By a Shirt

I was wearing my church monogrammed white polo shirt yesterday.  Southview Baptist Church.  Growing in... Love.  Thats my church.  Our tag line - I love what it says & means - could not be scaled to fit the monogram.  The tag line is our purpose statement: Growing in God's Life Changing Love.

So there I was going about my day.  Minding my own business.  Living life.  Cognizant of my need to grow in God's life changing love.  Really, I was.

When I was tempted.  Sorely tempted to sin.  Oh, doesn't the Devil know your buttons & how to push them?

Yet I thought, "I'm wearing my church shirt.  I can't give in to that sin.  Folks will know."  And, thanks to a monogram, I was saved from sin.  By a shirt.

What saves you from sinning?

Would the shirt you wear or the words you say keep you from falling to a given temptation?  

Have you considered that God knows everything no matter how well you think it's hidden?

How much grace does God have for you in spite of - because of - your sins?

Are you confident that Jesus has eternally saved you from your sins?  If not, will you contact me?

Uphill Downhill

We live up the hill.  One of the highest spots in Lincoln.  In hillier than you'd think Eastern Nebraska

That's caused me to think: For every hill you go down there is one to go up.

Recently my Dadometer indicated the oldest needed some time alone & it was the perfect evening for a bike ride.

Tearing out ahead of me he shouted, "I'm gonna beat you, Daddy." Here & there around the neighborhood streets we went.  Then we left the pavement behind.  Downhill into the tree farm on dirt paths we plunged.  My boy was loving it.  "Wooo-oo-oo-ooo," he exalted in bumpy path vibrato.

Turning uphill I led reminding him we could enjoy the view from the top.  Yet halfway up I heard it.  Words indistinguishable.  Tone clear.  Complaining about the hill.  My boy stopped.

Back downhill we went.  His smile returned.  We pedaled toward another adventurous off-road spot.  His tone changed exuberant.  He hollered, "This is fun!"  Reaching the creek bottom, we rested a bit in the cool.

Then uphill we went.  And, again, his tone changed.  I began to instruct: it is harder going uphill; we shift gears; keep pedaling; accept slower forward progress; but we keep going; we get there.

When we reached to top of Captain Underpants Hill - yes, thats the name my kids have given a statue on a hill nearby our home - we stopped again.  This time we needed a little lesson.  Son & Father both had something to learn.

"Buddy you were having so much fun a few minutes ago.  What changed?"

"The hill.  I don't like the hill."

"I know it's hard to go up hills, but you made it up.  You're here."

"Yeah."

"You gotta go uphill before you can go downhill, Buddy.  Life is like that."

In a split second I'm thinking to myself, "Remember this the next time you are struggling with something, Mister Daddy Man.  If you are gonna enjoy the downhill, you gotta work the uphill."

Life doesn't come equipped with ski lifts.  Elevators or escalators either.  Life does take plenty of work.

The Rabbit

John Mark sat beside me during Easter Pageant rehearsal today.  Well, that's not terribly accurate.

John Mark wiggled, hollered, jumped, coughed, danced, squealed, laid down, rolled around, questioned, snuggled, played, spun circles & watched - at least a bit - while beside me in the pew during Easter Pageant rehearsal today.

He listened too.  When the crowd repeatedly cried out, "Give us Barabbas!  Give us Barabbas!"  My four year old who looked to be in his own world, looked me in the eye, and succinctly stated, "Yeah, they want the rabbit cuz its Easter time," and just as quickly returned to his above mentioned activities.

The rabbit.

Give us the rabbit.

I didn't correct him.

How could I?

How many times have I - in my own world - heard something other than the actual statement?

How many times have I jumped - at risk of harming others & myself - to the wrong conclusions because I heard my own thoughts & not the correct statements?

Beware the rabbit, My Friends.

It might jump out.

And get you.

Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak & slow to become angry.  James 1:19

Silly Band

 

A single silly band.

Generally observed on the forearms of children as clingy colorful incongruous groups.

Yet this is MY silly band.  And I am an adult.  Most of the time.

