The Pulpit That Fits Like An Old Pair Of Jeans

Day 132 (Written Sunday April 22) ~ Most all of us have that one special pair of jeans that just fit perfectly. You’ve probably had them for years and will keep them until they fall to pieces. You love to put them on and wear them because they are so comfortable. There is a pulpit that feels like this to me, and I had a chance to “put it on” tonight. Five years ago I walked out of the pulpit at the East Hill Church of Christ for the last time. In the eight years working with that congregation I had preached hundreds of sermons from that pulpit. I preached my first sermon there. I performed countless weddings and funerals from there. As far as being comfortable as a preacher, that pulpit fits me like an old pair of jeans, but it was a pair of jeans I hadn’t worn in a long time. Tonight I stepped in that pulpit again to preach a sermon. I don’t know how it came across to those in the pews, but I was almost electrified with anticipation. The pews were filled with familiar faces, including my parents. For me the time seemed to fly by, although it was actually over 30 minutes. Just like those comfortable jeans you love but you don’t wear them everyday, I won’t be in that pulpit very often. At present, I am scheduled to be back in October of this year. When I get back in that pulpit this fall I hope it will still fit.

This Is How A Perfect Day Ends

Day 138 (Written Saturday April 28) ~

It begins with time alone with her. Then it includes lunch with the youngest. It moves into an afternoon spent reading in the sunshine and breeze. It proceeds to accomplishing some needed tasks (cleaning out the attic). It begins drawing to a close with a long ride with the oldest, singing along with Adam Hood and The Doors together with the windows rolled down. It ends with one of the best meals you’ve ever eaten in your life (Coyote Blues for shrimp and crawfish burritos and pecan crusted crab cakes with mango salsa). And just before the lights go out, catching up on your blog. I’m sure this day could have been better, but it was close enough to perfect for me.

Songs I Cannot Sing (Volume 6): Where Does The Good Go

Day 131 (Written Saturday April 21) ~ Sometimes when you expect little, you acquire much. A couple of years back I took my sons and some of their friends to see a concert in Nashville. There was one band that I was mildly interested in seeing but as it turned out, an opening act that I had never even heard of stuck with me long after the show had ended. The band was called Tegan & Sara and they are two sisters from Canada. Their music is tough for me to categorize, which is a huge plus in itself. You will likely never hear them on the radio, but it is worth your time and effort to find them online and have a listen. The best description I can think of for them is Contemporary 80’s music, and you know how I loves me some 80’s music. They have a number of songs that I love, but there is one that really sucker punches me when I hear it. Unlike most of the other songs in this list of tear jerkers, this one does not mention a wife and kids and the traditional vulnerabilities that bring tears to my eyes. I can’t necessarily relate to these lyrics, but for one reason or another, they are so sad to me that I can’t even sing along with the radio. Perhaps that is what makes it such a good song, it can draw you into the emotions of the situation, even if it is foreign to you, and then break your heart along with the object of the song. “Where do you go with your broken heart in tow, what do you do with the left over you? And how do you know, when to let go, where does the good go, where does the good go?” These lyrics serve as the build up, the setting for the story, which is immediately followed by the emotional repercussions and damage left in the aftermath of a break up. These are the words that I simply cannot sing, “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t find me attractive, look me in the heart and tell me you won’t go. Look me in the eye and promise no love’s like our love, look me in the heart and unbreak broken, it won’t happen.” Promises made in love can elevate you to heights never experienced and when they are broken, they can send you crashing back down to the ground mercilessly. I’m sure we’ve all made and broken those promises, and we’ve all believed them only to have them ripped away in an instant, leaving us to wonder, where did the good go?

My Favorite Poems (Volume 4): Mercy, Not Sacrifice (Matthew 9:13)

Day 130 (Written Friday April 20) ~ Sometimes you don’t need to comment, just let the poetry speak for itself. “Lord,” I said, “I want to be your man, not my own. So to you I give my money, my car---even my home.” Then, smug and content, I relaxed with a smile And whispered to God, “I bet it’s been a while, Since anyone has given so much---so freely?” His answer surprised me. He replied, “Not really.” “Not a day has gone by since the beginning of time, That someone hasn’t offered meager nickels and dimes, Golden altars and crosses, contributions and penance, Stone monuments and steeples; but why not repentance? “The money, that statues, the cathedrals you’ve built, Do you really think I need your offerings of guilt? What good is money that’s meant only to salve The hurting conscience that so many of you have? Your lips know no prayers. Your eyes, no compassion. But you will go to church (when churchgoing’s in fashion). Just give me a tear---a heart ready to mold. And I’ll give you a mission, a message so bold--- That a fire will be stirred where there was only death, And your heart will be flamed by my life and my breath.” I stuck my hands in my pockets and kicked at the dirt. It’s tough to be corrected (I guess my feelings were hurt). But it was worth the struggle to realize the thought. That the cross isn’t for sale and Christ’s blood can’t be bought.

These are a few of my least favorite things...

Day 129 (Written Thursday April 19) ~ Ok, in all honesty, the title for this blog is a little watered down. It should actually read “things I hate.” My family tells me that I have tendency to be a little negative at times. They’ve actually stated they don’t like to watch tv or listen to the radio with me because I spend so much time hatin’. What can I say, I love to hate. Not people, but things. Here are a few. I hate reality TV shows. I hate reality TV shows. When I was in high school MTV debuted The Real World. I actually liked that show a lot and thought it was innovative and creative. That didn’t last very long. Within a couple of seasons it had become a showcase for people who wanted to break into show business. It didn’t take long for it to become a competition to see who could out trash the previous seasons. Reality TV was born and it doesn’t look like it will ever grown old and die. Reality TV isn’t real, which is why I can’t stand it. It takes regular people (read, non-actors) and puts them in front of a camera to act out scripted scenarios and (mostly) confrontations although they are not trained to act. Usually this just results in a morse code like series of beeps. I would rather exercise or visit Hobby Lobby than watch what the Kardashians are doing or what’s happening on the Jersey Shore. I hate infomercials. I hate them because what they have to offer is junk, lies and manipulation. The weight loss ones are the absolute worst. The success stories are paid actors, usually professional body builders and trainers who agree to put on excess weight and then shed it quickly (by following a regiment that a normal, average person never could do) and claim it was this miracle new work out or diet that did the trick. Some of the less scrupulous ones simply use photoshopped images. Do you know why there are so many of them on TV at all hours of the day? Because people are buying that garbage. Ok, I got that out of my system. I am getting down off of my soap box for now and I promise my next blog post will be a little more positive. I realize that you may love these things, and that’s your right and I respect it, I just hate it for you ;)

Honeysuckle

Day 128 (Written Wednesday April 18) ~ For some people Spring officially begins on the first day of baseball season. For some it is when the buttercups poke their heads out of the ground. For some it begins when the times changes. Some wait until the actual first day of Spring according to the calendar, but for me Spring doesn’t really begin until I smell the honeysuckle blooms for the first time. In my mind there is nothing more Spring in the South than honeysuckle. I love when I can drive down the road in the evening with my windows rolled down and just breathe in that sweet aroma. When I was a kid we loved to go into the woods behind my grandmothers house in search of honeysuckle vines. Once we found one, we would all begin plucking blooms and putting them in our mouths just to get a taste of that little drop of sweet nectar. These days I very rarely taste a honeysuckle bloom, but I eagerly seek out honeysuckle vines just so I can make a point to drive by them when I’m in the area. My wife loves to buy those plug in air fresheners and I could probably get excited about them too if they came in honeysuckle scent.

