An unexpected gift

My father-in-law is dying.

It looks like his hard-fought battle with skin cancer is coming to an end. The wife and I were on vacation in New York city last week and instead of flying home with me to LA, she took a detour back to Texas for what could be her last visit with her Dad.

I know this scenario all too well. Fifteen years ago, I made the same journey. My Dad's battle with skin cancer was also coming to an end. An unexpected phone call from my Dad's boss, informing me that "we almost lost your Dad today" resulted in a rush trip to Atlanta to be at my Father's side.

Cancer, as horrific as it is, also comes with...for lack of a better word...a "gift." It provides you with an opportunity to say what needs to be said and do what needs to be done.

My Dad was a good man in many ways. He provided for us in a material sense. He taught me how to water ski, how to drive a boat, and the value of a good work ethic. But, like many men of his generation, he was emotionally absent and distant.

My encounter with him at his hospital bed was different. Within 24 hours of my arrival, my Father miraculously rallied and was alert and clear-minded. We had one of the most honest conversations I'd ever had with him. My detached, emotionally distant Father was vulnerable, open, and honest. I saw a side of him I had never seen before. I finally got a glimpse of his heart.

Cancer had given my Dad the gift of clarity. The opportunity to consider what was really important. It gave him the opportunity to make peace with God, with my sister and I, and with his ex-wife (my Mother). It gave him the courage to open his heart to us.

He passed away a week later.

The wife's conversation with her Dad was similar in it's significance. No doubt it will be a conversation to savor and cherish for the rest of her life. Cancer's clarifying power continues on.

Giving away power

Last week,the wife wrote a blog entry about feeling misunderstood and the desire we all have to "fit in."

It reminded me of an experience I had when we were first dating. During that nervous season of our relationship, I inited her to attend a seminar held at my church. Knowing that the room would be full of dozens of friends and acquaintances, my stomach was tied up in knots as we arrived. Eight months earlier, I ended a relationship that left me feeling unsettled about my newest venture back into the dating world. Representatives from nearly every facet of my life filled that room: a group of young college men that I mentored, grad school classmates, a favorite professor, a mentor, and many close friends. What were they all thinking? Did they "approve" of my newest female friend? Did they disapprove? I felt like an insecure American Idol contestant in a room full of Simons.

Panicking, I quickly introduced the wife to my friend David and his wife Jenn while I dashed off to the bathroom to hide.

Unfortunately, staying in the bathroom wasn't an option. I gulped down a couple of deep breaths and returned to the room. Somehow, I managed to make it through the rest of the evening while carrying a knot in my stomach the size of a grapefruit.

A few days later, I unpacked the experience with my psychologist. I'll never forget what he said. "Why do you give people so much power?", he asked.

Great question. Why do I give people so much power? Do I really want to go through life giving people that kind of authority over my life? Who cares what they think? Besides, they're not thinking about me anyway. They're too busy wondering what the rest of us are thinking about them. While input from others is valuable, especially when entering the uncharted waters of a new dating relationship, I realized that I give away way too much power. I learned a great lesson that night.

(But of course, I'm now wondering what all of you think about the fact that I met with a psychologist).

Question Authority

I love to learn. I have an almost insatiable appetite for knowledge and information. I rarely go anywhere without a book in tow. As I child, much to my athletic sister's chagrin, I loved school and always did my homework. You know the type.

(I can't help but wonder if she got her master's degree before I did just to spite me!).

Our country was built on the freedom of speech. You have the freedom to say what you think, even if people disagree with you. Our current presidential race only underscores this basic tenet of life in America. This right to speak freely, to ask questions, to dissent, to follow the evidence where it leads and to think outside of the box leads to incredible discoveries and opportunities.

Tragically, the institution founded upon free inquiry ain't so free thinking anymore. I'm talking about the American university system.

Last night, had the priviledge of attending a public gathering at Biola university to hear Ben Stein (Bueller...Bueller) talk about his upcoming documentary film, "Expelled." Stein was joined on the stage along with two of the scientists featured in the film, Dr. Caroline Crocker and Dr. Guillermo Gonzalez. Both of these noted experts were kicked out of school for daring to think outside the box and question the prevailing orthodoxy of Darwinism.

I was stunned as Dr. Crocker described what happened to her in the aftermath of her expulsion from George Mason University. A lawyer from a major D.C. law firm offered to represent her, only to later be fired from the firm shortly after the firm received a lucrative contract from George Mason. Unbelievable.

I, for one, can't wait to see this film. I hope it will underscore the importance of academic freedom and the right to ask questions, the right to think, to dissent, to follow the evidence wherever it leads.

Drama and Redemption

You say you see no hope,

you say you see no reason we should dream

that the world would ever change

You're saying love is foolish to believe

'Cause there'll always be some crazy with an Army or a Knife

To wake you from your day dream, put the fear back in your life...

