Monsters in the Garbage Cans, pt. II

(read part I)

Edward came to the foot of ladder, setting his feet on what seemed like damp stone. The pungent scent of garbage still lingered, but it was no worse than it was at the top of the ladder. Even down here, he could still hear the bubble gum music ponderously thudding along. Somewhere in the distance, water trickled into a drain. Only the strongest rays of light braved these depths, leaving Edward enveloped in umbrous shadow; and though he could see nothing around him, he found that he was not much afraid. Better here than stuck in a fashion shop all afternoon.

In the darkness he searched his pockets, discovering there a Super Joe action figure he had brought with him. Edward smiled the smile of false competence, as if he had known all along that he would find himself in such a predicament. You see, Super Joe was a large action figure whose main weapon against Terron was a fearsome chest-mounted laser cannon. And since most toy manufacturers frowned upon the distribution of such armaments to small children (at least in the United States), they substituted a weak flashlight beam. Edward switched it on and held the figure before him like something part way between a crucifix and a fully-articulated lantern.

The dim light revealed the walls to be formed of smooth concrete, cold and dusty. The floor was rougher and every few feet, Edward had to step around a wide, shallow puddle of muddy water. He walked along in his small bubble of light for several minutes, taking a turn here or there. He fancied he could not become lost, since the route did not branch at any point that he could see. It did not take him long to leave behind a whole world of malls and fashion shops, pretzel vendors and pet stores; so easily we forget ourselves in the solitude of our private journeys.

A faint scratching sound reached his ears from somewhere far ahead. Edward stopped to listen; the scratching reminded him of the sound of his spaniel's dull nails on the hardwood floors of the kitchen. He wondered to himself what sort of dog would wander tunnels like this. He supposed it could drink from the muddy puddles, but who filled its bowl? As he continued toward it, the sound grew louder until he began to wonder why he did not see the dog's eyes glimmering in Joe's light beam. Edward stopped, listening again for the sound. The scratching sound had stopped. And as he looked around, he realized he had come into some sort of small chamber, circular in shape, with walls which bent in and up like a funnel.

As he was looking up into the darkness, he caught a brief flash of light accompanied by the sound of a small, rusty metal door swinging open. Before the light disappeared again, he caught a glimpse of something falling toward him. He instinctively covered his head with his hands. Just in time too, for he was struck by something which left him warm, wet, and sticky—what was that smell? Coffee?

He found where he had dropped Super Joe, and shined the dim light around him. It was indeed coffee—and there on the floor near him was a soggy Starbucks cup. "Yuck, who drinks that stuff?" he said to himself, utterly unaware that opinions might be subject to change years hence.

He looked up again, wondering where the cup had come from. The coffee was not hot, the cup had not been full—then it occurred to him: the tiny metal door above him was the door to a metal garbage can. Which meant—

Something grey and bristling walked toward him out of the darkness, its dull nails scratching along the floor. Edward backed away until he bumped into the cold concrete wall. As it crept closer, he could see a shaggy head in a mass of grey fur, and above a wide mouth of square white teeth peered two large yellow eyes. They blinked at him. Edward did not know if he should be frightened or reassured by its appearance—it was something of a cross between a chubby wolf and a furry bean bag. And those white teeth smiling (snarling?) at him, none of it gave any clear indication of the beast's intentions.

Edward waited in silence, holding Super Joe before him like a talisman. And then the beast did something else unexpected—it spoke! In a gurgling voice, as if speaking from the bottom of a pool, it said, "Come ex-plorin', did it? What does it want?"

Edward frowned and looked around. Was it talking to him? Edward had never been refered to as an 'it' before. In a weak voice, he ventured, "Are you talking to me?"

The beast jumped back, startled. With wide eyes, it asked, "It speaks? A greeder speaks, now that makes for silly con-versation!"

"Who—what are you?"

"Sogga-Moffin, that's my name. And that's what I am; I eats the greeders' toss-aways. Do greeders have names? Something to eats?"

"My name is Edward." He hesitated, then added, "You don't plan to eat me do you?"

A sound like a clogged garbage disposal echoed around the chamber. After Edward realized that it was laughing, he calmed down a little. It said, after it had finished its grating laughter, "Silly Edwards; why would a Sogga-Moffin eats a greeder? Then Edward give no more eats, Sogga-Moffins go hungry."

