Category Archives: Deeper Thoughts

The Incredible Dork-i-ness of Being

I admit to being a dork, and truthfully, I don’t exactly mind it. There is a lot of fun allowed in this world to the dorks, nerds (smarter versions of dorks) and generally unappreciated members of society. Bart Simpson himself is a dork – he gets bullied at school, hangs out with Milhouse (and, at times, Martin) and is a failure at being a rebel because he cares too much. Coincidentally, that would be the first piece of evidence of my dorkiness; my ability and desire to discuss deeper philosophical issues from the Simpsons. But part of what makes life so much fun is relating most everything to the krazy karacters headlining Fox’s Sunday night animation domination (Peter Griffin, is still second to Homer).

The topics of deep discussion move forward from there, but not necessarily upward. One of my favorite debates is the swallow’s ability to transport coconuts. Before you ask me whether I am talking about African or European swallows, let’s make sure we stay on track. And was it really that hard for Lois Lane to not catch Superman hiding behind Clark Kent’s glasses? I will always side with Aragorn’s story over Frodo’s and am honestly glad that the movies did not include the 27 more endings for Return of the King that the book did. I enjoy having my opinions and arguing their basis for insight on human nature; after all, how would we know not to skip immediately to ludicrous speed if not for Dark Helmet’s mistake?

As I’ve aged, the naysayers that laughed at me during puberty have all fallen into silence. It’s incredible to note that more people seem to discuss Glee in public circles today than the Philadelphia Eagles’ plummet from the ranks of the NFL elite. By the way, I do not in any way endorse Glee – I have never seen an episode and do not intend to – I would still rather watch an Eagles’ game (despite me NOT being a fan and their dismal play of late). Being a dork isn’t really made fun of anymore – it’s glorified, respected; even admired. This is unlike one of the other labels I have been living under.

In media, culture and even some individual chatter, being a Christian is becoming more and more a joke. Not a Peter vs. the Giant Chicken kind of joke, but a serious offense against the rest of the world. As humans, we are all in this together, and though we each have our own opinions and beliefs on what is best and how to move forward, we still occupy the same space with each other. Whether or not there is room enough on this planet for all the differing opinions does not matter; we are all stuck here on this planet and all life (thus all opinions) have a right to exist.

As a Christian, I hold to certain opinions (the content of those opinions is not important here). This is where most people get angry, as they see those opinions as intolerant and aggressive towards other worldviews. Why? Look at this first part of the sentence: “As a Christian…” This means that I have chosen to live under a certain set of principles. My opinions are held for those who choose to live under the same set of standards. If I were to say, “As an American, I believe in taxation with representation”, that would be a belief held by those who choose to live under America’s standard; regardless of how they became a citizen. That may not be the opinion in another country, but I have no right, rhyme or reason to judge the citizen of another country that does not espouse that belief.

People who have chosen to live under another faith, or no faith at all, have ultimately chosen a different set of standards and principles to live under. That is their choice. Do I believe that my faith has something to offer other people? Absolutely, and I’m not afraid to share that. But it is still their choice to follow. If they choose not to, then they are free to live with whatever opinions they see most desirable. Tolerance is allowing them that decision. There are those inside my same faith who believe it is their duty to push their rules onto other people. Those people also exist in every faith, nationality and world view. In the end, each individual is accountable for only themselves.

I cannot nor will not answer for the inquisition, Holy wars, or even Jimmy Swaggert. What other people have done in the name of their country, their faith, or even themselves is a problem for every race and creed. What I can answer for is myself. Are my acts friendly, loving, and full of grace? After all, if you sum up everything in the Bible it comes down to one thing: love.

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. 1 Corinthians 13:1-3

It’s incredible being a dork.

When Life Sucks…Use a Straw

On a personal level, these past few weeks been quite trying. A few things that really looked as if they were going to turn out positively spoiled at the last second, I was thrown multiple curve balls, and during the brightest spot of the week (yes, I got to go to Universal Studios for a few days and that was AWESOME), I ended up hurting myself which caused a major damper on my softball game Friday night. For whatever reason, my wife and have been at each other’s throats, and I have just generally been annoyed all the time. If you are in anyway unsure of the reason for this particular rant, it is because I am COMPLANING! Yes, I am.

One of the things that I have always found interesting in life is how your life lessons tend to mirror your particular experiences of that time period. It becomes even more noticeable as a teacher; in this case, a youth group leader planning a lesson for Sunday morning youth worship. I suppose I should have known what would happen when I decided to teach on 1 Kings 19, which is a lovely story in which Elijah the prophet wants to kill himself. Don’t let anyone say that the Bible doesn’t cover the hard topics.

