Andy's Blog

50 & Loving It

2010-11-23T13:36:00.003-05:00

Last month my odometer turned over -- I turned 50. Age or numbers have never bothered me. Unless I plan to live beyond 100, I've been "middle-aged" for some time now. The indignities of physical aging are certainly not new. And there are many much younger than I who don't have my zest for life or fun-loving spirit (translation: I still act like a kid!). But I have to admit there was part of me dreading this birthday.

Now that I've had a month to try it out, being 50 ain't so bad. The sky hasn't fallen in or my hair hasn't fallen out. I've been a grandpa for 16 months, so the good-natured jabs about being an "old man" don't really faze me either. Yes, I'm slower and fatter, but I've still got a few years before my expiration date. Here's what is great about being 50: I know who I am!

How many milestones do we wander through searching for some sense of identity? I sort of expected a new version of me as a 50-something. But not this time. I'm still me. Once you reach 50 you're as grown up as you'll ever be. I've got more to learn, of course, and I hope I never stop changing. In fact, I'm probably more aware now that I haven't "arrived" than I've been my whole life.

That self-awareness -- or is it wisdom -- is strangely satisfying. No need to try to impress anyone or pretend to be something I'm not. No illusions of grandeur or angst over what's undone. In the words of that great philosopher, Popeye, "I am what I am."

I'm actually feeling a new zest now that I've realized 50 isn't fatal. I'm going to keep going for it, finding new adventures, tackling bigger challenges, appreciating what matters and ignoring what doesn't. God loves me. And so do my wife and girls. That's enough.

I'm not exactly sure when I'll start pulling my pants up higher or driving with the left turn signal on. If you happen to notice before I do, don't bother telling me. I know who I am... and whose I am.

Jump

2010-10-24T20:20:00.004-04:00

I've always wanted to jump out of an airplane... so I did! Last week ten of us, along with some witnesses & well-wishers, drove to Middletown to conquer our fears. My wife chose not to go and was hoping I'd choose the same. Not a chance.

You see, I have always believed my next experience might very well be the best experience of my life. Why not go for it? Skydiving has always intrigued me. What would it feel like to free fall at 120 mph? Would I freeze at the moment I was supposed to jump? With my 50th birthday just around the corner, I figured I had nothing to lose.

It wasn't anything like I expected. I chose to jump tandem, which meant I had an experienced skydiver strapped closer than I've ever let another man get to me. While I may have forgotten an important instruction -- "Rip cord... what rip cord?" -- I figured this fella had no interest in dying. I did ask if he had any enemies or was fighting with his girlfriend, but quickly determine he could be trusted.

From 2 miles up, we did a free fall for the first mile, then popped the shoot and drifted gently home. I expected that stomach-in-your-throat feeling you get when the elevator goes down too quickly. It wasn't like that it all. I had the sensation of flying. I never felt in danger because the ground was never that close. Eyes wide open, I took it all in with a great big smile on my face.

Like most things in my life, the anxious moments were the times leading up to the jump. As the plane kept gaining altitude, the doubts & fears rose too. Somehow looking around at the gang of lunatics jumping with me wasn't reassuring. The bravado just minutes before in the hanger below was replaced with quiet. As I leaned out of the open plane door, viewed the patchwork of farms below, and felt the cold, rushing wind, I could have easily worked myself into a panic. Instead, I jumped.

I learned a lot about myself that day. Mainly, I learned the worst part is usually waiting. That's when your doubts, fears and anxieties can get the best of you. So... jump. It just might be the ride of your life.

How Far Is Too Far

2010-09-09T17:30:00.005-04:00

By now I'm used to watching my kids move forward. I've been a parent for nearly 25 years. While everything in you longs to cling to them forever, you learn quickly that parenting is more about letting go. It starts with that first step. Then their first overnighter with grandma & grandpa. Their first ballgame. Some are real milestones, like the first day of kindergarden or middle school or high school. And what about sweat 16, that first date, a driver's license, or graduation?

It can be so doggone fun that you don't notice each of those steps inching them farther from your grasp. "She'll aways be my little girl," we say, but inside you worry that you might be lying to yourself. When you drop them off at college, the distance starts to get real and hole in your heart becomes more noticeable.

But they blossom and mature. You're too proud to step in their way now. They still come around, of course, when they're overwhelmed or defeated or broke. We put gas in their car, do their laundry, wipe a few tears, and send them off again. If parents were smart, they'd latch onto them again at these low points. But we're not that smart. We love them to much NOT to insist they be all they can be.

I already knew all that, even though the emotions still catch me from time to time. Instead of grieving when Kristin, our oldest, moved to Charleston, SC two years ago, we took it in stride and thought of every excuse we could to visit. She seemed to like showing us around her new town. If this is what it means to let go, I thought, I can do it. My parental separation anxiety must be over.

This afternoon we put Kristin on a plane headed to Abu Dhabi, UAE. Her adventurous spirit has led her to a teaching position on the other side of the world. Although it's impossible for me to admit, she's not a kid anymore. She's more than ready. (Whether or not the Arabic culture is ready for her remains to be seen!) And as far as I know, the rules haven't changed: She moves forward. I let her go. But I can't help wondering: How far is too far?

Unless she marries a sheik and settles for life in the desert as wife #6, she'll be back in a year or two. And with Skype, I'll get to see her more often than I did when she was in Charleston. It's a tremendous opportunity for her -- the chance of a lifetime. Why wouldn't I be proud & excited?

So, I'm letting go... again. Not because I like it, but because that's what parents do. And even though I've been doing this for 25 years, it hurts like I've never let go before. The difference is, I know it will get better. We'll adjust. She'll flourish. Our family will go forward.