Edward breathed a sigh of relief. Spying the coffee cup on the floor, he pointed to it. "What about that? Do you eat those?"

The shaggy beast turned its head, and upon seeing the cup, it opened its wide mouth, revealing three rows of blocky white teeth. A slimy tongue ending in three little knuckle-knobs unfurled from behind the teeth. With this strange and disgusting appendage, Sogga-Moffin lifted the coffee cup to its mouth and began chewing slowly like a cow.

Edward shook his head, half amazed, half disgusted. "Where is this place?"

The bristly brows above its dark eyes knitted together in what looked like a frown. It continued chewing for several long moments, and then let out a moist and fragrant belch. "Not polite to talks while Sogga-Moffin chews. Where, greeder asks? How it comes to Dis-kardia and doesn't know where it is?"

"Diskardia? I've never heard of such a place. Do the janitors know it exists? I always thought they just emptied the garbage cans."

Sogga-Moffin looked at him quizzically. "Sogga-Moffin doesn't know 'jan-i-tors', doesn't know gar-bage cans. Sogga-Moffin takes greeders to the Drain-Snipes. Maybe they knows." The beast wheeled around and scuttled off into the darkness, and to his own surprise, Edward followed. Much, much better than a fashion store, Edward thought to himself.

(part III coming soon...)

“Ssssh, They might hear you…”

Once upon a time, a young boy went to the shopping mall with his two cousins. They were both girls, a little older than him, with blonde hair and bright eyes. They liked nothing better than to parade him around the city, pretending as if he were their younger brother, or perhaps son, depending on what sort of game they felt like playing that day. The boy, who's name was Edward, especially liked it when they took him to the toy store with the glass cases where they kept all the rare and wonderful toys that couldn't be found at any other toy seller.

Each time they took Edward with them wherever they went, they remembered why Edward's parents were trying to get loose of him to begin with: he was a very loud and rambunctious boy, who, with no regard whatever for the sensibilities of two blonde teenagers, would skip around the echoing halls of the mall making frighteningly realistic fire engine noises at the top of his lungs.

On this particular day, it had not taken long for one of the girls to lose her patience with his shrill gambolling. She marched over to him and caught him by the wrist. Kneeling down, she whispered, "Sssshhhh, They might hear you. Do you really want Them to know you are here?"

Confused, the boy looked around. A few familes walked the mall, pushing strollers or carrying large plastic bags filled with shoes or albums or jewelry boxes. A straggly old man with a yellowing beard nursed a foam coffee cup. A security guard stared blankly from behind a desk set into the wall, one hand propping up his chin.

"No, not them. Them." The girl pointed a quivering finger toward the bulbous, silver-topped garbage cans. "Inside. They'll hear you."

"What are you talking about?"

"They live inside those garbage cans, listening. And if they hear you, they'll rush out from their lair, streak across the mall in a flash of black fur and razor-teeth, snatch you up, and you'll never come out again."

The boy stopped and stared at the garbage cans. They looked big enough to house such a creature, and as he looked around, everyone else was being very quiet. Come to think of it, the only sound at all came from somewhere near the ceiling: a dull, placid piano. He looked up at his cousin, who was standing above him now, holding his hand with a wide, proud smile on her face. Solemnly, he nodded.

The rest of the way to the teen fashion store, Edward walked silently, close to his cousins, looking up and down the wide walks for streaking black fur. Perhaps his shoes squeaked louder than others? Could they hear him breathing? Why were his cousins talking so loud? As they passed row after row of benches, each one had a garbage can on either side. The boy's eyes locked on each one, watching breathlessly for the tiniest sway of its topmost, silvery swing-door.

He let out a long sigh upon crossing onto the carpet of the fashion store, the girls' favorite mall destination. He hated the store; there was nothing to play with, only a thousand round racks filled with strangely colored clothing that made ridiculous anyone who touched them. Normally, he would remain outside the store, running around the middle of the mall among the collections of benches, fake plants, wide brown rugs, and (gulp) garbage cans. He hugged one of the plastic pillars at the entrance to the store, watching the five or six cans within sight. He was thankful for the sanctuary.

Reluctantly, Edward turned eyes back to the interior of the fashion store, the pink and purple heaps making him squint and frown. Bubble gum music oozed from hidden alcoves somewhere above him. Somewhere to one side, his cousins chortled excitedly with garishly dressed and clownishly painted attendants. "There has to be something fun to do in here," Edward said to himself.

