Written At A Rest Stop

It's always somewhat endearing when someone tells you that you remind them of someone they look up to. Unless they mean it in a bad way. Like the other day, I was chatting the day away with one of our customers at work, when she said this:

"You remind me of my dad. He's an artist like you...yeah, he never finishes anything he starts."

Zing! That hit the spot. But only because it's true. I guess it's something we artists have in common. That, plus the insanely immense lack of organizational skills, abundant enthusiasm for life's little pleasures, and an overwhelming desire to be acknowledged.

But I digress. It made me think. A wise man once told me that I interface with the world through short bursts of intense passion. And I thought about the phases I've gone through in the past few months. Painting, writing, illustrating...sometimes it's not even art. Sometimes it's a video game I get myself wrapped up in, or an e-book on my iPhone. My newest 'thing' is construction. That's right, workin' with my hands in a manly, sweaty, grunty way.

I built shelves. For the wall.

Right now I have a few chunks of cut, sanded, painted wood sitting in my garage that, with the help of a few screws and L-brackets, will hopefully become a headboard.

But do you know what the difference is between this woodworking thing and everything else I've started? I'm going to finish it! Maybe it's because it's a short, simple project. Maybe it's because I have an elevated sense of motivation to get it done (e.g. the room being a constant mess and my wife's pillows falling off the bed every night until it's finished). Either way, it's going to get finished.

I started a paint studio...of sorts. It hasn't seen any action lately. I started illustrating a book I wrote...I'm 3 pages into it. I started reading a book that someone else wrote...I'm about 50 pages into it. I even have unfinished blog posts that I just never went back to.

So yes, I do interface with the world through short bursts of intense passion. And yes, I am not known for finishing what I start. But if I change that - if I finish every little project I undertake, and continue to apply that same passion from start to finish...maybe I will start to make ripples. Maybe the things I do and the stuff I create will become self-sustaining testaments to the artist in me, instead of half-complete artifacts of what I once dreamed, resigned to a life of collecting dust and wondering what they might have become.

That's the key - finish what you start.

It's not the imaginaion I struggle with. Using a little creativity, a mild knowledge of magnetism, and a few minutes of free time, I came up with an idea for the most awesome light source in a room. Leaving all scientific jargon aside, I've come up with a way to place floating light bulbs in various locations around a room - making physical contact with nothing but the air around them - which can turn on and off at the flip of a switch, but without having to be plugged into anything.

The problem isn't in dreaming stuff up. My problem is in making it happen. So if I practice finishing the little things I start, then maybe those little things will become less little. Then they might evolve into big things, then huge things, then a room lit by floating light bulbs!

So the first thing to do is make a list of all my unfinished projects and finish them. But that, my friend, is a task unto itself.

Here's to new perspectives on old ideas.

My Marley

My wife and I saw Marley and Me recently. It's not what I expected. After seeing the trailers, I got the impression that it was about a dog who got itself into a lot of trouble. After watching it, I realized that it's really about two people who love each other, trying to do life together through thick and thin, with a dog at their side all along the way...getting into trouble.

I was close.

We see them get married, we see him get a job, we see them buy a house.  We see them have a child.  We see him get promoted.  We see them have another child.  We see them turn 40.  We see them have a third child.  We see him get a new job.  We see them fight, we see them make up.  And the whole time, we see Marley slowly growing old.  And at the end, we see him die.  I say that not to spoil the movie, but rather to make this point: it's not until he's gone that you truly realize he was there all the time.  He was what kept them going at some times.  Other times, he was what almost tore them apart.  But he was always there, always part of the picture.

I've decided that our truck is my Marley.  So far, it's been there for the entire duration of our married lives.  Just as the movie is riddled with small antecdotes about the dog getting into this or that, so our lives are woven with stories of the truck.  Like the time we were stuck in the HOV lane and needed to exit, so we crossed the barrier at 50 miles an hour and busted the headlight.  Then, when I was working at the warehouse, while I was waiting for her to pick me up, I would always watch for the truck with one light.  Or the time the window fell into the door and we went for almost a year going through three rolls of duct tape, taping and re-taping it up until we finally had enough to get it fixed.  The countless times we've helped people move, or the loads upon loads of stuff we've brought to storage and back.  Sealing the gap in the windshield, the popped tire and the adventure that ensued thereafter.

Sometimes, that truck held us together, giving us something to laugh about.

Other times, it almost tore us apart.

But it's always been there, just like Marley.  She's the first vehicle in my family that doesn't have a name.  I've been considering Big Blue, but that just sounds...awkward.  So I think I'll go with Marley.

