What Do You Expect?

Think about the millions of expectations that come with living. When we're children, we're expected to sit quietly, do our work, mind our manners and not pick our noses (at least not in public).

When we're teenagers, we're expected to follow the rules, listen to those who are wiser than we are, hold our tongues and (at least try to) make it home by curfew. And on the other hand, the unspoken expectation is that we'll rebel.

When we're young adults, we're expected to decide our life's destination, follow the standard protocol for reaching that goal and not speed or let the grass get too tall in the front yard.

And as we get older, we're expected to have learned from life and pass those lessons on to others, even though they probably won't listen because they know so much more than we did at that age.

I was thinking about all those expectations. And I boiled it down to this. The goal of all of those is for us to blend in. We're expected to be one of the crowd. Somewhere, somehow, we become convinced that we must meet everyone else's expectations in order to make it through life. Because if we don't, we just might stick out. And when we stick out, we run the risk of too many terrible things. Things we don't dare subject ourselves to. Things like being made fun of, being talked about, and actually being ... noticed.

But as I think about all the expectations that I've met in my life, and even those I haven't, I wonder: how much of my life is the sum total of expectations of other people?

I don't want to live based on other people's expectations. Because when I do, sure, I fit in. But I also lose who I'm designed to be. And then others dictate where I go, what I do, how I live. I don't want to live that way.

I want to live based on God's expectations, because He doesn't have the same expectations for me that others have. Oh, sure, He expects me to grow and learn and be responsible and not speed and pay my taxes and not pick my nose.

But I think His biggest expectation for me is that I look to Him first. Not second. Not forty-fourth. And certainly not last. So every day, I want to start off not looking to the expectations of others. I want to look to God and ask Him, "What do you expect?"

A Little About a Lot? Or a Lot about a little?

Would you rather know a lot about a little? Or a little about a lot?
I think I would rather know a lot about a little. Because I've been designed that way by God. It’s the essentiality of putting your all into something.

Each of us could go through life simply

            p      i      e      c      i     n      g

ou      rse      lve    s

                                                                                    o

                                                                                             u

                                                                                                      t.

Or…

We could fully commit to something; devoting our time, energy and strength to it.

The same thing works with our relationships. We can fully give ourselves to a precious few; those in life who will be there in the good times and the bad ... no matter what.

Or...

We can give out portions of ourselves to a large number of people, showing them only what we want them to see and hiding what really makes us who we are. But when we do that; when we shatter our own essence in hopes of being accepted, we aren’t ever really known. Not the way we’re meant to be known anyway.

So me? I’d rather know a lot about a little…and be known a lot by a little.

She is Everything. And More.

When I met her, she was the force in life that knocked everything off its course. Until that point, I knew what I wanted; I knew where I was headed. When I met her, I realized that all needed to change.

There are so many words that describe who she is to me. Lover. Friend. Companion. Shelter. Gift. I have the privilege of seeing everything that no one else sees, hearing what no one else hears, understanding what no one else understands. And all that is for me and me alone.

But there's one word that causes her to rise higher in the eyes of two little boys: mother.

When they need her, she is there.
When they call for her, she comes running.
When they cry, she holds them.
When they laugh, she laughs with them.
When they are wrong, she corrects them.
Through it all, she prays for them.

She loves them. She guides them. She helps them.  She is their sounding board of hope, sympathy and emotion.

Without her, I could not do what I do. She is my wife. She is their mother. She is the source of our strength and courage.

She is the one who brings color to our lives.

Carissa, I love you. Happy Mother's Day!

The Power of Cussing

Do you remember that scene in “A Christmas Story” where Ralphie helps his dad change the flat tire? Remember how that scene ends? Yep. With an f-bomb and a bar of soap.

Until just a few days ago, I saw myself from Ralphie’s perspective. I remember what it was like to discover the power of cussing. And I remember vividly the first time I heard the f-bomb. I was in the 2nd grade.

My friend Trey told a joke about the good side and the bad side of the hill (yes, I still remember the joke). We laughed so hard that the teacher in the cafeteria finally came over to find out what was so funny. It was very much my Ralphie moment. I hadn’t actually said the word myself. Not then at least. But I got my first lesson in guilt by association. The teacher didn’t call my parents. And if they’re reading this, this is most likely the first time they’ve ever heard this story.

The point is that I remember the power of discovering a forbidden word. And I used it. Often. Loudly. Proudly. I don’t remember ever getting caught. But I definitely know it was part of my verbal arsenal.

Now, I look at things from a completely different angle, because I’m no longer Ralphie. I’m Ralphie’s dad. And sadly, real life isn’t as funny as the movies.

Jackson has recently learned the power of the f-bomb…and the repercussions it brings. Who knows when he actually learned it for the first time? But in the past 96 hours, he’s dropped it twice (that we know of). The first time, he was at a friend’s. There was an … incident. But he came home and fessed up. Said he lost his temper and it just came out.

In that moment, I was so proud of his honesty and could tell he was truly sorry. Because I want him to feel comfortable coming to me in the future, I told him I was disappointed in his actions, but proud that he had the guts to be honest. No punishment.

Yesterday, he dropped the bomb at school. I know because the principal called my wife, who called me. Grace period? Over. Creative discipline begins. And soap? Pfff. That’s child’s play. The list of consequences* on this one is long and distinguished.

It’s not about the power of a forbidden word. This is an opportunity to teach Jackson about the power of choosing your words carefully.


* The list of consequences:

• Call and apologize to the kids he cussed out, and to their parents.
• Write a letter of apology to the principal and the teacher.
• Miss the lock-in at church.
• Call the Pastor to explain why he missed the lock-in.
• No screens (t.v., DS, Wii) for a week.
• No friends over for a week.
• No going to friends’ houses for a week.
• No more riding the bus home from school.
• No more riding bikes with the kid he learned the word from.