Still shorter than most of the clothing racks, he wound his way between them to the back of the store, where the clothes no one wanted waited on dusty racks. He found a particularly full rack, and thrust his hands between an orange sweater and something made from lime-green taffeta, parting them just wide enough for him to climb inside. Bunching shut behind him, the circular clothing rack became his refuge from the store, a fortress from which he could think up something fun to do.

As he thought through his options, he glanced down in the dim light which filtered through the glass top of the rack. He noticed that on the dirty floor beneath him, right in the middle of the carpet, was what appeared to be a wooden trap door, complete with a gnarled iron ring set in its face. He had never seen anything like it, except maybe in an old story book or cartoon. He stared at it for a long time, as if waiting for something to burst forth from below. On a whim, he reached down, grasped the ring firmly, and pulled the creaking door upright. Suddenly, the smell of dirty water and old burger wrappers billowed his nose. The light was just strong enough for him to see the top rungs of an old wooden ladder which led down into the steaming darkness.

A voice came from somewhere outside the world of the rack, "Edward, where'd you go?"

He set one foot on the ladder, glanced up once, and then began climbing down…

(read part II)

Tiny biplanes appeared in the skies

Tiny biplanes appeared in the skies above the courtyard, flying long, slow sorties just beneath the branches of the spreading maple. So far as anyone knew, no biplanes had ever been sighted there before. They were very small, no more than eight inches in length, and had emerged just that morning from the nativity of their box. They had come not as biplanes at all, or so the instructions would indicate. But the boy, too young for legos anyway, had no patience for tedious instructions. These white and grey and red atoms of joy became rough-hewn flying machines in his tinkering hands, piloted by white knights of the sky visible only to the eyes of imagination.

Other toys made their sojourn to this courtyard, too, along with books about dinosaurs and pads of drawing paper. The boy visited here often, staying with his grandmother in a small apartment where she lived alone. Her door and six others formed a ring around that soft floor of green where the boy played. Sometimes he would visit his grandmother's neighbors, all venerable folk in their gowns and slippers, all smiles and shining eyes. He could not remember them ever leaving the cozy doorways which looked out upon that small green world.

In the coming year, his infant sister would crawl upon that lush grass. Years after that, before it would ever see their home, the boy and his sister would bring their newly purchased guinea pig to that courtyard and set it free upon that garden of greens. And they would laugh, because it never moved more than a step from its cage, but rather sat and chewed, content there, the wide courtyard a world larger than it could imagine.

One narrow walk leads away from the courtyard, away from the solemn apartments, to the blacktop where the muscular Chevelle broods. It belonged to his grandmother, but now it only waits. It will not be long until the boy pilots that rough-forged iron machine to a nervous young woman's house, and there beneath the moon kiss her awkwardly, eagerly.

The grandmother is gone now. In the passing years, what strange feet have crossed that quiet courtyard of grass, what faces lurk behind the doors that guard it? No biplanes brave the skies beneath that spreading maple. The boy is grown, and the biplanes wait in the mind of his daughter. Perhaps this time they will be born anew not as biplanes at all, but delicate flying horses or glittering fairies visible only to the eyes of imagination.

Love story in 100 words

As the blue moon rose huge and smiling over the calm Cabo seas, the computer nerd sat nervously on the sand with the black squad cheerleader, wondering what he was doing with a diamond ring in his pocket. She certainly had no idea. He had had to smuggle it to Mexico hidden inside a floss box (she was always very curious), and now she wondered what was making that rattling sound. Bathed in the silvery glow of the moon, he managed to stutter out the words, "would you be my wife?" Eyes wide for only a moment, she said yes.

* I entered a contest challenging me to write our love story in 100 words or less for Valentine's Day. It's no great piece of art, but it certainly was fun to write. It's also tougher than you think; try writing anything of the sort given only 100 words!

The door into darkness

After saying goodnight and turning off the bedroom light, Mom forgot to close the closet door. Too old for Smurfs but too young for Miami Vice, the boy realized her mistake and stared at the gaping door into darkness.

By day, his closet contained mostly jeans, a pair or two of home-made slacks, and his prized parachute pants with the hole in the left knee. But something else also lurked among that trove of toys. Amidst the newer G. I. Joes, Transformers, and Starriors waited a much older toy, one from his earliest days as a child. The little boy had jumped for joy when his unthinking parents brought home the green monstrosity called Terron: the Beast from Beyond, thinking rightly that the little boy would love it (after all, it resembled a dinosaur!). But what would happen to the toy at bedtime?

