Peace Is The Presence of Someone

Yesterdays sermon hit the spot! It was a guest pastor (our regular pastor generally has pretty good sermons, too) who had a message on 2 Thessalonians 3:16, 17:

16 Now may the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times and in every way. The Lord be with all of you.

17 I, Paul, write this greeting in my own hand, which is the distinguishing mark in all my letters. This is how I write.

The pastors full sermon summary was:

“Peace is not the absence of something; it is the presence of someone”

As we have a variety of personal struggles (kids, job, and purpose etc) we think how lucky we are! We have so many things going the right direction. A couple in front of us at church yesterday was also touched by the sermon. There perspective was much different. They listened to the sermon knowing they have an appointment today with a doctor where they will receive the results of tests. It is very likely the test will confirm the husband has Alzheimer’s. Someday that might be my concern, but right now, none of my concerns (I don’t believe) could so rob me of peace.

It is in these extreme circumstance where true peace can be assessed. I pray I could have peace, but an inward glance, gives me serious concerns. You pray your life experiences leading up to this type of diagnosis will allow you to trust in the One who died so you can spend eternity with him. I pray for this sweet couple. And, I pray for all who wonder (or wander) about. May the storms of life become just slightly cloudy days when filtered through the eternal perspective you give us. May we want You so badly that the physical, emotional, and tangible things of this world will seem like background noise. May our “peace” bank account be so full that the withdrawals of “normal” life are barely noticeable. And, may the big things be able to rely on a peace account that is backed up by your infinite credit card. May you be my source and the source of the sweet couple we met in church for peace. You go before us, and nothing can surprise you. May they/me/all-of-us commit ourselves to trusting you and you alone for our earthly and eternal satisfaction. Amen

Easy Salmonella?

What started out as a simple day where the only real plan was making fajitas on the grill, did have a few complications!

With both boys off at 5:00, it looked like we could have one of those rare meals together. (We do very well eating together IF the kids are at the house. The “Chik-fil-A wrinkle” is whether they will be off when dinner time arrives OR if they will be far enough removed from their break to make dinner something they will consider.) We had a partial package of chicken breast in the frig, so I put on my marinading hat. (Of course, this can be understood to mean tenderizing hammer/mallet and my fat-removal knife.) I grab a convenient cutting board, and I start trimming and pounding. A few pauses for coating the chicken in the marinade, and 5 breast later, we know the chicken will be our best all tex-mexed for dinner. I clean up my mess (put away the marinade ingredients, clean off the cutting board, & put the covered chicken into the frig) before going to get the girls.

Knowing the boys can eat a bit of fajitas, we stop at Sam’s on the way home to get another package chicken. Once we get home prepping the chicken is on my mind, but the fresh hummus we had been planning means lunch, and lunch is our priority. After some tweaking to our first hummus venture and the introduction of the roasted red pepper (roasted a couple of days before and refrigerated in anticipation of this blessed blending in my new food processor), I praised the girls for reaching the pinnacle of hummus perfection in only two tries. They took the praise, and prepared the veggies for the hummus dipping. After arranging the celery, carrots and thin pretzels nicely on a plate, we sat down to eat. There was no double-dipping as we all dipped into the hummus container. All 3 of enjoyed it very much. And, the container was greatly depleted of its marvelous hummus-ness before we hung up our taste buds.

And, no, I haven’t forgotten the salmonella in the title. As we were cleaning up the kitchen, I noticed the cutting board I had cut chicken on earlier. It was sitting in the exact spot I would have expected the veggies to be cut on. Her quick “yes” answered the question I had hesitated to ask, “Did you use this cutting board for the veggies?” (I had scraped the board and the board was made of plastic, but yet it just was not “good” to reuse the board after the previous food that had been playing on its knife etched surface was a protein known to carry “bad” things.)

After running through a quick lecture on “if it is in the sink do NOT use it without asking first”, I did the obligatory Google search on salmonella. As it turns out, the site I went to informed me we would know in 12 – 72 hours if we were sick. And, as I write this, we are sitting on 56 hours. I am VERY hopeful it will just turn out to be a great life lesson for my daughter, but if not, I will still love her. I am guessing my stomach will ultimately forgive her. (She did make homemade granola bars today, so I am guessing my stomach has already warmed up to the idea.) Maybe further research will prove hummus has salmonella killing qualities…. If I am “clean” in 16 hours, I am willing to swear on a can of garbanzo beans that it does!