What I Love About Kase

Day 127 (Written Tuesday April 17) ~ I would love my sons no matter what. From the moment I held them for the first time I was completely hooked. When the doctor handed them to me they were permanently attached to my heart. That doesn’t mean sometimes they don’t make me want to pull my hair out. I love them simply because they are my kids, but there are certain things that I specifically love about each of my sons. I told you about those things about Reese, now let me tell you what I love about Kase. I love the innocence that is in his heart. I have been privileged to know some really wonderful, genuine, pure, godly Christians in my life, but I can say without hesitation that Kase is the purest of them all. And its not that pseudo innocence that is judgmental, holier than thou and offended at everything. He is just genuinely pure in heart in the best possible way. Don’t misunderstand me, he isn’t perfect, but his is unquestionably pure. I can’t think of a time the child has ever lied to us. There have been a couple of times where he almost did, but before he could get it out he confessed that it wasn’t true. Whenever he hears something new or different, his first reaction is to question whether or not God would approve. When songs come on the radio that are inappropriate or something comes on the tv that is, he turns it without any admonition from an adult. I wish I was as pure in heart as he is. I love that Kase can sit for hours doing the same thing without even making a sound. He loves to build things, draw things, create things and he does so frequently with his iPad, notebooks, Legos, or anything he can get his hands on. When he was a little boy he would sit for hours playing with cars on his rug. Now he sits for hours with pieces of machinery or technology that he has taken apart, or looking at his coin collection, or his rock collection, or his discovered junk collection. He can spend hours in silence, completely engulfed in his interests. I love that Kase is a techie. His obsession is all things Apple. Whenever I look into buying a piece of technology I let him know ahead of time and he begins scouring the internet for deals and details. He is like my own personal Consumer Report. When we are in the Apple store, the associates laugh and tell him that he knows more about their products than they do. He reads everything he can get his hands on and he keeps notes concerning them too. But here’s where it really gets cool. He once wanted an iPad and he told everyone in the family he only wanted money for his birthday and for Christmas. He saved his own money for months and then used what he got from others to buy his iPad. Shortly after he bought it they released the iPad 2, so he began the process again. Saving, waiting and selling his iPad to buy the new one. He is patient and frugal when it comes to obtaining what he wants. I wish I was more like him in that regard. I love his complete lack of ego and eccentric personality. Kase really doesn’t worry about what people think of him. He doesn’t take himself too seriously and has a dozen or more characters that he will break out at the drop of a hat. When he was a little child he was so incredibly shy. I can’t stress enough how introverted and bashful he was. Oddly enough, when we began homeschooling (you know that thing that makes kids socially awkward, sarcasm), his personality bloomed. He doesn’t hesitate to be the center of attention with some ridiculous costume or hilarious voice. I think the only thing I love more than his funny voices is his infectious laughter. One of the things he enjoys the most is watching Americas Funniest Home Videos. I like the show too, but its listening to him laugh at the show that I truly love. He laughs hysterically. If he finds a funny video he will rewind it and watch it as many as a dozen times over, laughing even more intensely each time. His laughter is my best medicine.

The Rocking Chair That Wasn’t A Rocking Chair

Day 126 (Written Monday April 16) ~ I thought of something tonight that I hadn’t thought of in many, many years. It’s one of those things that quietly buried itself in my mind and waited for just the right moment to make its appearance. While at a friends house for dinner, I was sitting in an old rocking chair that belonged to his grandfather. When he spoke the words rocking chair and grandfather in the same sentence, it was like a secret password unlocking a long forgotten memory. My Big Mamma (maternal grandmother) raised eleven children of her own, dozens of neighborhood kids and over fifty grandchildren. The woman knew how to take care of a baby and loved to do so more than anything. One of her specialties was rocking little ones to sleep. It wasn’t that she did this which was so interesting, it was how she did this that was unique. She rocked us all to sleep, but she didn’t use a rocking chair. The chair she used was a four legged, wicker bottom, wooden chair with a thin homemade cushion. I both witnessed her rocking children in this chair and experienced it myself. This chair was magic! Many a fussy, stubborn or colicy child was put sound asleep by the creak and bump motion of that chair. Sitting there tonight I could practically feel that repetitive bump as she rocked me to sleep. All these many years later, just the thought of this process is instantly soothing. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go rock myself to sleep.

What I Love About Reese

Day 125 (Written Sunday April 15) ~ Most of you probably already know my son Reese, but for those of you who have yet to meet him, or those who would like to see him through his daddy’s eyes, allow me to explain to you what it is that I love about Reese. Obviously I love him because he is my son, but there are so many other reasons that have nothing to do with our kinship that make me proud to be his dad and happy to have him in my life. I love that Reese can sit in the floor and play with five year old kids for hours, hold a baby and bounce it around to keep it quiet, hang out with teenagers from all kinds of social groups and laugh hysterically, carry on an intelligent conversation with adults and listen with interest at the often repetitive stories of the elderly. I’ve yet to meet an age, race, gender or social class of person that he cannot get along with and engage in meaningful conversation. This isn’t something he’s learned, he’s pretty much been doing this his entire life. I love how much he loves his music, a lot. So much so that he doesn’t care whether or not you like it. So much so that all he wants to do in his spare time is listen to it, play it, write it, talk about it and work in it. And when he listens to it, he does so as if he were performing onstage in front of 50,000 people. He sings, he dances, he puts everything he has into it and he doesn’t care if anyone is watching. He laughs at me because when I see him putting on a silent concert in front of the mirror I call it his “Rock Star Practice.” Wherever we go, his iPod is sure to follow. If he gets 30 spare seconds, the headphones are in and the music is blasting. True, this can also be an annoyance, it is also one of the things I love about him. I also love how hard of a worker he is. He has held a number of jobs that required long hours in tough environmental conditions doing physically demanding labor and he’s always done it. Not only does he not complain about it, he seems to enjoy a good days work (not to mention the good days pay that accompanies it). He’s been a great help to us around the house in so many ways and now that he drives, he runs so many errands for us without questioning it. If you let him put on his headphones he’d dig you a pond with a teaspoon. It’s hard to pick a favorite thing about him, but certainly near the top is his humble heart when he’s made a mistake. I have worked hard to make sure that he never had to feel that since his dad was a preacher he couldn’t make any mistakes. He’s made mistakes. Most of the mistakes he’s made have been the result of following in his father’s footsteps. I told my mom recently if I had known my sons would be just like me I would have been a much better kid. But whenever he’s messed up, he’s fessed up, and I love him for that. PS - I just thought of one more (because he just did it). He’s not afraid or embarrassed to hug his mom or dad and say I love you in public, even in front of his friends.

