Learning the Easy Way

"I had to learn THAT the hard way," you say to your friends or colleagues, after you detail some harrowing experience that was due only to your uninformed misstep. Everyone chuckles and takes your timely wisdom to heart. Then off everybody goes, on their merry way like usual.

But did I ever tell you about the thing I learned the easy way? Well, allow me:

I found myself, one pleasant winter day on the Trails End Ranch in scenic Silverado, California. Lately, I've had the amazing opportunity to learn the noble art of cattle sorting from some very experienced riders. I've done a small share of horse riding in the past, but nothing too much more than a trail ride. My experience would be what some would call "tenderfoot", which is just a funny way of saying n00b.

The concept of cattle sorting is very simple: you and one other rider alternate between guarding a corral "gate", and riding into a herd of cattle to pick one and only one out to guide it into the corral. This continues one at a time until all the cattle are in the new pen. Easy.

I sat on the back of a lazy ol' horse named "Rip," who is scared of waving flags, strangers, and hard work. Getting him in and out of the pen was comical in itself as all the other cowboys shook their heads when I reprimanded the horse multiple times saying inspirational things like "C'mon, c'mon, he's getting away...he got away...and all his friends with him." Thanks, Rip.

But one cowboy had faith in me. "You want to ride my horse?" What a beautiful animal she was, too. Tall, sandy brown, and muscular, "Jewels" stood gallantly awaiting my commission. As I settled into the saddle, the wise cowboy said, "Now just remember, she's a finely tuned horse, kinda like a—"

"A mustang?" I asked, thinking of a car and not thinking of how stupid I sounded comparing a horse to a horse.

"She's like a Porsche, very responsive to little effort," he said, not hearing how stupid I was.

Sure enough, Jewels was miles ahead of Rip. I practiced turning her around and found that she spun on a dime and gave Rip the change. It was time to put her to the test.

I lined up, awaiting my turn to enter the pen once more to sort cattle. As I was waiting, a thought crossed my mind.

"Hey, how do you back up with her?"

"Oh, it's simple. Just give a little rein and heel like so."

Simple it was. While waiting my turn, I had Jewels walk forward and backward in a single file line to practice. I felt good. I felt too good.

The pen opened and Jewels and I entered. I knew what I was there to do. Jewels had no clue what I was thinking. In my defense, in the heat of the moment, a cowboy has to make quick decisions about when to turn, which calf to cut, which to block, and has to make sure his horse knows too.

Left, right, forward, backward, stop, go, go faster, stop faster—I don't know how many signals I gave poor Jewels, the Porsche of Ponies, in just 10 seconds, but she had seen enough. Completely done with my amateurish indecision, she did something I've never had a horse do to me before.

She ran backwards.

And I do mean she RAN backwards. All the cowboys on the fence were shouting "Go forward!" and that sounded just fine by me. However, Jewels was done taking orders. No matter what I did, she only did one thing: run backwards.

Before I could come up with a game plan on changing the mind of a horse (which preliminarily only included leading one to water), she hit the fence, getting everyone's attention. Now all eyes were on me: the cowboy who lost control of the most finely tuned saddle pal there could be.

When smashing into the fence didn't rid her of the confusing cowboy in her saddle, Jewels did two very sharp crow hops, loosening my feet from the stirrups. Then, with one mighty rear, she reared a rear so reared that I slid all the way to the ground on my rear.

By now, my thoughts consisted of "this is fun" and "being trampled to death would end my fun," and I scrambled on my elbows and heels toward the fence, dodging the frantic hooves of a beast that was over me and my kind for good. Jewels didn't want to muck up her shiny shoes with my guts either, so she got away from me as fast as she could. Neither of us were hurt, and we certainly didn't score that round... all the cattle got away. Disqualified.

Since then, I got back with ol' Rip and we've come to an understanding. I have 100% of my instructions down like a fine science, and he agrees to comply with 60% of them. We are happy. We still DQ three out of four matches. Nice to be reliable.

The moral of the story is this: indecision is the quickest way to get thrown to the ground. Getting thrown to the ground hurts your rear.

I learned that the easy way.

Day of the American Cowboy

Could there be any more iconic example of all that is America than the cowboy?

