubled as reluctant prophets as they foretold what now seemed inevitable. . .
The Imminent Apocalypse of America (sometime in the next 4 years or so. . .)

Luckily for you, using skills I discovered and sharpened in late 1999, I have some prescriptions to help navigate the impending wave of utter doom poised to crash into our almost-had-it-all lives.

I'm just a 21st century Paul Revere telling you to get ready! Stop complaining about popular votes and electoral college mumbo-jumbo, the "British" have already landed!! Quick, follow these instructions for the easiest passage possible through Armageddon. . .

1. Write the first angry vindictive things you can think of on Facebook. Oh, you already did? Well, go check it and see if any of your awesome friends liked it and if they didn't, re-post it! And hopefully you caught a liberal in your snare and you can go google some facts and copy and paste them and slap that liberal with them in a newsfeed debate.

2. It's going to be tough, but you're going to need to change your perspective on what a President is. Purge from your mind those pictures of Georgie Washington on his war boat on the Potomac waxing philosophical about how sweet it is to be a Baptist Founding Father, and honest Abe Lincoln with his goatee and top hat of freedom all dreaming about the day his legacy will be seared onto a copper penny. This President we have (again) HATES America. It's true. I have insider sources who say that once he knew he won again and had duped everyone into voting for him yet again, he chuckled diabolically (something like muhahahaha), steepled his hands in front of his face and cried:
"Now my perfectly planned sabotage of this useless Democratic nation can be fulfilled!"

SO, just realize and get used to the idea of a President who doesn't care at all for his country or isn't making any effort to help people. He's just a mean socialist Muslim bully who wants to kick your sandcastles down. All of them.

3. Go out and buy lots of guns, especially ones that are semi-automatic that you don't really know how to use. Then, find a very remote place and fire those jokers all night long. Why? Well, because they're coming for them. Probably like in February or something. I only got a quick peek at the Flow Chart of the Apocalypse plans and there was definitely an action point of invading all the red states and taking their guns. It was called "Operation Cold Dead Fingers" or something like that. Make sure it's a remote place where you fire them off because if a Liberal hears it, they're going to report you to the Gun Squad. Which doesn't exist. . .yet. . .

4. Make more babies. Then raise them up and send them to Ohio, North Carolina, and Florida. It's kind of a long term prescription, but it involves making babies, which can be nice. The Liberals don't reproduce nearly as much as we do. . .we need to play to our strengths. If we can't vote them out, we'll breed them out.

5. Hide your nativity scene and your poster of the Ten Commandments. The Gun Squad also doubles as the No Religious Anything in Public Squad. Persecution is coming! I can't believe it, a thing like persecution being so present in a nice little thing like Christianity.

6. The Supreme Court is going to be useless sometime in March probably. I was tired of keeping up with all those wordy reports anyways. It would be best to go ahead and start learning how to break laws now (just the dumb ones) because the sense of justice in this country is about to evaporate. The Legal System is about to explode. . .literally, if Obama had his way because I saw a youtube video where he shook hands with a kid who made a pipe bomb one time. . .

7. If you know of a Christian who voted for Obama, point your finger at them and say "It's all your fault!" as often as you feel necessary. They wasted their prayers and freedom and intellect voting for the Abomination of Desolation. They were brainwashed by the Liberal Media and drank the Haterade and now want us to be Communists. Just keep pointing at your Marxist friends until they are shamed into repenting. . .hopefully soon, because we don't have long. . .

8. Pray. Pray. Pray for our country: that we would get rid of all the people who hate life, family, democracy, and hope! Pray we could get "our country" back! And restore it to the days of yore when everyone was a believer and sin and evil were jokes of a bygone age. . .I mean, women were treated poorly and we had slaves and all kinds of crippling diseases and stuff but everyone in the government was a perfectly tithing Christian who rescued dogs from the shelters and went to Washington with a Bible in one hand and a Bible in the other. LET'S PRAY PEOPLE and bring back those days! That's the kind of prayer Paul and Peter were talking about when they casually mentioned in the Holy Scriptures to pray for and respect our leaders during an era of secular empire and tyrants . . .

(Also: Peter meant America when he wrote "holy nation" not an unseen Kingdom of merciful and holy priests who extend across history and geographical boundaries under the gracious Lordship of Christ. . .)