This is a very big world, so there's no telling where my girls might choose to explore next. But no matter how far they wander, I'll keep letting go because wherever they are... they'll always be my little girls.

Down The Aisle

2010-08-16T10:26:00.003-04:00

In my 29 years of ministry I've officiated a lot of weddings. I stopped counting at 100 several years ago. There's very little about weddings that catch me by surprise. But the wedding on August 1st was completely different. This time I got to walk down the aisle. On my arm was a beautiful, radiant girl that had grown and matured right before my eyes. Your perspective on a wedding changes when you're the father of the bride.

Lindsey was glowing. Nolan, my new son-in-law, is a terrific guy. He was smiling ear to ear during our long, slow stroll toward him. I'll admit, there were a few times I'd thought about making a mad dash. The best years of my life have been spent surrounded by a family of four lovely girls. Why would I give that up? If I could have dragged Lindsey back to those years when she was an adorable 4-year-old, I may have done it. But I couldn't. And there was no denying the love Lindsey and Nolan now share.

So I walked down that aisle, fully aware nobody was looking at me. My girls have had a challenging life in the spotlight created by my job. It wasn't always fun or fair for them. For once, this was all about Lindsey -- her moment -- and she couldn't have been more prepared. She looked lovely, and all those gathered knew there was an even more remarkable depth and beauty on the inside.

Everyone expected I would be a mess. When it comes to my girls, I'm a real softy. So they were taking bets on how quickly I'd lose it. To even my surprise, I wasn't emotional at all walking that aisle. In fact, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.

Seconds before we rounded the corner, I told Lindsey how proud I was to be her dad and asked if she was ready. She didn't have to say anything. No doubts. No fear. Just a big, "I can't wait!" I could see in her eyes this was exactly what she'd been dreaming and praying and planning and waiting for. Not just a fairytale ceremony, but a partner worth sharing her life with.

I suppose I could be sad about being "replaced," but I have a suspicion there will always be room in Lindsey's heart for her dad. All I know is it felt good -- no GREAT -- sharing her joy. I was thrilled and honored to give her away.

And now... the adventure begins.

Living in the Shadow

2010-07-18T22:02:00.004-04:00

On Friday morning, July 9, I got the phone call nobody wants. My dad had collapsed at home and was being rushed to the hospital. He wasn't responding. Hurry. He died before I could get there.

This past week has been a blur. I've felt a strange mixture of gratitude and void. While my dad seemed much healthier than the average 81-year-old, the effects of Alzheimer's had been taking more and more of him away from us over the past 4 years. Though his death had been sudden, my grieving started years ago. Anxiety about what might come next was replaced by the relief that he had gone quickly & painlessly. Yet, that calm assurance does little to fill the piercing sense of finality.

I'm still sorting through my feelings and learning to go forward from this point. I've been touched by the outpouring of love and amazed by how many others have had similar experiences. I still wish everyone could have known my dad like I did.

Seventeen years ago I wrote the article below in the church paper introducing my dad. He was preaching for me while I was on vacation and I wanted them to know more about him. I'd forgotten all about the article, but dad had saved it. Just 2 months ago, mom and dad ran across it, and we read it together again. Life was very different in 1993, but these words and my feelings haven't changed.

While I'm bound to discover new emotions as I continue to grieve, I have no regrets because my dad knew how I felt. Now you do too.

"All of my life it seemed like everyone knew my dad. With a father who started churches throughout the south and brothers ministering in Tennessee and Japan, he's always had a rich heritage in the church. His lifelong dedication to Cincinnati Bible College & Seminary (now Cincinnati Christian University) has created friends and acquaintances around the world. I can't remember any vacation we took, no matter how far we got from home, when dad didn't meet somebody he knew.

"Growing up a preacher's kid didn't ruin me (maybe a few dents!). I couldn't tell you a word from any of his sermons, although all three of us boys dutifully lined the pew each Sunday. I can recall clear images of him standing in the pulpit of that old, country church or surrounded by walls of books while he studied late at the desk in our basement. He was always prepared. Gentle. Reliable.

"There was a time I feared I'd never escape his shadow. After fathering three boys, he figured someone had to carry his name. Guess who got it? Andrew EARL. At church, everyone told me I'd be a fine preacher... just like my dad. At school they called me 'Reverend,' even though the clash with my lifestyle was obvious and intentional. I'm still not sure why, but I even attended 'his' college. Always in the shadows, yet I was determined to make a name for myself.

"You see, his style wasn't flashy enough for me. Why couldn't he be more aggressive? I was to be a leader. A world-changer. No question about it, I had it all figured out. Through it all, dad was gentle and reliable, helping me to prepare.

"Well, now I'm the father and preacher. I know the shadow is gone because I feel the heat of responsibility and pressure. Even though I might long for his protection again, it's my job now. So what kind of man will I be? What image do I want my girls to recall? More and more I've been thinking -- gentle, reliable, always prepared. Other heroes have come and gone, but dad's mark will never be lost.

"I realize now the shadow I felt growing up was actually the shade he provided from the scorching heat. He watched over me with the same gentleness he used in all of life. He believed in me. Where other kids are forgotten or scorned, I was loved. Some are left searching, but I always had instruction. With extreme patience he turned my insecurities into faith. I could count on dad.

"There will never be any monuments erected to Earl Sims. That's OK. Quiet satisfaction of a job well done would please him more anyway. But if I could just live in his shadow -- develop that servant's heart -- my life would be a legacy of his love."