Not only do I love starting blog posts with questions (hooray for online engagement), I love reflecting on my heritage as a long-time Western aficionado. For those of you who have never studied it before, an aficionado is like a really big fan of something. Or "avocado" with an Italian accent. Either one. 

Let's consider for a moment this symbol of American strength, this pillar on which American legend has grown and thrived, the avatar of that which the world envies to have.

The origins of cowboy culture couldn't be a more clear parallel to America herself. The outcast members of society (Irish, Mexican, namely) found their path to glory in the cattle industry, risking life, limb, and worse, comfort (shudder) to provide not only for their families but for the whole country. You know how we love our beef around here.  

What happened next will shock you. 

Or maybe not. Trying for online engagement again. But the "cowboy" became an American archetype that is a perfect meld of those diverse cultures. Just look at the lingo:

Doggie - n. DOH-ghee; a calf, from the Irish word. "Get along little doggies".

Hacienda - n. HA-zee-EN-duh; a ranch house, from the Mexican word. "C'mon by the hacienda for grub." 

My poor fingers would fail me to type up the complete, detailed history of cowboys. It's way more intricate than I let on. But like America, a bunch of scrappy nobodies overcame all odds to become extraordinary, world-wide legends, etched into the walls of history forever.

But beyond the historical period of the Wild West, which only was a thirty-year period from 1830's to 1890's, the cowboy enjoyed a once-in-a-generation spotlight with the TV Cowboy that captured the hearts of kiddos everywhere.

Who could forget Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, The Lone Ranger and more? Everyone wanted to be them. And all that besides, parents were comfortable with their ideals and morals of honesty, kindness, bravery, and standing up for the little guy. Classic. Heartwarming. America. (cue the screeching of an eagle)

I brag about it all the time, but my grandad was a cowboy briefly in his younger years. That's enough to make this ol California boy feel proud. I can't help but feel a connection to my childhood heroes and their horses. 

Here is your country. Cherish these natural wonders, cherish the natural resources, cherish the history and romance as a sacred heritage, for your children and your children's children. Do not let selfish men or greedy interests skin your country of its beauty, its riches, or its romance.
--Teddy Roosevelt

I honor this part of my national and familial heritage every day of my life. On my desk at work, I have a portrait of Theodore Roosevelt, a cowboy once himself, jumping a fence on his horse. I have a sculpture by Michael Garman of a cowboy preacher with a gun in his belt and a bible in his hand. I wear boots to every function and belt buckles on my pajamas. Well, that might be hyperbole--but online engagement being what it is these days...

This is what I mean by being a western avocado. I mean aficionado. Sorry. My accent. Today is Day of the American Cowboy and chances are high that I will be donning my stetson, attending a rodeo, and saluting the cowboys that built our country, our culture, and our families. 

If you share my love of this, tell me who your favorite cowboys are. Bonus points if you can name their horses.

Memorial Day 2024

In the centuries of documented world history, stories are recounted of the heroes of humanity. Flawed or fictitious, famous or faithful, their names are invoked to inspire the writers of the future world to rise to greatness.

America has a unique place in world history in that its very creed and core values have birthed more heroes than one account of history could ever hold. America has bred and reared a most extraordinary kind of hero, one who holds the jaws of death with both fists while their countrymen and family sleep in domestic peace. These heroes, not celebrated oft enough, are contented to indefinitely or permanently belay personal ambitions and play a somber tune on the strings of destiny, knowing their last breath on earth will be a small, yet indispensable contribution to the domestic tranquility they swear to defend. 

Until they all come home, we the people pray for them. 

I was on a break during a performance last month, when I observed a man with a Vietnam veteran ballcap stopped by a passerby:

"You served in Vietnam?"

"Yessir," said the vet.

"That must've been hard."

"Still is," he choked.

I made a point to thank him personally. The weight of his service was completely unknowable to me. But I hope he knew that he's the American we all look up to. 

Today, we pause to remember the ones that didn't come home to us. It's wisely been observed that those who don't believe heroes exist have never been to the cemeteries to read the names of the most heroic people of all world history. These heroes didn't lose their life, they gave their lives. A life that is given in the name of liberty, equality, justice, freedom, and peace in a world of oppression, violence, and despotism, isn't truly lost. 

