carbonated joy

This is the tale of Ruldophius, the most uninteresting man in the world.
(His acquaintances called him Rude for short…it fit)
Rude could ramble on forever and ever…about…himself.
He would look down on you without ever actually looking you in the eye and talk about what he had done and what he could do.
He was clearly smitten with self.
He had memorized a long list of his own strengths that he would proudly recite to anyone within listening distance. If you missed anything, stick around because it would be repeated at least twice.
If you uttered a thought or opinion, He would clear his throat, loudly suck his teeth, and correct you in the most condescending of manners.
He was clearly the most important person in the room…
any room.
He was an expert on everything.
He knew…
every
little
thing
About…
every
little
thing.
There was a point, when he was 23 years old, that he just stopped learning. There was no need for more knowledge. He had it all figured out. He had the answers. He realized that his brain had reached its considerable capacity. He was an early bloomer, so He became a master “one upper”. No matter what anyone else had done, he could one up you with something a little bigger and more important.
Conversation was a competitive sport.
His goal was to always prove that he was right and if you dared to disagree, you were clearly wrong.
He wore his rightness around like a new shirt.
Dogma on display.
It all came naturally.
He was just doing what he was told.
All of his life, his mom had told him that he was the center of the universe.
So, he just acted and expected accordingly.
But, this life lead to all kinds of uninterestingness.
You see, the problem is that stories aren’t meant to be solo.
The best stories involve lots of people.
If you only talk about yourself, you lose the plot.
Preoccupation with self leads to a predisposition towards being really, really boring.
Your life can be frightfully uninteresting when you don’t let others be a part of your story.
AND, being honest about who you are AND aren’t opens you up to a bigger story.
Vulnerability creates relatability.
Live a story bigger than you!

The moral of this fable should be quite clear…
Don’t be Rude.

I took this picture last week in Charleston because this image spoke to me.
There is great story here.
I looked into the faces of these men and I saw determination and dignity.
But, most of all, I saw hope.
I see men who marched down streets built with bricks made by their enslaved brothers and sisters to fight for hope.
Hope that things could get better, if not for them, for their children.
They fought for the hope that someday, somehow, America could truly be great for EVERYbody.
We don’t know what happened after this picture.
Did these valiant men return from fields of battle.
Did they see the better that they fought for?
We do know that these men are a part of OUR story.
What is happening in Charlottesville is a mockery of the story.

It is pure ugly.
It is the sin of superiority.
It is a gross sin to treat ANY other human as “less”.
It is a sin because we ALL bear the same image.
It looks different on all of us because our Creator has a beautiful imagination.
But, make no mistake, we are “same”.
The sin of superiority has to stop.
We have to fight for the hope that things can get better.
We will never experience “more” if we are treating others as “less”.

Jesus said: “This is my commandment: Love each other in the same way I have loved you.”

That seems pretty clear.

We’ve gotten to spend some time lately at a couple of beaches. It has been pretty awesome. I’m sunburned and my beard smells like saltwater.
I’ve seen things…
Things I can never forget…
Sunsets and speedos.
You see every possible size, shade and shape of humanity at the beach. They have all managed to squeeze their bodies into different degrees of stretchy fabric. It seems that the best thing to wear to the beach is confidence. You can break all kinds of international fashion rules by acting like you don’t care what people think.
I’ve seen little kids trying to build big sand castles, Old men with metal detectors, and young men with frisbees.
I witnessed older ladies wearing big floppy hats fighting loud seagulls over a sandwich, and I’ve seen young girls never look up from their phones to view the infinite horizon right in front of them.
I’ve gotten sand in every possible crevice, it’s a bit uncomfortable. But I realize that if you want the sunshine, you got to put up with the sand.
You can spend some serious cash at the touristy surf stores, the best shops have giant sharks at the doors that you walk through. The stores all basically have the same stuff: brightly colored beach towels, seashell art with catchy sayings like “I need vitamin sea”. You can buy “almost live” hermit crabs, 7 year old salt water taffy, and shot glasses.
There are countless overpriced, undercooked seafood buffets with 112 different kinds of grouper. Places with fun names like “Crabby Jacks” or “the Lethargic Mermaid”. I learned a valuable lesson, ALWAYS ask how much it costs before you pick up a fork or you are going to have to take out a loan. Life is like that, you should consider the cost before diving into something.
There are so many completely different people, but, we are all drawn to the water.
There is something healing, something human there.
It is fundamental and elemental.
It is life.
It’s worth the sand and chafing, the crowds and crabs to feel the sunshine on your face and the foamy ocean water on your toes. It’s worth it to see the Creator’s endless originality (and sense of humor) on display as you see dolphins, seashells and hairy guys in speedos.
Life’s a beach.
Dive in!