Songs I Cannot Sing (Volume 5): Don’t Laugh At Me

Day 124 (Written Saturday April 14) ~ I hadn’t heard this song in many years when it popped up on my iPod today while it was randomly shuffling. The song is Don’t Laugh At Me by Mark Wills. Even though I am not much of a fan of modern country music, this is a song that can really knock the breath out of me. The first half of the song is touching as it shames us for judging, or better yet mocking, people for their appearance or their mistakes, but nothing that I can’t take. The second half of the song, well that’s another story. Those verses don’t fight fair. In case you haven’t figured it out from reading the previous blogs about songs I cannot sing, my weak spot, my achilles heel, is song lyrics that remind me of my family and have a sad connotation. “I’m the cripple on the corner, you’ve passed me on the street, and I wouldn’t be out here begging if I had enough to eat, and don’t think I don’t notice that our eyes never meet.” These words alone are enough to start delivering body blows to the heart that soften it, but it is the next line that delivers the knock out blow for me. “I lost my wife and little boy when someone crossed that yellow line, the day we laid them in the ground is the day I lost my mind, and right now I’m down to holding this little cardboard sign.” I’m done, hand me the Kleenex, cue ugly, grimacing, cry face. The preacher in my wants to say that if I experienced something like that, I would be strong, my faith would sustain me, I would be an example to others of how to move forward as a Christian in the face of crisis, but the husband and father in me isn’t quite as confident. If something like that happened to my family, there is a very strong possibility that it would be the end of me. Maybe my faith would rise to the occasion and God could use me to be an example to others, but I also might end up homeless and wandering the streets not caring about anything. If you think I’m a crybaby for how these songs affect me, that’s ok, I understand. Just don’t laugh at me.

My First Twinkie

Day 123 (Written Friday April 13) ~ One week ago today I did something that I have never done in all of my 36 years of life. I told you about it recently, but last Friday it all changed. Last Friday, sitting in the lobby of the Marriott Marquis in downtown Atlanta, surrounded my some of my best friends and my family, I ate my first Twinkie. That’s right, until this point I had never eaten a Twinkie. There is no good reason why I hadn’t, I just never had. When I walked into the hospitality room I saw a pile of Twinkies sitting on the table. My eyes lit up and I thought to myself, now is my chance. Now that it is over, I can give you my assessment from a first time Twinkie eater. It wasn’t all that. It’s not that it was bad, it just wasn’t really any good. It was soft and fresh, but the yellow cake didn’t have much of a taste. Thanks to Little Debbie, I will gladly stick with my Swiss Cake Rolls. I guess I should say that I have now eaten my first and last Twinkie.

A Good Walk Spoiled

Day 122 (Written Thursday April 12) ~ “A good walk spoiled.” That’s how Mark Twain described a day of golf. I generally like Mr. Clements razor sharp sarcasm and literary genius, but I have to disagree with him here. I started playing golf when I was about 10 years old. My dad had taken up golf (since he destroyed his knee and couldn’t play football, baseball or basketball anymore) and he bought me a little kids set of clubs. I would go out in the yard with him and hit practice shots (we had a nearly two acre yard) with him each evening. Eventually I got old enough and good enough that he would take me with him. When I was about 13 he joined the Hillcrest Country Club here in Pulaski and we started playing almost every day. By the time I was 14 or 15 I was spending all day, every day at the country club during the summer. Mom would drop me off at 8:00 am on her way to work and dad would come at 3:00 pm when he got off and would stay until after 6:00 pm. This was the same for my cousin Clayton and several friends (Mary Sumpter and David Johnson, Kelly Brown and Carey Clark). We would play 18 holes, stop to swim and eat, play 18 more, stop to swim and eat, race golf carts, shoot fireworks, play tennis, play 18 and then go home. Rinse. Repeat. I would literally play 36 to 54 holes of golf all but two days a week for the entire summer. I got pretty good and I had a lot of fun. We got into some trouble that almost got our parents kicked out of the country club (racing golf carts, having fireworks battles on the course, jumping the golf carts off of the elevated tee boxes, hitting golf balls into traffic, turning the area around the sprinklers into slip and slides and much, much more). Jim Schoberl (I think that was his name) was the course superintendent and we kept him on his toes the entire summer (his son Richard is now an FBI agent, he probably got a lot of practice in catching criminals by watching us). We played in numerous junior golf tournaments and generally had the time of our lives. Once I got to high school I decided to play for the school golf team. Don’t worry, I also played football and baseball so it wasn’t as dorky as it sounds. I loved it because I got to play golf all the time and I got to travel to other courses and play for free. I actually qualified for the regional tournament when I was a junior, but didn’t play very well because a friend talked me into dipping Coppenhagen (for the first time I might add) on the way to the tournament. I was so dizzy I could barely walk (which I had to do carrying my clubs for 18 holes in the later summer heat) and when I finally spit it out, began the first of several times puking. Good times. Sarcasm. Despite what you may think about preachers, nowadays, I don’t play very much. In fact, today was the first time I have played in 3 years and the first time I have played at Hillcrest in nearly ten. How did I do? Believe it or not, I shot the best round I have ever played at Hillcrest. I even got on a hot streak (for me) and parred three straight holes. Honestly, none of that even matters. I quit playing for the score a long time ago. Now I just enjoy being outside on beautiful courses, spending time with good friends (my dad was with me, and so was my cousin and an old friend I rarely see anymore) and just relaxing. A good walk spoiled? Hardly. For me, it is a good walk improved.

Hardest Parts of Marriage (Volume 3): Ch-ch-ch-changes

Day 121 (Written Wednesday April 11) ~ When I married Jade she was a 19 year old girl. She wasn’t a mother or a Christian and her sisters were in elementary school. Nearly 19 years later, she is a very different person. So am I by the way (for crying out loud I was an alcoholic then and I’m a preacher now!). Although all of these changes fall into the category of inevitable or better, they are still changes. Along about these times people are known to use expressions like, “I just don’t love you anymore...I don’t know you who are anymore...We’ve drifted apart.” If you are married to a person long enough, you will change, they will change and you better be able to adapt if you want your relationship to endure. So how do you deal with inevitable change without changing your marital status? Focus on things that don’t change. When you married you made a commitment. You took a vow to love, honor, cherish till death do you part. That can never change. Love is not influenced by circumstances because it is about commitment. Is your commitment to love them only skin deep? They are going to change physically. Will you only love them if they are skinny, if they have hair, if their hair isn’t gray, if they have all of their teeth? At some point your spouse will become a mother/father, eventually a grandparent, a retiree, a person without parents, disabled. What then? There is another way to view change, a positive way. Change prevents boredom and complacency. If you want to maintain the excitement of your early days in the relationship, you will have to commit to doing the same things you did back then. Pursue your partner. Seek to impress them. Do everything you can to make them fall in love with you. Communicate, listen and learn what is going on inside their mind. And if you’re someone who’s not good with change, well, it’s time you changed that.