Traffic

2010-06-01T15:44:00.004-04:00

Our daughter flew in from Charleston, South Carolina for the holiday weekend. Both Mindy and I were excited about having all our girls home, so the idea of driving to the Dayton airport to meet her 11:30pm arrival didn't bother us at all. Who would have imagined we'd spend 45 extra minutes waiting in traffic?

There wasn't an accident, just 3 narrowed lanes through construction on I-75 between Cincinnati and Dayton. It was the kind of slow-down you'd expect during the ride home from work. Bumper to bumper. Nothing but taillights as far as you could see. But this was after 11pm -- on a school night. Where were all of these people going? Did their mothers know they were out so late?

A combination of impatience and eagerness put me on edge, but there was nothing I could do... except sulk. Why were all these cars & trucks getting in MY way? This is MY road. Maybe if I inched closer to the car in front of me....

We eventually got to the airport by midnight. It was a late night, but we quickly forgot about the hassle once we hugged Kristin and our other girls started arriving. The weekend was a blast.

Last night, after dropping Kristin off at the same airport, it occurred to me. There are some important moments in life and then there are the ordinary, everyday occurrences. Both are required, but only one matters. The big mistake I make is confusing the two or letting those everyday occurrences distract me from what's important. Traffic happens.

Lots of us get stuck in traffic. We're headed so many places and doing so many things, but we're getting nowhere. We're focused on the clutter in our life rather than those people or events that really matter. We curse the other drivers who get in our way rather than let those moments pass, knowing there are bigger things to concentrate on.

The past few weeks my schedule has been packed full of meetings and deadlines. Important stuff, I suppose. I want to do my job well. I think what I'm doing helps people and honors God. But sometimes, even that becomes "traffic."

Sometimes I'm surprised at what the really good stuff -- the stuff that matters most -- ends up being. It's going to the Red's game with your 81-year-old dad. It's watching your daughter light up as she talks about her upcoming wedding. It's Skyline time with your girls. It's sitting around a fire, listening to your kids tell stories about the good, old days. It's watching your granddaughter giggle on her first swing. It's the whole family napping on the floor after a big feast. It's taking a snapshot with the entire family. It's seeing a tear in Mindy's eye when the house is empty again, but still feeling full and content. It's a great weekend together with the people you love the most.

I guess I'm back in traffic again. But it feels good to know I'm not alone and I'm headed somewhere.

46,271

2010-05-19T10:02:00.007-04:00

Well... I made it. After months of training and despite a constant rain, I completed Cincinnati's Flying Pig Marathon -- 26.2 miles in 6 hours, 11 minutes and 32 seconds. That's a long time and about 4 hours behind the winning pace... but I was walking. My goal was to finish before everyone went home. A 15-minute mile pace seemed reasonable for a novice. So, I was surprised (& thrilled) to average a 14:11 mile. That's a pretty brisk pace, but my placing (3903) proved this race was a lot bigger than me. There were hundreds, including my old college roommate, behind me, yet having little, old ladies pass me was a gentle reminder not to get too full of myself.

I felt strong throughout the race. The rain was a little unnerving, but once I realized "soaked" is as wet as you can get, it quit being an issue. The major-league blisters I got on both heals from wet feet made the last 5 miles (& the next day or two) pretty miserable. But, hey, what's the big deal about a few battle scars -- I'm a marathoner!

That being said, I'm never going to do this again. I was in it for the experience, which was exciting, fun and humbling. I'd planned for the physical challenge, but the mental part was much tougher. Now that it's over (& I promise I won't keep babbling about it), here's what I've learned:

Everybody has limits... they just aren't where you think they are. I really didn't think I could do this. We all make excuses because we don't want to fail. What's the big deal? Failure isn't fatal. Because I took the risk and pushed my limits, I discovered I'm capable of doing some pretty big things.
I need a finish line. The training required huge blocks of time (which I'm glad to have back), and the only reason I was willing to commit that effort was the dream of crossing that finish line. That's all I thought about for 4 months. Winning is a huge motivator for me. Now, I need to figure out where the "finish lines" are in other areas of my life.
Trust your training. I had a training plan that I followed. At times, I wondered how I'd ever get to where I needed to be in time for the race. But someone more experienced than me had already been there. By race day, I was confident and prepared. I need to look for people who've "been there" whenever I face challenges and not be too proud to lean into them.
Protect your feet. The best purchase I made was a great pair of shoes. Your feet take a pounding when you're walking long distances. I wish they had been waterproof. There's a lesson in there about having a good foundation if you think about it.
You can never get too much encouragement. There were strangers lining the course cheering for me all the way. My favorites were the old nuns with walkers & wheelchairs in front of the retirement home -- wearing pig noses! My wife and daughter (Team Sims) met me several places along the course & at the finish line. They were always beaming with pride, taking pictures and telling me how good I looked (liars!). Parkside's water station (mile 21) was the best. Familiar faces. A few surprised looks (that's Andy!). Lots of love. At one point, it occurred to me that the thousands of well-wishers along the course had been in the rain for hours also. What if I was that dedicated to encouragement every day?

Marathons are never finished in one, giant leap. It took me 46,271 steps to complete those 26.2 miles (yes, my ipod counted). I tried not to think about how many more were ahead or how much the last one hurt. One step at a time. It still amazes me how many steps I took from start to finish. No question about it -- the hardest was (and always is) the first step.

400 Miles

2010-04-29T19:08:00.002-04:00

This past week I've gotten lots of encouragement from well-wishers who apparently read this blog and are rooting for me to do well in this weekend's marathon. It's good to know people are behind me. Most of my training over the past 4 months has been alone. I've enjoyed the solitude as well as the mental & physical challenge of it. Who knew there were so many others with me in spirit?!