  The Buick was Buck because the "I" fell off the back.

  The Bonneville was Bonnie for short.

  The Mustang is Sally for reasons obvious to those familiar with the pop music of the mid 1960's.

  The Geo Metro was Perla...no one actually knows why.

  And now, the truck is Marley.  May she live long and prosper.

I had to, I'm a nerd.  Get over it.

Falling and Fighting.

As the son of a black belt, I grew up around martial arts. It wasn't a self defense class for the fat kid who got beat up at school. It wasn't a flashy-kick class for the cool kids to impress their friends at school. It was about discipline. It was about knowing when not to fight. It was about self control and humility.

The two most important things we learned in my father's dojo was how to walk away from a fight before it happened, and how to fall when we got hit.

...how to fall.

I'd never thought there was a technique to falling. I always assumed that once you were hit to the ground, it was over, nothing else mattered. But falling is everything. When you're hit to the ground, 80 percent of the damage your body takes is from hitting the floor - if you don't know how to fall.

Knowing how to fall is the difference between lying there defeated and getting back up with a few scratches. Knowing how to fall is knowing how to be able to get up at all. We learned how to punch. We learned how to kick. We learned how to block. We learned how to dodge. We learned how to feel and react, we learned how to analyze and calculate. But most of all, we learned how to fall, we learned how to think.

...and the funny thing is,

I've never been in a fight.

But the principles I learned in that dojo on the second floor of an underused church building, I have used my entire life. I've learned how to block and dodge the attacks that life throws my way. I have learned when to walk away and when to stand and fight.

I have learned how to fall.

And I've learned how to get up.

The road to success is paved with failure. You must know how to fall, to know how to rise. Martial arts for me was never a lesson in fighting. Fighting is a barbaric ritual reserved for the quick-tempered and un self-controlled. Martial arts for me was a catalyst through which my father taught me how to live.

Who taught you?

I don't log out of my plog so my work friends hijack it on my day off...

There is a valuable lesson to be learned here: log off your plog!

We love you "New Guy"!
:)

That Just Happened! Vol. #1

Taladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.  It's a stupid movie, but it has it's moments.  The main character and his partner have a saying that they think is the most amazing thing in the world.  They say it to their opponent, and Ricky Bobby gets so excited that he exclaims,

"Does that blow your mind!?  That just happened!"

God's been doing small things in and around my life lately, but just to know that it was God, I can't help but to get that excited.  I want to tell someone and then go "Does that blow your mind!?"  But I want these stories to last.  It's one thing when you hear of a miracle happening to other people, but it's a whole different experience when it happens to you.

So I'm starting a mini-series that I intend to weave in and out of my regular blog posts, for whenever God does something awesome.  It will be entitled "That Just Happened" and will just be small stories of things that God did that were cool.

I have two today.

Lucky Number Eleven?

My brother got married this weekend.  After the ceremony, a few of us were hanging out by our truck, talking in the rather large parking lot.  We were talking about swing dancing downtown that night, but we were 11 dollars short on cash.  I sat in the passenger's seat because I was ready to go.  I'm a watcher.  I'll sit there and watch a scene, even if nothing is happening.  I was staring across the street, out the windshield.  I glanced down at my phone, then looked up and saw an old man wearing a red shirt, kneeling down to pick something up off the ground.  He went over to everyone who was still standing around talking, and asked if it belonged to any of them.  My wife said it wasn't hers, but she'd take it.  The man began to walk away.  I got out of the truck and went around to meet them, and in her hand I saw a ten and a one.  The man was nowhere to be found.

God vs. Tape

About half a year ago, the driver's side window of our truck fell into the door, somehow having freed itself from the track it is supposed to slide on.  We haven't been able to afford getting it fixed, so we've been using duct tape to hold it closed.  Today I was taking a nap in the car during my lunch hour at work, and the heat from the sun had melted the tape and the window fell half-way down.  I took off the useless melted tape and pulled the window back up.  Holding it there, I asked God to please hold the window up until I could tape it again.  I let go, and it stayed.  Tapeless.  When I got off work, I went out to the car and the window was still completely up.  Here's the kicker: on the way home, I prayed the simple prayer, "thanks God, you can let go now," and instantly it began to fall until I braced it with my arm.  I held it up the rest of the way home and re-taped it when I got there.

This is what I'm talking about.  I plan on putting out more posts like this, as often as this kind of thing happens.

Ask, and you shall receive.

Today, I felt God.

I asked him to touch me with his Spirit.

I felt that my heart was hardened.

I asked him to soften my heart and touch me.