My Favorite Poems (Volume 3): Raymond Carver

Day 120 (Written Tuesday April 10) ~ Somehow I imagine certain events to be like a collision course between an asteroid and a planet. Both exist in their own world, oblivious to the existence of one another. They pass by one another in the same general location but they never notice one another. Year after year passes and neither is aware of the fact that they are on a course to collide in the future, and until that day comes, they will be completely unaware. A few years back I was grilling on a Saturday evening, on the overlook as usual, watching the water and relaxing in the tranquil melancholy of having nothing important to do. At times like that I love to turn on the radio and listen to things that my family has zero interest in. On this particular day that was listening to A Prairie Home Companion. For those of you scratching your head, APHC is an old fashioned radio variety show that is done live each Saturday evening. It was started in 1974 by Garrison Keiler and features performances from all styles of musicians and singers, fake commercial, serial comedy skits, tales from Lake Wobegone and literary readings. Admittedly it’s not for everyone, but it is for me. I love listening and laughing at the silliness and am soothed by Garrison Keilers deep, monotone, slow Minnesota voice. On this particular evening I was introduced to two things that have since become favorites. One was the music of Brandy Carlisle, perhaps I will write about her later in more detail (though I already touched on her music here http://brandonbritton.blogspot.com/2012/02/name-that-tune.html) and the other was the writings, namely the poetry, of Raymond Carver. In my previous 30 some odd years I had no idea that my life was on a collision course with some writings that would bury themselves in my heart. The impact made that Saturday evening, as I listened to that hypnotic voice of Garrison Keiler reading the poem, “This Morning”, leaving me in a trance, still resonates today as I hold the book “Ultra~Marine” in my lap. The next day I scoured the internet trying desperately to find the name of the poem and the author too. Finally I discovered it was Raymond Carver, who sadly had died over twenty years ago. The poem, “This Morning” was in the book of poems, “Ultra~Marine”, published two years before his death. I was able to find a copy online and ordered it that very day. When it finally arrived, I devoured it. Each poem seemed to connect with me even more than the previous one. There is something about his voice (not the sound coming out of his mouth, but the tone in which he writes, although I will admit Garrison Keiler reads his poetry in a way that amplifies its profundity, perhaps because it has such a subtle sadness to it) that strikes a chord with my heart. He has the ability to make me feel like he is writing my very thoughts, which I guess is what makes a writing a truly great piece of literature. It’s was makes it art. In the future, I will share with you some of the poems of Raymond Carver that I love so much. Until then, let this serve as a tiny appetizer: “As he writes, without looking at the sea, he feels the tip of his pen being to tremble. The tide is going out across the shingle. But it isn’t that. No, it’s because at that moment she chooses to walk into the room...He sees her through the doorway. Maybe she’s remembering what happened that morning. For after a time, she opens one eye and looks at him. And sweetly smiles.” Raymond Carver, “An Afternoon”

A Trip, But No Vacation

Day 119 (Written Monday April 9) ~ Growing up I spent a lot of time in Florida during the summer. My family loved the coast and we took as many trips there as possible over the years. They always say that what one generation does in moderation, the next does in excess. Perhaps there is some truth to that, particularly in my family. I have taken my wife and sons to Florida a few times through the years, but this summer we will not be taking a vacation, but we will be going on a trip. Although our plans are not completely finalized, they certainly have taken shape. Our plan is to fly to Costa Rica, then drive to Nicaragua and finally fly to Panama before returning back home to the states. We will spend nearly a month in three different Central American countries on missionary campaigns. We are excited, anxious, scared and impatient all at the same time. It seems so long ago that we made the decision to begin working with Latin American Missions. We have enjoyed traveling the country, talking about the work, raising money and meeting new people, but the real reason we joined this team was to get overseas and make a difference in peoples lives. It will be a long, and at times exhausting summer, but we wouldn’t have it any other way. My parents took me to Florida for the summer, I’m taking my sons to Central America for the summer, I wonder where they will take their families? I have a friend and a supporter who tells me every time I see him, that I am crazy, maybe so. But to quote Jimmy Buffett (yet again), “I’d rather die while I’m living than live while I’m dead.”

Chocolate Covered Nothing

Day 118 (Written Sunday April 8) ~

I’ve been told I was evil. After I tell you this story you may agree. But before I get to my evil deeds, let me tell you about a much more innocent time. Practically from the beginning I was enamored with chocolate Easter bunnies. The first one I remember had blue candy eyes and was about a foot tall. Easter morning I discovered it, along with a basket full of goodies that I couldn’t wait to dig into, but apparently my mother could help me wait. We had to go to church first, and then we had to go eat lunch afterward and then finally I could sample my long eared treat. Alas, the wait was not worth it. Disappointment. I had foolishly assumed that the chocolate bunny was a solid, two pound, one foot tall hunk of happiness. Wrong! With one bite, my anticipation crumbled like the ears of Peter Cottontail. It was hollow and so was my soul after that. Ok, so maybe that’s just a little bit melodramatic. I was terribly disappointed to discover that chocolate Easter bunnies were actually hollow. Time has passed and I’ve made my peace with the hollow bunnies, in fact, I actually love them and still get as excited as a little kid when I get one. My Easter candy love is very limited: chocolate bunnies, Reese’s peanut butter eggs and that is it. I hate Peeps, and don’t even get me started on Cadbury eggs. As much as I was disappointed by the hollow bunnies, I was even more disgusted when I discovered that Cadbury eggs weren’t hollow (oh how I wish they had been), but instead were filled with a bizarre, unholy, candy egg like goo. Disturbing. Now, back to my evil deeds. A couple of years ago around Easter, I devised a powerful way to teach an object lesson to a group of young people. The point of the lesson was going to be about the deceptiveness of sin. It looks good on the outside, appears sweet to the taste, but really is hollow and harmful. To teach this lesson in a way that would never be forgotten, I made a hole in several chocolate bunnies and then filled them with various things like relish, mayonnaise and mustard. I then heated a knife and rubbed it over the hole to melt the chocolate and reseal it. I then devised a “contest” where the kids would have a race to see who could eat the bunny the fastest. When I said go, the opened their mouths wide and began to devour the bunny as quickly as possible. It only took a second, and a mouth filled with a chocolate mayonnaise or relish mixture, for them to begin gagging and spitting it out. I cannot help but believe that they will never, ever forget that just because something looks good on the outside, doesn’t mean it really is. Thank you Easter bunny.

Trophy Sons

Day 117 (Written Saturday April 7) ~ My two favorite trophies that I ever received were the MVP of my Pop Warner football league and my All District award my senior year of high school baseball. These were just two of dozens that I received in baseball, football and golf from the time I was five until I was 18. Until I got married these trophies adorned the shelves and desktops of my bedroom. I worked hard for them, I earned them and I was proud of them.
When I found out I was going to become a father the first purchase I made was a baseball glove, which I put in my sons crib when I brought him home. I was determined to make sure he followed in his father’s footsteps on the ball field. Eventually I accepted the fact that my boys did not have the passion for playing sports that I did. They have a passion for other things, just not sports. Any disappointment I may have felt was short lived when I witnessed their joy for the things they loved.
Today I got to witness them doing something they loved. We went with the Forrest Park congregation to Atlanta, Georgia for the Lads To Leaders Convention. If you don’t know what that is google it and you can find out all about it. Here’s the important part: I now have a new favorite trophy, the one my son Reese won tonight for a speech/sermon he preached at the convention. Kase did not win a trophy, but he did do a great job leading a song and preaching a sermon and learned a dozen other events he wants to compete in next year. Tonight during the awards ceremony it came to Reese’s event and age group. When I heard the MC call Reese’s name, my heart skipped a beat. While on stage, in front of nearly 3,000 people, they announced that he had won 3rd place. I was so happy I didn’t know what to do with myself. This must have been how my dad felt when I hit a home run or scored a touchdown. I don’t have any idea what happened to those old trophies that I won, but I have a feeling that Reese’s trophy will be on display for quite awhile in our home. At least until next year when my boys win a bunch of new ones.