Post-Monsoon Mushrooms

Due to the “much” rain in north Texas early this week, some of the fruits of the rain are creating the inevitable contrast with the grass (presently green). I am not talking about greener grass (although it is true). I am not talking about swimming pools that are still nearly overflowing. (In our pool, the pool will drain the water off until it gets below a certain level.) I am, of course, talking about the mushroom.

I saw many different varieties on my walk today. I had no confidence in any prior mushroom recognition skills to pick one up and start chewing. The varieties were all similar: some sort of toadstool type of thing. (Not good for eating anyways) Seeing that many made me think of how mushroom were a lot more numerous up north. While I am at it, it is worth noting the growth in the beds. The fungus loves the moisture. Its mottled brown kind of wavy growth is certainly not something you would plant. However, the fungus seems to either be a free additive in the bags of mulch or it is a special treasure the flower beds reserves for extra wet conditions. (My kids know they can expect to hear, “There is a fungus among us.” whenever I hear the word.)

It also must be noted the anger mushrooms seem to bring up in people. It seems observing a mushroom minding its own business is too much for people. They (or people like me) seem to find it overly compelling to either kick off the top of the mushroom or manually remove its lid. Fortunately, I have some restraint. I am usually content destroying only one of family of mushrooms. Some of my lesser brethren cannot resist the urge to destroy not only the family but any extended family that dwells in close proximity. (In the above picture one of the mushroom family was deceased and on the sidewalk…not at my hand or foot…)

Is there a moral here? Probably not. I hope in my observations someone might find a smile as their brains dance through the memories each reader has access to. And, if not, feel free to borrow some of my memories-none of mine are copyrighted!

Less Facebook = Happier Life

My mood the past few days has not been what I like for it to be. I have agonized over it, and I can come up with really only one solution—-Facebook!

It is not the post from friends. It is not the invitations that I have learned to ignore and delete. And, it is not even the constant gnawing of “what a pathetic life I live” by reviewing all of the many pictures from foreign places I may never see. (Somebodies bucket list is getting a good workout. If only we could assign bucket list items out. When we live out our assigned item(s), others can live vicariously through our experience, and we through theirs…..but, that might be another future post.) No, I am referring to the groups I have that ALL repost the same stories or variations on the same story. And, to be even MORE specific, it is all of the political stuff I like to stay current on. (Since I lean right [honestly more than lean], there is lots of information out there to make me go crazy.

So, this morning, I did a purging. I went through my political groups and with the exception of only a couple, I have stopped following them. I wish them well, and hope their groups continue to grow. But, I cannot be part of any future growth. I have read their stories, watched their little video ads that play before the “real” video (they do make some sort of money off of that–they have to), and I have become visibly frustrated by the bickering and failures of our government to honor its laws and to work together to produce results that those outside of Washington can claim as successful.

If the government is not there for me, then I don’t need to be reading every nuance of a story on Facebook that is documenting the fall. I don’t need to become enraged reading the spin from various conservative or liberal media outlets. And, frankly, I don’t need to waste time dealing with what I already know to be the truth – the spiral downward is an inevitable part of the human journey.

On a happier note, I see my mood improving already!

I will journey onward keeping tabs on the plummet downward – the speed and the pitch downward vary, but the direction seems unavoidable. With this knowledge, my happiness and satisfaction must be sought from other than providing influence on the national level. I will fully be the dad, husband, and citizen I can be. I will visit Facebook to keep up on friends. But, I will NO LONGER use Facebook as a way to peer into the lives of our representatives in Washington. Many of them serve a different master than I or we have an entirely different idea of what our Master seeks from us.

So, I may give a “like” or provide a comment OR even post something of my own. My lack of involvement is nothing personal, it is just me.

Grunting By Degrees

My daughter was sitting in the backseat reading this morning on the way to her summer workout for cross country. I, trying to be a good father although teenagers make you sometimes wonder if you have anything worth salvaging, asked her how her book was going. (This was a book we had reserved online at the library. We had made a special trip to pick it up. An earlier inquiry received a simple, “Okay.”)

