Parking Lot Etiquette

The other day, I needed to make a quick stop at the grocery store for just one item. In the car with me were the twins and my dad, who was in town to spend some time with us and his new grandson. Wanting to get in and out quickly, I looked for a spot close to the door, and as I was driving down one aisle, I saw an open spot on the row directly next to us.

I sped up a little, careful to avoid parking lot pedestrians, and turned the corner with no other cars coming to take away my gem of a parking spot. However, as I got closer to the space, I noticed something that was hard to see from other vantage points. The large, black Suburban parked next to this space was across the parking lines, and was essentially taking up two spaces, thus rendering this space useless, except for maybe a motorcycle. Seeing as I left my Harley in my imagination, I had to move on.

As I slowly made my way further down the aisle, I noticed another spot just a few spaces away from the now-defunct Suburban-blocked space where I had originally intended to park. I began my left veer to make the wide right cut into the space only to discover that not one or two, but three grocery carts were left in the middle of the space by shoppers, leaving this space as equally un-useable as the other one.

Eventually, I found a space just short of a quarter-mile away from the entrance to the store. As I walked in from the lot, I noticed that the grocery carts that foiled my secondary plans to park were less than twenty feet away from one of the pre-arranged drop-off spots that the good people of Kroger put out there in order to avoid such a dastardly inconvenience as had occurred to me. Is it that difficult to walk the additional ten to twelve steps to put your cart away and therefore OUT of the way of other customers?

As far as the Suburban driver goes, there was plenty of room to back up and straighten out. If he or she didn’t notice that they were well over the line, then they shouldn’t be driving that thing to begin with. (By the way—this particular suburban didn’t have the distinguishing stickers on the back that clearly marks the same vehicle that a good friend of mine drives. You’re in the clear, J.)

The truth is, all of the people who were responsible for the improper placement of vehicles and carts probably didn’t even care that their actions were inconvenient and inconsiderate to others. In fact, there are many times when they simple things we observe demonstrate a growing lack of consideration for anyone else. DC Talk had a song a few years ago with a line that sums it up: “This disease of self runs through my blood, it’s a cancer fatal to my soul.”

Selfishness combined with a general sense of apathy is slowly taking over our culture. It seems like it’s not enough sometimes, but the best way to try to overcome that disaster is to go completely opposite in our actions. We should go out of our way, even the additional twenty feet, to make sure that what we do and say keep the feelings and circumstances of others in mind. Even if no person or being is around us at the moment of grocery cart deposit, someone will eventually be around. The other shoppers who need parking spaces and the attendants who have to collect the stray carts will appreciate our actions, even if they never know the identity of the ones who were thoughtful to their plight. Let’s double-check our parking spaces to make sure that we have used ONLY the one that is marked for us, and have left adequate room on either side for the mother shopping with her baby, who must open the door to remove the infant carrier from her back seat, or the elderly man who isn’t quite handicapped, but needs a bit of extra room so he can gain his balance upon exiting his vehicle.

If we continue to think of these “unknown” faces, and can encourage others to do the same, I think we can make just one of hundreds of small differences that will collectively make a huge impact on the world around us. Go ahead and do your shopping—but be warned, you never know who will notice your thoughtless actions and blog about them.

Guitar Journey

I love playing guitar. I’m not one of those guys who can sit for hours and hours every day and play and learn every famous lick and riff that has ever been on the radio, but mostly because I have other responsibilities, and the time in my life for that has passed.
However, it is still an activity that can bring about great relief and relaxation. (Especially if I had that PRS shown here...) If I am having a particularly stressful week, it’s nice to just be able to plug in my electric guitar, crank up the distortion and the volume, and go to town. Usually I play all 2 songs I know several times each. Then, I pretend that I know what I’m doing and try to make up some other stuff that entertains me. If you ever sat in on one of these little “personal jam sessions” then you probably wouldn’t be terribly impressed with my skills, and I’m okay with that.

The other day, I finally decided to sit down and learn the opening to a song I’ve liked since high school. It has always sounded so very impressive to me, and has fascinated me to no end. A few years ago on a clearance rack, I even discovered a guitar tablature book with this song in it, and bought it so I could learn this little part.

