Love Well

“If you want to show someone you love them simply hold their hand.”

(Right click to hear companion song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHZZyNGvOVY&feature=player_detailpage then click on blue link)

                                                                                  

An old hymn writer once used this phrase, “emptied himself of all but love” to describe Jesus love for us.  It is my sincere hope and desire to love my wife that well.

There are several instances that best remind me of true love in my relationship with my wife, Amy, and they all involve holding hands.

It was July 1^st, 1985 and I asked Amy to go with me to see the Orioles play baseball in Baltimore as a part of my high school graduation gift.  During the game I asked her to be my girlfriend.

The only two other things I remember about that evening were the Orioles getting killed by the Detroit Tigers and the ride home.  During the two hour ride home from Baltimore I took a chance and I slid my hand into hers.  To this day, it was one of the best moments of my life.  Up to that point in my seventeen year existence most girls didn’t seem to notice me and the others just plain weren’t interested.  She seemed to find something of value in me no one else could see, including me.  In summary, my baseball team lost, but I won.

On another night, my then girlfriend, Amy and I were watching the Pittsburgh Steelers play football together when I learned a most memorable lesson.  On that particular evening, I made the mistake of holding her hand during a football play.  A player from the Steelers made a big play and Amy squeezed my hand tightly like a vise grip.  Then if my memory serves me correctly she jumped up and started cheering and yelling at her “boys’.  Initially I was unprepared for all of this but I believe by halftime I decided just to lay my hand on her shoulder, so I could get out of the way when necessary.  

On that particular day I quickly learned that not all situations would allow me to hold this girl’s hand and that I must select the right moments.  Amy showed me that sometimes you have to pick and choose the right situation to be affectionate.  That night I learned to hold hands from a distance.

On March 24^th, 1989 I married my best friend, Amy.   To this day I can still recall standing at the front of the church where we got married.  As the music played I remember my wife coming down the aisle and the elation I felt as if I had won the lottery that this girl would chose to be my wife.  And she could not have looked more beautiful to me.  Funny thing, Amy told me later, she couldn’t see me because she was not wearing her glasses.   

To me at that very moment all was right in my world.  Then, she came up to me and her dad gave her to me and we held hands.  Can’t say I remember much else after that moment.  We were facing the pastor and holding hands saying nothing. Amy showed me she was all in.  I learned on that rainy day in March to enjoy those moments when you are deeply and madly in love, as a reminder for times when you are not.

In our nearly twenty four years of marriage, my wife and I have seen a lot together. In those years we have known both good and bad, happy and sad, and everything else in between.   We experienced the birth of two of our children and the adoption of two others.  We have even flown half way around the world twice together to bring two of our kids into our family.  We have been to our share of doctor’s offices, hospitals, ball games, church meetings, school activities, playing board games, vacations, birthdays, holidays and other stuff families do together.  We did all we could together throughout the years and when the moment permitted, I would hold her hand. 

 

Anyone can love and be loved when times are good, but even when it hurt we stayed together.   We even held hands when we buried our daughter together. In the aftermath, my wife and I suffered through this painful tragedy together the best we knew how, the kind that often ends in divorce, and hung on for dear life.  Yet, even though times when I didn’t always love well, we stayed together till the feeling of love came back again. 

Although we must pick and choose when to hold hands I believe it is critical to hold hands as much as possible or just cuddle up together, because with love silence speaks louder than words.  Try it, hold hands for about five to ten minutes a day while you have a cup of coffee on the sofa or the porch and you’ll find your spouse is someone you want to be with not avoid.

Granted, I concede that love is much more complex than just holding hands, but I am convinced that if we as married couples spent more time holding hands and less arguing we would grow closer together in love, than growing further apart. Love just wants to be near the person they love, they don’t want to nitpick, but just be with them. 

So, does holding hands solve all our problems, definitely not because sometimes, we don’t hold hands at the time because well we have had enough of each other.  But, if my wife, Amy and I were both to search our hearts and you asked us how we would like to end our day, it would be next to each other, more times than not holding hands, watching a movie or doing something together. 

“Holding hands conveys what mere words were never designed to do.”

 Swavel

In Good Hands

 

Like a good firm hand shake be someone who puts others at ease.

 

 

It was approximately this time one year ago when my family and I boarded a plane headed for China.  The reason we had flown half way around the world was so we could finalize the adoption of our youngest daughter, Lia, and subsequently bring her home.  

