Child Rearing

Yes, you read correctly. I am going to commit the ultimate single man's offense. I'm going to give parenting advice. So I was driving down the road and I heard a one of those fix-your-kids parenting tips on Christian radio. The expert on all things childly said that instead of saying, "Johnny, don't do that or I'll..." you should say, "Johnny, if you choose to do this, then you will have to accept ____ punishment." This way the child learns important decision-making skills that will serve him later in life. I thought to myself, "I guess that makes sense" and kept driving.
Fast forward three days. Once again I was riding in the car, and my mind wandered back to what I had heard. And I realized that it was misguided. The psychologist's suggested language changes the child's reason for obedience, and it isn't a good change. In the first situation, the child must do what I say, because I am mom and I said so. In the second situation, the child is expected to decide that the punishment is not worth the temporary pleasure of disobedience. The parent surrenders most of his or her authority.
What happens five years down the road? Rather than respecting his teacher because of her authority, he decides that the attention he gets from lipping off far exceeds the punishment of getting sent to the principle's office.
Ten years down the road? Rather than driving the speed limit because that is the law and laws are meant to be obeyed, the new and inexperienced driver decides that he has $150 in the bank in case he gets a speeding ticket, so who cares?
Twenty years down the road? "Dr. Drake is such a jerk. He kicked me out of the class just because I copied Samantha's answers on the quiz. It's just a stupid quiz; It's barely even worth anything!"
Twenty five years down the road? What else is worth the fine? Drunk driving? Corporate theft? Adultery? Something worse? I am reminded of what Randy Moss said after he tried to run over a parking attendant who made him mad. Somebody asked him what he thought of the fine and said that you don't even write a check for something like that; it's pocket change. He got kicked off of an NFL team because of his complete lack of respect for authority, and I think it surprised him enough that he finally learned something. Too bad nobody instilled it in him sooner.

More Fantastic Critters

First we stop by the Bear Cage, where mama bear is laughing at how stupid we look behind the plexiglass.
Papa looks ferocious.

Junior is having "one of those days."

Next lets go to AFRICA!

Count the Zebras.

Nearby are the camels. They are clustered together like Minnesotans at a January potluck.

We meet up with the chimps. The white one is chilling in front of the grafitti.

while the black one strikes a more dignified pose.

Next, a salute to our national carnivore of choice.

We asked him what he thought of President Obama's healthcare plan.

Enough politics. We say hello to the Timberwolf

And then a hairy terror from another part of the country: the wolverine.

*ahem* HAIRY TERROR! Somebody needs to inform these guys that they are supposed to be terrifying.

Also sleeping was the red fox. WAS sleeping. And then I blasted him at point blank range with my flash on maximum power. The resulting picture was so bad that it really wasn't worth it.

Okay, now for a truly formidable creature, the Komodo Dragon (however that is spelled)

By contrast, the hedgehog gets my vote for "most satisfied-looking critter"

He must be dreaming about a cute little pincushion.

As we move towards the watery creatures, I take note of the fact that Canada geese have zero personal space.


I have no clue what this little turtle is, but he is HYPER! I had to chase him all over the front of the fish tank.

The seal. Yup.

THE OTTERS!!!

Oh, The Cuteness!

We took a trip to the zoo today. Here are some quick pictures; there are more to come. Praise God for all of His wonderful creatures!




And possibly the cutest creature God has made (too bad I couldn't get a good picture):

Old Age

I don't need to prove that our culture is obsessed with staying young and prolonging life. When I come back from Africa I can tell some stories that will shock you with the amount of contrast on that point, but I think we all know without being told that the obsession exists. What does the Bible have to say about this?
I was reading Deuteronomy 34. This is the chapter in which Moses finally dies at the age of 120. It says that Moses remained vigorous until the day of his death. He died because it was his time, not because his body failed. He was succeeded by Joshua, who was in his late 40s at least. It was at this point that he BEGAN his military career. He died at the age of 110. His companion Caleb, the same age, led the tribe of Judah in a resounding campaign in the promised land and apparently died at about the same age.
This was not a point in history where it was normal for people to live long. These men spent most of their lives in the desert. Their diet was far from meeting food pyramid specifications. They didn't have medicine, pacemakers, or wet wipes. And they sure as heck didn't "take it easy." How did they survive? I believe the answer is as straightforward as it is hard for Americans to swallow: God wanted them alive.
Look, when it comes right down to it, God is the one who makes sure that my heart will contract .98 seconds from now, and then do so again .98 seconds later. And that is why I am not super worried about my health or how long I live. I believe that we are to be good stewards of the body God gave us. I try to eat healthy and stay somewhat in shape. But I refuse to worry and obsess and waste kingdom resources in an effort to ward off the effects of sickness, aging, and a fallen world. Jesus told us to seek first the kingdom of God, and "all these things will be added to you." Based on the stories of Moses, Joshua, and Caleb, I think our health should be included in the "all these things."
As I have said before, God will provide the resources to accomplish His will. If we are doing His will, we are one of His resources. This doesn't mean we will necessarily live until 120 like Moses. I think it does guarantee that we are not going to die until we have either rejected His purposes for our life or fulfilled them. The next step is being okay with the concept that perhaps His purposes for my life will be fulfilled tomorrow.