Finally, during my lunch break the other day, I pulled out the book and opened up the music. It looks really impressive on a page, because it’s a pattern of sweeping sixteenth notes that jump all over the neck of the guitar. I was immediately intimidated and started second-guessing myself. BUT, I can be stubborn at times, and I was determined to figure this out. After spending a few minutes kind of looking at what I was doing, I realized that it could be broken down and practiced a bit at a time. What it boils down to is a grand total of 2 measures of music, repeated 3 times. 32 notes in each run, for a grand total of 93 played notes. No, my math isn’t wrong—the final run varies and drops three of the notes.

After taking it nice and slow, I finally got my mind wrapped around where my fingers were supposed to land each time, and after only 15 minutes, I was able to move my hands to the right locations for every note. After a half-hour, I could play it from memory at half-speed. By no means is it as clean and pretty as on the CD, but I was happy with my progress, and look forward to getting better at it so as to not sound so lame the next time I go to Guitar Center and sample a floor model guitar.

One of the reasons I love guitar so much is that no matter how much I learn, there’s still more out there. Even if I were to become a Virtuoso at the thing, there would still be much to explore. I could practice and become so proficient as to be able to fill-in with a Jazz band, play a classical guitar concerto, or rock to loudest metal you’ve ever heard, but there would still be things I could learn to take my skill further and further.

Life as a Christian is similar, and obviously different. With a guitar, I feel like there’s no “Final Destination.” However, as a follower of Christ, I know where I’m going to be for eternity, and I am excited about that! The journey is what makes the two similar. I have been in church my whole life, and have been a believer for most of it. I guarantee there’s still SO much to learn; Not only intellectually, but in application, as well. Things I have heard since I was three may take on new meaning in my thirties. Lessons I learned when I was ten may not grab me until one day when I’m a grandfather. When I continue to open my heart to what God’s Word says, and stay willing to learn, I will go further and further in my understanding, which will unlock new mysteries and spark new interest in the things of God.

Like the versatile guitarist playing different styles of music, a Christian who continues growing and learning will find application in different areas of ministry, and will find new ways to put into practice the understanding and knowledge they have attained, and while listeners can be delighted at the sounds, God can be pleased with the music of our service to Him.

I’ll never be a Peter, Timothy, or Apostle Paul any more than I’ll be a Joe Satriani, Mark Tremonti, or Les Paul. But the truth is…I just need to be me. God will shape me into a unique instrument that makes music for His glory and to further His kingdom. Then, if by chance anyone should ever sit down and try to learn what I’ve done, my prayer is that they’ll simply be learning to let the Virtuoso Creator make His music through them as well.

Time Flies

In the past few months, I’ve been going through and interesting phase. I look in the mirror, and I see the same face I’ve seen for years. Of course, there have been some changes, but since I see myself every day, those differences come so gradually that it’s hard to pinpoint them as they’re happening. Probably because not all of those changes are physical, and will show up in a mirror!

I guess somewhere in the process of graduating college, getting a job, working full-time, getting married, having kids, and continuing to work, the time flew by fast enough, and I became a full-blown adult. According to law, I have passed most of the age-restrictions that are laid down in our country. (Accept for running for President, and that doesn’t matter as I’d never want that job!) The next ones I reach will be the ones that take me back to the discounted rates on coffee and meals!

My problem is that it’s been very hard for me to consider myself a “Grown up.” Maybe it’s because I work with teenagers and children. It could possibly be because I am younger than most of my staff colleagues. (But just barely!) I’ve thought about this, and I think the reason I struggle with it is because I have held the notion that “grown ups” have it figured out. All the adults I ever looked up to seemed to have a much stronger inkling of what was going on than I did. They always seemed to have an answer or have a system in place for getting them through tough times, and they certainly had more confidence in themselves than I felt.

When we are younger, we perceive things differently, and our memories are based on these perceptions. In college, I had the opportunity to visit a church we attended when I was still only four years old. In my mind, I remembered the sanctuary to be a very large, vast room with giant pews and huge windows. Sixteen years later, I discovered that the room was actually smaller than many church sanctuaries I had seen, and the pews were barely waist-high. The windows were still a pretty-good size, but not what I would consider “huge.” I remembered the room from a four-year-old perspective, where everything is larger. The room didn’t shrink, but as I grew, my perception changed, and made the room appear smaller than in my memories.