My wife, Amy, nine year old daughter, Sianna and myself knew this would not be a vacation, however we were pleasantly surprised to know God was along for the ride.  Over three years of prayer and much faith had brought us to China. However, you can prepare the best you know how, but on a trip like this you must place your trust and sometimes even your very life in the hands of others.

I believe God knew long before we ever arrived in China that we would need many special people to help us out on our journey. Here is the story of one of those special people we were so very blessed to have in our lives, if only for a week.  His name was Mr. Wong, a middle aged Chinese man with a big smile, a good firm hand shake and no idea how to speak English.  Yet his actions spoke directly into our souls.

Our initial meeting was nothing auspicious, but rather tense and uncomfortable.  It was the third day of our adventure when we arrived at the train station in Tianjin and were greeted by our translator, Linda and her driver, Mr. Wong.  We then proceeded to the parking garage where we were quite literally squished into the backseat of a Honda Accord.  This begged the question, where would our newest daughter, Lia sit the next day when we picked her up at the orphanage?

Consequently, Amy and I began to discuss what we should do next.  Since there was no other apparent option, I needed to address the situation. So, after a long pause, I asked Linda if she could relay our concern to Mr. Wong with the hope he could get a van for the next day.  In China doing such a thing could be misconstrued as arrogant, or possibly even dishonorable. 

  

Therefore with great reservations, I listened as she asked Mr. Wong my dubious question.  He said little, but seemed a little disturbed.  Before we got out of the car Linda gave us the impression that Mr. Wong would see what he could do.  Some men rise to the occasion when they are challenged and I was hoping Mr. Wong would not disappoint.

The next day with a big smile, Mr. Wong arrived at our hotel with a used van that had plenty of room to accommodate.  I was pleased.  Then, being the skilled driver he was, he weaved his way through the crazy traffic that is driving in China. You know the kind of traffic that makes rush hour in New York City look like a joke.  

  

Throughout the five days or so we spent together with him and Linda we grew to love this man’s company.  Many people we ran into were cordial, but not personal like Mr. Wong, who happened to be a grandfather.  He gave me the impression that he loved my girls almost as much as me.  He even went out of his way to talk to them. He made Lia feel especially comfortable by speaking in Chinese to her and treating both the girls with kindness.  On one occasion when Sianna’s luggage got caught in a revolving door he came running to her aide.   He even offered me a cigarette as a kind gesture one day. Security cannot be understated when you are half a world away from your comfort zone and often at times literally scared out of your mind. Mr. Wong made us feel safe.

My favorite Mr. Wong moment had to be the day He and Linda took us to a park that resembled Who-ville, taken directly from a Dr. Seuss book.  We had been having a tough time being in a smog filled city of eight million or so people.  We felt like we were out of sorts and out of our element.  Our newly blended family needed a day to catch our breath and relax.  During the day Mr. Wong rode on the rides with the girls when they need an adult and then carried Lia’s teddy bear in her back pack as we walked through the park.  It couldn’t have come at a better time and was just what we needed.

Knowing Mr. Wong and Linda was a shared experience that my wife and two girls will always cherish.  As we said goodbye at the airport Mr. Wong bought us a whole bag of special Chinese treats to remember him by.  Even now I can still see him.   There he is smiling, standing next to  Linda waving goodbye to us with tears in his eyes, till we could no longer see him. 

A cherished memory of how one person can make a difference.  God knew we were in good hands with Mr. Wong and I’m so glad he did. 

 

Kindness is a language we should all learn to speak fluently.

Swavel

Cracked Mug

Nothing lasts forever, however many of us live as if we are the exception to this rule.

 

Nothing lasts forever is far easier said than done.  Case in point, I use a ceramic Starbucks mug every morning to drink my coffee at work.   It is the perfect size that fits my hand just right and has become a part of my daily routine. The other ceramic mugs my kids gave me I display on my desk and use them sparingly, so as not to break them. 

Herein lays my quandary.  The other day while traveling through the hallway my mug suffered a most unfortunate turn of events; I dropped it. It was only a foot or so high, but it hit the floor.  Fearing for the worst, I looked for evidence that it was broken.  Upon a thorough inspection I did not find any evident cracks and thought I was in the clear. 

However, a few days later to my utter disbelief, I discovered a crack.  So, I did a quick acid test to see if it was still serviceable as I filled it with water and it held.  Then to make sure I filled it with coffee and microwaved it.  I discovered that it leaked slightly if I left it in too long.  So, although damaged I am still using it till it won’t hold anymore. 

