Right now, I’m sitting with my foot propped up and ice pressed against my ankle because I injured it, and it is killing me – not the ankle though; the ice. The thing is, ice is the one thing I really need right now, but I feel like pulling my foot away because I can’t stand the temporary discomfort that comes with it.
When I was in eleventh grade, the entire high school was summoned to the gym for what can be fairly described as an exercise in mass hypnosis.
This past weekend, my wife had to be away for two days, which meant I was in charge of managing Daddy Daycare for a three and four-year-old. I figured that two days might be a challenge, but I was up for it. I was not.
A few years ago when I got on Facebook, there was no such thing as a “like” button (can you imagine it?). You just posted status updates, photos, or links to articles, and the only way you knew whether people approved was if they commented on it. Then the like button came along at some point and changed everything. Now there was an instant measure of success for every insecure human being on Facebook.
The other day, my wife and I were driving down a two-lane road in the country when we got stuck behind a big ol’ Mack truck that was stuck behind a slowly-moving tractor. We figured we would be in for a long wait – we did not anticipate, however, that we were about to watch a truck driver nearly kill somebody.
The other day, I asked my wife to bring my daughters to downtown DC for lunch because it was my youngest child’s birthday, and I wanted us to celebrate as a family. It was probably a bad idea.
The other night, I was on my way out the door to go to a church men’s group, and I told my wife I didn’t know how to get there. She gave me directions to the house, which was located in another part of D.C. I repeated the directions back to her, and then I got in the car and drove away. But then one block later, I realized I didn’t have my cell phone with me.
My youngest daughter, who is three, is affectionate, smart, and perceptive – but at the same time, she’s a major handful sometimes. She’s getting better, but over the course of her three years of life, she has been known to do things like . . .
On Sunday, I was taking my daughters downstairs to their Sunday School class when I passed a couple of women on their way up to the sanctuary. One of the two women was looking down; the other was holding her arm and whispering into her ear. It seemed odd to me, but I was most concerned that the visitors feel comfortable; and I just assumed that the woman looking down had a disability or something. She didn’t.
Back in 2008, I followed the advice of a dear friend and interviewed a few people about the impact my life had on them. The interview questions were designed to illicit mostly negative responses, and boy, did they ever.
You don’t have to look far in the church to find your fair share of male loners who struggle to have authentic friendships with other men. They know how to be in the same room with other men, and they know how to do things with them — but emotional transparency is off-limits.
I have some dear Christian friends whose eight-year-old son profoundly struggles with doubting God. Although my heart aches for them as they parent him through unbelief, I’m not worried about him.
One time when I was a kid, I went to this church lock-in, and for whatever reason – I don’t remember – I was being so negative about everything. I was criticizing the building, the food, the people; if it had something to do with the lock-in, it was a target for my put-downs.
I am not known for raising my voice in frustration – at least not by my coworkers and friends. Apparently, it’s a different story with my family.
I grew up in south Mississippi, where we kind of looked down on city folks – especially if they were from up north (“up north” basically meant anywhere past the northern border of Tennessee, or too far into south Florida, or anywhere in the midwest – or the west coast).