Reading through this particular chapter, it is truly amazing to see the difficulty of life through Elijah’s eyes. In the previous chapter, Elijah had won his biggest battle which included insulting Baal and Asherah—this is one of my all-time favorite stories, because Elijah actually mocks the other gods’ prophets by asking where their god is. “Is he sleeping? Or maybe on the toilet?”—along with the killing of each of the 850 prophets after God shows up licking up the entire area with fire. It’s the perfect chapter for movie treatment. Major obstacles, an angry and hateful king, a harlot queen, and a man confident enough in his mission to bring it all down would make an amazing silver screen spectacle. The problem is, though, that you can’t leave the story half-way finished. Coming down from that incredible mountaintop experience, Elijah has to run for his life from Jezebel (the harlot queen), which is a chase that leads him to destitution at that mouth of a distant cave somewhere.

He hasn’t slept, eaten, relaxed, or talked with a friend in who knows how long. He is alone, starving, and frustrated. That’s when he lets it out. “God, let me die!” He screams his pain into the night air. It’s fairly easy to picture. Elijah finally was able to sit down and take care of his feet that had beaten up and down while on the run. Blisters the size of quarters were compounded on each other, the result of broken sandals not able to hold up to the vicious pace of his gait. Standing must have felt like murder. His blood sugar was most likely crashing, as that can happen to anyone who burns too many carbs without replenishment. Shaking, not just from the cold, he had nothing but a jagged rock on which to lay his head. ‘This sucks’ (or the Hebrew equivalent) must have raced through his head a thousand times. It is at this point, the still, small voice of God begins to act.

Funny, though; God doesn’t fix Elijah’s problems. One of the godliest men in history prayed and prayed for an answer, yet God did not accept his request to die, nor did He change Elijah’s situation. What God did was much more intimate. First, he helped Elijah fall into a deep sleep to regain some strength. Then, He fed Elijah with manna from Heaven. After a few rounds of eating and sleeping, God opened Himself to Elijah through an experience of power. He showed Elijah a windstorm, earthquake, and other powerful storms, yet those God was not in (funny, He was in the fire storm on Mt. Carmel). He was in the still small voice that flew on the gentle breeze. God is who you need Him to be every time you connect with Him. Sometimes it’s the mighty power of a fire storm, or a pillar of cloud to follow. Other times it’s a still, small voice. The key is, He is who you need Him to be.

Lastly, he commands Elijah to go connect with other people and give them instructions – in other words, go back to work. The last command, however, is more than just his next assignment. God has Elijah go find Elisha and start preparing him to be the successor. In other words, God gave Elisha to Elijah to keep him company; build his community. Now he has some support to lean on. It was also the light at the end of the tunnel.

You see, God never promises an easy life. He doesn’t even not promise that we won’t face difficult times on occasion. He goes all the way to promise that we WILL have them! “All those who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted” (2 Timothy 3:12). Yet, inside the chaos he offers three things: chicken (NOT literally), connection with Him, and community support. God won’t let us die until our job on earth is over. He will give you the resources you need to accomplish the work he has for you. That doesn’t mean you’ll be rich and happy; it means your needs will be met until He decides to call you home. You may not always be comfortable, but at least you know He will provide. Suck it all in; His water does quench.

A Short Letter to the Atlanta Braves

This is probably better served if I waited until the season was over, but in the last few minutes while celebrating the Braves’ 89th victory this year–the one that clinched their postseason birth–I felt the urge to say thank you.

This tweet was a specific thank you to Chipper Jones, a baseball player who was young and cool (and kind of a rebel) when I was at the influential age of 12. I am now 32, married and responsible. I don’t obsess over the sport, nor do I watch it EVERY day (every other day is ok, though, right?). When this season is over, I will enjoy other sports in the background while focusing on the good life I have been given.

But tonight, for a few minutes, I want to revel in the memories.

— I remember being 10 and allowed to stay up late so I could watch the end of the Braves vs. Pirates with my father. Little did I know the name Sid Bream would be forever etched in my mind.

— I remember Marquis Grissom making the final catch in the 1995 World Series to cap Tom Glavine’s remarkable performance.

— I remember spending every summer during my teens watching Chipper switch-hit and copying his stance until switch-hitting became natural to me as well.

— I remember the MVP season of 1999, including the unbelievable start to Andruw Jones’ fame with 2 homers in his first World Series game.