To the fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers who gave everything to protect and defend America, we thank you. You are the heroes the world will always look up to. 

Over the Edge of the Boat

 And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea. And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear. But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid. And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me. And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt? And when they were come into the ship, the wind ceased. Then they that were in the ship came and worshipped him, saying, Of a truth thou art the Son of God.

 

Even in the presence of Jesus, it is too easy for us to be afraid of the wind and waves of life that threaten our peace. Sometimes we have to ask ourselves, ‘what would it take for me to stop doubting and start believing?’ But no matter what we see or experience, we still find a reason to doubt. Jesus could have easily let Peter sink to the cold depths of the sea for being scared of the wind and waves. After all, if Jesus Himself calls you out of the boat and causes you to literally walk on the surface of the water, wouldn’t THAT be enough to stop doubting and begin believing? 

Yet, as Peter’s fear took over his faith, Christ Jesus still reached out His hand with speed and haste and caught Peter before his own failure spelled his doom. 

This is a perfect parallel to the Grace that Jesus showed us on the cross: God commendeth His own love toward us that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. He doesn’t demand perfection first. He’ll sanctify and edify and reprove his children later. He only asks for you to step out of the boat, and to walk toward Him. He’s going to catch you, He’s going to save you, just where you are, just how you are. 

The Earworm

In the barren wasteland of my mind is a small hole in the ground. 

Within that hole, a creature lives a quiet and unassuming life, far away from the reaches of my cognition. 

I don't know him very well, but he recently began whistling a tune. I have never heard this tune before, but it is the catchiest darn melody I've ever encountered. 

I really can't remember this ever happening before. I've been writing songs for the better part of 10 years and I usually labor laboriously over the melodies. If you haven't noticed, words come way more easily. 

But for the last 3 weeks, this catchy little quirky melody has been whistling in my head day and night nonstop. Such noise for a usually empty brain! 

This little earworm creature usually is pleased to play songs I've heard before like "It's a Small World After All" or "Baby Shark", and for that, I'm hoping an earbird comes along and eats him. 

But alas, I'm stuck with a new, original, unforgiving melody. 

I feel like it's a great allegory for life (don't I always when searching for blog material?). Sometimes, we strive so hard for something that will happen almost by complete accident later. When it does come, all we need to do is let it happen and enjoy it. 

Lately, I've found tremendous comfort in just letting things happen. 

But enough with the snow job. This melody is driving me crazy. Hoping for meaningful lyrics!

...or an early earbird. 

Exacting Perfect Revenge

I would have invited them to carve the Thanksgiving turkey had I known they were this good at stabbing in the back. But, no matter, now that they've made a Caesar salad out of me (et tu, croutons?), I do what everyone learns to do when someone hurts their wittle feelings: I walk it off. 

And I plan the perfect revenge. Oh yes. After everything that made me sad, made me miserable, and that I certainly didn't deserve, it's time that my offenders learn exactly what it feels like to be hurt, betrayed, and implicitly mocked every time I'm reminded by someone. Because, again, I didn't deserve it. But they very obviously do. 

What could possibly feel more liberating to a hurting soul than to hurt another soul harder? All the impulses of the bleeding heart cry for a one-sided and tunnel-visioned justice that will promptly stamp out the source of pain and discomfort and set right what was set wronged. 

But is that actually going to bring peace? Is that what I truly want? If justice is to be completely satisfied, then I should be thrust into the incoming destruction in tandem with the perceived evils I wish to have vanquished as well. Then the victory to me would be more hollow than a dead tree. A hollow dead tree. Trying to paint a picture here. 

I feel like I could write a whole book on my personal journey with forgiveness. I've had very uncomfortable encounters with people in the past that were objectively wrong in my direction. Each time, I had to make a speedy decision to forgive. To just let it go. To let the offender get their own hurt out of their system so that I could move on and heal without spreading the poison elsewhere. Each time, the challenge was a little harder, but the forgiveness came more readily with practice. 