I’ve heard a lot of talk about greatness lately.
We need to make things great.
I’ve seen men beat their chests and brag about how great they are.
It is really starting to grate on me.
I know the truth about me, and I suspect you…
I’m more predisposed to goofy than great.
I can’t generate great.
I’ve tried and failed.
All that resembles great in me is pure gift.
I tried to go from good to great.
By myself, I didn’t have what it takes.
At best I’m mostly decent.
I have to go from good to grace.
Great is a reflection of the Creator of all that is good and great.
All great is gift.
It’s on loan, it’s Dad throwing us the car keys and saying take it for a spin!
And we excitedly shout “that’s GREAT!!”
Because it is.
All great is gift.
I have no reason to beat my chest.
The only proper reaction is to raise my hands in thanks.
I need to go from good to grateful.
Let’s make America grateful again.

As I write this, it is race day.
That’s a big deal around here.
Eight years ago we moved to Charlotte and I became a race fan. I was hooked!
It’s high octane fun.
It’s even more fun if you have a driver and race team that is your favorite.
I quickly learned that no matter who else you cheer for, you gotta be a Dale Earnhardt Jr. fan. It’s a law…no, seriously.
Fortunately, it’s easy to root for Junior, he seems like a pretty cool guy.
I just read an article about Dale Jr’s childhood.
It wasn’t charmed or cushy.
His Dad make choices that didn’t include his family.
That can mess up a boy.
Junior seemed to spend a lot of years trying to earn the approval of a distant Dad.
Every husband/father has a choice…every single day.
Who comes first?
Your self, your career, your dreams…
Or…
Your family.
In a lesson from NASCAR, it’s all about your team.
Victory depends on your crew. No one wins alone.
In life, being a winner really means nothing without a crew to share it with.
Junior got married, he seems to have found an amazing forever kind of friend and partner.
So the choice becomes:
Choose the family business…
Or…
Make family your primary business.
Every husband/father has to choose.

His Dad cast a huge shadow.
It’s hard to come out from the shadows.
You get used to the shade.
But, in a classic NASCAR tradition, Junior is making his own shine.
He has stepped out of the shadows and he has cast his own far reaching shadow.
And now, he has made a truly championship choice.
This is his last season.
Junior is retiring from the sport that has tried to define him.
He has taken the steering wheel and redefined his race.
He has decided he wants to hang out with his wife! He has chosen family.
He seems to have realized you can honor your father without being your father.
He is putting family first.
THAT is the mark of a real Champion.
Mr. Earnhardt, I salute you sir!!
Thank you for showing the world what matters.

On the first day of our vacation we were looking for a way to unwind, to shake the stress off.
We thought a couples massage would be perfect.
It was our first couples massage.
I was excited!
I had certain very realistic expectations.
I pictured Diana and myself wearing matching fluffy bathrobes. There would be the faint scent of lavender and musk in the air, maybe the sound of ocean waves in the background.
We would hold hands and lovingly gaze into each other’s eyes as we were gently massaged by discreet experts in relaxation.
But, that is not what happened…
Not at all.
Brace yourself! This is terrifying…
It was a place called Tao Massage near the beach.
We found it on yelp, there were dozens of positive reviews.
Tao is a Chinese word meaning path.
For us, it was a personal path to pain!
We arrived early to fill out the necessary paperwork and discuss the particulars of the procedure. We have been to reputable massage joints all over the southeast and there is always paperwork…right?
We were greeted by two bored looking women in sweatpants.
There was no paperwork. There was no conversation or explanation.
Then just barked “three o’clock?” And ushered us into a dark room. Then they pointed to a sign and said “read”.
The sign said “disrobe to your level of comfort”.
I thought, okay, for me, that means that I’m leaving my cargo shorts and socks on. I laid down on the hard wooden table and covered my pudgy body as best I could with the threadbare polyester sheet (I’m pretty sure the sheet was older than me). The room smelled like old pickles.
I put my face in the stained donut pillow.
And awaited the relaxation…
It never showed up.
The ladies entered the room.
My lady laughed out loud (I’m not making this up) and she talked to her coworker in Chinese.
Then, they both laughed…
Evidently my comfort level was not okay with my masseuse, she immediately yanked on my belt loop and shouted “Take off pants now!”
I responded in a voice that sounded to my wife like a scared little boy: “I kinda wanted to leave them on…”
“Take off pants now!”
“But, the sign said…”
“Take off pants now!”
Then the beating began.
I swear I heard a giggle as the lady started to pound the crud out of my back.
I heard the other lady ask Diana “hard or soft?”
Diana (who has had a few massages, and is no sissy) said hard…
She would live to regret that.
Let me explain, my wife is a Midwest girl who aced natural child birth. She has a very high tolerance for pain.
But, She has never experienced a pain like she did for that hour.
I heard faint whimpers coming from Diana’s side. She kept expecting it to get more relaxing, but…it…didn’t.
On my side of the darkness, the lady was pulling my arms and legs in completely unnatural positions. I’m not a limber man, I never have been. But this lady was determined to make me Gumby.
I swear, she was trying hard to pull me off the table head first.
It was scary.
Strange, guttural noises came out of my body, noises that I didn’t think I was capable of.
I’m pretty sure that instead of massage school, these ladies attended a professional wrestling school. They did every possible wrestling hold on us. We were body slammed, elbowed unmercifully, side armed, even slapped.
Diana’s lady viscously yanked and pulled her hair. I’ve never been so glad to be bald!
We somehow both received the wedgies of our life! (And, I’ve had my share of wedgies!)
After exactly 60 minutes, both ladies did some kind of weird slap thing on our respective backs and announced “finished!”
They left the room.
We just sat there in the dark.
There was a weird silence.
Diana felt like she was going to throw up.
We looked at each other like we had just survived a mugging, a brutal mugging that we had paid for.
We just got dressed as fast as we could, I put my shirt on backwards.
We limped out of the darkness in complete silence.
We went to the front desk, where one lady sadistically smiled and said “nice massage!”
We were both unable to speak coherently. We responded with something that sounded like…
“HMMPPTHHUMPOUCHMAN…”
We threw the payment at the lady as best we could with hands that suddenly didn’t work anymore.
We stumbled out in a state of shock, fighting back tears and unable to really talk about what had just transpired.
We drove back to our condo in silence.
That night we checked each other for bruises, and we slowly were able to speak and function again.
We swore that someday we would be able to laugh about this, probably after the swelling goes down.
(I honestly don’t think I will be laughing about the whole wedgie incident anytime soon. That was just too embarrassing.)
We eventually recovered…
A few hours of sitting in the sunshine with our toes in the sand helped us shake off the stress.
We are rethinking our trust in yelp reviews.
Our arms, legs and comfort levels were stretched to painful lengths.
We somehow survived.
We truly know what it is to be rubbed the wrong way.

