Sunday Afternoon Naps

Our house is only one story...and it has a lot of tile. Those are two very important details when you have five children. For those of you who don’t yet get it, let me explain. Sound waves tend to bounce of hard surfaces more than they bounce of off soft surfaces. Get it now? If you are still struggling, perhaps science isn’t your thing. Maybe math is so I’ll try it this way. Noisy kids + tile floors + no upstairs to hide in = a very poor napping environment. 

As I write this I can hear a door repeatedly slamming in an experimental fashion, a baby laughing as another sibling tickles her, and somehow a scooter got into the house and is being ridden up and down the noise-amplifying tile. 

Fortunately the youngest of the five fell asleep in the car on the way home from church today so her nap was easy. We bought a car seat that reclines, pulled the car into the garage, covered her with a little Thomas the Tank Engine blanket and said good night. She slept blissfully for an hour untouched by the commotion in the house. 

With the baby asleep, Mom and Dad thought we could capitalize on the situation. Did I mention that we had a lot of tile? Did I mention that the tile actually extends down the hall and into our bedroom before carpet takes over? Did I mention the size of the gap under the door after we replaced the old carpet with tile? Remember the math problem from earlier? Now back to the story. 

So with the baby sleeping in the car and the big kids listening for her to wake up, we tried to catch a quick cat nap. Why we tried this on the day Justin got a new remote control car as a Christmas gift from his Sunday school teacher I’ll never know. Within minutes, the dog decided she was lonely and started barking so the kids would come out and play with her. At the same time the remote control car was zipping up and down the tile hallway outside our bedroom. Fortunately my wife and I were in good moods and were able to salt our frustration with a bit of a chuckle as we contemplated the futility of what we were trying to accomplish. With a good natured smile, I went out into the hall and politely asked the offending party to take the car outside and chase the lonely dog with it. He complied and immediately zoomed the car around the yard with the dog chasing it until it was right outside the sliding glass door of our bedroom and a happy tail was joyously thumping on the window. 

Somehow we managed to close our eyes for a few minutes before we heard the sound of a ten-year-old lugging a now awake and semi-happy one-year-old out of the car. Praying that they bigs would be able to keep the littles happy we tried to stay asleep. Predictably, it didn’t take long for the littlest little to latch on to the door knob of our bedroom, walk in, give us both a quick and amazingly silent-but-still-deadly look-over and leave. With the door wide open. 

“Party’s over,” was all I could say to the tired mommy next to me. “I don’t even know why I try this,” she replied back to me as we both rolled out of bed. No wonder we so longingly look forward to bedtime each night. At least then the house is quiet for up to an hour at a time. 

Getting Old

I like to consider myself a pretty friendly guy. I am always on the lookout for strangers who I think will talk to me, especially if I can spot something that we have in common. I’m not talking about someone who has the same shoes as me or someone who is wearing an In-N-Out t-shirt. I look for bigger connections that show more evidence of a lifestyle. When I see a mom or dad out with four or five kids, I have an instant conversation starter. If I suspect someone is a teacher, I’ll chat for a minute or two. (They are really easy to find if you know how to eavesdrop the right way.) When I see someone wearing a Biola University sweatshirt, I always say hi. That backfired today.

I know that for the past several years my hair has been...changing. In order to really notice it, you have to be either behind me or really tall, because the biggest change is taking place in the back. Okay, maybe there is a little gray around the edges, but you have to really study it to see it. I don’t think I have any wrinkles and my belly is still well above my belt, so I can’t imagine how this happened.

It all started as I wandered around Sea World with the family today. I had my five young kids with me and my charming trophy wife. We looked like the perfect picture of a youngish family who clearly had two dogs back at home and more than one bunk bed in the house. How anyone could have mistaken me for old is beyond me, but it happened.

I spotted her approaching about 50 yards ahead of me. As we got near, I could clearly see that her sweatshirt did indeed say Biola University in large block letters. I’m guessing she was a product of a public school who had reformed and chosen to attend a fine Christian university as a way of cleansing her soul from all that she had lived through as a child because the mistake she made could only be the result of a poor education early in life. As we drew near, I turned to her and asked, “Do you attend Biola?”

She replied with a smile and said, “Yes.” But she didn’t stop there. Perhaps she should have because the next words out of her mouth were words that she probably wished she could have sucked back in, kinda like when you ask the heavy woman about her due date. (Brian Regan fans are no doubt pondering pandas at the zoo right now.)

There are countless things she could have said after informing me that she was indeed a current Biola student. She could have said, “Oh, did you go there too?” or “Do you know someone there?” She could have even said, “Yes, because Jesus loves me and has a wonderful plan for my life.” Anything would have been better than what she said. Keep in mind that I am not that old. My oldest son is nine. That puts him nine years away from college. So why did she respond to my inquiry by saying, “Yes, do you have kids there too?”

