Faith, Hope, God, and Baileys

Christmas, it has been said, is a magical time of year. So, why do most of us don’t feel magical? We actually have to force ourselves to think good thoughts, be relaxed, let go of those things that stress us, and not—even for a moment, dwell on that dark, dark place in the back of our brain, where all pain is made free by the simple act of ending our life. Yep, for the happiest time of year, its also one of the darkest for millions.

‘Gee Mark, this is an uplifting blog,’ you start to say. ‘I could get the same great feeling by simply taking a ball peen hammer to the soles of my feet.’

Well, I think for a lot of people, they would prefer the hammer to the feet than the gut-wrenching pain of loneliness, fatigue, sadness, personal failure, abandonment, illness, poverty, or any and all combinations. What can one do to alleviate such hurt?

Buy a bike.

What?

Buy a bike. Isn’t that our answer? Look, when we have an issue, we, the collective we, do something about it. We medicate, exfoliate, generate, or terminate. Yeah, I know, I sound like an O.J. Simpson lawyer, but I couldn't pass it up, plus, it made my point. We go and throw a great big patch on it. We see each other and after the polite hug we ask the standard line—‘So how are you?’

We get the standard response—‘Fine, just fine.’

Bull.

We have internal bleeding and our organs are shutting down, our spouse left us for someone right out of bar tending school, our insurance lapsed, and the power company gave us until this Friday, Christmas Eve, to come up with $300 to bring us current or they will turn off our power. No, we’re ‘fine.’

I have spent hundreds of hours, buying bikes. And although it patched the open sucking chest wound for a short time, eventually, the patch came off and the existing wound is bigger and badder and usually its magnified and spread to other areas. There is no hope, no fix, and no remedy that lasts.

None.

Except, well, one.

You don’t have to read this. You can stop right here. ‘Crap, Mark, I know what you are going to say. You are going to start talking about faith and all that B.S. THAT is what got me here. I hate that—HATE IT!

Yeah, I think if we’ve been wounded by something, we would have a propensity to put it on our naughty list. But here’s the rub. It wasn’t your faith that beat you, it was others interpreting your faith that did. God can’t do those things we’ve accused him of. It is against his nature of being God. Man has been interpreting the words of God for centuries. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what it means,’ we’ve been told by our betters. And we assumed that God is so big, so—BIG that there is no way we could approach Him with our crap. He doesn’t want to hear it, just obey and be good or you’re going to Hell. Well, here’s a secret—no your not.

You see, here is the thing about God. Because He is God, he is perfect. Perfect love, perfect dependence, perfect forgiveness. All we have to do is accept that, believe that it was given to us as an individual, alone and separate from everyone else—no group rate, just for me. Accept that there is a God, that he took our place in line, took the terminal illness away from us so we can be in his presence (a perfect God can not be in the presence of imperfection so he makes us perfect) forever.

Wait just a minute, if he makes me perfect then why do I keep screwing up and feel guilty and blah, blah, blah? Ah, that’s the human influence, not God. You see, once you bite the bullet and dare to accept the gift he gives, life as you know it, will never be the same, although you might not feel it right away. That hairy mole on your ear will still be there, the cancer in your colon, will still be there, the spouse leaving you, yep, that too. Life might not get easier, it might actually seem to get harder. So why the hell would you want to sign up for such duty?

Good question.

Imagine, just imagine, the God of the whole friggin Universe, calling you His ‘child.’ What would that feel like? You see, our problems, our issues on this planet, without God’s intervention, would be sooooo much worse. You think its bad or even good now, imagine it without God.

It is the perfect medicine for a terminal disease. Once that decision is made, we now have the choice to screw up. Before, we were going to do it no matter what. Now, over time, we can choose not to do so. ‘Today, instead of having that affair with the receptionist, I choose not too. It’s not my power that did it, but Daddy’s.’

‘Tomorrow, I will not cheat on my taxes when I file. I’ll take the hit.’

‘I have the rent money, instead of betting on the ponies, I’ll pay the rent.’

‘I will love my spouse, even though I want them placed in a wood chipper one limb at a time.’

But when we decide to follow through and act out in our infection, God doesn’t flee or cast us off. He actually moves closer; His arm around us grows tighter. Holding us closer to him.

Every day, you might notice, is a battle, in one arena or another. We are in a gun fight and we keep getting shot at some level. At some level we disappoint even ourselves. God, never—EVER is disappointed in us. Ever. Even when we screw up with the receptionist while at the track right after we use a false name on our taxes. He knew we were going to do it, before the world began. And he stands right there with us while we do it. Thinking about that, the God of the Universe is standing with us while we commit the big sins, loving us through that, that is a game changer. Allow it to happen.

No man needs to interpret god for you. You don’t need anyone to have an on going out loud conversation with the God who made everything. You just need to start talking—in bed, in a closet, while you’re cooking dinner, while walking the aisles of Costco. He is standing there waiting for you to start. He isn’t pushy and can wait for you for, well, ever.

So, I guess whether this time of year is magical or not is really up to us. I have been in this dark box like I described. I know what it feels like. I can still taste it if I close my eyes. But the fact is, my faith is faulty. I will have good days and bad. I will be surrounded and have the absolute feeling of being all alone. The reality is, that Dad is sitting right next to me, right now, sharing my love for coffee and the dogs at my feet. He tells some of the funniest jokes and shares my love for Enya and Toby Keith. He runs next to this child of his while I try to ride without training wheels and catches me as I start to tip over. Yep, that’s my Dad. And all the crap I’ve done and will do until the day I die, He has taken away. He looks at my ‘naughty list’ and there is nothing there—nothing. The bill is paid in full.

Oh, and He loves egg nog with a splash of Baileys. Big smile Daddy gets!!