He remembers that first night with the toy. When bedtime came, Mom grasped it by the wide spiky frill and set it facing the room against the back wall of the closet. The green, heavily armored beast with six beetle-like legs and a hooked beak stared back at him: silently, motionlessly. But he had watched it scuttle all over the ragged brown carpet of his home. Had Mom turned it off when he wasn’t watching? Or did it merely wait for its moment, the lights off, the closet door open just far enough, the boy helplessly asleep?

The boy lay there, his eyes wide in the dim light, able to see only the beast’s shadowy outline. Reflections from the yard mercury light filtered through the one window of his room, lending its ghastly purplish-white glow to the silhouettes of furniture. He dared not leave the protective covers of his bed quilt; the light switch remained too remote for such rash action; who knows if that hooked beak would hamstring him in the time it took for him to reach the switch?

He had only one chance. The foot of his bed came within an arm’s length of the closet door. If he could reach out one leg from beneath the covers and slide the closet door shut, he might seal that monster inside until the safety of the morning sun. Even if the monster caught him in the act, the worst it could do is to get his leg; the rest of him would be safe under the quilt. He was confident he could breathe the stale air under there till morning.

It was now or never. His heart began to pound. Over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, he swore he heard something brush past the comic books stacked on the floor of his closet. He slid down under the covers, feeling for the edge of the bed with his bare feet. His fingers and toes went cold and clammy as his feet left the comforter. A little squirming brought him into a clump of covers at the edge of his bed. His one exposed leg hit the cold wood of the closet door, groping wildly for its far right edge.

What was that? Something moved outside the fortress of his covers! He froze, one leg suspended in the cold darkness outside. Too frightened to pull his leg back to safety, he simply hung there motionlessly, waiting for the steel-sharp beak to cleave his soft flesh. It would all end soon!

But somewhere beyond the safety of the covers, a light bathed the room, a soft blue light penetrating the thickness of the quilt. He threw it back and saw his mother standing at the door, a quizzical look on her face. “What are you doing in here?”

The boy shot a glance at the closet. Terron, paralyzed by the light, crouched there motionless. Is that where Mom set it down, or had it moved? He turned back to her, “Could you shut the closet door?”

She smiled, crossed the room, and shut the door on whatever designs for the boy’s grisly demise Terron had entertained. “Go to sleep,” Mom demanded, turning off the light and shutting the door to the room. The little boy felt his heart resume its normal pace, thinking, is this how every night is going to be?

(For you toy buffs out there, Terron was the prize bad guy for the line of figures known as Super Joe, before G. I. Joe was a gleam in his mama's eye. I loved this toy dearly by day, scared to death of it by night.)

Late night hacking

A few nights ago I caught Katelyn using the laptop we bought her for Christmas. At first I thought she was just banging on the keys, playing the cheap ripoff of "pong" that came with it, but then I realized she had written a new operating system and internet browser over the pre-installed software. When I asked her about it, she said, "ditti wa moooo teeetoe!" which I took to be some reference to open source licensing.

I checked her upload history, and all she had done was trade in some pirated HD-DVD and Blu-ray codecs. I gave her a stern talking to about international copyright agreements, and she promised she would respect the current culture of intellectual property. She added, "Datteee moww lalalaa", which was either an apology or a statement of conscience against corporate greed. Either way, she's well on her way to following in her daddy's nerdy footsteps.

Poor kid.

Rainy day improvising

This last Wednesday, I was called in as backup to help a couple of friends unload a engine-less Chevy blazer so that one of them could remove the transmission and make a few extra bucks repairing another vehicle. Pretty routine--my job consisted of pushing at the right time and in the right direction. Fair enough.

But when we rolled up on the hill across from the retirement center on Madrona, and I saw the trailer, I began wondering what I had gotten myself into.

The bruised and broken trailer, borrowed from someone else's loose acquaintance, lacked ramps with which to lower the vehicle. Instead, somebody brought along a couple of rotten planks, maybe that might work. Worse, the trailer did not have a floor. That's right, the wheels of the Blazer were precariously balanced on its metal frame, the holes in which were loosely covered with also-rotten planks of plywood. Sweet. Glad I'm not the brains of the operation here. I'm just here to push.