Kids in college! Me? Do I really look old enough to have kids in college? Notice she didn’t say “a kid.” She said “kids.” As in more than one. Of course, I wisely turned the inner voice off and instead used the outer voice to say, “Oh, no. My wife and I went there about 14 or 15 years ago.”

Of course, I never even slowed down after that. The damage was done so I just kept on walking and hoped she wouldn’t turn around to catch a glimpse of my “changing” hair.

The Best Thanksgiving Ever!

Like most grandmothers, my mom enjoys spoiling her grandchildren. When it became apparent that all 16 of her grandchildren would be coming for Thanksgiving, she pulled out all the stops. To get things started, the pool was heated and a bounce house was rented. Then she ordered all kinds of crafts for the kids to do over the course of the weekend. She was intent on making this the best Thanksgiving ever for all of her grandkids and nothing could stop her - until she got a phone call.

The first call was from my sister. "Uhh, mom. I don't think we're going to make it. I have four sick kids at home" As a matter of fact, she had finally thrown in the towel after cleaning up the fourth bed that had been splattered with vomit. "But I think Kevan will still make it," she added reassuring Mom that her husband would represent the family.

As my wife and I were driving into town, we called ahead and let my mom know that my in-laws, who frequently join us for Thanksgiving, had also called in sick and would be sitting this one out. With the count now at 12 kids and 9 adults, it would still be a full house, but just not quite the same.

As it turned out, there was more than enough food to feed everyone for the entire weekend and a great meal was enjoyed by all who were there. The next morning, my sister's kids were feeling better, so they decided to come over and join the after party. As they were preparing to get in the car, my 5-year-old nephew, who missed the original dinner but was nonetheless excited about seeing his cousins, looked up at his mom and said, "This is the best Thanksgiving ever!" Not wanting to ruin his enthusiasm, she decided not to mention the fact that he had completely missed the entire day and was instead on his way over to Grandma and Grandpa's to eat leftover turkey.

Prior to joining us on Friday, my sister decided to call ahead and let us know that Kevan would be missing the planned guys day out since he was now stuck in bed with the flu. That's okay. We could still have fun without him.

The guys day out involved lunch on the beach that included raw fish and oysters. Me, being more of a connoisseur of fine ground beef than delicacies of the sea, tried to avoid the raw fish, but finally gave into the pressure against my better judgement. After a fine lunch with my dad and brothers, we returned to my parent's house just in time for me to start feeling queasy. By nightfall, I was sick and by midnight, I was rushing to the bathroom as two days worth of eating was working its way back up. By two o'clock that morning, my wife had joined me and we traded off the rest of night vomiting. We did stop the cycle on a few occasions as we cleaned up the vomit from our middle daughter and oldest son who didn't want to be left out. By morning, we were all exhausted. By the time we inventoried all the sickness, we found out that my mom had also joined the fun, followed by my niece.

A second niece added her name to the ranks on Saturday night as well as my dad who woke up Sunday morning feeling under the weather. Who knew that raw fish disease could spread so fast? Can't wait for next year.

PS: Just before leaving Mom and Dad's tonight, our 3-year-old threw up twice. Then he added six more to his total while we were in the car. The only good news about this is that the dog, who usually pukes in the car, held it all in!

PS 2: By the time the week ended, the final count stood at 20 kids and adults sickened by the bug. All but three threw up. Of those 17 who puked, the average number of heaves stood at 3. That means that there were approximately 51 sessions of vomiting that occurred as a result of one family weekend. If only there was a market for the stuff...

Rained Out

The smell of sizzling bacon early in the morning. Lazy afternoons spent sitting in a chair surrounded by tall trees as sunlight bleeds through the shadows to light up a good book. Campfires with marshmallows turning slowly above the flames. These are things I think of when I think of camping and that is why we decided several months back that we would spend the long Veterans Day weekend camping with my sister and her family and my wife's parents.

What we got, however, was slightly different. Friday night started things off with a gentle pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof of the trailer. I knew that rain was in the forecast, but the last report I had seen said showers in the late afternoon on Saturday. Nothing said rain Friday night. Soon the pitter-patter turned into a steady drumming and my mind raced to think of all the things I had left outside exposed to the rain. Not wanting to get wet, I decided that there was nothing that needed immediate retrieval and I eventually drifted back to sleep.

The next morning, the rain continued off and on. The kids played outside as much as they could, but there is only so much that can be done without creating a huge mess, so Plan B was put into motion. "Hey, kids!" I yelled. "Who wants to go play at the McDonald's playground?" Needless to say, the response was unanimous and we loaded five kids into our car while my sister and her husband took four. (No one really paid attention to whose kids were where as long as the numbers added up.) With all nine buckled up, we hit the road and invaded the unsuspecting McDonald's.