The ATL

Day 116 (Written Friday April 6) ~ I have always hated Atlanta. I hate the traffic. I don’t like the people. I’m not impressed by the architecture. I just don’t like Atlanta. That’s really saying something because one of my greatest childhood memories is tied to Atlanta (a trip with my Grandaddy Sam and Big Mama to the zoo and to see the Braves the summer before he died) [http://www.brandonbritton.blogspot.com/2012/01/36-day-44-written-tuesday-january-24.html]. Still I hate Atlanta. Well I hated Atlanta.
Right now we are staying at the Marriott Marquis in downtown Atlanta. A massive 47 story, 1,600 room convention center. The hotel is an impressive sight to behold. From our 24th floor room I have a perspective on the city that I’ve never had before. As I’ve mentioned many times before, I have an affinity for big cities, downtown areas and skylines (http://www.brandonbritton.blogspot.com/2012/03/bright-lights-big-city.html). Being this high up has allowed me to sit and study the city from a unique perspective that I’ve never enjoyed. Usually I am passing through the city on the interstate at 70 miles per hour. Today I have been sitting in a very comfortable chair looking out a picture window. I was able to see the capital building, several high rise hotels and office buildings, the Georgia Dome and one of my favorite sights was the Fox Theater. I have two records (Jimmy Buffett “You Had To Be There” and Chris and Rich Robinson “Brothers Of A Feather”) that were recorded in that building. I could also see the airport and was able to watch airplanes line up single file to land. It was fascinating to see it from a panoramic perspective. Another cool part was watching a guy on what was essentially a swing cleaning the windows of a 30 story building. I watched him with my mouth hanging open as he bounced around like Spiderman, with nothing but a plank of wood and some safety harness ropes between him and a three hundred foot fall.
I don’t love Atlanta, I don’t think I even really like Atlanta, but I can say for sure now that at least I no longer hate Atlanta.

Hardest Parts Of Marriage (Volume 2): Forgiveness

Day 115 (Written Thursday April 5) ~ Repeat after me: Your spouse is going to do something wrong and hurt, irritate, disappoint or frustrate you. At times like this it is important to remember that you too will do these same things to your spouse. It is easy to acknowledge and accept this as a fact right now, but tomorrow or next week when it actually happens, let’s see how quick you are to remember and accept this fact. Although we all know this is true, in the moment, when emotions are running high, its not so easy to remember.
Here is something she and I have learned through 18 years of marriage: remember I love you more than anything in this world and would never KNOWINGLY and INTENTIONALLY hurt you. I will hurt you. I will disappoint you. But I would never do it on purpose. I would never say to myself, “I know this will hurt her/him, but I’m going to do it anyway.” If I hurt you it will likely be due to ignorance or because I was frustrated or tired myself. Intent makes a big difference. If I intend to hurt you that is malicious and hard to defend. If I unintentionally hurt you that is human and understandable. And most important, forgivable.

My Favorite Poems (Voume 2): Evangeline

Day 114 (Written Wednesday April 4) ~ Making his first of two appearances on my list of favorite poems is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. This poem, Evangeline, is actually what would be considered an epic poem. Translation: it takes a long time to read because it is long and difficult (written in the measure of dactylic hexameter, the same one used by Homer in writing The Iliad and The Odyssey).
This poem, published in 1847, tells the story of the young girl Evangeline, an Acadian girl, in search of her lost love Gabriel, due to the Expulsion of the Acadians. The Acadians are the ancestors of the Cajuns (the word Cajun is a Native American mispronunciation/contraction of the word Acadian). They were French settlers in Nova Scotia who were expelled en masse by the British during the French and Indian War (1755-1763). Most of them found themselves settling in what would eventually come to be known as the Atchafalaya Basin (bayou) in Louisiana. They settled in the parts of the country that no one wanted because it was hostile climate, terrain and filled with hostile Indians, which the Acadians befriended and eventually intermarried with. They lived off the land, catching, trapping, shooting and growing what they needed to survive. Through mixed cultures, difficult circumstances, survival instincts and heartbreak, was born the Cajun culture I love so dearly.
In the poem Evangline (gospel/good news) Bellefontaine (beautiful fountain) is separated from her fiance Gabriel because of the Great Upheaval. She then spends the rest of her life searching the landscapes of America for her lost true love. (Spoiler Alert!) She eventually finds him in Philadelphia as an old woman. She is working with the Sisters of Mercy among the poor, treating those dying during an epidemic, where she finds Gabriel, who dies in her arms.
I love the poem because it is a beautiful, tragic story that leaves the reader with the mixed emotions of a happy ending and tragedy. I also love its connection to the Cajun culture I love. I don’t recommend reading it before bedtime (unless you want to use it as a sleep aid) and without learning how to read its measure. But if you do, I assure you that you will be treated to a hypnotic story that will stay with you for life.