As a younger person, my perceptions of adults as were based on the fact that I didn’t always understand what was going on in the real world. I hadn’t the slightest awareness that small children running wild did cause unseen stress in the parents. It never occurred to me that my mentors may be just as confused about some issues as I was, and were just doing their best to help me stay on track.

Realizing that I’m now the one looking for the best encouragement to give the teenagers, and worrying about what church members will say about my children helps me to see things in an appropriate perspective. No, I don’t have it all together, but I certainly have numerous responsibilities. Each one of those represents individuals or groups who depend on me and trust me, and to earn that kind of trust, I must have done something right. I wish I could say that I was always very confident, but that’s not quite true. I do have faith that God will guide me, and will work to succeed even when I fail. If that brings about what others see as confidence, then it’s out of my hands. I hope to point people towards God, and as trite as that may sound, it’s the truth.

Bon Jovi’s song “Just Older,” says this: “Well, I look in the mirror, I don’t hate what I see, there’s a few more lines staring back at me…Like a favorite pair of torn blue jeans, this skin I’m in it’s alright with me, it’s not old…just older.”

Recognizing that I’m a “grown up” doesn’t mean I have to quit living young. I still ride all the roller coasters, and still play hard when we go to camp with the youth group. But, unlike myself even ten years ago, I understand more about my limits, and recognize the vastness of what I don’t know yet. There’s still a lot to learn, and as a “grown up,” I appreciate knowing that.

Through Smoke

I am a really big fan of the band Needtobreathe. If you don't know them, you should check them out. They've been around for awhile, and just keep getting better. That's my opinion, and I'm sticking with it! On their most recent album, they have a song called, "Through Smoke." The lyrics to this song sound to me like a cry from one who has a belief in God, and even when things in life get hazy through the smoke of confusion and doubt, they trust that God can find them anyway. (More artistic and poetic people might disagree, but we're all entitled to differing opinions!)

When I was a senior in high school, I worked as a cashier at Kmart. One evening, they moved me to the pharmacy to fill in for one of their usual pharmacy cashiers that was sick. I discovered just how little I knew about medicines and such! One particular story stands out in my memories of that day.

A lady that looked to be in her late 20's came back to the pharmacy department, and began to scan through and examine the different boxes containing all the gums, patches, and other systems designed to help people quit smoking. I very distinctly remember the look in her eyes as she turned to me after ten minutes of reading different packaging. She had a very real look of pleading, and almost desperation to her. She asked me if I knew which one would work the best or was most-recommended.

Admitting my ignorance, and trying to be understanding, I told her I'd ask the pharmacist. I stepped into his little area, and relayed the question. He stepped out and with almost a chuckle, told her that really they were all pretty much worthless and didn't do enough to really help. The best way to quit was just flat will power.

I felt horrible for this poor lady. Here she was, trying to quit an unhealthy habit, and looking to someone she thought she could trust for a little help, and probably even a little hope. Unfortunately, the phamacists was a bit cold and didn't seem to deliver on either of those. After he stepped away, she hesitantly picked one of the boxes and brought it over to my register. Attempting a smile, she said, "I guess I'll just try this one, and see what happens." She tried to sound positive, but even then, I could tell that she wasn't hopeful, no thanks to the pharmacists.

I rung her out, and wished her luck in quitting. It seemed like the right thing to do, and was a desperate attempt to show her some kindness after the "professional" was such a nay-sayer. After she walked away, I stepped back into the pharmacy booth to ask another question and discovered a horrifying event. While he was filling a prescription bottle, the pharmacist was actually smoking, and had a cigarette with almost an inch of ash hanging precariously from his lips. No wonder he didn't seem to offer much hope; he was a smoker himself! Unlike the lady who wanted to stop, this guy didn't seem to care, and obviously had no intention of quitting.