9. Pick up some sugary cereals. They're going to be outlawed soon because some loon in a labcoat said they're bad for you; plus they stack very well in Doomsday Bunkers. Eat what you want because they say they're Pro-Choice but that's just for women who are pregnant. You will have no freedoms left. Also, I would recommend catching a disease or harming yourself so badly it requires major surgery and running to the hospital before they stop offering healthcare. From what I heard, they are only going to treat you if you are really really poor but even then it won't be great. So hurry up and get some medical attention while it lasts. Also, dust off your charts of Revelation and start mouthing the words "End Times" in the mirror. . .it's here, just like Jesus said in Matthew about the Black President in 21st century United States getting elected being the final sign before the Tribulation. . .

10. As of last night, you lost your chance to love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself. It's gone. I hope you enjoyed that privilege and right while you had it because now all you have left is running water, indoor plumbing, indoor heat, electricity, transportation, grocery stores, well-made homes, local law enforcement, family, church, and faith in a Sovereign Loving and Just God.

If you voted for Obama please read this:

Late last night as news tickers crossed the screen of my preferred news channel, professionally dressed reporters doubled as jubilant prophets as they foretold what now seemed inevitable. . .
The Imminent Utopia of America (sometime in the next 4 years or so. . .)

Look, I don't really have any advice for you. You're the elite forces of Christendom! You don't want to hear my mundane blogspirations! Go enjoy the victory over those Cro-Magnon fundamentalists who only voted Romney because they're greedy capitalists! What? No, I'm not worried they're reading this. . .did you see that post up there? I'll be surprised if they read past #3, there's too many militias to raise and little uncouth critters to homeschool. They don't love God or the poor like you do; they just want to make sure they get Medicare when they're old and you put them in a nursing home because they're an inconvenience. Selfish pledge-to-the-flag-saying bigots!

And the fact is this: We really are better than our ignorant redneck Christian cousins who voted for Romney. Our intelligence and keen insight into the American government and its economic policies were clearly derived by much study and multiple degrees in specialized fields. It's OK to feel a little cocky, those knucklehead Red-Staters probably used FOX News to get their info; they've never even heard of blogs and Time or Newsweek or the WSJ (See! They're looking up WSJ right now! Wall Street Journal you morons!!) They don't laugh at Jon Stewart either. Inconceivable.

It feels good to be right. Now that they know who really has the best prayer life maybe they'll wise up on other things too like stopping the foolish nonsense of reminding of us about the authority of God's Word and keeping those flags in their sanctuaries. Don't they know that Christianity and America don't mix at all? That it's wrong to honor all those people who died and served with their whole lives to hopefully preserve our God-blessed liberties here  and maybe make it better for other people in other countries?


But seriously, back to this Utopia. . .it's going to be awesome! And it starts with us rolling our eyes at all the folks with Romney/Ryan bumper stickers on their cars. Bahahaha. I could get a kick out of that for a while, and by "while" I mean as long as it takes for those economic policies I completely understood to start raining down the gold. So let's grab our favorite microbrewed beer and drink moderately! Or add a little more soy to our single-shot no-whip sugar-free caramel latte and sing the praise choruses (definitely not the hymns) of Obama and his reign of perfection.

Just remember: your vote made all the difference!  Don't worry about your life making a difference the next 1459 days before the next election, all you need to do now is tweet smug remarks about how the utopia would come faster if we had a Democratic congress. Your neighbors are all probably perfectly whole now and not hurting at all since Obama is on the throne and all the poverty in the entire world started drying up the second Florida started turning blue.

In fact, why don't you text King Jesus and tell Him to take His time? Our votes have already got the big stuff taken care of. . .

Matt O.

(If you comment, keep it gentle and respectful. You know gentle right? The fruit of the Spirit? Oh, you thought a fruit of the Spirit was voting and arguing about politics on Facebook or in comment threads. . .sorry, I must have one of those crazy translations of the Bible)

Friday, November 2, 2012

Tricycle Death Race

In keeping with this week's unofficial theme of Summer Camp Game Memories. . .

I was the teacher for a week of camp in a remote part of Florida. We often think of Florida for its beaches, theme parks, citrus and Miami Heat. . .but there are many very flat and very rural parts of the state. I am drawn to speaking in the forgotten realms of the South like a Baptist to a buffet after a service that went past noon. . .

The group that brought me in were very gracious to allow my five year old daughter Micah to travel with me. It was the first time the two of us could go on an extended trip together and she was very excited. . .