Subsequently that crack has become my mug’s prized feature.   It is even become more symbolic to me than the Starbucks’ logo emblazoned on the side.  It reminds me of my humanness.  Newsflash--- my life is like a mug with a crack in it.  One day that crack will get the best of me and I will get put out of service. 

In my opinion, I believe we all have cracks or flaws because God wants them there, so He can get the glory.  Paul says in the Bible that he prayed to God and asked Him to remove a difficulty in his life, perhaps a flaw.  However, it was never taken away, so Paul just learned to rely on God all the more.

We are all flawed.  For instance, I can’t assemble anything to save my life.  Instructions look like gibberish to me.  For example, a few Sundays ago my friend, Dave offered to help me assemble my new propane grill that came with a fourteen step instruction manual.  Thank goodness he did help because I was starting to go into panic mode. However, with his help we had it assembled forty five minutes later.

Just to be clear having a crack like a mug is far different than being cracked like an egg.  For instance, the other day I accidentally dropped a bag which was holding a carton of eggs.  Although it was only a foot off the ground I made a mess breaking six of them and immediately had to throw them away. 

In life, I have come across people who feel as worthless as those cracked eggs and believe they have no value anymore.  Instead I believe we are more like a cracked mug that is still of great service.  The point being I will take my crack in my mug and learn to use my flaws, like Paul did to honor God.

Do your best and forget the rest, cracks and all.

Swavel

Making Good Sense

"I don’t like to make sense all the time.  Making sense is no fun." (My son quoting me on Facebook)

This blog is in response to the quote above that my son attributed to me weeks ago and then said, “I’m sure my dad can explain.”  So, here goes….

Just for the record, I don’t mind making sense, however, it tends to be a struggle. Saying whatever comes to mind tends to be what I naturally do. It's a struggle to censor everything I say. Here is an example of something I normally would say without being filtered:

Cows have best friends.  This conversation happened a few Saturdays ago when my family was having a game night where my nephew, Eric, was present. Consequently, I started the conversation off with this thought.

The quote "Cows have best friends," comes from a Christian radio host named Brant, who is known for saying random things. He stated that he had no point or agenda, just that he read this in an article and the survey was done by a college somewhere. It made sense to me, "cows have best friends" and when they are separated, they get lonely.  

Trees can talk to other trees. This is a little nugget that my nephew, Eric, shared with me; in response to my "cows have best friends" comment. He is a lot like his Uncle Aaron and tends to say what he is thinking, to which I related immediately. After I asked him to explain, he said that trees can communicate with each other through their root system. Trees talk to each other – how cool!

Cockroaches can live without a head. This is a cool, yet gross fact and how I responded back to my nephew, Eric, after the talking tree comment. Being an ex-exterminator this is a random fact I always have in my hip pocket. This is a fact that I heard repeatedly being an exterminator and people enjoyed sharing with me on the off chance that I was unaware.

Now it’s time to make sense again. Here is a list of personal things, not comprehensive might I add, that make sense to me:

Being a dad. A few weekends ago while I was at a WaWa convenience store, I saw a guy wearing a black hat with bold letters emblazoned on it. Expecting to see NYPD, instead I saw DAD. This makes sense to me that being a DAD matters and is so important that I better not screw this up.

Being a husband. This completely makes sense to me and has since the day I took my vows some twenty-four years ago. In my opinion, a man needs to lead, provide security, and love his wife without reservation. I am still learning, but my wife is worth the effort every single day. 

God knows better than I do.  A weekend or so ago, my family and I encountered something odd. We were walking along the beach, when everything turned considerably darker. It was so noticeable that we all commented on it. When we looked up, there was a lone cloud (a very thick cloud considering the light difference) covering the sun. In moments, the sun broke free. It made me feel quite small and so not in control. If God can create the world in six days, who am I to question Him and the power at His disposal.

So, back to answering the quote Jordan attributed to me. 

 "I don’t like to make sense all the time."  Paying attention to my every word takes considerable effort for me. However, with that being said, if I want others to take me seriously I must put in the time whether I like it or not. My history has been one of not being taken seriously and I believe that because I say what comes to mind. Simply put, as an adult I need to make sense more times than not.