By the time I finish the Flying Pig on Sunday, I will have logged 400 miles this year. If I'd been trying to get somewhere, I could have walked to St. Louis or been just shy of Atlanta or Buffalo, NY. That's quite a ways. But this journey isn't about the destination. It's about the process. Pushing my limits. Not being afraid to fail. Refusing to give up.

The weather forecast for race day is terrible. I don't care. I'm walking no matter what. Every step of that 400 miles I have envisioned what that finish line will look like. I've imagined how it would feel to hear the cheers of folks along the race. My wife and family are plotting their strategy to meet me at various points. They may even walk with me for a mile or two. Do you think I'd miss this moment?

I'm ready. And I'm still learning from the process. After I heard another, "Good luck, Andy -- you can do it," it struck me how much encouragement can mean when you're up against impossible odds. When I get done with this race, I'm going to become a cheerleader for people who might be going it alone. I want to put fuel in their tanks or just be there to remind them failure isn't fatal. Being on that side of the ropes is bound to be more fun... and I'm convinced it's the most valuable role I could play.

I'm never going to walk a marathon again. Been there, done that. For me, it's not about goals or times or metals. It's all about the experience. Thanks for taking this journey with me. See you at the finish line!

Earthquake

2010-04-12T13:45:00.004-04:00

I talk a lot about being on a journey, which means I'm not there yet but life is always moving. Sometimes I initiate the needed moves. Other times, the movement is out of my control -- like an earthquake shaking the ground underneath my feet. Either way, I try to keep the shifts of life in perspective because it's all part of the adventure.

Mindy and I are staring down a huge shift at the end of this month. Our youngest daughter, Chelsea, is moving out, ...and she's taking Jayda, our 9-month-old granddaughter, with her. She's found a nice apartment that gives her access to school & work along with some needed independence. We couldn't be happier -- sort of.

If I spend too much time thinking about it, I'll cry. It was hard getting used to the idea that my baby was having a baby, but I learned very quickly that being a grandpa suits me. It's different from the love I felt as a parent because now I know how quickly these days go by. Every second is precious. Every giggle or wet kiss warms my heart. I'm no better at diapers (why can't she keep still!), but I'm enjoying it more.

But there's another part of me that is cheering this day. You raise kids to be independent, responsible and courageous. Chelsea has had a steep hill to climb the past few years. Seeing her venture off on her own so quickly makes me proud. Sure, I'm worried she doesn't quite know all she's getting herself into. But isn't jumping in over their head how every young person grows? She's ready... even if I'm not.

Between the free babysitting, home-cooked meals, and a washing machine that isn't coin-operated, we'll still see them almost every day. If I need a little grandpa time, I know where I can get it. But backing off is what they need most from me right now. I love both of them enough to do just that.

Our oldest, Kristin, moved to Charleston, SC several years ago and has forged a new life for herself there. We miss her, but have adapted by extending the boundaries of our love. Our middle daughter, Lindsey, will graduate from college this spring and then marry a terrific guy a few months later. Instead of a loss, we're counting that as a gain.

There are still tears and worries -- and probably always will be. That's what you sign up for when you become a parent. All this movement feels like an earthquake. Despite being shaken at times, though, I'm eager to see what my family will become. I have loved every minute so far, but that can't compare to what our family is bound to become in the near and distant future.

Movement. It's all part of the adventure!

Flying Pig Update: The training (315 miles over 12 weeks) has really boosted my confidence. Got over the hump this weekend with a 20-mile walk. It's all downhill now as my training tapers down over the next three weeks until race day. I can do this.

Lessons From the Pig

2010-03-29T10:11:00.003-04:00

Several weeks ago, I hit the wall in my training to walk the Flying Pig Marathon. I've been doing 4 days of training each week. 3 walks during the week are average lengths, and then on the weekend you have a long walk. The distance for each walk builds from week to week. It was during one of my long walks (15 miles) along the Little Miami bike trail that my crisis erupted.

I'd already been walking for 3 hours. My feet were killing me. And even though I was nearly finished with that day's training, it suddenly occurred to me that I had only walked the equivalent of half of a marathon. A quick inventory of the various body parts screaming for mercy assured me I was close to shutting down. How could I possibly walk another 13 miles? Why would I want to?

All of us have days when we feel like quitting. Overwhelmed or discouraged, we throw up our hands as if to say, "What's the use!" I call those days Monday. Ministry is hard work that takes a toll week after week. It isn't the workload so much as the emotional drain of being a leader of people -- some who seem to forget that I'm a "people" too. Working in a grace-filled environment helps, but I've never gotten used to the barrage of blows the Enemy throws at me. It feels like I've got a bullseye on my back, and more often than I'd like to admit, quitting seems like the perfect solution.

Who would have dreamed training for "The Pig" could teach me a lesson about ministry?

As I finished the last few miles of my training that day, it became evident I was struggling with more than just a tired & sore body -- my soul was weary. Quitting is contagious, so I began to dream of how sweet it would be to quit everything. It's not fair. Life is too hard. I'm the wrong guy. It's not worth it.

Time flies when you're having those fun conversations with yourself. Before I knew it I had covered the entire course. Sitting down in my car felt great, but somehow quitting didn't anymore. You see, my mistake was trying to complete a marathon when that day's task was only to walk 15 miles. I'd done that (something to be proud of). Instead of being satisfied or stretched by today's challenge, I was trying to do everything at once. Each day has it's own challenges. Some days you just need to rest.