Musical Time Machines

Day 113 (Written Tuesday April 3) ~ I Wear My Sunglasses At Night, I Ain’t Missing You At All, Panama, The Power Of Love, Jump, I Can Dream About You (If I Can’t Hold You Tonight). I can’t hear any of these, and a host of other, songs without instantly being transported in my mind back to the mid ’80’s, when I was a pre-teen cruising the strip (the “Miracle Strip” for those of you who remember) in Panama City Beach, Florida with my older cousins. When I was between the ages of 10 and fifteen these were the hottest songs on the radio during the summer. Back in those days gas was less than $1.00 a gallon and people could afford to, and loved to, go cruising, especially when we were on vacation in Florida. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
When I was five years old my parents, along with some friends and my mother’s brother and his family, took us to Panama City Beach, Florida for vacation. We stayed at the Bikini Beach Motel. I was a little kid, but I fell head over heels in love with the Emerald Coast at first sight. We went to Sea World, played on the beach, went to the Miracle Strip Amusement Park, ate at Angelo’s Steak House, got freshly made chocolate covered doughnuts for breakfast at The Doughnut Hole, and hung out with my older cousins (Angie, Corey and Nicole). It was the greatest week of my very limited life.
It would be several years before we would return to Florida (I was about 8), but when we did, it only got better. We upgraded from the Bikini Beach Motel to a condo. As far as I was concerned we were living the high life. We took my Big Mama (grandmother), and my best friend Brandon Johns to PCB and stayed at the Edgewater Resort. It was an all inclusive resort with a one acre lagoon pool, water falls, arcades, restaurants, concerts and awesome rooms. Again my uncle Lloyd and his kids (Angie, Corey, Nicole) went with us. We felt like grown ups getting to run around the resort on our own. There was a Burger King just outside the parking lot (the first BK I had ever eaten at, and we ate there every day), a mini golf, go cart track across the road, and a movie theater just beyond. I saw my first “event” movie down there that summer....the original Batman. My parents let me run with my older cousins and we would cruise the strip, blasting the local radio station, just seeing who and what we could see. Of course we all were dressed in our brand new airbrushed sleeveless shirts, backwards checker board painter hats, body glove bracelets, sea shell necklaces and Ray Ban Wayfarers with neon sunglasses holders around our necks. Life would never get better than those summer nights by the coast.
After one of these trips my dad chose to take a different route back home on one trip and we passed through Destin, Florida. Little did I know the impact this would have on my childhood. In those days Destin was a tiny little fishing village that had only a handful of high rise condos, no water parks and go cart tracks. It was just miles of virgin beach, as white as sugar, filled with wildlife such as crabs, fish and dolphins. A couple of years later we would stay in Destin, which would become my summer home for the next five years. Each year we would stay at Sundestin Condominiums. My friend Brandon Johns and I would spend a week there with my parents and a week there with his parents, each summer. We would usually go the same week every year, as would many other families, allowing us to make friends with kids from all over the country that we would only see once a year. And when we got together we were the kings of the condo. It was our personal playground where our parents allowed us free reign. It was during these summers that I first fell in love with the cute, tan girls from Louisiana, Georgia and Arkansas. During theses summer vacations was the first time I remember feeling “grown up”, although I was far from it, I felt grown. We would go eat at Amberjacks (a restaurant on the first floor), order virgin strawberry daquiris, spend hours in the arcade, swim, walk the beach, go to Big Kahunas or Shipwreck Island water park and ride go carts and play putt putt golf. All day and all night the radio stations would play the same songs over and over. I don’t know if I paid much attention to them back then, but to this day, if I hear Van Halen (David Lee Roth era), Huey Lewis and the News, or any other of a dozen 80’s pop artists, I can feel the warm gulf breeze and smell the salty ocean air and I feel 13 again. Even if I can’t go back, all I have to do is here those old songs, and Florida and my childhood, well, I can dream about you.

Songs I Cannot Sing (Volume 4): You Were Mine

Day 112 (Written Monday April 2) ~ Recently we visited the church where I preached when I was in preaching school. The Arlington Church of Christ was my first official job as a preacher. I was there for one year, and had it not been for the opportunity to move back home, we would have stayed there. It was the first church to put my name on the sign as “minister.” I grew up in a congregation of over 400 members, but Arlington was at the time a small (90 people on Sunday morning) family church. We loved it. Going back for a visit was such a blessing to our hearts. When we were there originally, the boys were 3 and 1 years old. One of the ladies who taught Reese in Bible class told me a story recently. She said she was going around the room asking each child what song they wanted to sing in Bible class that morning. There were the usual requests, “Jesus Loves Me”, “Jesus Loves The Little Children”, “This Little Light Of Mine” and then she turned to my son Reese, who proudly stated, “I want to sing the Dixie Chicks!” That little dude loved the Dixie Chicks. I remember when they first came out we bought their tape and wore it out while traveling around preaching. I can still hear him singing “There’s Your Trouble” at the top of his lungs in the backseat of our Plymouth Voyager mini-van.
That story got me to thinking about those days and those songs. I pretty much loved every song on that album myself, but there was one that stood out above all the others. It always struck a nerve with me and had one particular line in it that made it virtually impossible for me to sing. The song was called “You Were Mine.
I haven’t heard, or even thought of that song in probably ten years, but just singing it in my head today brought tears to my eyes. The song itself is about a family that is falling apart due to a husband leaving his wife and kids for another woman, and is written from the perspective of his wife. The chorus is pretty sad, “Sometimes I wake up crying at night, and sometimes I scream out your name, what right does she have to take your heart away, when for so long you were mine”, but that’s not the part that really gets me. Let me preface this by saying I’ve never experienced the circumstances described in this song, but the very end of the song mentions the impact on their children and I can relate to children being hurt by bad decisions. At the very end of the song are these lyrics, “I can give you two good reasons to show you love’s not blind, he’s two and she’s four, and you know they adore you, so how can I tell them you’ve changed your mind?” It’s those last lyrics that kick me in the gut. Having looked into the eyes of far too many children who have experienced this, it breaks my heart every time. When this song came out I had two little ones, ages two and four, so it was a little too close to home.

Roots And Branches

Day 111 (Written Sunday April 1) ~ The strength and health of a tree does not lie in its trunk, but in its roots. The roots anchor the tree, they feed the tree and they water the tree. Physically, the roots of my family tree are sunk deeply into the ground in Giles County, Tennessee. The first of my ancestors moved to what is now Lynnville, Tennessee before Tennessee was even a state. Since that time, my family has called Giles County home. Spiritually, the roots of my spiritual family tree grow under the Robertson Fork Church of Christ.
Robertson Fork was the first church of Christ in Giles County. It was originally a Baptist church, but over the course of a decade, “converted itself” so to speak. By the end of the 1830’s, they had become the Robertson Fork Church of Christ. My great, great, great, great grandfather was a member there when it was a Baptist church was baptized for the remission of his sins during the transition to the church of Christ. Over a 170 years later, my two sons mark the 9th consecutive generation of his descendant to become a Christian. The decision made by one man, so very long ago, had a domino effect that hasn’t stopped yet.
This morning I told this story to the congregation at the Robertson Fork Church of Christ during Bible class. My grandmother was baptized at that church too, when she was about 14 years old. I recently learned that one of my best friends (Jeremy James, who I grew up with at East Hill and graduated with, who preaches in Arlington, Tennessee at the church I preached for while a student at the Memphis School of Preaching) grandfather, actually baptized my grandmother. Although none of our family is still a member at Robertson Fork, our roots will always be there. And today I asked them to help support me as I try to spread out branches all over the world. Every Latin American that we baptize into Christ will be a new branch in our spiritual family tree. There will be Christians throughout Central and South America who will be supported, fed and watered by the roots that reach all the way back to Giles County, Tennessee.