Due to my love of reading, I was looking for some response with a little passion. When I received a grunt, I took it as a sign the book was going the right direction. However, it was my next question where clarity arose.

“What has happened in the book to make you like it more now?”, I ask.

She replied, “It is not really getting better. I just want something to read.”

It is then I determined the lack of clarity a grunt offers. A grunt starting with a “N” sound, would certainly be on the negative side of the spectrum–at least as well as can be offered by grunts. If the grunt started with a “Y” or in my case, anything other than a “N” sound, it is categorized as being more positive.

Due to the failure at my first attempt interpreting the grunt, I may need to give additional attention to any additional syllables–if they are available. Until then, I will treat most grunts in the affirmative. And, if done with enough enthusiasm, the grunter may decide to refrain from the grunting and even speak English. Fathers can be SO demanding!

New Ninja Move

On Father’s Day my family (actually it was me acting with the encouragement of my family) got me a Ninja food-processor/blender. Of course, I was VERY grateful for their generosity. Since the boxe has been opened, they have made me a smoothie, peanut butter, hummus, and a couple of things made for breakfast-they didn’t offer me any of the breakfast drink, but since they used it early morning, it did affect my sleep a bit!

So, when my daughter came to me saying, “You want to see my new Ninja move?” I fully expected her move to have something to do with spinning and sticking arms and legs out in an attempt to simulate the blades on my Ninja. However, this was not her intention at all! She just did a “karate” style move and wanted my admiration. Once I explained to her what I expected, she wished she would have thought of my interpretation first!

Even as my daughters move into and through the teen age years, I hope I can continue to have an active mind and an appreciative set of eyes to admire the ladies they are becoming!

Plenty Salty Here

We love our pool, but it does have a few maintenance jobs I am not fond of. I survived one of them a couple of weeks ago. The pool filters got all plugged up, and the pump stopped working. This was cause for an emergency filter-spray-out party. The girls get their suits on and help get all the junk out of the filters. It takes some time, but we usually do it in the spring and fall, so we have it down pretty well. Its urgency may sneak up on us, but we know how to handle it.

My issue of the other day was not quite as simple. About 3 years ago, we put in a salt water pool system. It saves having to mess with chlorine. The chemicals are pretty easy to deal with (We take a sample to the local Leslie’s. They test the sample, and tell us what to do with the water. They tell us what order to put the chemicals in if we have been excessively negligent.), and the bags or salt are usually the only big thing to worry about.

Recently, the light on the salt converter had been reading the salt was low. Knowing it had been off a bit in the past, I ignored it for a couple of weeks. As the red (green is good) persisted, I finally gave in and yielded to its request. Within a few hours of putting in the bag, I was glad to see the indicator go green. However, the green soon went back to red. Getting the water tested confirmed my concern–the indicator was broken. Our salt was about 20% higher than it should be. A call to the pool pump installation company put them in agreement with the previous testing. So, now we get to the picture…..

Within the salt converter are little fins where the salt is converted to chlorine. The cleaning process involves muriatic acid. It has to sit on the fins for a bit to digest/eat/loosen the buildup on the fins. After getting creative and accidentally flicking some of the acid on my once dark purple t-shirt, the muriatic acid did its work. Unfortunately, after a few hours, the indicator still showed low. Since the pool company mentioned a possible need to re-calibrate the salt indicator, I let them know.

As with many things, time does fix them. And, 24 hours after, the indicator is working fine, my shirt has regained some of its original purple, and I have captured this ordeal to supplement what every deteriorating memory challenges may await me.

We Are Secret Hoarders….

We didn’t wake up one day and determine this was a good day to be hoarders. We didn’t all of a sudden think, “passing up a real good deal is not worth it if I have a square foot of floor space available. I should spend all I have to fill that space.” And, we didn’t even say, “I need a hobby–I should hoard.” The consequences of the decision are something we don’t yet fully understand. As the picture above indicates, our bathtub is no longer usable. A corner of our bedroom is the proud parent of a growing stack of tubs and boxes. The end of our bed also has a stack allowing only a narrow passageway out from my side of the bed.