I've logged 252 training miles to date and still have over a month before the race. I've decided to trust the training routine that has worked for thousands of marathoners before. I may or may not have what it takes to walk a marathon, but I won't know that until May 2. All I know is I can't finish a marathon in one giant leap. But if I concentrate on one step at a time, I'll get there eventually.

Oh yeah... I'm not quitting my ministry either. Some rest would feel good, but I can't let the distance ahead distract me. One step at a time. All I need to be satisfied is a comfortable pair of shoes.

Just Call Me Coach

2010-03-01T16:20:00.002-05:00

Sports have been part of my life forever. I used to be a gamer, who was ready to play anywhere; anytime. I remember with absolute clarity the day I hung up my softball glove so that I could coach my daughter's soccer team. It was a dark day. As much as I loved my girls, it was tough to admit my life was going in a new direction.

Who knew coaching would be so fun? Basketball & softball were easy, but to be honest, I barely knew the rules of soccer when I started. I'd never heard of a "yellow card" until I got one my third game for going on the field to help the opposing goalie who was in tears after being scored on. The ref almost gave me a "red card" for asking what a "yellow card" was. (He definitely would have kicked me out if he knew what I thought about his stupid "yellow card" for helping a crying kid.) I figured out coaches didn't have to know everything, just a thing or two more than their players.

I also learned what winning was about. What's the point in beating your opponent? These were games, not battlefields. It should be fun. So, I shifted my attention to teaching them to love the game, to work as a team, to enjoy the moment, to laugh when they messed up, and to eat ice cream afterward no matter what the score.

Somewhere along the line my focus shifted from the game to the individual girls on my teams. Where did they need to grow? What would be a victory for them? How could I make them smile? Watching a player leave the court with an I-did-it-coach look in their eye was worth it all.

Once my own girls got older, my role changed again to cheerleader from the stands. I was warned in no uncertain terms not to embarrass them publicly, yet privately I did my best coaching one-on-one amidst their frustration, disappointment and tears.

It occurred to me recently that my job as a Christian is really just to be a coach. There are lots of things that happen at our church. It's all good stuff, and some folks really get into it. I could spend all my time trying to win that game, but then I wouldn't be a very good coach. My job is to empower people. To prepare them for what goes on outside the walls of church. To help them fulfill their personal calling & purpose in life. To witness that I-did-it-coach look when they engage in the lives of others.

That's a pretty big shift for a gamer like me, ...but I'm loving it. It is so much more fulfilling to invest my time coaching people instead of maintaining an organization. My dream is a church that has an impact in its community. I want to make a dent somewhere. I could never do that on my own, even if I was a superstar. But if you and I could become better coaches, leading people into a life changing relationship with Jesus, we would form an unbeatable team.

I'm proud of my new title, even though I only know a thing or two more than those around me. It's a role all of us should aspire to. Just call me coach.

Flying Pig Update: I'm right on target with my training schedule, although it is getting harder to work in the longer walks each week (2-4 hrs). Got a chance to walk outside last week & it was so freeing. Going to drive the actual race course to get a feel for what I'm getting myself into. Total Training to Date: 133 miles

Cherios

2010-02-09T11:31:00.012-05:00

I've hit that point in my life where health issues take center stage. "You've got to be conscious of heart health, cholesterol, and fat content," my doctor says. But I say it's no fun and could be why we put "grumpy" in front of the term "old man" so often. That box of Cherios in our pantry with the cheery label, "HELPS LOWER CHOLESTEROL" used to be another bland reminder of my mortality. But not any more...

Yesterday I had breakfast with my 6-month-old granddaughter, Jayda. I laughed until I cried watching her meaty, little fingers make clumsy stabs at the Cherios on the tray in front of her. On the rare occasions when she actually got hold of one, she'd lose track of it before her hand made it to her mouth. The dog -- Jayda's new best friend -- was having a feast.

When a Cherio did hit home, though, it was sheer delight. Arms waving and legs wiggling, Jayda would gum that morsel with determination. Then, almost a surprised expression as it went down. Finally, ecstasy!

People have told my wife and I they admire our willingness to sacrifice to help out with Jayda. Really, what sacrifice? Our lives are nothing like we thought they would be ...they're much better. I guess I'm supposed to demand my freedom or to loath any responsibility that might tie me down. But with Jayda, every day is special. Every toothless smile melts my heart. Even Cherios are fun again.

Does responsibility have to be a bad word? Opportunity sounds better, but I don't want to pretend there's not work involved. Yet, responsibility gives you a reason to get up in the morning. It solidifies your value and belonging. I know it has shaped my "baby" into a wonderful, strong mother.

If Jayda is an extra responsibility, I'll take it. Cherios never tasted so good.

You can check out Jayda's pictures on a friend's blog:
http://katiegracephoto.blogspot.com/2009_12_01archive.html
(go to her December 2009 post)

Flying Pig Update: The snow has me training mostly indoors. My first long walk (10 miles) went really well, so I'm feeling more hopeful. Some veteran marathoners have offered to help with pacing and race strategy. Apparently, my try-not-to-die strategy isn't good enough. Who knew? Training Miles To Date: 64

When Pigs Fly

2010-01-28T11:31:00.003-05:00

I've decide to attempt the Flying Pig Marathon in Cincinnati this spring. If you know me at all and have stopped laughing enough to read on, this is a big deal. I've always loved sports and remained active. I will work myself to exhaustion trying to put a ball in a hoop or landscaping the yard, but I don't enjoy driving 26.2 miles. Unless I'm being chased by something big or scary, I don't run. Well, here's the scoop...