So then the deliberation began. Along with the rain. Standing alongside, I watched a few different options tried and abandoned. I ran up from the sidelines now and again to push heartily in one direction or another. After breaking a ramp-board and watching half of the Blazer fall off the back of the trailer and onto the street, the decision was made simply to pull the trailer out from underneath the Blazer. Sure enough, after some satisfactory metal scraping and chassis-bouncing, the Blazer was free. Several of us rushed forward to push the Blazer into the driveway and secure it with blocks. Mission accomplished. Soaking wet, but done.

Shaking my head and walking away, I asked myself how different the situation would have turned out if a professional towing company would have done the job. Quick, painless, clean. Deposited right where you wanted it. Heck, I wouldn't even have been involved. But towing is expensive when insurance isn't covering it. The whole point was to make money on the deal, not waste it on resources that would defeat the purpose. These guys improvised with workable tools at hand. The truck ended up in the driveway just the same.

Of course, the whole episode got me thinking about church planting. I imagine lots of folks from established churches would look at some of the things we do at Cascade Hills and gasp. Rotten tools, rainy weather, a lot of extra work that is dirty and difficult. There are the people standing alongside to help, watching the "brains" of the operation puzzle out a workable solution which often involves scraping and banging.

But it gets done, because it must be done. Even with the startling lack of resources with which church planters work, solutions present themselves. Sometimes its difficult work, but we must work with the tools at hand. And the work gets done: people become connected to a faith community, hope returns to lives that have shriveled, lost sheep return to the fold of the Great Shepherd. Rainy days or no, what an adventure!

A whole new world

I am already old enough that I can walk on the Oregon beach, full of my own thoughts and concerns, and fail to notice the crash of the waves on the sand, the rushing of the wind above the sea, the whirling of sea birds with their fretful calling. I have seen and heard these things many times, and it is strange how the beauty of our favorite things can become lost in simple familiarity.

But each time when I hold the tiny hand of my daughter (or rather, she clutches one of my fingers), her presence shakes the familiar back into shades of wonder. It isn't quite that I am experiencing them anew. Rather, I am captured by a new, higher joy: I have been granted the supreme privilege of introducing her to things which have brought me wonder, and the still greater joy of seeing her eyes widen, her mouth fall open in awe at the simple beauty of the ocean's pulsing waves, the roar of the wind, the call of the birds

It is a new world of joy to be a father. What higher joy is there that could best the curl of her cold, wet hand around one of my fingers, her not knowing which way to run next, each step carrying her into the world of God's majestic creation?

Training her up for the good life

This last week or so has been a great chance for Melissa, Katelyn, and I to spend some time laying down the intense work of church planting for some much needed rest and family time. We spent two nights at Nehalem Bay near Tillamook on the Oregon Coast doing our best to train our daughter in the ways of outdoor living.



She took right to it. At the time she was not walking (much changes from week to week in the life of a 1-yr-old), so Melissa cut up a pair of my socks and put them over her knees so she could crawl around in the thistles and gravel. I suppose one might call these contraptions the baby hiking boot. (Come to think of it, I ought to start selling Gore-Tex versions at REI for $189 a pop...)One afternoon, we took Katelyn out to the bay and played on the sandy shoreline there, sheltered from the Nehalem wind by the graying driftwood trees. For the first time, she enjoyed the sand--didn't try eating any of it either--and generally had the gleam of wonder and discovery that so often graces the eye of the very young. She was particularly fascinated by the "where's your toes game." A real puzzler...



But mostly we stayed near the tent reading, snacking, and napping. We had nothing to worry about, since Katelyn viciously guarded our tent. Here's to training her up for living the good life of the Oregon outdoors!

So much for our newest pet...

With our daughter rapidly growing older, we thought it might be a good idea to get a new pet to add to our family. Jasmine, our elusive blue-eyed feline, has not shown much interest in Katelyn other than making sure that she maintains a constant ten foot safe zone between her and the baby.

So we decided to get something friendly, you know, something that we knew would take right to the baby. We talked with some experts and decided on an African pit viper. We picked one up, named her Edna, and set her free right there in the living room. We thought it might take Katelyn a little while to build up an immunity to the hemotoxins in the viper's venom, but she didn't give Edna the chance to find out.

"Yes, do the pureed peas come with fries?"