Fortunately, our hoarding (not real hoarder but stuff not tucked semi-neatly into a closet) is because of a little mistake I made when changing the water filter on the refrigerator a couple weekends back. I popped out the old filter and popped in the new one. The process seemed a little different then previous filter changes, but water still came out, so in my mind, all was good.

Jump ahead to Tuesday (I believe I had some other semi-traumatic events that took place in the mean time, but since they are not relevant to this story, I will leave those for a future posting or to be erased in the sands of time when my brain starts failing its memory test) Judy find water sitting in her closet. Clothes in our bathroom (right outside of her closet) are soaking wet. Since we always had a basement before, we thought “maybe” something went wrong within our concrete slab…possibly a slab leak. A call to a plumber had us prepared for the worst.

Sometime right before the plumber arrived, I thought back to the water filter changing. I got in there and pulled the filter out and made extra sure I got in seated correctly this time. The “whoosh” convinced me the lack of “whoosh” before was probably the reason for the water problem. The plumber still came and allowed me to write him a small check for the privilege of telling me I should be more careful when changing the water filter.

Drying out the closet and the issues that followed will be saved for another post. Believe me, the really easy part was creating the mess. It was the cleanup where my patience was truly stretched.

Sense of Taste is What Counts

Boy, the Oreo packaging looked good. They took this brand the women (and young girls soon to be women) really love and tried to expand it. Although they get credit for trying, the experiment was not a very successful one at our house.

The cookies made an entrance into our house a couple of weeks ago. The consuming was fast and furious the first couple of days. As the picture indicates, their are 4 orphans remaining. And, I believe it is the same orphans who have been snuggled together for the entire period since the cookies lost their coolness. As cleaning for a graduation party nears, I am guessing these 4 punch-oreos will spend their eternity snuggled together wishing they could have been born chocolate.

A Tear In the Time Space Continuum

After running a few errands last night (picked the girls up from school, picked up son from school and taking him to work, ran to Trader Joe’s in downtown Ft Worth so the girls could replenish their need for some sort of “cookie spread” stuff, a quick meal at Chik-Fil-A, and a few items at Sams), we were on the drive home. When to my amazement, I looked up and saw the RacTrac lowering their price on gas. I was already kicking myself for not getting gas at Sams for $3.219. When I saw this (see above) price change, the ability to cut across 2 lanes of traffic to make it to the turn lane seemed like a privilege.

After pulling in at the pump, I needed to verify the pump matched the sign. And, it did. I took a look around the lot and everyone appeared to be dressed in the appropriate dress for our temperature and era. (It just seemed so very ironic that I was able to watch them change the gas price. It is like a small tear was opened up just for me to creep into it. ) Maybe other peoples lives are more exciting then mine. As I was filling the car, I expected others to be going, “Can you believe they just lowered the gas price? I wonder what the special occasion is? Is there a price war going on? Maybe I should look to see if one of the other stations is cheaper?” Without any of this dialogue to distract me as I waiting for the gas to finish pumping, the “tear” theory seemed to become much more of a possibility.

I completed the transaction…making sure the gas price did not spike somehow in mid-fill-up. As we left, I again looked at the other patrons. They all looked fine. However, it kind of seemed like their lips were moving extra slow and their movements were somewhat choppy. My daughter snapped the picture as we left just to make sure I had not imaging the whole thing. Fortunately, the needle on the dash went up to full, so wherever it was I got the gas, it was substantial enough to actually take up space in my tank. Also, I was very careful to leave the “tear” the same way I entered. My obvious concern was if I entered the continuum in the wrong place I might run into myself back at the house.

Finally, the new day was born and ran my girls to school again. The gas station who sold me the cheap gas was now back to the price my gas was lowered from. Neighboring gas stations had raised their prices almost 25 cents.

The summer blends were supposed to be at the pump on May 1st, so the only “real” thing I can figure out is the gas station was told to change the price 25 cents. They got confused and temporarily lowered instead of raised. (Later that night a gas station in close proximity to this station raised theirs 25 cents. ) My biggest disappointment is I was only on a 1/4 tank when I stumbled upon the tear–fumes would have been better. 😉

Walking Down Life's Road With Andy