I'm actually going to walk the Pig. I didn't know you could do that until last year, which is when I started thinking about it. Due to past injuries, my joints can't withstand the pounding of long distance running. Walking works for me, even though it still sounds like a terrible way to spend 6+ hours.
I turn 50 later this year. If I'm gonna do it, I'd better do it quick. Of all the desperate things guys do to cling to their youth, this seemed less pathetic. It's definitely a last minute write in for my bucket list, ...but why not?
I'm bored with the grind of the gym. After 10+ years of lifting the same bars up and down or walking to nowhere, I need a new challenge. I've probably lost 1000 lbs over that span (& regained 1005 lbs).
Discipline is contagious. I'm not going to put all this effort into training for the Pig then keep eating like one. I've also seen the boost from my new routine in other disciplines.
The Flying Pig actually looks fun -- apart from the actual running, of course. Who wouldn't want to brag about completing a marathon? And you get a t-shirt!
I need to attempt something I'm likely to fail. Still trying to sort this one out in my mind, but it's not good for me to always be in control. Don't get me wrong; I've had plenty of failures in my life. I'm just not in the habit of choosing those situations for myself. I suppose it has something to do with pride or insecurity. I'm a competitor who always wants (needs?) to win, ...yet I'm not sure that's how I want to shape my character.

So, off we go. I've got a training routine, a new pair of shoes, and a strong inclination that I'll never do this again. Having just completed my latest round of PT on my knee last fall, the likelihood of injury ending my quest seems high. But I won't quit. I'll use this blog to update you on my training miles and experiences. My only goal is to finish... hopefully before they shut everything down and are sweeping up.

I know, coming out with my silly dream increases the pressure. That's the point. If I fail, you might as well know it too. But if I make it, I expect you to be at the finish line cheering me on. You might need a flashlight.

Thank You, Haiti

2010-01-18T13:36:00.003-05:00

I've been trying to sort through my reaction to the disturbing images from Haiti this week. I understand that earthquakes happen. Lives are lost daily to tragedies beyond anyone's control. Yet there's something different about what's happening in Haiti. I want to scream, "Enough!"

Our family has been connected with Haiti for years. Various mission trips. Sponsoring children. Building a water tower. Nightly prayers. Bike Day. Sending Christmas gifts in August. Packing meals this past Christmas. Something about Haiti captured our hearts from the very beginning.

I'll never forget doing construction work or wandering the streets of Port de Paix on our first visit with two ever-present, 10-year-old guides, Roman & Wesley. Both boys affectionately called me "Goliath" because they'd never seen someone so big. Neither could be trusted completely.

That same trip, we met Mudline, a shy little girl who we sponsored for years and loved like one of our own. Mudline and Mindy would sit for hours under a shade tree reading together while the boys and I played football in the street. It wasn't hard to fall in love with these children or to pray for a better future.

During our most recent mission trip (2007), we were able to find Mudline and Roman despite not having had contact with them for several years. Now a beautiful, 19-year-old woman, Mudline faces an uncertain future. She flunked out of school when it became too rigorous and her uneducated family couldn't help her keep up. Her flawless English is a marketable skill, but she can't find a way to use it.

Roman, a few years older than Mudline, has already been in prison for drug trafficking. Determined to learn from his mistakes, he was working construction at the mission and scavenging for materials to build his own fishing boat. He looked worn and beaten down. Wesley had died from a treatable disease years earlier.

Life in Haiti is hard. Despite our best efforts and constant prayers, my family was not able to chart a new course for these three. I know we've had an impact, but victory seems illusive. Why can't they catch a break? What have I done to deserve the privileged life I often take for granted? Is it fair that my girls have actually gained more through all of this than those we thought we were serving?

Mindy and I were scheduling a trip to Haiti this winter/spring when the earthquake hit. At this point, we have no idea whether that can happen. I have no illusion that anything I do -- or the combined attention of countries around the world -- will be able to solve anything. The images of truckloads of bodies being transported to mass graves haunts me. What can anyone do?

I still believe in a God who is bigger than all this, and I won't ever stop praying for hope amidst the hopelessness. Haiti's recovery from this will take decades, so there will be many opportunities to pitch in. But Haiti must be more than America's next "project." Maybe it will chart a new course for us. If this experience opens our eyes to our good fortune or prompts us to care about someone besides ourselves or just teaches us to be more generous, Haiti will once again be exporting much needed "aid" to a country whose "poverty" remains hidden.

This disaster is personal. It's so much more than just feeling sorry for the people of Haiti. I owe them something.

Listening

2010-01-04T09:47:00.002-05:00

After a head cold over the weekend and then speaking twice on Sunday, my voice is gone. I feel fine, but when I open my mouth nothing much happens. I can croak out a phrase or two before it just becomes too painful for those listening. My family and the office staff are thrilled. It's my turn to listen.

Listening is hard work. For a guy that gets paid to talk it is something I don't practice nearly enough. It's more than just hearing what is being said. Listening is engaging with others. Entering someone's story. People have fascinating tales to tell. Really good listeners know how to ask leading questions or steer conversations onto topics that matter. And they're content to let it end with a hardy laugh or a warm smile. Why would I want to hear one of my stories again when I could get a glimpse of life from a completely different perspective or experience new adventures through others?

People enjoy being around a good story-teller for a season. Eventually, the stories run out or lose their appeal. But a listener is someone we're drawn to over and over again. They respect, comfort and affirm us. It shouldn't surprise anyone that Jesus had more impact through conversations. Few would even think to label him a preacher. He was a master teacher because he listened first.

So, I've got a chance to practice something I'm not very good at and be a little more like Jesus. I'm grateful... really. Seems a little strange to be blogging about it. I suppose a talker has to have some outlet. If you're listening, thank you.