So You Want To Be A Big Name Preacher

Day 110 (Written Saturday March 31) ~ “Men are anxious to improve their circumstances, but are unwilling to improve themselves; they therefore remain bound.” (James Allen, As A Man Thinketh).Ambition is a wonderful and dangerous thing. It can inspire us to greatness and it can consume us and lead to ruin.
Recently a friend of mine, who happens to be a big name preacher, challenged his audience by warning about misguided views of what is success in ministry. He pointed out that it was perfectly fine to accept invitations to go and preach in gospel meetings, retreats, seminars, lectureships and “big” churches, but that this is not what it means to be a successful preacher. His point was that your priority as a preacher should be to the local congregation and not to going here and there to make a name for yourself or stroke your ego. Great point, but allow me to add a few other thoughts to that as well.
The path to honor is paved with hard work and humility. The moment you start trying to make a name for yourself, you have failed. I’ve seen that look in the eyes of many preachers. They look at other preachers with jealousy or admiration, both as the result of that preachers “success.” If he is a big name preacher you like and look up to, you have nothing but admiration. If however, he is a big name preacher, yet you think you are a much better preacher than he, you have nothing but envy and disgust. This most often happens if the big name preacher is a peer. You may even struggle with thoughts of, “I’m just as good as him” or “I’m a better preacher than him” or perhaps, “He’s a kiss up and that’s the only reason he gets these invitations.” I know this because I’ve been on both sides of that fence. I’ve heard it said by others about me, and I’ve thought it myself about others. I dare say virtually every preacher has. There is a remedy for this type of thinking.
Number #1 - Remember why you began preaching in the first place. If it was to become a big name preacher, quit as soon as possible and do not preach again until you can have humble motives. Chances are, you actually became a preacher because you genuinely love God and people and you just want to help people. A man who spends five years working with a small, country church, investing in their lives, teaching them the scriptures and helping them with their problems will do more good than a big name preacher who travels the country speaking to audiences filled with hundreds of people. It’s a matter of quality over quantity. When I think of the preachers who have had the biggest impact on my life, real life changing and saving influences, did so at 5:00 am at their kitchen table or in the car driving for a few hours on a Saturday, not in the pulpit standing before hundreds. The people who have told me that I have had a positive influence on their lives have rarely attributed it to a sermon I preached. Most often the difference was made through a conversation, or more likely, many conversations. When you are introduced before your sermon at a lectureship or gospel meeting, they will rattle off your statistics (who you are, how old you are, how long you’ve been preaching, when you graduated preaching school, what churches you’ve worked with, etc), but they never mention the truly important things you’ve accomplished. Things like helping a young married couple to decide not to get a divorce and instead begin marriage counseling, convincing a pregnant 16 year old girl to have and love her unplanned child instead of aborting it, teaching an 80 year old man the gospel and baptizing him into Christ a few months before he enters eternity, pleading with an erring Christian to come back to Christ, training young men to get up and lead a song, a prayer, to serve at the Lord’s table or preach a sermon for the first time. These are the things you do that really matter because they directly impact lives in a positive way.
Number #2 - Realize what it may cost you. Not all, but an alarmingly high number of big name preachers have paid a heavy, horrible price for their reputation....it has cost them their families. I have spent private, one on one time with a number of very famous/beloved preachers and I have asked everyone of them the same two questions. #1 - What is the best thing you’ve ever done as a preacher? (I’ve gotten some really good advice in response to that question). #2 - What would you do differently if you could go back and do it all over? Almost every single one has responded with some variation of: put my family before the church, not be gone from my family so much, spend more time with my family. Many of them are revered throughout the church, but despised within their own homes. I want everyone to go to heaven, but if I had to choose just three, I know who those three would be....my two sons and my wife. I have told my girl that I can stand at the door and listen to 300 people tell me what a great job I did or what a great sermon that was, but if I get in the car and don’t see a smile on her face it doesn’t matter if 300,000,000 people praised me. Even the praise and applause from an audience of hundreds cannot drown out the deafening silence of walking into an empty house all alone at the end of the night.
Too often big name preachers are loved by everyone except those who know them best. If every congregation thinks you are great, but the congregation you actually work for thinks you are gone too much or aren’t doing what they want/need/hired you to do, you are failing in your ministry. The reason you may be so dearly loved by other churches is because you are essentially a stranger to them. You come in for a few hours or a few days and preach a few sermons and then you are on your way. Trust me, preaching a sermon that is entertaining to listen to isn’t that hard, being an effective and beloved local preacher is.
Number #3 - Reexamine what it means to be successful. It is dangerous and foolish to think that success is linked to having a big name. Popular does not mean successful. Don’t believe me? Go back and look at your high school yearbook superlatives. Most popular doesn’t guarantee success. It is nice to be asked to come and speak at a church or an event, and even nicer when it is a large church or event and still sweeter if after you are finished they tell you how much they love you are what a good job you’ve done. That doesn’t mean you are a success, it just means you need people to stroke your ego to make you feel successful. The greatest preacher I have ever known was despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows. He taught us to humble ourselves in the sight of the Lord and He would lift us up. Remember, if men lift you up, they can also drop you.

My Favorite Poems (Volume 1): The Road Not Taken

Day 109 (Written Friday March 30) ~ I was probably in the sixth or seventh grade the first time I read a poem beyond Dr. Seuss. It was in English class that we had to memorize a poem. I was less than enthused to say the least. Imagine that, a twelve year old boy not being excited to read and then memorize poetry. So you can imagine my surprise when I actually liked the poem. I more than liked it, I did memorize it, and nearly 25 years later I can still recite it. Those iconic words, “Two road diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both, and be one traveler, long I stood, and looked down one as far as I could, to where it bent in the undergrowth”, grabbed my attention and never let it go.
In the many years since I had read and memorized many other poems, yet these words of Robert Frost created my interest. My taste in poetry is much like my taste in music, all across the board and unpredictable. It wasn’t long after reading this poem that I decided to start writing my own. And while I’ve never written anything that could be mentioned in the same breath as Robert Frost, it has provided an emotional outlet that has been both fulfilling and freeing. “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” What are your favorite poems?

Jam On It

Day 108 (Written Thursday March 29) ~ I can’t dance. Or so I’m told. I am convinced that I am a very good dancer (at least that is what I see in my mind and feel in my body when I dance), but virtually no one else agrees. Don’t worry, I only dance in my house in front of my wife and children, so you will likely never have to experience my moves. I don’t know if I’m right or they are right, but there is one thing I do know: back in the day, I could breakdance with the best of them.
I was probably 8 when the 104.3 WZYP Big Boombox came to do a live remote broadcast from the grand opening of the new ice cream shop in the parking lot of Quick Mart (any of you remember that?), which my mother managed. (Note: for those of you younger than Generation X, consult Wikipedia for a definition of breakdancing and boomboxes). That day they gave away free cassette tapes (see note above to understand what a cassette tape is) of the soundtrack for the movie “Beat Street.” It was one of three movies about breakdancing that came out during the early 80’s (who can forget Breakin’ and Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo?). That tape changed my life. A little redneck, hillbilly boy from middle Tennessee was introduced for the first time to the exciting and magical world of New York, inner city, b-boy, hip-hop. That Christmas I got a turntable, parachute pants and the Electric Breakin’ album with the greatest rap song ever written, “Jam On It.”
I spent all of my free time in on a piece of cardboard in the front yard practicing my moves. I could frog jump, crab walk, do the worm, the wave, the robot, backspin, moonwalk, windmill and yes, I even mastered the elusive, dangerous and difficult headspin (my uncle Ryan took the picture to prove it). I just remembered, I still have that record and that record player. I think I’ll call Jade and the boys in here and put on “Jam On It” and prove to them that I can dance. Perhaps I’ll just succeed in proving to them why it is called “break” dancing.