Crawl up in is lap today. Talk to Him. He LOVES to hear your voice.

Merry Christmas.

Men and their shopping RADAR

It is the last weekend before Christmas. If you are in this week and haven’t attacked the stores for bountiful Christmas booty, you’re in trouble. Now, here’s the thing, for men, we are in our element. Actually, we could wait a day or two and we would still be fine. You see, the trick to men is we don’t linger—ever.

The next time you’re out shopping, watch the two genders of the species. The woman will graze through the stores, touching every rounder, display, and in the process, almost without knowing it, will manage to avoid each and every Sale sign in the store. If it has one of those, it’s like a deflector shield over whatever it is advertising. ‘Why,’ the woman says, ‘would I want last month’s old stuff when right next to it is the new stuff?’ Sure, you can look at it that way, especially if you’re going to touch each and every garment or gadget in the store. There’s a sustainability issue here. There is only so much time before you need to rehydrate and take nourishment. You need to move if you are going to cover such ground. Maybe that’s why women last longer than a man when they’re stranded in the snow.

A human male is a quick-strike species, especially if you are a father and have kid duty. Watch these guys. They are the epitome of a shopper—rapid deployment, quick strike, no lingering, no prisoners. Fathers shopping are the most efficient shoppers. They move in and out of the stacks of merchandise, avoiding the high gloss mannequins and the glitz of the displays. They are locked in on the sales signs, usually with one child in the stroller, the older one in a backpack carrier, and one diaper in their hip pocket. They can Christmas shop for an entire family of four and their Aunt Millie in Burlington, Vermont in less than two hours. The key is they never stop—ever. If they do, the child in the stroller, who has been lulled into sleep by the gentle movement of the stroller, will wake up crying, then all is lost.

A man shopping, especially this time of year, is not someone you want to necessarily shop with. He moves quickly, head up, eyes focused, using his peripheral vision to take in data from the sides of his forward radar, analyzing anything that he might be missing. You see, he has no idea what to get. There is only a constant scrolling of ads and commercials he has seen on television in which he is using as a guide.

Now, the idea is not always in line with what the receiver really wants, but it’s not about that. His mission is all about conquering the task. He can say he shopped for Christmas with the kids. That alone, earns him a Bronze Star with an oak leaf cluster. The underlining knowledge is it can always be taken back. You see, men know something about women. Sure, not a lot and what we do know is ever right, but the one thing we do know is women have a gene that requires them to love-LOVE shopping, especially when its free. And a gift given that is wrong, is like getting free money or a gift card to a woman, which, by the way, is the perfect gift for any man. Remember the equation, gift card=perfection.

So ladies, if your man, husband, significant other, or dad hasn’t shopped yet, don’t worry. He has a plan. You see, the closer to Christmas he is before he starts shopping, the thinner the stock on the shelves gets. Those things left are now easier to see. It’s like when the Forest Service goes in and thins trees in a forest. All of a sudden, you can see! Items are now easier to spot. Why wouldn’t his woman want the melon-ball er that doubles as a tire pressure gauge? EVERYONE wants one of those! You just got to decide if you keep it in your kitchen or glove compartment of your Kia. Just kiss him on the cheek ladies and smile at the thought he put into it.

Besides, it will help with that cashmere sweater purchase you had your eyes on.

New Scientific Discovery! Well, sort of

Sleep is a magical time for me, especially this time of year when everyone gets all reflective and personal about their lives, where they’ve been and where they are going.

If you have a bad night’s sleep, your day is shot. Not only that, you make sure everyone else’s day is a piece of crap as well. “Geez, what a night,” you start in with, at the morning coffee stand.

“What happened?” some poor unsuspecting bastard says, not knowing he just walked into the perfect storm.

“Well, let me tell you….” The procession begins.

I have researched sleep, its components, nuances, flavors, and quirks. Over the years, I have been able to create perfection. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, perfection. I call the summation of my discoveries, the Perfect Sleeping Position or PSP.

When you’re young, you can sleep anywhere. Currently, my young son is sleeping in a country that doesn’t believe in shoes or owns a tree. But as you get older, sleep and the comfort of the sanctuary of the bed becomes paramount and if it was a god, temple lights would be lit to it.

It requires pillows—lots of them. Here’s the thing, when you sleep, your body collapses on itself. If you’re a belly sleeper, your body settles and actually bends backwards, hence the reason you wake up with a backache. A simple pillow under your stomach keeps this from happening. If you’re a side sleeper, your shoulders try to meet somewhere in the center of your chest. Through years of devoted research, I have perfected and eliminated these nocturnal issues!

Three pillows, piled one on top of the other, held in your arms as you lay on your side, keep your arms from collapsing. The fourth is under your head. The bottom of the three you are holding, is staggered down just far enough to rest between your legs, keeping your knees from hitting each other, but still providing volume to keep your shoulders properly distanced. If you’re short, two might work.

One of the great side benefits to this new program is the reduction of hourly trips to the bathroom, at least for men. You sleep right through it! You no longer wake up like an old cripple. Well, yeah, sure, you still do, but not so much like a ninety-year-old, maybe just a seventy year old.

Listen, most of you don’t care about this. I know that. Bed time for you is just the end of the day to get you ready for the next day, but for a few of us, a quiet few, bed time is just short of a religion. It has replaced the Holy of Holies since the curtain was torn and we approach it with beautiful trumpets blaring, announcing our arrival. We curl up with our cool pillows and our cool sheets, folding them back over the comforter ever so neatly, our own body heat bringing the temperature up to just the right comfort level while we peel back the pages of a good book until our eyes cross. Then, implementing the PSP, we roll over and tumble off into the Never Land of good dreams of flowers and pony rides.

Enjoy