"Making sense is no fun." This simply is a dumb statement that I made off the cuff.  I am working on putting my brain in gear first, before my mouth responds. However, old habits are hard to break and I’m still working on that. As my son reminded me the other night, just saying whatever comes to mind has it consequences. 

 

In closing, if I could retract what I said, this is what I would say instead:  Making good sense is always worth the effort.

Swavel

Cross References

Never forget that despite its difficulties, it is a privilege to carry the cross of Christ.

 

 

We all have moments when we lose focus. Recently this has been a struggle for me as a follower of Jesus.  According to Matthew 16:24 these are the requirements:  If any man will come after me he must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me.  It is easy to say, yet so hard to do. 

Just a few weeks ago on Friday, April 19^th my family and I had the privilege to volunteer at an Andrew Peterson concert, joined by special guests the band, Caleb.  The concert was held at the Shrine of St. Anthony’s, a place of solitude and serenity located in Ellicott City, Maryland.  Our job was to hang out in the lobby and represent Show Hope, an organization which helps orphans and also supports adoption.   

Although there for a noble cause I learned some very profound things I wasn’t looking to find. That night I observed three references to the cross given by a caretaker, a daughter’s mother and a singer. 

1-The cross reminds me to give my all to Jesus

The first person I met when we arrived was the curator, Joe.  Before the concert began he gave me a brief tour of the beautiful monastery where the concert was to be held.  While he showed me around he explained that St. Anthony’s was built in 1931 and was a replica of similar structure in Italy. It was during this time that he showed me the crucifix that at one time resided in Babe Ruth’s orphanage in Baltimore.  

In Joe I had met a man whose occupation consists of service.  He job is to help friars and monks who care very little about the outside world and its influences.  However, from what I could gather, he took some risk to bring a Christian Contemporary singer like Andrew Peterson into such a revered place. Conversely he never revealed to me why he brought Andrew to such a small venue, where only two hundred or so people could comfortably fit.  The only connection he mentioned seemed to be they were both from North Florida, which Joe told me more than once.

During the concert I snuck in the back and found an empty seat next to Joe.  No one seemed to be enjoying the concert more than he.  As we sat together my eyes caught something in the background in the dimly lit room, directly behind the band words were written boldly over an archway right over Andrew Peterson’s head.   God had framed it so the light captured this phrase like a snapshot:  May I never boast of anything but the cross…

There was more but that was all I could make out in the dim light.  Yet, it spoke volumes to me as I sat next to the curator I hardly knew and for reasons unknown to me was willing to take a chance and bring performers into a sanctuary that may be louder than what was appropriate. Yet he did it anyway.

 Joe reminds me to give it all, like Christ on the cross.

2-The need to lay it all down at the cross

Our contact for the evening was a perky young woman who works for Show Hope, who I will call Sandy. During the concert my wife and I began to chat with her as we shared about our two trips to China and her time there as well.

There was something endearing about her candor with folks she didn’t really know, except we were joined but the fact we all had a heart for the orphans. Sandy even revealed that her favorite color is mustard yellow, after my youngest daughter revealed hers was purple, Then, she began to reveal her heart and began to share about her mom.

Sandy's mom sounds like a truly remarkable person worthy of admiration, even though I have never met her.  Somehow through her daughter’s stories I feel as though I have met her.  She went on to explain that her mom had always wanted to travel, but never got the opportunity.  In essence she did travel vicariously through her kids.  One lives overseas, one lives on the coast, and her daughter has been to China.   Her cross was preparing her kids to do what she dreamed of doing and never got to do. 

This sacrifice reminded me of the movie, Passion of the Christ.  Each year at Easter I watch it looking for something new to take away from it.  This year what stood out was Mary, the mother of Jesus.  More precisely it was the scene with Mary kneeling at the cross while Jesus hung dying.  The pain in her eyes told me if she could have, she would have traded places with him or better yet taken him home.  Yet, she knew she could not have what she desired.  So, Mary laid down what she wanted in obedience to God the Father. 

Sandy's mom is a great reminder of what a mother will do for her kids and shouldn’t we all be willing to lay it all down at the cross for those we love.

3- The need to humbly bear our cross.

The first time I met Andrew Peterson two years ago left an indelible impression on me.  It was about eleven o’clock at night in a church parking lot as my family and I were leaving the concert.  There was Andrew Peterson singing cross legged on the sidewalk giving a free personal concert for a handful of fans who were still hanging around.  His actions reminded me of something Jesus would have done with his disciples.