We enjoyed a little time at Red Robin with Melissa's family this week, as it was her sister Karen's birthday. Katelyn put on her big-girl act and grabbed the nearest menu. We were a little embarrassed when she ordered the most expensive thing she could find and then didn't leave a tip.

Kids these days.

Experiments with growth acceleration in infants

Yep, I started her early. We were sitting in Starbucks waiting to head over to a Cascade Hills service project and I ended up with an extra-big (that's venti for you insiders) coffee because of a mix up. So there I was, sitting with my daughter on my lap, enjoying the delicious flavor of a little Christmas Blend, when I noticed that Katelyn was rather interested in the large red object that kept passing just over her head on its way to my mouth.

So I figured, hey, if she wants a little, I might as well give her a taste. Big mistake. Now, some of you might have heard the old saw about caffeine stunting your growth--it's simply not true. Shortly after this picture was taken, Katelyn gulped down the rest of my coffee, mumbling something about mellow, smooth notes. She jumped down off my lap, jogged over to the counter, ordered a triple mocha to go, and then asked for the car keys on the way out the door.

Who knew?

New home, new routines -- new opportunity!

I once read an article outlining the biggest stressors a person can experience in his life. According to the article, moving was one of those stressors, and after finally finishing the last load of boxes in our cross-town move, I can agree. Moving is both physically and emotionally draining, especially for somebody who enjoys having his work space in some semblance of order.

Part of the reason for the stress is that moving deeply upsets routines. I'm not one particularly given to routine, but it does make the day quite a bit more difficult when simple tasks like brushing your teeth involve a search through boxes just to find the required equipment.

One of the upsides to moving is the fact that it does upset routines, because not all of my habits and routines are good. For the last several months, I have been desperately trying to recover a healthy practice of the spiritual disciplines (commonly called quiet time), but it has been nothing but struggle. I'm looking forward to settling into some new morning routines and a fresh approach to the challenge of spending time with God. I've even dug out a good book on the topic, Dallas Willard's Spirit of the Disciplines, just to spark some interest and fresh thinking on the subject.

The refreshing part of change is the opportunity to change for the better. Here's to the pursuit of a deeper intimacy with Jesus!

Putting down roots...again

Yesterday marked the eighth move Melissa and I have undergone in the last five years. This one, like several other cross-town moves, has consisted mostly of heaving random items into anything that remotely resembles a box and flinging them headlong into every trailer, trunk, or glovebox that's available.

When you travel cross country, you are compelled to pack carefully and deliberately. Cross-town moves, however, are an exercise of my inherent tendency to avoid planning and foresight. Who cares how many car loads it takes? Who cares how many times I have to drive back to the other location to find the one piece of the item that didn't make the last trip? Who cares that everything takes twice as long?

Yep, it's time for Melissa and I to get used to yet another temporary (i.e., rental) living space on our search for a stable life. Since we aren't quite sure what's going to happen during the transition from outside support as church planters to inside support as a brand new congregation's minister in a few years, we aren't quite sure what our financial status will be. We've already been burned once by short-term home ownership, so buying a house was out. But, once Katelyn begins walking (which I am convinced is only seconds away), we were beginning to feel the constraint of a one-bedroom house.

So after looking half-seriously for the last six months, we found a great place very near to the elementary school where we meet as a church. We already love the new place--it has more than one drawer in the kitchen, and what's this? A new-fangled modern contrivance called a dishwasher? And our greedy friend the in-sink erator (that's a garbage disposal for those of you who have never read the arcane text on the little metal ring in the middle of your kitchen sink...) Yes folks, Melissa and I have moved out of the 1940's and back into the modern world.

At least it will be modern once our cable/broadband is installed next week.

But we don't mind, we'll hardly be done dragging carloads of cat hair, empty pop cans, and rickety furniture by then. Once we are settled, you can expect an invitation to our new home. Heck, we may be able to seat more than three people comfortably in the living room!

Scary when your face is reflected in great pool of the internet...

Apparently Tim and I aren't the only ones irritated with what's going on in Hollywood and their complete inability to generate any worthwhile, new ideas. I ran across this guy out there with an article nicely accompanied by movie poster pics, and I'm pretty sure I've seen posts very similar to his variously attributed to those in my blog ring...

It's a wide world out there. And apparently it's pretty much the same as in here.

Somebody needs to figure out how to bottle this stuff...