And He did.

When I started this blog, I had this clever "line theory" that I used to describe how we live our lives. A while ago, I realized how stupid that "theory" is, if that's what you want to call it. I have been collecting a set of principles to help me live the best life I can, but all it's turning out to be is a list of rules to follow when dealing with other people.

I once met a man who in the story of my life plays the oracle. He is always there if you know where to look, and he only tells you what you need to hear to get where you need to go. He has a saying, which I have adopted as my new life motto:

I will never quit.
I will never give up.
And when I fall, I will fall forward
And pause on my knees to pray
Before I get back up again.

This saying doesn't have a cool name like the 'line theory,' but it is a step in the right direction. I am looking for the answer to a huge question in my life, and now I know exactly what I need to do to find it. It starts with God.

Today, I asked God to touch me, and He did. And there is a pool of tears on my bedroom floor to prove it.

An Autobiographical Short

He sees it. Hanging in thin air just out of his reach. The Light. The hope of becoming new. He just can't reach it.

In his left hand he holds an anchor, and with his right he reaches for the light.

He won't let go, but he wants to more than anything.  He can't let go - not on his own.  He asks for help from those around him, and they do what they can.  But he's been holding on for over half his life.  It was with him when he ate, when he slept, when he went to shool, when he dated, when he worked, when he played, it was there.

But In his left hand he holds the anchor, and with this right he reaches for the light.

He can't have both.  He knows he can't.  He won't let go because it's all he knows.  He won't let go because he hasn't tasted the hope and purity of the light in so long, he has forgotten what it even means - what it's all about.  He knows the light...he knew the light.  He doesn't even know himself anymore.  All he knows is the anchor.

And in his left hand he holds that anchor, and with his right he reaches for the light.

It's time to let go.  Let go of your past, so that you may embrace your future.  Let go of your baggage so that you may jump and be free.  Let go of your burden so that you may help others with theirs.  Let go of your desire so that you can focus on His.  Let go of the anchor.  Let it go.

So with his left hand, he drops the anchor, and with his right he reaches the light.

Oh, that my story may have such an ending.

Oh, that I may drop my anchor and salvage what's left

of the destruction that it has wreaked while in my hand.

-R.

Me Make Company.

Yes, I've gone into business with myself. And I made a website to promote my business.

Empty Canvas Studios, Inc.

It's not much, but it's not bad for about an hour of development. Check it out, but don't place any orders. I need to buy paint stuff first.

Peaces.

Funny Kids

David After the Dentist – A seven-year-old experiencing the residual effects of a recent morphine trip.

Chubby Cuppy Cake Boy – Jimmy Kimmel wants to squeeze this kid’s cheeks.  That’s kinda creepy to me but you should still show the video to your girlfriend.

 

That’s all for now

-R.

When the Unqualified are Qualified

Walking by a pet shop on his way to school, a young boy stopped and stared through the window.  Inside were four black puppies playing together.  After school he ran home and pleaded with his mother to let him have one of the puppies.  "I'll take care of it, Mom, I will.  If you can just give me an advance on my allowance, I'll have enough money to buy one with my own money.  Please, Mom, please."

The mother, knowing full well the complications having a new puppy would bring to a busy household, could not resist her son.  "Okay, you can get the puppy, but I will expect you to take care of it."

"Yes, Mom, I will."  Filled with excitement, the little boy ran to the pet shop to buy his new puppy.

After determining that the boy had enough money, the pet shop owner brought him to the window to choose his puppy.  After a few minutes, the young boy said, "Um...I'll take the little one in the corner."

"Oh no," said the shop owner, "not that one; he's crippled.  Notice how he just sits there; something is wrong with one of his legs, so he can't run and play like the rest of the puppies.  Choose another one."

Without saying a word, the boy reached down and lifted his pant leg to expose a chrome leg brace to the owner.

"No," he said firmly, "I want the puppy in the corner."*

It turns out that  what disqualified the puppy from being chosen by others is what most qualified him to be chosen by the little boy.  It's amazing how few of us believe in the unqualified grace of God.  Oh, yes, God loves us, as long as we're clean and whole and fixed and perfect.  But it turns out that what disqualifies you and me from "churchianity" - the mess of our lives and our crippledness - is what most qualifies us to be chosen by Jesus.

"When the teachers of the law who were Pharisees saw him eating with the sinners and tax collectors, they asked his disciples: 'Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?'  On hearing this, Jesus said to them, 'It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.  I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.' "

Mark 2:16-17

 

Selah.

*Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts On Faith (New York: Pantheon, 1999), 49-50.