On April 19^th I was reminded yet again of how followers should act like Jesus.  When Andrew spoke, at least to me, his voice sounded like someone who had been with Jesus. He reminded me of a modern day disciple, mind you not someone who had it all figured out. When he spoke and when he sang there was a special tone that came through that was entirely genuine.  It made my ears perk up, he wasn’t yelling at me; rather he was offering loving advice.  He even mentioned how he was tired of feeling guilty and that God was constantly out to get him. 

The fact he reminded me of a disciple was ironic because his name Andrew Peterson is comprised of two disciples’ names: Andrew and Peter and better yet they were brothers.  So, his name is quite suitable.

This time before the concert began I personally got to meet him.    It was through the privilege of loaning him my raincoat and holding the door for him during a rainstorm.  His demeanor was that of a humble man.   He did not ask someone else to get wet on his behalf, nor did he complain that my old raincoat was falling apart at the seams, which it was. He epitomizes for me what someone who bears his cross and follows after Jesus should look like.  Not someone chasing success but rather the Savior.

Through his refreshing honesty Andrew reminds us of the need to humbly bear our cross. 

When people see us, let out lives speak boldly these words: May I never boast of anything but the cross…..

Swavel

 

Honorable

Read stories to your kids when they are young and when you grow old your grandchildren will thank you for it.

 

The following is a story I wrote for my daughter, Sianna, when she was about seven years old, based on a character named Ninja Girl.

                                                           

                                                                

HONORABLE

It happened one night after bath time. 

Out of nowhere, she appeared in her unsuspecting brother’s bedroom.  “I am NINJA GIRL, she exclaimed, with her bathrobe flowing in the breeze and holding her sidekick, a teddy bear named Soft.  Her brother nearly jumped out of his skin as she struck a pose, like any good self-respecting ninja would do. Then he smiled, laughed, and finally hugged her. Ninja girl scowled.  “Ninja girls should bring terror, not happiness to their victims.” So, off she ran down the hall to pursue her next unsuspecting victim.

Then, it happened again.

Coming down the hallway she came upon Rex, the family dog.  "I am NINJA GIRL!" she exclaimed at the top of her lungs, as her bathrobe twirled in the breeze. Then Rex panted, barked, and licked her on the face; the dog version of laughing, smiling, and hugging. “Ninja girls should bring sheer terror to unsuspecting victims, not joy,” she said disgustedly. So, off she ran down the hall stomping her feet, while clutching Soft, in search of another victim. 

A few minutes later, it happened again.

She snuck into the living room where mom was snuggled up in her warm, fuzzy blanket checking her e-mail. Seizing the moment, she sprang into action as struck a pose and said, “I am NINJA GIRL!”  This time her bathrobe twirled a little less, while still clutching her sidekick, causing mom to turn with a start.  Mom smiled, then laughed and hugged her little girl. "You’re too cute," Mom replied.  “Ninja girls are not meant to be cute, they’re supposed to strike fear into your heart.” So, she ran out of the living room with her head down, with one last hope.

In the end, she discovered what she had been looking for all along.

Her last opportunity was in the kitchen. She held her breath and moved quiet as a mouse. That is where her dad was scooping ice cream into a cup making a homemade chocolate shake. Then she snuck up behind him, while holding her teddy bear, Soft, struck a pose and announced at the top of her lungs, “I am NINJA GIRL!”  Dad was so startled by all the noise that in mid-scoop, he flung some chocolate ice cream on the floor, and knocked Soft out of Ninja girl’s grasp. With one hand over his heart and a paper towel in the other, he took a deep breath. Then he smiled, then laughed and then he hugged his little girl. “Daddy, I am so mad, I want to be scary, not cute,” sobbed the disappointed little girl.

 

Pulling up a chair, dad motioned for his little Ninja girl to sit down. “Sweetie, let me tell you a not so ancient Chinese secret.” Pausing for a moment, he picked up her sidekick, Soft.“ If Soft could talk, he would tell you this: it is most honorable to leave a trail of happiness behind you not fear, laughter not tears, smiles not frowns, and hugs rather that emptiness.” Then Ninja girl smiled, then laughed and she bent over and picked up Soft and gave him a big hug. “Daddy, if Soft could talk I think he would ask you to make me a Ninja-sized chocolate shake.” With that, dad smiled and began to stir the ice cream. 

Now, go out and be honorable or Ninja girl will give you a karate chop!   Hi-Ya!!!!!

Swavel