After returning to the campground several hours later, the rain began to come down much harder than before and the wind picked up. With the question of how to get a dry lunch answered, the topic inevitably shifted to dinner. No one really wanted to go out again and no one really wanted to spend hours cooped up in small trailers either with passels of young children clamoring at our feet. Since our house was only 40 minutes away, we suggested heading home for dinner and returning to the campground later in the evening once the rain died down.

The idea sounded great to the adults, but the kids took some convincing. "You can't go home in the middle of a camping trip," my oldest son complained.

"I know it is a little unorthodox, but it will be fun," I insisted. He eventually agreed, but only after he realized that using the word "unorthodox" in various sentences was actually the fun part.

Dinner was tremendous and the various catastrophes that fell upon our home during that time were all remedied before we left. This story isn't really about the catastrophes, but I will summarize them for your reading pleasure: 1) "Uhhh, Honey. Is the liquid laundry soap supposed to be spilled all over the floor of the laundry room?" 2) "Aaron, Elijah just spilled your dinner all over the floor!" 3) "Hey Aaron, do you have a plunger?" 4) "I think the leaky roof just got worse. Get me a bucket!"

During the course of dinner, the storm passed and by the time we returned to the campground a full moon was breaking through the clouds. With the kids in bed, the adults gathered around the campfire to enjoy what camping is all about.

Growing Pains

When we first bought our house almost nine years ago, it was perfect for our little family. There was an extra bedroom and closets galore. I even remember commenting to my wife as we were unpacking, "I don't think we will ever be able to fill all these closets. Look at all the extra space!" I was young. I was naive. I was a father to one 11 month old baby boy.

Something happened over the last nine years that changed things. I don't think it was the birth of our daughter. It wasn't the birth of a second daughter either. Maybe it was when the fourth kid came along. Or possibly even the fifth. I'm not exactly sure, but at some point things changed. The closets filled up. Extra cabinets appeared in the garage. They filled up too. A shed popped up out back. It filled up with bicycles of every shape, size, and gender. The attic that was once home to noting but Christmas decor now contains 20 boxes of neatly labeled children's clothing.

While we have managed to keep up with the demands for space and have even updated the interior of the house somewhat, the outside has done nothing but deteriorate. Over the past several years, the lawn has been behaving much like my hair. At first it was only a little thin in spots, but then somewhere between baby 2 and 4, it surpassed my own hairline and completely disappeared. I went out back to look for it a few times, but only found dirt.

And this dirt was not very well behaved. It liked to crawl off the former lawn space and get comfortable on the patio. The flower bed that once boasted of vibrant hydrangeas somehow turned into a dog bed and a series of moats and canals for kids' buckets, cars, and boats. This dirt joined the other dirt on the patio and a never-ending cycle of moving dirt became the norm.

A few months ago I got tired of it. On a sleepless night, I devised a plan to section off the yard into thirds. One third would be for the kids and dogs, one third for the beautiful lawn and flowers, and one third for the trailer and other things that Daddy wanted outside where kids and dogs wouldn't get them.

Last weekend, the biggest part of Operation Normal Yard was completed. Thanks to the help of some friends, (one with a tractor and one with some sweat) a brand new lawn was laid down.

When we first moved in nine years ago, I took the lawn for granted. I assumed that it would always be there. Now, having experienced its death and renewal I have a new appreciation for grass. I have invested money, hard work, and time and now I have a plan for watering, fertilizing, and even over-seeding it each year. I keep the kids and dogs off of my lawn and will use nearly lethal force if necessary to protect my lawn.

My dad used to say that his lawn was more valuable than his kids and I think he was on to something. His yard was always green and all five of his kids turned out great. There must be a connection.

Sin

Does sin still exist today? As a father, I am faced with this question on a daily basis. Do my kids sin? Do they at times push me to the point of sinning myself? Anyone who has ever been given the title of parent knows that we cannot raise kids who never disappoint us. In their own unique ways our kids will defy us, lie to us, treat their siblings unkindly, and, at times find unimaginable ways to drive us crazy.

So what are we to do with this misbehavior? Do we excuse it or correct it? If we excuse it, then there is no sin, no measure of right and wrong. If we correct it, we must believe in a standard of right and wrong that transcends culture.

In our post-modern world, the answer to the question of sin largely depends on your perspective. In order to more efficiently hash out my thoughts, I will have to make some assumptions. First of all I will assume there are three camps on this issue: Yes, No, and Sort Of. Before you shout out a definitive answer, pause to consider the ramifications of your beliefs.

If you are in the Yes camp then I can safely assume that you believe in an absolute moral truth that sets a standard of right and wrong. Those of you in the No camp subscribe to the theory that right and wrong are a construct of each individual person. The mixed group, the Sort Of camp, holds a mixed view that some acts are sinful, but others fall into a gray area. Let’s start by exploring each of these views.