Bring on 2010

2009-12-28T13:32:00.002-05:00

Each new year I start to look ahead, wondering what might happen in the coming year. I'm never right, are you?

Sure, there are some predictable milestones, but for the most part life is a wild ride. There was a time when that left an uneasy feeling within me. I needed to be in control. I worried about what others thought. If life was a race, I had to win.

The new awareness I've gained has been subtle and slow, building with each new discovery. You might want to call it experience, but it's not something that automatically comes because you've logged a few more years. I'm learning... adjusting... letting go.

This past year has brought several twists I never would have asked for or expected. If you'd have asked me last year to describe what my life would look like today, it wouldn't have been anything close to my current reality. I'm not complaining. My life is great... just different. Experience hasn't made me any better at predicting the future; it's taught me to embrace the unknown.

I suppose some would call that faith. Whatever happens, I'm finally convinced God has my best interest in mind. I know He's promised to provide. That's no guarantee of comfort or ease, but rather a calm assurance. I'm free to enjoy the adventure 2010 has in store for me.

O, Christmas Bush; O, Christmas Bush...

2009-12-07T14:00:00.004-05:00

For years we've been getting huge Christmas trees -- the bigger the better. It would take the entire family to drag it to the car and tie it on top. We always used a step ladder to decorate. One year we went so large we couldn't get it through our front door. I'm talking massive.

When we moved to Cincinnati, it remained a family tradition to hunt down the tree together even though 8-foot ceilings limited our search. It was hard to think smaller. We've gouged the ceiling several times trying to squeeze the most tree into our limited space.

This year, everything changed. My wife, who has always thought the tree at Rockafeller Plaza is on the small side, was the first to suggest we downsize. Much cheaper and less hassle, she said. And since the two of us were alone in our search this year, the majority ruled. But when I hoisted it onto the stand in our family room (one-handed, I might add), we both had to laugh. Nice shape. Wonderful smell. But it looks like we cut a bush out of someone's front yard. I kind of feel sorry for it.

Hoping to avoid a holiday disaster, I called our daughter in South Carolina to offer an advanced warning. "Remember, honey," I said, "it's not the size of the tree that matters. It's the family that gathers around it."

Our Christmas bush makes me smile now every time I see it. It's a symbol of a new freedom & joy I'm finding in Christmas. The hunt for bigger & better is over. Less room under the tree for presents means more room around the tree for sharing, laughter and fun. Score one for simplicity.

I promise I'm not going Scrooge. In fact, the opposite is true. I feel more like Mr. Scrooge after the ghosts had visited. I'm suddenly free to enjoy this season for what it is meant to be.

And if you're missing a bush in your front yard... it wasn't me. I've got a receipt.

Thankful

2009-11-23T18:20:00.010-05:00

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. Not much fuss and heavy helpings of food and football. I love it. Thanksgiving's pure and simple purpose has always been to bring us together.

Besides the usual suspects, our family has always had an open door policy for Thanksgiving. My first Thanksgiving with Mindy's family just so happened to also be the first without Rollo. Year's earlier, my mother-in-law had met Rollo at the mall the day before Thanksgiving. He was crying, broken by the recent loss of his wife. Well, this stranger became a fixture at their holiday gatherings. He cried every holiday. The entire time. On my first Thanksgiving at the in-laws, I sat in Rollo's seat... and everyone else cried.

Then there was Marty, the cantankerous widower with no children that we invited to join our family for several holidays in Columbus. Marty was easily confused and would leave profanity-laced messages on our phone for days leading up to whatever holiday it was because he'd thought we'd forgotten to pick him up. Under that gruff exterior was a grateful soul who needed someone. We learned to love him "as is."

Bobbie was a elderly African American customer where my wife works. Her family lived in Atlanta, so Bobbie had gotten used to spending some Thanksgivings on her own. Not a chance, my wife insisted. This sweet stranger delighted us with stories from her colorful past. Her grasp of the present wasn't quite as keen, though, as she repeatedly gushed, "This is the best Easter ever."

Now, it's as if these stories are some of the things our family is most thankful for. We laugh and cry, and someone will undoubtedly proclaim with gusto, "This is the best Easter ever!"

This year's guest of honor will be our 4-month old granddaughter, Jayda. How fun is that? It's also the first Thanksgiving in 24 years our oldest daughter won't make it home. I'm not going to pretend there won't be tears about that, but she's planning to tag along with a South Carolina friend. (Apparently we aren't the only family who makes room for spares.) I'm consoling myself by imagining she might be the best part of their Thanksgiving. Good food. Open hearts. Coming together.

I'm thankful... really. And you should be too. Life isn't perfect, but coming together still feels good. Just remind yourself, "This is the best Easter ever!"

Leveled

2009-11-23T18:15:00.003-05:00

It still surprises me every time I pull into the church parking lot to see the empty lot next door. The house, which had been there longer than Parkside has existed, is gone. Leveled. The little boy in me wanted to watch the crane knock it down, but the whole place was in a pile before I even arrived at work that day. Once the grass seed sprouts, not much will remain to remind us that house even existed.

It makes me sad because I'm sure that home held many fond memories. How much care and attention was given to it over the decades? For someone, it has always been that special place we call "home." It's usefulness and value had certainly ended, but my guess is the folks living in it half a century ago would have never imagined this outcome. Leveled.

It makes me question the things I give my attention to today. Most of it seems pretty important. It always does. But am I focused on stuff that is doomed to be "leveled" in times to come? Will someone look at my passions or pursuits, wondering why any of it even mattered to me?