Guess what I saw!

A B-17 Flying Fortress! It was so far away I couldn't tell. It was just a big 4-engine prop plane. But somebody nearby said something about a B-17 so I took a couple of pictures. A little digital zoom, and Viola! He was right. Apparently there was an airshow today not too far from here. I still feel really fortunate to have actually seen one of these birds in flight.

4th of July

My Dad and brother and I had fun this fourth of July.


Also, my cousin and brother and I were recruited to participate in the Kazoo band, a highly elite group of music savants who only make one public appearance all year- at the 4th of July parade in the booming metropolis of West Union, Minnesota. Some sneaky bystanders captured a short clip of our 2009 debute before our security confiscated their camera. My cousin and brother are the flag masters at the head of the procession. I am the second to last kazooist.

Chicago!

Praise God for a successful journey. I got about an hour of sleep total between Minneapolis and Chicago- not cool- and got there at about 5:55 AM. I got to the general neighborhood of the French Consulate within half an hour but had difficulty finding the correct building. This was partly because at that hour of the morning I felt conspicuous and I was doing my best to not look like an out-of-towner. This required walking fast, not stopping to look at signs, and acting like I knew what I was doing, none of which is any good for getting directions.
I needed a bathroom and somewhere to sit down, so I headed over to Millennium Park. Once I got a general feel for the lay of the land and put to rest my fear that the park would be swarming with homeless people, I ate a couple of granola bars, sat by the lake for a while, and then found a bench and did my Bible study. I wandered around the park some more, reading another book I had brought and taking in some of the touristy stuff there (like the giant "bean"). It was very relaxing time. 3 1/2 hours of it.
I got back to the French consulate with very little fanfare and, after one wrong turn, found the VISA place. I had been warned that I my appointment could be as much as an hour or two late. It was only about 5 minutes behind schedule, and the whole "interview," if it could be called that, was conducted through a bullet-proof teller desk in about 5 minutes.
So, now all we can do is wait and pray. They say I should get my VISA in the mail in about 2 weeks.
After that was done, I wandered back to the park and decided to walk along the pier. There are a TON of sailboats on the lake right there. I walked for probably 2 or 3 miles along the pier, traveling on foot to all of the places you would normally drive to. So now I can say that I have seen (from the outside) Soldier Field, the observatory, the aquarium, and the museum. I used the field glass by the observatory to watch a man raise the sails on his boat. After that I wandered past a huge fountain and through a beautiful flower garden, ending up back in the HUGE concert lawn on the north end of Millennium Park. I listened to some traditional Hispanic music, wandered past the rather creepy LED faces that spew water onto mimes and small children, and then meandered back to the bus (with a quick stop at Subway).
I sat with a group of girls on the bus back to Minneapolis and quickly found out that the three of them were all graduates from a school near my alma matter who decided to have a weekend reunion of sorts. So the four of us had a delightful trip back to the cities.

We went Flying!

Endurance

I post this more for myself than for anyone else. I think marathoners are often guilty of that. We end up doing things that are significant only to us and to God. But then we feel obliged to explain to the outside world what we are doing. So here is my best explanation:

I ran this marathon knowing full well that I might not finish- but not really believing it. I had already run nearly the entire distance on a training run with hardly any pain. I was in better shape by far than many people I know who have challenged the beast. This race humbled me. It stripped me of my self-assurance, it exhausted my competitiveness, it mocked my training, and it demolished my body. I was told that the 21 mile mark would be where I would realize that I will finish. On the contrary, as I pounded out mile 21 I realized for the first time that I might not.

The suffering of a marathon is something that you have to experience in order to understand. For me the only thing I could compare it to was Frodo dragging the ring through Mordor- and not in the movies. The movies could not do justice to the seemingly endless misery portrayed in the books. They didn't have enough time. And like Frodo, there was precious little I could do to speed up the suffering or make it go away. I had some control, yes, but whether I ran a 7:30 minute pace (which my body wasn't going to allow me to sustain very long) or an 11 minute pace, I was still going to be out in the blazing sun for at least another half an hour. All I could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other. Pumping my arms. Looking forward to a brief second of cool water running down my body at the next water stop somewhere up ahead. And praying that God would let me finish. Because I suppose I could have quit, but I had nowhere to go. I was seriously overheated. The medical tents were at the finish line and that was the only place I knew for sure I could get help if I needed it. And besides, I don't quit. I might be a pansy, but I'm an ornery one. I have never failed to finish a race and I wasn't about to give that up. And you know, God got me across that line this time too.