Belief in an absolute moral standard of right and wrong demands that there must be a universal benchmark to gauge the “rightness” or “wrongness” of behavior. Again, for the sake of simplicity, I am going to assume the most commonly accepted benchmark is the Bible. If you find yourself balking at that statement, then perhaps you don’t fall into the Yes category. Only a true Christian can advocate this position since you cannot claim to believe the Bible is the ultimate standard of right and wrong without embracing it in its entirety. To choose only parts to believe necessitates falling into the Sort Of category.

To those for whom sin does not exist, the ramifications are very open ended. If there is no standard of right and wrong, then what I view as right is always right for me and what I view as wrong is always wrong for me. Someone else may have a different standard of right and wrong and that is their prerogative. Carried to the logical conclusion, chaos must reign and anger must abound. Under this premise, laws cannot be enforced and other acts such as lying, cheating, and infidelity cannot be viewed as wrong.

If you hold to a Sort Of position, you may agree that there is some degree of absolute morality but not all acts fall under its rule. The question that must be asked here is what defines your morality? Is morality defined by law? Can morality change? Is someone sinning if they don’t agree with your views of right and wrong? If someone is sinning when they don’t play by your rules, then you must believe in sin, but absent an absolute standard, your definition of sin has no grip and you then fall back into the mixed group and the cycle continues.

The Bible is very clear on the answer to this question. Romans 3:23 says “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” If even a small part of you believes that God might be the creator and controller of all things, then you must wrestle with this topic. If God exists, then sin exists and we all fall in the sinner category. Fortunately that is not the end of the story.

Eavsdropping

One of the great joys of eating dinner is a small restaurant is the ability one has to unintentionally eavesdrop on the conversations of others. I make it a point to keep my conversations private in such settings by talking only loud enough for my voice to carry across the table.

My wife and I have a lot in common when it comes to being in the vicinity of loud talkers. When someone starts talking too loudly, we both stop talking. Rather than compete with the noise, we listen. Once the loud conversation ends, we immediately resume ours, however the topic inevitably shifts to what we have just heard.

Last night, in a quiet restaurant, a conversation began between two strangers at different tables. Both were alone, waiting for “to go” orders, so they had some time to kill. There was a younger man at one table and a middle aged man at the other. The middle aged man had clearly lived a hard life. This fact was made apparent by both his words and his appearance. The younger man, was vibrant and full of energy, just dying to talk to anyone who would listen.

After a brief exchange about the older man’s tattoos and their meaning, the conversation shifted to employment. The older man revealed that he had spent some time in the Navy and reminisced about his world travels. The young man responded by saying, that he worked as an intern at a local church and spent much of his time with junior high aged students.

My ears perked up upon hearing this. Visions of an enthusiastic young pastoral intern flashed into my mind. I assumed that in the next few minutes I would hear the beginnings of a sermon and an awkward exchange between the two strangers. The older man responded to the announcement of the younger man’s occupation with a very long silence. It seemed that the conversation was over, but the old guy surprised me when he picked it right back up after a minute or so.

Rather than pursue the religious angle, he went back to his Navy stories. The two men continued talking until their orders were ready. As they prepared to leave, the young pastoral intern got up and shook the older man’s hand. They exchanged names and went on their ways.

With them gone, my wife and I resumed our conversation. “Compare his form of evangelism to the other church,” I said. “Which do you think is more effective?” The other church to which I refer has gained regional, if not national, attention for its recent lawsuit against the state police. The lawsuit alleges that the police violated the first amendment rights of three church members who were arrested for reading the Bible in public. What the lawsuit doesn’t mention is the fact that the men had previously been told that if they wanted to preach to a captive audience on state property, they must first obtain a permit. The men refused and came back again to preach without going through the proper channels. The lawsuit, and the church lawyers, also failed to mention that another group had recently successfully obtained a permit to preach at the same site, never once violating the law.

This particular church is somewhat notorious for its loud in-your-face style of evangelism which comes across as offensive to most who hear it. The young intern, however, left an impression as well by simply revealing that he was a Christian in a very non-offensive manner and then listening to a man as he relived some of the highlights of his life in the Navy.

Someday, the middle aged ex-sailor may begin to see Christianity as a desirable option because of this encounter with the intern. He may also learn to see Christianity as a frightening option if he reads the newspaper and hears about the arrogant church who feels the need to ignore the law and shove the Bible down the throats of anyone within earshot. Both churches preach the Gospel, but only one of them reaches the lost.

* For a very thoughtful analysis of the church situation mentioned in the post, please see http://mayheincrease.com/2011/05/thoughts-on-the-arrest-of-calvary-chapel-hemet-pastors/?doing_wp_cron