That's not to suggest my values & priorities need the affirmation of the crowd. I just want them to stand the test of time (& then some). Lots of things are important for a season. I'd rather build within my life lasting monuments -- a legacy of relationships, impact and purpose that won't ever be leveled. Easier said than done, but now I've got an empty lot next door as my constant reminder.

World's Worst Blogger

2009-11-23T17:55:00.006-05:00

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 154 days since my last post!"

There's no denying that I am the world's worst blogger. I want to do it, but I forget... or get busy... or... whatever. But I've got a new resolve and a better plan of attack this time. I'm not sure why anyone would want to read it, but I'm convinced I need to write it. So, I intend to be me. This will be a window to my soul. Not in a dark or dreary way, though. I want to have fun showing you how I look at life's peculiarities. Feel free to comment, disagree or shake your head. Whatever it is, I've heard worse. You may or may not like what you see when you look inside, but that's okay. The window is there to bring light inside for me.

Bucket List

2009-06-23T11:46:00.004-04:00

As we were enjoying a morning together yesterday on the golf course, a friend from Parkside who was agonizing through a bad hole told me, "Solomon must have been a golfer. This is all meaningless!"

I'll admit I've felt that frustration in more significant circumstances than just a bad day on the links. It is so difficult for me to keep an eternal perspective on life. I'd rather throw up my hands and curse every injustice or misfortune that comes my way. My cries about the meaninglessness of life are much more cynical than what I read from Solomon in Ecclesiastes.

If you haven't read Ecclesiastes lately, stop and read at least the first 3 chapters right now or listen to the podcast of last weekend's message. As dreary as he might come across, I think Solomon really got it.

I've kept a "bucket list" (in my head) for years, but Solomon is challenging me to rethink it. I'm still sky-diving before I'm 50 and climbing Kilimanjaro, but there's an urgency to pursue more significant goals; to test the wisdom of Scripture and challenge myself to go after God's ambitions instead of mine.

I've got a notion that Solomon is right. No matter whether I succeed or fail, my pursuits are pretty much meaningless. What remains to be seen in my life is what might be produced if I let God have full control and offered my full attention only to things that last. Kind of scarey to think what that could mean, but given the futility of doing it my way, well worth the risk.

So, tell me about your bucket list. How has reading Ecclesiastes affected your perspective? Got any ideas for my new bucket list?

A Chapter A Day...

2009-06-15T14:29:00.005-04:00

This week's challenge is to read Proverbs. I had a high school Sunday School teacher who taught verse by verse through Proverbs... for 2 years. Once we finally reached the end and began to hope for something new, he said, "This has been great. Why don't we start over." Ugh.

You'd think I'd know Proverbs well, but I really wasn't paying attention in high school. Yet, Proverbs isn't hard to figure out. Straight forward. Common sense. Solomon's version of Chicken Soup for the Soul.

The thing about Proverbs is I really struggle to read it chapters at a time. One wise saying starts to run into another with me. Let me suggest an easier way. There are 31 chapters in Proverbs, so why not commit to reading one chapter each day for a month. It's easy to remember what chapter to read each day (What's the date?), and as my teacher told us, "a chapter a day keeps the devil away." You'll be surprised how often those truths come into play that day.

Since Proverbs is more like a random collection, you can start using today's date. It still makes sense. For me, I'd rather work on living the Word day to day than try to see how fast I can read it.

A favorite Proverb of mine is Prov. 25:24, "Better to live on a corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome wife." I'm lucky because I married way over my head. It just makes me laugh to think of Solomon (with 700 wives) writing this. He knew!

What's a favorite Proverb of yours?

Not What You Expected

2009-06-08T13:21:00.001-04:00

On Sunday (6/7), I challenged everyone to read Song of Solomon this week. We're trying to get a glimpse of who King Solomon was in this new series, Chronicles of a King. If you weren't at Parkside or just want to listen again, the podcast is on our website: visitparkside.com

Have you read Song of Solomon? Not what you expected, was it? There are some real cultural hurdles to overcome when reading this (or any) book of the Bible. If I were to write a love song to my wife, I'm sure she'd appreciate fewer livestock or agricultural analogies!

I was caught by the repeated verse, "Promise me, O women of Jerusalem, by the gazelles and wild deer, not to awaken love until the time is right." (2:7 & 3:5 & 8:4). The best things -- especially true love and intimacy -- take time but are worth waiting for. That's plenty different from the unrestrained approach in our society. Which sounds more beautiful or alluring to you?

So... what's your reaction to this book?

It's not your typical bible theme. Why do you think it is even included in the Bible?

Some say it is meant to be an allegory of the love relationship between God and Israel or Christ and the church. Does that make sense to you?

Confessions of a Blogger

2009-04-02T12:01:00.001-04:00

Okay, I've finally done something I never wanted to do. I'm a... blogger. I guess since you're reading this you must be one too, so let me say this kindly. Bloggers scare me. I don't want to be one of those guys who feels like the world will stop revolving if I don't share my story or give my "two-cents worth" on every topic. I'm not sure my life is all that interesting or my opinions are always worth reading.

So, you might ask, why the change? Well, it isn't because I want to say more. It's because I want to listen. I hope this blog will give others a chance to speak into my life. Challenge my thinking. Sharpen my focus. Affirm my strengths. Share my adventures. Answer my questions. Forgive my mistakes. Make me laugh.

At this point, I have no idea what I'll blog about ...or what I won't blog about. I'm still new at this. But I guess that doesn't matter, since I'm more eager to learn what you have to say about it anyway. So, here we go...

Hello, my name is Andy. I'm a blogger!

Coming Soon!

2009-01-15T16:47:00.000-05:00

Blogs are coming soon... I promise!