All of this is very well and good as a race story. But I am running a bigger marathon in my life right now. I prayed four years ago that God would not let me live a "normal" American life, and He has answered that prayer. I love the excitement. I love the challenge. I love the sense of purpose. I also acknowledge that I have signed up for a marathon, not a golf tournament. It's dirty. It's scary. It's lonely. Sometimes it is really frustrating, and I know that sometimes it is going to hurt so bad that I'm not sure I can finish. But, like in the marathon, stepping off the course is more dangerous than fighting through. I refuse to pray for an easy life. I WILL fulfill God's purpose for my life. And I won't do it on my own power. This marathon is going to run me dry and God is going to have to carry me through the wall. I WILL finish, by the power of Christ in me!

Family Camping

We had a great time at the 2009 family camping trip. I spent most of the time on the lake, either surviving disasters or manufacturing them. Saturday morning we did our best to sink a paddle boat. Afterward my cousin Ben and I went to war with my brother and my cousin Kristofor. I lost my first mate in our prolonged sea battle but also managed to feed Jason to the fishes when he attempted to board my vessel. Our craft proved superior and Kristofor was stranded in his sinking vessel among the breakers. I should have let him drift but I went to rescue him and we both ended up almost running into some boats on the shore. All in all, we considered the affair a successful creation of peril.

That afternoon the wind settled down so my dad and I went out in the sailboat. We were bored out of our skulls, it was so calm. After about 15 minutes, though, the wind started to pick up some and we finally had a respectable wake. We cruised down the lake with ever-increasing speed. The boat went up on its side a couple of times, adding that touch of danger that makes the sport fun. Then the wind really started to blow. Rather than holding the mainsail in for maximum speed, Dad started to bleed off air. Our definition of fun stops significantly short of putting the sail under the water! Still, we weren't all that concerned. We've been stupid enough to be out in worse weather. We turned around and started back home. By now the waves were producing white caps and the wind was really whipping. Dad was holding the mainsail almost full out and we were still blowing along at a ferocious clip and hanging over the side of the boat to keep it balanced during the gusts. I was completely soaked from the water blasts coming over the bow, and loving it. Then we attempted to go with the wind, a transition that can be rather tricky. As usual, the jib sail didn't want to switch sides. As I fought with it, dad got distracted for a second from what he was supposed to be doing with the tiller and the mainsail. A wave caught us wrong, or the wind caught us wrong, or both, and next thing I knew dad was overboard. I was left in the boat with both sails flapping wildly in the wind, the lines all tangled up, the tiller floating listlessly back and forth, and the waves hitting me broadside. I managed to grab the tiller and get my nose pointed into the wind. This maneuver is supposed to effectively stop the work of the sails. It didn't. The wind was too strong. It kept grabbing the sails and swinging the boat around again, broadside to the waves. I tried to haul in the mainsail line hand-over-fist, but that didn't help. I quickly saw that I was drifting away from dad much faster than he could swim, especially with a life jacket. So I turned the boat around (or rather, let it turn itself) and did my best to go with the wind. This allowed me to let go of the tiller for a couple of seconds and take down the sails. That done, all I could do was let the wind blow me into shore. I got tangled up in the lines and almost had trouble getting out as I careened for a metal dock, but I jumped out in time and dragged the boat to stop. I had bailed about half the water out of the boat when dad finally swam up. With the lines tangled all the way up the mast and no good beach to get them straightened out, sailing wasn't an attractive option. Plus, we were both now significantly scared of sailing in those conditions. So we each grabbed an end of the boat and started swimming. About 15 minutes later we came to a flat spot where we could set up a boat and we revisited the possibility of sailing home. However, the wind was blowing strongly in to the shore, which was lined with expensive boats. If we made any mistakes we would probably end up smashing into one of them. Also, I was getting really cold. I was not excited about getting out of the warm water to stand in the cold air while we untangled the mess on the mast. So, we just kept swimming. I told dad that my triathlon training had officially begun. Finally, after probably at least a third of a mile of swimming, we got back to the dock and were welcomed onto dry land once more.
That night we engaged in much more unexciting activities like Chinese checkers.
It was time to go to bed but instead we made ghetto s'mores over the stove because it was still too windy for a fire, and then a spontaneous worship service broke out. It was wonderful!