Furthermore, this is a special silly band.  Shaped like Cowboy Woody.  The pull-string hero from the Toy Story trilogy.  A “gift” from my youngest.  Fun loving four year old.  JM the rough houser.  He got it at Christmas in a 20 pack.

Cousins Christmas crazy.  Aunts & Uncles laughing.  This special silly band fell at my feet as the rough houser ripped into the package.

“JM, can I have this one?”

“No, it’s mine.”

“But, buddy, you’ve got 19 more.  Right there.  This one is Woody.  I like Woody.”

“It’s my Woody.  Give it to me.”

“JM, Daddy can have just this one.  You can share.”

Before we could further debate, my sharp Bride, his sweet Mama, saved me by giving him another present.

You’re thinking: You kept it?  You wear it?

You’re right.  I kept it.  Wear it every day. 

Why?

In the late Christmas night quiet, readying for bed, I discovered it still on my arm.  And the Holy Spirit spoke. It was as if God said to me...

Now you know how I feel.

You gave your son 20 silly bands & he wouldn't give you just one back.

Everything that you call yours is a gift from me.

Yet you live in pride as if it's all your own creation.  You say you know me, follow me, & trust me, yet you deny me by your actions & attitudes.

When I ask for a tithe.  A tenth.  A tenth of your time, talents, & treasures.  Remember the silly band.

You love your son.  You gave him silly bands.  

I love you.  I give you everything.

New Shoes

I've got a question for you: What do you see?  Five pairs of shoes.  Each a Nike.  Each similar.

You've got a question for me: Why so many?  Five pairs of shoes?  Each a Nike?  Each similar?

The first, on top of the shoe-star, silver & black with red, was my first pair of Nike's since kiddom.  The Vomero 2 sold me on the company & this line the moment I put them on.  Cushy & springy.  Compared to the tanks I was retiring & the brand x mid-range shoes I was struggling in, this pair was a dream.  I ran my first marathon in these: Lincoln, 2008.  I proudly retired these to be my knocking around shoes near two years ago with 472 total running miles on them.

The second on top right, white & silver with lime green is the Nike Vomero 3.  I ran my second marathon in these: Cowtown, 2009.  I retired these with 451 running miles almost a year ago.  Other than the colors, they are identical to the next pair.

The third, lower right, white & black with orange, are Nike Vomero 3s.  I ran my third marathon in this pair just days after my 40th birthday: Cowtown, 2010.  These are nearing retirement with 397 miles.  They don't go any longer than six miles now lest I feel it in my hips & knees later.

The fourth, lower left, white & silver with blue, are Nike Vomero 4s.  They are my current long run shoes. Going 12+ miles every Saturday while training for the 2011 Lincoln Marathon will elevate their mileage quickly.  They have 157 miles after this morning's run.

The fifth, upper left, white with red & gray, are my newest pair, the Nike Vomero 5.  I just got them this week through an amazing eBay deal.  They've got the smell of new & zero running miles.  I'll put about 30 miles on them with a long run of 12 before they serve to carry my 26.2 miles through Lincoln on race day, May 1st.

Why so many pairs?  Experts say & my experience validates that the average shoe has a running life expectancy of around 400 miles.  Give or take some miles given the shoe & the runner.  As an example: take the second & third pair.  Identical shoes other than the color.  And.  Other than mileage.  Thats the key.  With 250+ miles difference you could put one shoe from each pair on me while I was blind-folded & I could tell the difference.  Just standing.  On carpet.  Not even walking or running.  That noticeable.

Why is that?  Simply put: the white, sometimes gray, squishy foam that makes up the midsole & majority of cushioning in running shoes is shot.  That foam holds micro-bubbles of gas.  The bubbles burst until the foam looses its spring.  You loose energy return.  You loose protection.  You end up more tired or, worse, injured through the pounding running puts on a body. 

You're thinking: Thanks for the pointers to track mileage & buy new shoes regularly, Aaron, but what's the point of this post?

Here it is: Well designed, properly chosen, thoroughly executed anything grows old & worn with time. Replacements.  Upgrades.  Progress.  Change.  These are healthy.  These are part of life & growth.

And.  As with my running shoes.  Change can be safer & better for you than staying the same.