The ancient asian cultures theorized that the matter all around us was composed of five basic elements: fire, water, earth, wood, and metal. Whether or not this is true, with Katelyn's latest antics, I have discovered a sixth: elemental joy.

She has recently learned a whole range of new vocabulary, and we were becoming accustomed to seeing the startled look on her face when a brand new sound left her lips. But it was another thing entirely when she discovered she could laugh--that might have been the most amazing sound I have ever heard! I could have sat and made my little girl laugh until Kingdom Come.

It is said the simplest things in life are always the best. Whoever said that must have had a little girl, too.

Messages from home, missing my daughter

I just recently returned from a trip to St. Louis, Missouri that required that I remain away from my growing-like-a-weed, 3-month old daughter. Not ever having been away from her for that much time since she was born, I found myself missing her and her mother terribly.

I wasn't entirely without contact with her or Melissa while in St. Louis. Melissa took measures to make sure that I could hear Katie giggling and cooing in the background whenever I would call during the week. Hearing her little voice over the phone probably just made things worse. But it wasn't just the phone calls.

To sidetrack for a moment, before I left, Katelyn was having (to put it diplomatically) a bit of difficulty moving things along in her digestive tract. Melissa and I were both mildly concerned, though it never seemed to affect Katie's good humor. Thursday night marked the seventh day with no appropriate diaper activity on Katie's part, and Melissa mentioned she was going to try the old standby: prune juice.

Meanwhile, I was in St. Louis with almost a hundred other ministers, elders, and theologians from across the country, discussing ways we might bring about a revival of church planting in the churches of Christ. Our time was spent listening to short presentations, gathered around tables for tackling some of the concerns around church planting, interspersed with times of worship.

At one point during the day, after nearly an hour of worship, prayer, and powerful singing together, I looked down at my phone (set to silent mode, of course). The small red blink indicated I had a message waiting. Amidst the quiet prayers being offered around me, ministers kneeling and praying all over the room, I quietly flipped open my phone to see the source of the message.

Turns out it was a text message from Melissa, reading, "BABY HAD A POOP!!!"

Needless to say, my laughing out loud followed by slapping a hand to my mouth and looking around the room sheepishly didn't add to the worship ambiance. I promptly showed it to Dwayne, who himself contributed to the broken silences.

Sometimes you just gotta smile at the simple things in life.

Well on her way to becoming an extrovert

Katelyn is well on her way to becoming an extrovert. Starting about a week ago, we've had a lot of relatives and friends visit, each of which needed to take a turn holding her. Shown is my cousin Nicole. Nicole (bless her heart) had only seen Katelyn twice, and both times, she was in her beloved zonked-nap state. Nicole, who has spent a lot of time raising litters of kittens, asks, "Will she have her eyes open by Christmas?"

After the parade of cousins, Melissa and I left Katelyn with her grandparents for a few hours to celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary (again, asleep like a stone for four hours, despite tickling and zerburts).

This last weekend was a teambuilding weekend for the staff of Cascade Hills, and Melissa "shared" holding-Katelyn duty with nearly everyone there. She loved it! And to top it off, we had a lot of guests at church yesterday, and Melissa kept having to look around to see who was holding Katelyn.

If every time an infant opened her eyes, she saw a different googling face for three days straight, I suppose she's probably going to end up a people person. Either that, or have a very confused grasp of the word "mama".

New research proves conclusively: Parental sleep and newborns are compatible!

This just in: the oft-quoted remarks about new parents falling dangerously behind on sleep have been found to be wholly false. While some newborns may impede some normal sleep functions for intermittent periods in the course of the first months of birth, some parents seem to be able to sleep while employing certain snuggling techniques as yet unexplored by research scientists.*

* Note: the persons in the photograph shown above are not actually sleeping. This photograph was staged in an effort to illustrate conclusive findings that are certain to arise out of the ongoing work in this field. Research scientists have yet to actually reproduce the results described above, but they are hopeful for a breakthrough any day now. Please send donations for this worthy cause to The Foundation for Sleep Recovery.

Spanning generations

Captured in one picture, four generations. That's my grandma Elizabeth holding my daughter. It's been a few weeks now (Katelyn's a little over three weeks old) and we've started getting a few more visitors.

It was a real blessing to have my Grandma up from Eugene to visit Katelyn and spend some time with us. We are thankful to have so many of our family members here close by and we look forward to little Katelyn meeting the rest of the family in the coming days.