The Almost Vacation

      Jeannie and I went away for a couple of days and almost had a good time. I had to travel for business and we thought we could make a mini-vacation out of it. It turns out we almost did. There were a lot of other things that almost happened:
- we almost had a nice dinner together and a quiet, romantic evening. We ate at Cheeseburger Bobbies and drove around looking at the outside of houses instead.
- we almost had a relaxing time sitting by the pool and swimming. The business part of the trip had filled our minds to the point where relaxation was elusive.
- we almost stayed in a really nice, elegant downtown Atlanta hotel, but those were not included in the business travel options so we stayed at a nice enough Comfort Inn in Buford.
- we almost found a wonderful coffee shop, but the coffee tasted like it was brewed in a dirty gym sock, whereas Starbucks was one exit up the road.
- we almost had a cup of delicious Starbucks coffee, but we let the barista's lack of courtesy drive us away empty handed.
- we almost made out in the hotel elevator, but I carelessly squished Jeannie's arm and that was that.
- we almost went to the lake, but my meetings lasted well into the evening.
- we almost took a nap in the middle of the afternoon, but we had driving to do.
- we almost intimidated a truck driver who cut us off, but the horn in the Honda Civic just doesn't have that capability, sounding about as intimidating as a little girl's bicycle bell.
- we almost had a good glass of tea, but we settled for Sonic instead of waiting for Chik-fil-a.
       In contrast, we spent some wonderful time with our son and daughter-in-law. Although the events were not planned, we tried to ensure the intention of the time with the kids was fulfilled. The evening included a walk to Falls Park, dinner at Mellow Mushroom, ice-cream, and a stroll through beautiful downtown Greenville. There was no business to conduct or houses to look at, only time enjoying each other.
       The difference between the "almost" days and the evening in Greenville? Intention. We did not intentionally and purposefully plan our time together. We had conflicting goals that kept us from moving past "almost" to "there". Unfortunately, we do this all too frequently. We try to combine all of our little plans into one master plan. We are being more efficient, but we sacrifice effectiveness.  We think we can do everything at once, when the reality is that we almost do most of it. Instead, we need to be intentional and purposeful, and then carefully guard those purposes to keep distractions at bay. 

I'm With the Band

I have always wanted to be in a band, or rather, The Band. Our church is small and at this point our Worship Leader, Scott, does a solo act. He is an amazing musician and songwriter so it works out very well. I toyed with the idea of trying to let me join him. I actually threw some bait his way, but he didn’t bite. Like I said, Scott is a talented musician and songwriter, which means he can also recognize talent, or lack thereof, in others. He is a wise man.

            I have been in a band several times in the past. I decided in 3^rd grade I would play the trombone like my older brother. My Dad actually said I should learn the flute or the piccolo like my sister but anyone can see why that didn’t fly. As a third grader, I couldn’t understand how wise my father is. Now I understand it is a matter of boys instruments and girls instruments, it was a matter of physics. A trombone is a billion times heavier more than a flute. You cannot carry a trombone in your pocket, or ride a bike with a trombone. I tried both and have the scars to prove it.

            I was never good at playing the trombone. Even still, I kept it up through middle school. When I was in Eighth grade the Band Director drafted all of us to play in the high school marching band. Sweet! Now I had a sweet ill-fitting uniform and a big hat with a feather! I was on my way! After the second home game he asked me to not play anymore, just try to march in step. After the third game he asked me not to march anymore, I had to turn in my giant feathered hat.

            Fast-forward to 1997. I was invited to attend Officers Candidate School. This invitation was for 13 weeks of some of the most challenging days of my life up to that time. The point of OCS is to crush the life out of young college grads  mentally, physically and emotionally, since they would be doing things like flying bazillion dollar fighter jets. Since it was designed for 22 year olds and I was well past that, I was challenged and stretched in every way. In the first week I lost 20 pounds. That chick from Biggest Loser has nothing on those United States Marine Corps Drill Instructors (Hurrah!)

            Also during the first week, some guy came in and asked if anyone played an instrument, ever. We were to write down what we played and how long it had been since we last played. My card said “Trombone, 13 years”. When he got to my card he asked “Truman! What positions do you play a B-flat in?”

            “First and sixth” I said out loud, and mumbled “and any position where you don’t end your sentence in prepositions.”

            “No. First and seventh, but that is close enough. Your in the band.”

            What? How was I in the band? I didn’t even get the question right. There was no way I should be in the band.

            It turned out to be one of the best things that could have happened. The “Band” at OCS practiced during the bi-weekly parade practice and on Saturday mornings, and. It turns out that those were also the same times when our class, whom we left behind in the barracks, was at the mercy of our Drill Instructor,. So while we were literally drinking forbidden coffee and eating bootleg donuts, our classmates were “gettin’ a beatin’”.

            The Band Director quickly realized I couldn’t play anything beyond the Star Spangled Banner on the trombone and relegated me to the cymbals. I will lay aside modesty at this point and say that I was one of the best cymbal players to pass through OCS, ever. I played those cymbals with an intensity and vigor never seen before in those parts, for there were donuts and coffee to gain and beatings to avoid.

            The point of all this? I think it is pretty amazing how God works. I wont pretend that was coincidental or circumstantial. What I needed to make it through OCS was a break, and 2 decades earlier, that break was in the making. It makes me wonder about other things that have happened, how will those work out? Will I be able to look back and see another clear reason such as this one? I don’t know, but I am excited about the prospects. I do wish I had listened to my dad about the flute thing though, he is a wise man.

           

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28

Leaving Room for Grace

            My folks have a sign that says something like “When we got married, we had six theories about raising kids. Now we have six kids and no theories.” I don’t know if they really had six theories but I am told that the way my oldest brother was raised was much different that how I was raised as the baby of the family. I tend to think they refined their process with my older siblings and by the time they got to me I was pretty much the perfect child.

            I do know that raising my own children has certainly changed my perspective. I guess a better way to put it would be it has enlightened me to some things I could only know through experience. I shudder when I think about some of the things I put my parents through.

            For example, when I was 18 and just out of Boot Camp I decided I wanted to drive from Arizona to Florida, by myself. This was 1986 and for those old enough to remember, cell phones didn’t really come out until the late 90s. So off I went on my little trip without a thought in the world about what kind of horrors go through the mind of a parent when their kid decides to do something like this. I wont even bother with the story of how I told them I was engaged.

          Now I look back at how my parents raised me and I realize they were really doing the best they could with what they had. The more I know and understand what I didn’t (or couldn’t know) when I was growing up, the more I realize how hard they tried. I think all parents arepretty much in the same boat. We can read books, listen to CDs, watch Nineteen and Counting, and subscribe to Focus on the Family magazine, but really we are just trying our best to live by a set of principles and teach our kids to do the same, with the operative word there being “trying”.  And when we come up short, even with our most valiant efforts, there is grace to fill in the gaps. We need it, our parents need it, and our children need it. Grace is the peanut butter that keeps the bananas from falling off the bread.