So why is this particular episode extra hard? Well, if you've followed my recent series of unfortunate events, you'll get a quick picture of why it's easy for me to feel like I've been kicked when I was down. I'll give you a quick summary: When things got tough, the girl I loved left me to marry the fellow she was seeing on the side, and right after that, there were a few family health scares and a damaged water pipe causing catastrophic water damage to 3/4 of the house I lived in. Everything happened at once. None of it could be helped, but that first thing felt extremely personal. 

I wasn't ready to move on. It was my first heartbreak and it came at the worst time. There were so many cross and harsh words I wanted to say. But I couldn't articulate a single one. So I gave up. No more fighting. No begging. I didn't deserve to have anyone, I thought. So in resignation, I published a book of poetry that encapsulated all my feelings about our long, tumultuous romance and its unexpected and abrupt ending then released it on my first Valentine's Day alone.  That'll show her. 

It didn't show her. She never read it. She doesn't know it exists. But it sure showed me. It showed me how deep my wounds were. It showed me how many wounds I had. Some wounds were my own making. Some wounds she made. Some wounds were from none of us and I have no clue where they came from. The darkness set in. 

Anyway, read the last two blog posts to get a picture of my feelings since that point. No need to hash that out again (again). But now I was ready to move on. In the midst of injustice, all my heart longed for was satisfaction. Any satisfaction. So in walks God. 

Actually, He had been there the whole time. I was too sad to see. Over the course of the year, I spent time reading God's Word, praying in tears, and I let myself feel feelings so that I could learn how to navigate them. Here's what God taught me:

1. He's listening. Psalm 66:17-20

2. He chastens those He loves. Proverbs 3:12

3. He is my source of Strength (remember this one, it's important). Psalm 46:1

4. He will fight for me. Psalm 34

5. He will direct my steps. Psalm 37:23-24

6. He will avenge those who wrong me. Psalm 40:11-16

At this point, I was ecstatic. All these great lessons and now, like Jonah under the shade of the gourd, I awaited the destruction of those who had so horrifically wronged me. But there was one more lesson God wanted to teach me:

 

7. He will forgive those who forgive. Ephesians 4:31-32; Mark 11:25; Matthew 6:15; Matthew 18:21-22; Colossians 3:13; Matthew 5:23-24; Matthew 5:7; James 5:16 

But how can I? My broken heart longs to be patched up. If I forgive what was done to me, I would have to let the one who hurt me go free. You see, as a Christian, I have a very unique insight into what forgiveness is. Jesus paid the penalty for the sins I would commit before I ever repented of them. Complete forgiveness for me, even though I never deserved it. He has separated me from my sin as far as the East is from the West. He threw all my iniquities into the depths of the sea. As much as I never wanted to, God clearly tapped my shoulder to tell me now it is my turn to forgive. 

Ok, I'll do it after I heal a bit from the heartbreak. I'd hate to relinquish all the hurt she owes me only to be hurt again. But is that really forgiveness if there's no more hurting? 

At best, that's just calling a truce. 

Maybe I'll send her a card expressing my well wishes and that'll accidentally remind her about all the horrible and definitely evil things she did to me. Then when she says sorry, I'll triumphantly forgive her, scoring the winning round! But is that really forgiveness if I'm doing it to prove a point? 

At best, that's revenge. 

No, my friends. The time for forgiveness is now. When I'm hurt. When she doesn't ask for it. When nobody deserves it. When I won't get peace from it, or social clout from it, or recognition from it, or any kind of special favors. For it to be true forgiveness like Christ's, then the one who did me so wrong walks away freely, owing nothing more to me, with a record that shines clean like it never happened. 

Can a feeble, broken heart bear the heavy weight of such a task? Only in Christ. Cliche it may sound, it is only through the Strength (remember this lesson?) that comes from God that forgiveness can be offered from me to her. It is only through His direction (and this lesson?) that I can follow through with it. The burdensome fate can only be realized when I wrap myself up completely in the LORD. 

Do this with me: 

-Think of someone who has wronged you. Especially someone who wronged you and got away with it. 

-Tally up in your head every single thing that made it wrong and with it an equal and just punishment to effectively atone for what they did. 

-Now take that list in your head, and destroy it completely. Forget every piece of it. 

With no list of wrongs, no due punishments, this person is to you now just as clean as if they had never done anything wrong to you in the first place. As far as you're concerned, they haven't. 