— I remember being angry at Vinny Castilla knowing, somehow that Chipper’s willingness to change positions would risk injury. I’m convinced that is a huge reason for the injury strings of the last few years, though Chipper would never lay blame.

— I remember going every year to St. Louis to see the Braves play during my college years.

— I remember my first game at Wrigley field, with Chipper’s 2 homers.

— I remember my first trip to Turner field in 2007…two weeks before I met the woman who would become my wife. John Smoltz won his 200th game that day.

— I remember taking my wife to her first MLB game in 2009…at Turner Field. Since then, our house has been a Chipper vs. B-Mac rivalry.

— I remember saying good-bye to Bobby Cox.

— I remember my wife giving me tickets to the Atlanta series in Seattle for our anniversary…and coming with me.

— I remember knowing without a doubt Chipper would not retire after what happened in Sept. 2011 – he would go out on top.

— I remember the day I knew the end was coming with the retirement announcement.

— I remember the home run in Chipper’s first game this year.

— I will remember the 9th inning rally Chipper sparked that led to Freddy Freeman’s playoff clinching home run this evening.

— I am sure there are other awesome moments for the storage bank that will occur yet this season; not to mention the years ahead.

Obviously, this is not an exhaustive list of memories. These, however, are the ones I cherish. Thanks to the Atlanta Braves for providing a team that actually deserves appreciation. Thanks to Chipper for growing up with me and being someone whom, 20 years later, I can still hold in esteem. Thanks to my parents for sharing with me their love for the city and the team. Thanks to my wife for allowing me to be a kid, even as a grown up.

The Mantra of a Man

I’ve often closed my eyes and pictured myself in my father’s place huddled inside a bunker under enemy fire during the Tet Offensive of early 1968. I can visualize, as if I were there, the barracks, the hangars, and the tool box my dad worked out of as an enlisted mechanic. I could probably make the argument I was there – biologically, at least – but obviously have no idea what his eyes truly witnessed. I’ve made up scenarios and situation that made him out to be the hero I always pictured, but I’ve always been good at embellishing what actually happened; and truthfully, I am embellishing my interpretation of his stories of what happened, so as in the game of telephone, I am probably much father off than I think, but oh well.

I’m not a sappy person; I usually am the guy who makes fun of people who boldly share their heart. Having a cynical nature can be freeing that way. The truth is, my father does not talk much, especially in matters of the heart. He is not the father that never said, “I love you”; in fact, he has never been afraid to say that at all. He has also been clear that he supports me and is proud of me. He just keeps a lot of things inside, and it can be hard to read him, or to really know what’s going on.

I may be the only person who thinks this about their dad, but it is hard to see my father as aging. Even though his hair is grayer (what’s there), there are more wrinkles, and he complains a bit more about his back pain, he still looks to me the same as he did when I was five and he wasn’t that much older than I am now. Because of that, it can be very hard to accept his limits.

I have been up to my armpits in home improvements, renovations, car repairs, and all the other manual labor-type activities that all us husbands live with, and—as per the nature of our family—I don’t like to work alone. With my dad in the same city, he makes an easy candidate to ask for help. Not so much that I need his strength in tightening a bolt, or arm length to reach something high up, but I like having him around. His wisdom (a lot of these type projects are new to me) and experience are nice qualities to have around while I am trying to take off a water pump for the first time, or lining up exactly where I’m going to hang the kitchen cabinets.

Don’t get me wrong, he has his faults. He has been known to gripe on occasion, and has the tendency to get annoyed when things don’t work the way they are supposed to (a trait DEFINITELY passed on to me), and sometimes he gets focused more on getting the job done, thus lending him to take the job over and do it for me. Again, these are traits I share too – but this is the one I truly hope has passed on – he is willing to admit that he made mistakes and is open to change. When confronted with that exact take over mentality last week he quickly recanted and was a great team player.

Ok, so I’ve shared some of my father’s weaknesses, but that is not the reason for this. What I hope comes through this LOUD and CLEAR is that my father has always been there. Never once has he declined to help on a project, regardless of how much pain he may be in, or the fact that he just spent all day at my brother’s house doing the same thing for him. Whether it was a swim meet, a ride to youth group, money for a trip, working on the car, etc… He has always jumped when asked, and never turned any of us away while in need (even when we only THOUGHT we were in need).

He has been instrumental in projects that I gladly take applause for – the basement, the kitchen, etc…and he would never even dare to take the limelight, for that was never his mantra. His mantra, was, is, and will be always to roll up his sleeves and make sure that those he loved had everything they needed. For that, Dad, thanks. I love you.

Don Stalnaker in his early 20s after enlisting to go to war in Vietnam.