We played at the lake (this one was better than the muddy puddle one from SC. . .sorry South Carolinians. . .), ate together in the cafeteria, slept side by side on the dorm mattresses we pulled to the floor, and shared many a new memory as she got to experience youth camp ministry in all of its glory. . .including a masquerade ball where she got to dress up all fancy and steal the boys' swords, a shaving cream fight, and the traditional group scavenger hunt. . .


It was also the first time Micah got to see a full-blown Game Night in the gym. . .

One of the most popular games was the Tricycle race. . .which involved teenage boys racing little tricycles in a mad sprint, knees and elbows bent outward into points, backs hunched over the tiny handlebars, the crowd urging them to the finish line thirty yards away. . .

There were wrecks and tumbles, rowdy fans and photo finishes, it was pretty much the NASCAR of toddler racing vehicles. . .

My daughter loved those races. . .she would jump around at the start and begin screaming and clapping as they pumped those little pedals with over-sized feet. She would pick her favorite racer, asking a teenager the driver's name, then yell his name until the end.

During one race she turned to me and saw me smiling and enthusiastically asked me a question:
"Who are you rooting for daddy?"
"No one really, I'm just enjoying the race," I answered.
"DADDY! YOU HAVE TO ROOT FOR SOMEBODY!" she yelled in disbelief.

It was inconceivable (a correct usage of the word) to her developing mind that I could watch a race and not root for someone. Daddy, you simply must pick! That's how it's done!

Perhaps you've heard we're about to have a presidential election. . .

And in the midst of all the mailouts in my mailbox telling me who conservatives should vote for, debate sound bites analyzed by people who've already made up their mind, Facebook posturing, and absolutist semi-apocalyptic commercials about the economy all I keep hearing in my inner ears is:
"DADDY! YOU HAVE TO ROOT FOR SOMEBODY!"

You're right. I do have to root for somebody and I do have to pick someone.

And I made that choice a long time ago: I pick Jesus. The King of Kings.

What!! Are you saying you're writing in "Jesus" when you vote?!? Or even worse. . .you're not voting!? YOU HAVE TO PICK SOMEONE!!!!!

I'm not telling you what I'm doing on election day. But I will tell you that other than walking under the Lordship of Jesus Christ, there is no other pressure from the heavenlies to pick someone this election. . .

In fact, believers all across this country will be doing many different things on election day. . .decisions by God's people will be different, even after much prayer, study, and discussion. And that should be a telling sign and reminder to us. . .

We quote the prophecy every Christmas season: "The government will be on His shoulders". . .and that means not just the United States government, but the governing of all people groups. . .

The hope and prophecy of Isaiah is not about establishing leaders in a democracy and a legislature that will be elected by God to an infinite term and have congressional sessions together holding hands and singing Amazing Grace as they pass perfect laws for eternity. . .

No, the hope and prophecy is about the Kingdom of God ruled forever by the gracious and just Creator King made up of the peoples who believe in Him and have found redemption living under His lordship. . .The Kingdom of God is about sacrificial love, humility, justice and hope. . .and right now friends. . .the Kingdom of the United States is not about those things.

"You're just being cynical!"

No, I am not. I have great hope. I am actually doing what my daughter yelled at me. . .
YOU HAVE TO ROOT FOR SOMEBODY!!

I'm rooting for King Jesus to come in grace in the way I treat my family, my neighbors and my community. . .and I'm rooting for Him to be present in your hearts and lives too, and in this country of greed, materialism, narcissism, and violence. . .
but also in the communist countries of the world, and in the 3rd world (or worse) countries, and war-torn and rape-savaged countries. . .

I am rooting for King Jesus.

Mitt Romney is not Jesus and neither is Barack Obama. . .nor Ron Paul or any other person. . .

If you vote, remember that. . .our hope is in the Risen Savior not the church-going of a presidential candidate or his theoretical economic policies.

And our duty as believers is to the Kingdom of priests that we now belong to. . .not a flag, not a type of government, nor to just casting one vote every four years. We now live in such a way that declares there is another way: the way of light. . .
which is about sacrificial love, humility, justice and hope.


I am not anti-America but I am anti-the-kingdoms-of-this-world because I am Pro-Jesus. . .


Lastly, Evil will "not win" if your candidate doesn't get elected this week. . .evil was defeated at the cross! No matter who wins, next Monday you are still called to love the Lord your God with all of your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself. . .even if they voted for the Bad Guy.

I have a sneaking suspicion in the grand scheme of the redemptive narrative in our world that our hysterics and hype every four years is eerily similar to the mob enthusiasm spent in that rural Florida gym during the tricycle death races. . .

Matt O.

(If you comment, keep it civil.)