Congratulations, we just forgave someone together. You know what's cool? We got to display a very significant aspect of God's love for us through our own sufferings. You see, love keeps no record of wrongs, and it endures through everything. If we are called to love one another, what better place to start than to truly forgive each and every person who comes through our short and significant life? Keep this lesson close to you. There will be others who will hurt you, others who will wound your fragile heart. It is your Christian duty, then, to forgive each and every single one -- that is to say, to love them as wholly and deeply as Christ does. It is certainly a task too big for us unless we rely on the Strength and Grace that only comes from our Heavenly Father. 

What could possibly feel more liberating than to forgive those who trespass against us as our Father in Heaven forgives when we trespass against Him?

The Shadow at my Door

 "Oh great, here comes that guy again," you say.

"Which guy?"

"That guy who's always complaining," moaning, you lament. 

But it's too late. Mr. Woe-Is-Me has already overtaken you to complain about a toxic ex and some gaslighting kin and relation. You're stuck. You're on the hook for a long, one-sided convo where you only contribute the occasional "dang that's crazy"s, a few "really"s, and if you're exceptionally generous, a hearty "wow, that sounds terrible." But you can bet your last icebreaker that you will straight up NOT be having a good time. 

You've been here, right? Nobody likes that guy. What a downer. What a soggy bowl of limp linguini. 

But what happens when it's you one day?  What if you actually did have a toxic ex and some gaslighting kin and relation, and now your heart is constantly heavy over it? What if you really just need someone who will listen and empathize? Your whole life, you've avoided Sir Complainer, Drainer of Health, Downer of Heart. But each time you open your mouth, you have to swallow hard to not say "It's just not fair," "Why is it me who has to suffer", and "I can't believe she would do this to me". So you straighten your crown, smile for the people, and cry in the shower.

Hardly seems right. But what's a Stick in the Mud to do?

You know, I just wrote a blog post that was my little spotlight opportunity to complain about some of the recent hardships I'm enjoying. Thank you all for indulging me in that. Let me just encourage you to always seek some healthy way of getting your frustrations out. It won't be the last time you'll need to vent, trust me. 

If you're anything like me, you've been suppressing the sad boi routine lest you be heralded in your circles as the Man of Constant Sorrow, and not in the cool Dan Tyminski way. This recurring depression-and-no-one-else-to-appreciate-it routine has become your Thorn in the Flesh. 

There was once a very famous Thorn in the Flesh bearer who wrote about his experience thusly:

And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure.

For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me.

And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.

Now let me just make this clear: I'm pretty sure ol Paul wasn't dealing with a former flame of his. However, he never specifically details what his Thorn is, probably because the specifics of it don't matter. The part that matters is what becomes of us when we are bothered, afflicted, oppressed, or in any other way bamboozled. 

I said in a previous post that there were so many lessons God was teaching me through heartbreak. Just when I think I've learned them all, a picture, a memory, a token of some sort crosses my periphery, and another exciting bout with the ol Black Dog begins. 

"...when I am weak, then am I strong." What does it mean? When the mood goes down and the proverbial plane begins to tailspin, it's hard to feel strong. If anything, depression feels like a pathetic weakness, especially to a man. I'm supposed to be the towering beacon of stoic strength and the embodiment of the "I don't give a feather or a fig" mindset. But when you see someone you completely trusted celebrating her engagement to someone else just under a year after she left you, there are actually a couple feathers and maybe a plump fig or two you could find in your heart to give. Where is my strength now?

My strength comes from the Maker of Heaven and Earth of course. Super easy to say. But it's only when your head is down, your feet are in the mire, and your eyeball condensation gets really bad (it's the weather, guys. Men don't cry.), you learn lessons like these in a way that'll stay with you awhile. There is no one else to trust than the LORD. There is no other deliverance from sorrow than He. Unless I claim these truths and run to Him, I'm never going to experience the strength that is made perfect in my weakness. 

There it is. My depressions, no matter how severe, are not only tolerable when Christ is at the center, but they are useful, beneficial, and even impactful. When pain or bitterness begins to grow in me, when that ol Black Dog is on my porch again, when my heart is in any way overwhelmed, I'm led to the Rock which is higher than I. I trust He's in control. I trust He's taking care of me. I trust He's worked everything out for my good. I trust He won't forsake me. I trust He will lead me beside still waters and restore my soul. 