I learned two important lessons that night. The first was to never, EVER, have a prescription filled at this particular pharmacy. The second is that many times, people are desperately seeking help in finding freedom from the ensnaring patterns of sin in their lives. They look for answers, but only get more confused, filling their life with this smoke. When they have trouble making sense of all the solutions and just get further lost in the cloud, they ask for help. Unfortunately, many of the people who claim to be "professionals" in this matter are in no better position to help than the ones looking for freedom. They are in the same type of situation, but have justified being there so much that they become as smug and/or negative as that pharmacist!

We are all sinners, caught in the same net. There's no way of ignoring what scripture says of that. (Romans 3:23) But, God does forgive us in Christ (1 John 1:9), and helps us to throw off the sins that trap us. (Hebrews 12:1) Yes, Christians still make mistakes, but we know that we don't necessarily have to find our way out of the smoke. We just know that we can call on One who rises above the smoke and can find us, even when we can't see Him. We can be free from the permanent enslavement of sin and can experience forgiveness on a level unlike anything this world can offer.

If we know people who are looking for relief, we need to offer them an “introduction” to who we know. They will still have the choice to believe or deny what we share, but if we don’t try, they may never know. We never know which seed we plant will grow, but by trying, we are at least extending hope to those who have the look of desperation in their eyes. Who knows? We may have the privilege of watching them come to know The One who never loses sight of them through all of their smoke. What a breath of fresh air that will be!

Painted Days

We finally got around to doing some painting at our house. We moved in a few months ago, and I was convinced that with a few pictures and maybe some curtains and stuff, white walls were sufficient and looked nice. However, with a baby on the way, I agreed with my wife that a bit of paint in the nursery would help. After all, my other sons have posters of Batman, Transformers, and Pixar’s CARS all over the walls, so why shouldn’t the baby get some kind of decoration?

What started out as the baby’s room became a discussion about doing the family room as well. (I think I got suckered, but the jury is still out on that one.) Then, we decided that since we would have those two rooms, we might as well go ahead and connect them by painting the hallway in between them.

So, after two very long days of taping baseboards and ceilings--because I don’t trust my ability to stop exactly at the corner, and moving all kinds of furniture, and applying what ended up being a combination of 11 coats of paint to the walls, and then cleaning up all the rollers, brushes, and pans, and taking roughly 14 ibuprofen to deal with the “paint fume headache,” the job was done.

The first thing I thought about was how disappointing it was. NOT because it looked bad, but because of the exact opposite. It looked SO good that it made the remaining walls look pretty plain and institutional. I appreciate the new paint and really do like it a lot, but now I dread the standard that has been set in the house. (Disclaimer: I realize that anyone who now sees my house has their expectations lifted to way beyond what is currently real in our house. This is not my fault, and I can’t be held responsible if you don’t have the same tastes as my wife and me. Besides, we’re the ones who live there, not you.)

There are days in my life when I am incredibly productive at work, I am a prime candidate for the “Second-Best Father of All Time” with my kids, I make even the most hardened stranger smile with my warm greetings, and the days when I can do no wrong. Unfortunately, there are also days when I’d be lucky to pull off a mediocre rating on anything. The problem is when I compare the two days. The “okay” day only looks worse next to the really good day. Maybe I should stop the comparison…

No two days are alike. What happens on Monday cannot realistically be duplicated on Tuesday, because what happened on Saturday and Sunday affects Monday, and since you then must throw Monday in the mix that can change and sour or lighten you mood and distort your normal sleep routines causing a whole array of mental and synaptic irregularities, Tuesday simply cannot rationally be compared to or live up to the same standards and expectations Monday held. Therefore, one cannot logically use one day as a standard by which to measure the quality of another day. As the old saying goes, “It’s like comparing apples and Mack Trucks.”

The way I see it, each day is a gift anyway. I’m going to try and enjoy each day for what it is, and welcome the challenges that come my way as an opportunity to grow stronger and hopefully more wise. Yes, I drop that ball by 8:45 AM on many days, but I like to think of it as “dribbling.” Whatever your method to the madness, recognize that every morning is a new day, and while we all have different struggles, we have the choice to look for the blessings and lessons that God can give us through all circumstances, or we can pack it up and just sleep until tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll pull out your glasses!