Look, if someone wrote a play just to glorify

What's stronger than hate, would they not arrange the stage

To look as if the hero came too late, he's almost in defeat

It's looking like the Evil side will win,

so on the Edge of every seat,

from the moment that the whole thing begins

It is...Love who makes the mortar

And it's love who stacked these stones

And it's love who made the stage here

Although it looks like we're alone

In this scene set in shadows

Like the night is here to stay

There is evil cast around us

But it's love that wrote the play...

(David Wilcox, "Show the Way")

Good Friday...what a strange name for the day we remember Christ's death. Yet it's a good descriptor for the irony that something extravagant and unbelievable happens in the midst of something so bleak and tragic. How a playwright could stage a scene with such ugly elements that ultimately leads to something glorious is beyond my comprehension, yet that is what Good Friday is all about. The Playwright wrote a powerful story where the hero comes though, but only after the evil side demonstrates all of its strength, a strength that seems unconquerable for awhile, only to be seen as pitiful and weak just a few days later.

Relationship challenge #2: The First Camping Trip

The redhead and I headed out of town for our first weekend camping trip. This former boy scout was pleasantly surprised at the wife's willingness to brave the outdoors for 48 hours, given that her idea of "roughing it" involves campgrounds such as the Hilton or the Marriott. Of course, this was camping in Southern California, meaning that the only dangerous animals spotted were the two jaguars that cruised into the campground on four wheels and the afternoon of hiking was scrapped for a drive to a nearby vineyard for some wine tasting. In similar fashion, the Saturday night of card playing around the campfire turned into an outing to Starbucks, convieniently located just five minutes away from the wilderness.

At any rate, the weekend was a blast and the menacing rain clouds hanging overhead didn't amount to much. Though my bride claims to be quite delicate and not the camping type, she scored major points in my book with the creative way she faced many of the challenges of camping. She never ceases to amaze me.

(For those of you interested in reading about relationship challenge #1, you'll find that located here.)

Come out, come out, wherever you are!

My wife and I have a friend who makes a living as a professional photographer. Though most of her work comes from photographing weddings, her favorites subjects are children. When I asked her why she loves photographing kids, she told me it was because children aren’t self-conscious and as a result, they aren’t afraid to be themselves.

She’s right. Little kids make great subjects for photography. Though they're great at playing hide and seek with their bodies, squeezing into a closet or under a bed, they haven’t yet learned how to hide their souls. As a result, kids are incredibly photogenic. The soul of a child captured on film is a work of art.

Tragically, hiding the soul is a game that adults play.

We wear a mask, hoping it will shield us from guilt, shame, or rejection. Hoping it will save us and bring us the love we desperately desire. Years later, we forget all about the mask. As a result, we end up losing ourselves. We forget who we are. The light of our true self is dimmed, sentenced to a half-life roaming in the shadows.

No wonder Jesus said we have to lose our life to find it. We have to lose the identity constructed out of self-control and self-protection in order to discover the true self fashioned by our Creator.

The Block Dog

The wife is out of town for the week. She’s back in Texas attending baby showers for her very pregnant sister and spending time with her cancer stricken father. It’s a strange time for her, a mixture of joy and sorrow.

For the first time, I’m experiencing what its like to be the one back at home when the spouse leaves. She’s had to endure this several times but this is the first time the tables have been turned and it’s really strange. The condo feels so empty. I spent the first forty years of my life on my own and after only eight months of marriage, living alone again feels unnatural.

Granted, there are a few advantages, I don’t feel the need to shave every day, I don’t have to share the remote, and I get to leave the toilet seat up, but that’s about it.

Recently, I’ve been listening to an old David Wilcox CD on my ipod. A good friend re-introduced me to this little known artist that I had forgotten. I ran across a song he wrote that well expresses the changes brought about by my upgraded marital status.

Block Dog:

I had a long talk with the block dog
All summer he runs with the kids
He's happy as a block dog
Every day the choice is his

'Cause they all feed him when he's hungry
They all keep him from the cold
But he don't wear their collar
He makes the neighborhood his home

There'll be a fireplace in the winter
There's lots of houses down this street
Summertime he'll catch your frisbee
Beg the best of your dinner meat

I had a long talk with the block dog
All summer he runs with the kids
He's happy as a block dog
Every day the choice is his.

I said Rusty, I'm gettin' married
I used to like your kind of life
But life's different now, it's like a garden
I'd like to tend it with my wife

Dig in one spot make a straight row
You're only diggin' to hide the bone
But when I lived so free alone
I had an empty harvest

I had a long talk with the block dog
All summer he runs with the kids
He's happy as a block dog
Every day the choice is his

Rusty looked up, sad at me and said
Dave, I understand
'Cause we're different now, I'm still a dog
And you're acting like a man."

I had a long talk with the block dog
All summer he runs with the kids
He's happy as a block dog
Every day the choice is his

I ain't nothin' but a hound dog
I ain't nothin' but a hound dog

Thanks for the harvest you’ve brought to my life sweetie. Come home soon. We’ve got a garden to tend and a life to build.