And then, there's peace. The problem doesn't go away, but there's peace. I would've thought it impossible to have peace and depression simultaneously, but hey, if God made the platypus, is anything too complicated for Him?

I know this won't be the last time I get to feel the blues with a capital DEPRESSION. This may not even be the last time I feel bitter about someone. But each time, I'll learn a little more about how to rely on God alone for my happiness.  No longer will I wish for a certain event to become infested with rodents or for a certain cake to get stale. (Although, if somebody broke a nail before a certain event, it might bring a smile to my face.) I can take joy in knowing my Shepherd leads me to green pastures. Further, I need to not become vindictive and exact revenge against those who hurt me, because the Father forgives those who forgive others. See Matthew 6: 14-15. I'll write a post about that next, I think. 

Anyway, thanks for indulging me yet again. I send away the shadows of the dark now, hoping you'll come back to hear me out when they come back next time. 

A Word About Heartbreak

Sometimes, there's just nothing left to do. 

Last year around this time, I had my heart broken by someone who was extremely important to me. My first break up, my first heartbreak.  What followed was a very interesting journey of discovery. Let me welcome you to the world of experiencing heartbreak for the first time.

Originally, the first feeling was just of minor failure. "Ok, so I did this wrong," I reasoned. I was informed that it was all my fault so I set out to figure out how to never make the same mistakes again. There's such a strange feeling about breakups that make heartbreak feel shameful. I spent a full year expecting the hurt to go away. I even wrote a book of poetry to help me cope (released to hardback soon!), but the hurt kept coming back. I'm sure she doesn't talk about me anymore. She's got a long wonderful life just ahead of her. She probably can't even recall my name. I keep coming across the letters she sent me and I barely recognize her. 

But the Lord has an immersive lesson for me in this. In the middle of being in pain for the love I lost, I found myself surrounded by ankle-deep water in our hallway wondering how much of our belongings we could save. Yes, a pipe broke while we were on the road, causing a house full of water, a collapsed ceiling, and walls soaked deeper than a rum cake. There were so many parallel feelings between the pain of a breakup and the pain of losing half a house. 

So what first? I could cry about it. Done that, but there are still messes to clean up. The walls have mildew and my lost love is getting married soon. Crying is a waste of time. So is wishing to undo the past. I wrestle with a couple Latin phrases from philosophers of the past: Amor fati, that is, love fate, and memento mori, that is, remember you have to die. This sums up simply: I can't control others, their wants,  thoughts, or desires. I can only work with the remaining life that I have to make the most of the time I've been gifted. 

That leaves only one thing to do, and that is, my favorite coping strategy: rigorously apply humor. 

When surveying the damage, I tell my family "Hey what color would you like your new carpet?" When people ask me how my girlfriend is, I say "She's finally happy now that she traded me in for a newer model!" And both times, everybody laughs and feels better. But I still am in ankle-deep water, she's getting married soon, and sometimes, there's just nothing left to do. 

Now what? I'm going to learn a lot of cool things about rebuilding houses. I'm going to get a new wardrobe. I'm going to learn how to let go of sentimental things that have been ruined beyond salvaging. I'm going to smile as often as I can. After all, I don't really need pity, I don't really want it either. I'd just as soon nobody found out about my broken heart. I won't tell people I'm fighting. They don't need to know. 

She's preparing a honeymoon suite, and I'm not going to feel what home sweet home is for many months. Is it fair? Heck no. But who cares? No one. That's life. That's how I know I'm still in the game. Watching the ceiling collapse is the same feeling as being alone in love. You can repair one, you gotta leave the other be. Sometimes, there's just nothing left to do. 

If you're reading this and I've completely bummed you out, let me assure you that everything will be okay. In fact, here are some scriptures and jokes I'm using to grow out of this. Call this group therapy. 

The Lord is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him.  Nahum 1:7

But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice: let them ever shout for joy, because thou defendest them: let them also that love thy name be joyful in thee. Psalm 5:11

Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book? Psalm 56:8

And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; Romans 5:3  

I heard my ex's dog died. So I bought her one just like it, but she wasn't at all thankful. She said, "What am I gonna do with two dead dogs?"