I put my granddaughter down this morning on her plastic play mat. She loves it! It plays music and it’s decorated with unnaturally colored circus animals. She lays there transfixed by the colors, awkwardly swatting at the hanging critters. I put her down and I started to do something else, I had things to do, coffee was high on the list. But, instead I plopped down on the floor beside her and I played with the green giraffe. I looked at her face, she was lost in wonder. She was captured by discovery. It is an incomparable joy to watch her discover new things. Every day something is new. Today it was the blue plastic elephant with red ears. He is AWESOME!!
When I got down on her level I became a witness to the wide eyed wonder.
Sometimes you miss things if you aren’t willing to stop and play, and I don’t want to miss a thing!
I’m reminded that every human is wired for wonder, crafted for curiosity, and designed to discover.
Because we never get too old to discover new.
This morning as I lay on the floor with the Moonpie, two phrases exploded in my spirit and I wept like a three month old baby.
The Spirit whispered to me…
“My mercies are new every day”
And…
“The Word became flesh”.
Mercies are new every day.
There is freshly forged grace every new day.
God gives mercy like manna, new every day and the perfect amount for the day.
New…
Jesus came to make all things new.
Fresh mercy to be discovered and dispensed.
But, that’s not all…
“The Word became flesh”.
Jesus got down on the floor to play with us.
He had things to do, a galaxy to run. But instead he plopped down onto our play mat.
The divine isn’t as distant as we have been led to believe.
God gets down on the floor with us.
He came to make us new and to help us discover new things. He did it because he loves us.
I think he did it because he didn’t want us to miss a thing.

It was an annual summer ritual for my brother and me.
The summer hair cut…the buzz cut.
At our house it happened as soon as school let out. Schools out, hairs off!
BUZZ!
For most of my childhood my Grandpa Cox was my barber. (If you are feeling brave, you can read about that truly hair raising experience here: https://carbonatedjoy.com/2014/11/24/how-much-is-a-free-hair-cut/ ) It was much more about function than fashion. At our house, summer was messy and smelly. We played outside all day, running wild and grabbing summer by the throat. We explored fields and creeks. We threw mud and skipped stones. We played football and climbed through mosquito infested drainage ditches. We caught lightning bugs. We ate homegrown tomatoes and watermelon, getting the sticky juice all over our dirty faces.
By the time the sun went down our sweaty heads smelled like really old mayonnaise. It was very unpleasant. Mom decided it would be better to have sons with heads that resembled pink vidalia onions, than to bring the toxic stank head into the house. So the hair had to go. Mom always thought fashion should serve you instead of the other way around.
BUZZ!
“Don’t worry! It will grow back by the time school starts!”
BUZZ!
It usually didn’t grow back quickly, I have proof of this with years of school pictures where I look like a goofy, smiling onion! (WHY does it seem like picture day was always the first week of school?)
BUZZKILL!!
It actually did benefit us, we didn’t have to worry about hair getting in our eyes when we were popping wheelies. We didn’t have to touch a bottle shampoo for three months. It gave us more time to play, since we didn’t have to worry about personal grooming.
It’s ironic that now that I get to decide, I shave my head every few days. I sport a yearlong BUZZ. There are several reasons for this, if I tried to grow out my hair now, it would look like a splotchy cul de sac. AND, I love the fresh feeling of a cool breeze on my naked scalp.
BUT…
The bottom line is still this: It gives me more time to play, since I don’t have to worry about personal grooming.
BUZZ!!

I didn’t get to know my Grandpa Lang very well. He died when I was five years old. But, when I think back, this is how I remember him…