Insecurities

Day 107 (Written Wednesday March 28) ~ There is often a very, very fine line between confident and cocky. There is an equally fine line between humility and insecurity. Usually we find ourselves shakily trying to balance on the tightrope of these two extremes, and sometimes we fall. Most of us are, by nature, very insecure. However, few of us would ever admit it, at least publicly. Truth is, most all of us just want to be reassured that we are normal and that everyone else is struggling with the same things. It doesn’t make our problems go away, it just comforts us to know that we aren’t freaks going through this world alone.
The reason we don’t know this is because we are too afraid to say it out loud for fear that our greatest fears will be proven true. Another reason is because we fear, probably because we have experienced it, that when we confide in someone, they will tell others and our insecurities might be used against us. Despite this fear, when we are able to “get it off our chest” it can be such a relief. I have read many accounts where people have gotten caught doing something they knew was wrong, were actually relieved to be found out, because the secret keeping was crushing. I believe the same is true with our insecurities. It can feel so good to tell someone else what we are afraid of, and not be judged for it. I have insecurities (I have a high forehead, bad teeth, varicose veins, a pot belly, and sunken eyes and droopy eyelids), but they don’t depress me because I can talk to my wife about them and know that she loves me, not because I’m perfect, but despite my imperfections.
Virtually every woman I have ever known, from middle school to the present, has terrible insecurities concerning body image. I don’t know a woman (at least judging by what I hear them say) who doesn’t think she is fat. Even the ones who obviously are not fat, are convinced they are fat. I’m not talking about anorexics who have a genuine psychological disorder, I’m just talking about regular women who think they are fat. How many times have you overheard this conversation? (Woman #1 says to woman #2), “I love your new hair cut and that color looks great on you.” (Woman #2 says to woman #1), “Oh, I don’t know if I like it, my forehead is too high to wear it like this. I wish I had your curls instead of my flat hair. I love those sandals you’re wearing though.” (Woman #1 says to woman #2), “Thanks girl, I got these at Payless for $9.00. They’re cute, but I hate my feet. They’re gross, I need a pedicure.” (Woman #2 says to woman #1), “Me too. I’d love to wear sandals like that but I’ve got cankles (calves that can’t be distinguished from your ankles) and they just don’t look right on me.” (Woman #1 says to woman #2), “Oh you don’t. But at least you could cover them up with pants and shoes, I’ve got a turkey neck and the only way I can cover it up is with turtlenecks, which don’t work for summer.”
I will admit, women are much more open about discussing their insecurities than men, but that doesn’t mean they have more insecurities than men. We just don’t talk about it as much. In fact, we usually do the opposite. We take our flaws and try to spin them off as positives. (Man #1 says to man #2), “What’s up fat boy?” (said while patting his belly). You look like you could drop about 25 pounds.” (Man #2 says to man #1), “Are you kidding me? You know how long it’s taken me to get this? I’ve spent $25,000 on ribs, fried chicken and pizza to get it to look this way. Why would I want to get rid of it? Some guys are content with a six pack, I’ve got a keg. What about you? Your hair turned gray and then it just turned loose bald eagle.” (Man #1 says to man #2), “That’s because I’m so good looking it wasn’t fair to all your other guys. Besides, nobody can see my bald head because it’s hidden behind these two mountains (at which point he lifts his arms and flexes his biceps).”
Isn’t it strange, women compliment one another only to reject those compliments and search for flaws to point out in themselves, while men insult one another and reject those likely accurate critiques to focus on make believe attributes? Truth is, we all look in the mirror and see things we don’t like and wish were different. Some we can change, others we are stuck with. Everyone may not say it, but they are thinking it.

Hardest Parts of Marriage (Part 1): Communication

Day 106 (Written Tuesday March 27) ~ Talking comes naturally, and for most of us, effortlessly, but communication on the other hand, is a bit trickier. We don’t even have to use words to communicate. Before little babies learn to speak, they learn to communicate. By pointing, grunting, squealing, crying and gesturing, they are able to communicate their needs and wants to their parents. Since we’ve been communicating practically from birth, you’d think communication would be second nature to us. Wrong! Miscommunication is pretty simple, at least it seems to be since we find ourselves doing it so much.
For 15 years I performed wedding ceremonies, pre-marital counseling, post-marital counseling and just plain old marriage counseling. I am not a trained professional, but it seems that when you are a preacher, people often come to you for help in their most desperate hours. I have spent time with over a hundred couples through the years, from all different stages/phases of their marriage, and I have been married for nearly 18 years now myself. During this time I have been witness to, and participant in, many of the problems that make marriage difficult, and believe me it is difficult. It is wonderful, but it isn’t easy. When you marry you are agreeing to leave father and mother, deny self, put another first and join together in every way for the rest of your life. Your cell phone contract is only for two years and if it goes bad before then you can always buy your way out of the agreement. Not so with marriage. It is a lifetime commitment, period. That means you need to read the fine print, make sure you can pay the price and be willing to honor your commitment before entering in.
Back to miscommunication. I love my wife as much as I know how to love her. (I say as much as I know how because I have learned how to better love her over the course of 18 years and I imagine if I am blessed with 18 more I will learn more). My love for her is not the issue, my ability to communicate with her, and her with me, is the source of many problems. How many of you have had an argument over something you swore you told your spouse, and they swore just as emphatically that you did not? I don’t know who, but somebody is right and somebody is wrong, yet miscommunication is the culprit. Or perhaps you did tell them, but they did not understand what you meant. Maybe you knew what you meant, made reference to it, and assumed that since they know you so well, they would know what you meant. Perhaps you just expect your partner to be able to read your mind or your body language or to just know you well enough that you shouldn’t have to tell them. Regardless of the details, miscommunication is the problem.
We often miscommunicate because we use the wrong tone of voice (if you are shouting you probably aren’t communicating, at least not what you want to be communicating). Have you ever heard the expression, “You can be right, but wrong at the top of your lungs”? If you’re shouting, stop, take five and try saying it a different way. Sometimes it is because we use the wrong words or the word we use is mistaken for a different meaning word (right, write, wright, rite; are, hour, our; buy, by, bye). If you mean one thing, but I think you are meaning something else, uh oh, trouble ahead. Often this is caused by assumptions. I assume you know what I mean/think/feel, so I take shortcuts on my communication and then get mad at you for misunderstanding or getting it wrong. Jade and I are known to say, “Say that a different way” when our conversation is getting us nowhere, except frustrated. How many times have you gotten frustrated because you told your spouse you were ready to go, only to have them linger for another 15 minutes? Perhaps you meant “I want to leave immediately”, whereas, they assumed you meant, “Let’s start making preparations to leave.”
Another cause for miscommunication is simply mood. If I am angry at a co-worker, I am much more likely to misinterpret what you say as a hostile attack or to send out hostility in my communication. The only remedy for this is to remember who it is that has upset you. Here’s a hint: it’s not the one you are being mean to in your living room. If you are looking for a fight, you will find it. Don’t assume every criticism is a personal attack. Don’t feel that a different point of view is an accusation. Remember, this person has pledged their undying love and commitment to you, chances are, better communication can help to heal your hurting marriage. I hope I made myself clear.