My ex left me because I didn't like her obsession with counting. I wonder what she's up to now?

Whenever life gets tough, I remind myself "This too shall pass". I mean, it'll pass like a kidney stone, but it'll still pass.

Rod and Reel Reflections

I had the esteemed opportunity recently to spend a lazy Texas morning fishing on Lake Livingston.  I took advantage of the opportunity to be introspective and meditative as my bobber bobbed and the waves waved and my hook didn't hook. 

Life can be a lot like fishing, yes, I'm sure you've cringed through this homespun proverb a time or two. You've heard all about how the enjoyment of fishing isn't always just landing the big one, but to be happy to have the time off from the daily grind. You've heard that line how fishing is just a jerk on one end of a line waiting for a jerk on the other. You've no doubt heard that it's just the friends you met along the way. Cringe, as the youth of our time say. 

But this particular day, I went through 3 different kinds of bait in an attempt to proverbially disentangle the cause of my lonely lure. I glanced at the jar of magic fishing power bait and began to really ponder the depths of what was on the label:

"Satisfying!" "Fish hold on 18x longer!" "The taste they love!"

How. In. Beige. Tarnation. 

How? 

How do they know this?

I can only imagine a group of scientists wearing lab coats and fishing hats training bass and catfish to ring little bells if they liked the taste of something. 

"Very good, Dr. Jeeves, I'll have more of that," the catfish probably says.

"Delectable, my good doctor. I could eat, like, 18 more of those," says the bass smacking his comically large lips. 

I can't say I'm convinced. Could it be that it's a group of scientists in lab coats and fishing hats tasting the bait themselves? If that's it, why am I throwing it into the lake? I want to enjoy something satisfying and tasty. It would seem like a waste. 

I paused at this moment to check for a poison control number on the label, an intrusive thought that I'm sure you've never had. 

No number. 

If it's not there, it's gotta be okay, right? No, wait, the Darwin Award slips out of my reach as I read the disclaimer "Not for Human consumption". 

Ok, fine... but what are they hiding from us? 

I think back to the trained fish. If the bait is satisfying, I suppose they don't go back for seconds. Just one bite, and then it's time for the post-supper-siesta we all come to love. I don't like the sound of that. The more I think, the less I want a satisfying bait on my hook. I want something they can't get enough of. Something that'll keep them coming back. Something that they'll share with their fish friends. 

Unfortunately, I don't think they bottle that. 

At this point, the sun got hot and my eyebrows started sweating so I packed up the enigmatic bait jar and my reel and walked back to the air conditioning. 

I said a little prayer on my way, thanking the Lord for a chance to fish, a Texas morning to wake up to, and for giving me the insight to not eat unconsumable power bait... no matter how satisfying its advertised to be. There are many things in life advertised to be the greatest thing ever, so pay attention that the labels say what the labels mean. 

Waiting as Fast as I Can

 Picture this: you are working from the road, or you make a cool social media post and are waiting for your friends to react, or you are awaiting the next soul-crushing news headline that you're so obviously addicted to, when all of a sudden, your travels take you to a place so remote that nothing, and I mean NOTHING on any smart device works. 

I'm assuming your first impulse is something like "oh no, my soul-crushing news headline that I'm so obviously addicted to!" And if it is, we're not that different after all. 

Such was a recent experience here. But I got to enjoy something special right after that incident: Nothing. 

That's right. Nothing. No notifications, no social media, no anything. That's incredibly special. 

If you get the chance, please go somewhere no one can find you and be alone with your thoughts. I promise it's not as dangerous as your therapist would have you believe. Ok, granted, it might be too, if it's worded like that. 

Facetious wisecracking aside; don't underestimate the power of a "smart device" fast. I've made it a point this past year to spend quality time alone with my own thoughts and to really work out some deep thinking. I find it to be immeasurably valuable to mental and spiritual health. 

Do you know who you are? Do you know what you want? Do you know why these things are that way? No matter your answer, turn off your smart device, grab a fishing pole, find a remote and scenic location and face yourself. You'll thank me later.