carbonated joy

People have very strong mixed feelings about Christmas music. They love it or hate it.
We usually start hearing tinsel tunes sometime in October (probably because Halloween music never really caught on). Some people love it and can’t wait to sing about decking halls and roasting chestnuts. They get all giddy when they hear Bing Crosby swoon about his White Christmas dreams. Other people hate it, they want a TRUE silent night, as in EVERYBODY JUST SHUT UP!!! They have a violent reaction when they hear Mariah Carey singing “I don’t want alot for Christmas…”
I have a confession to make, I like Christmas music. In fact, I’m listening to the Brian Setzer Orchestra rock around the Christmas tree EVEN as I write this. I wish I had some egg nog!
My favorite Christmas song of all time is Joy to the World, I love it! Maybe because I REALLY like JOY. I think that JOY is my superpower.
You probably only hear this song once a year around this time, so let me reacquaint you with some of the lyrics…

“Joy to the World, the Lord has come!
Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven, and Heaven, and nature sing.

Joy to the World, the Savior reigns!
Let men their songs employ;
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.

He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders, wonders, of His love.”

We are invited to join heaven and nature in the biggest sing-along EVER. We are singing about unspeakably amazing things, JOY…wonder…glory.
It probably shouldn’t be an once a year deal!
I think that is why we are told to REPEAT the sounding JOY.
But, do you repeat the unspeakable?
How do we make Joy to the World more than a Christmas song?
Because, Heaven knows that the world could seriously use some JOY right now!!
JOY is a singable thing.
How can JOY become the unending song of our heart?
How can it be the soundtrack of our life? A sweet song you never get tired of.
Repeat the sounding joy…
JOY can’t be manufactured or bought, it can only be chosen.
Choose JOY.
Then hit repeat, punch the perpetual rewind button.
Choose JOY, then choose it again and again and again.
It becomes a song that gets stuck in your brain for all the right reasons, because it makes you smile and dance.
JOY is not a feeling or happy little buzz, it’s a deep knowing that life may not always be fun or easy, but life is always a gift so I will treat it as such.
It’s an inner peace that everything is gonna be alright and that causes you to rejoice regardless of outward circumstances.
Happiness and JOY are two completely different things.
Happiness is born of circumstance.
JOY is born of hope.
JOY is not about what is happening TO you, it’s about what happened IN you.
JOY is never out of reach, even in the darkest times.
JOY is based on the unsinkable fact that God loves you with a RIDICULOUS love and you can trust Him.
It’s the kind of thing that can make you sing…
Joy to the world
All the boys and girls
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me

Do you hear what I hear?
It’s JOY!
It’s EXACTLY what we need for times like this!
Play it again!!
Repeat the sounding joy.

Many people think the little drummer boy was a slightly creepy stop action animated boy with abnormally skinny arms, a big freaky head and an anger problem. BUT, that’s not the whole fabricated truth. The REAL little drummer boy was actually born in 1968 in Abilene, Texas. His name was Clarence Eggnoggin. At an early age, Clarence got the nickname Ringo because he always left a red dirt ring in the bathtub, which was an unfortunate side effect to growing up in West Texas. The nickname stuck with him the rest of his life.

Most of his friends were from the wrong side of the tracks, he was a poor boy too.
Pa rum pum pum pum
Maybe because of his nickname he picked up some drumsticks at an early age, he showed some rhythm and skill. One year, for Christmas, his parents got him a beginner drum kit. They had bought it at a garage sale for 14 dollars. There was never a silent night in their house again. Ringo could never sit still. He was always clanging and banging something…pots and pans, desks, tabletops.
He became a drummer in the high school marching band. It was a sight to behold, because Ringo was little, he never grew over 5 feet. He also looked really young. Because of his embarrassing inability to grow any decent facial hair, he had a boyish appearance even well into his forties.
He was a little drummer boy.
Pa rum pum pum pum
But, He had big rock star dreams. He played a lot of honky tonks while working at Potter’s Feed Store. He learned every Lynyrd Skynyrd, Hank Jr and ZZ Top song he could. He spent his weekends playing at every seedy dive within driving distance with his band, the Tumbleweed Troubadours.
Then in 2011, his 2nd wife, Lucille, picked a fine time to leave him and their son, Aaron. He found himself at the end of himself. He turned to God. He prayed, “I’ll play my drum for you”.
Pa rum pum pum pum
Now you will find him every Sunday at the New Life Victory in Christ Gospel Tabernacle clanging and banging. There are usually only about 45 people there, some of them have lost their hearing, most have no rhythm. Ringo doesn’t care, he gives it all he’s got, he loves them, but, he’s not playing for the people. He plays just as hard for 45 as he would for 45,000, because he is really only playing for 1. He is playing his heart out for the King of everything.
His finest gift he brings.
Then he feels God smile.
Pa rum pum pum pum

Okay, here’s the deal, the truly true story is that the REAL little drummer boy (or girl) is simply anyone who brings the gift of who they are to the King of everything. They bow down and say “I’ll use my gift for you”.

And God smiles.
Pa rum pum pum pum

When I was about seven, my Grandma (who was a wild, crazy, beautiful soul) had a wild, crazy, beautiful idea. She wanted her grandkids to get a visit from Santa every Christmas Eve. She wanted to make a memory and manufacture a moment. It took her a few months toiling away on her trusty singer in her sewing room, but, she made my Grandpa a Santa suit, complete with a fake beard. Thus began a wild, crazy, beautiful tradition. For about 11 years, every Christmas Eve, they would load up the trusty sleigh (which was actually an El Camino) and make the rounds. They would visit 11 cousins at 4 different houses. Our 3 cousins in Seattle always got the Santa shaft.
In the beginning it was sweet holiday magic. Nobody was really fooled, even my 2 year old sister figured out that Grandpa was Santa. But, we were charmed by the creative effort fueled by our grandmothers imagination and our grandfathers willingness to go along with the plan. But, in time cousins inevitably grow up and we outgrew whimsy. Grandpa’s drinking got worse and harder to hide. Grandma got tired. At first the Santa costume smelled like sugar cookies, over the years it began to smell like cheese and beer. Sometimes he would forget to wear the beard.
We were over it.
We were left with more memory than magic.
That’s the thing about moments, even the best intentioned moments can get uncomfortable. But, fortunately it’s not about creating a perfect memory. It’s about the heart of the moment maker. Every story can be redeemed and turned into a moment that lasts forever.
When we were a little older, it became pretty routine. We would take some awkward pictures and then get about the serious business of gift gifting. There would always be a stocking, hopefully filled with candy canes and homemade cookies (grandma made the best chocolate chip cookies on the planet, I know that you probably think that your grandma makes the best cookies, I’m sorry, but you are wrong.) One year they brought us Fruit stockings. I’m sorry, no kid wants oranges for Christmas.
Grandma would give us something that she had made. We got homemade stockings one year that were personalized and seriously bedazzled. She put months into creating something unique for us…a memory. Something carefully constructed with us in mind.
Then Santa…um…Grandpa would pull out a stack of envelopes.
We would drop the handmade memories.
The envelopes had actual money…cash…moola.
We were blinded to the moment.
We would usually spend the Christmas money on something that would break within weeks.
At the time we were all about the cash. Now I see that the crafts were so much more valuable.
Not because of what they were, sometimes they were flawed.
Because of what they represented…time…effort…creativity…thought…imagination.
I thought about this a while back as I unpacked a quilted tree skirt that Grandma made and put it under our Christmas tree. It’s a memory that has adorned our holiday for decades.
Grandma created moments with her bare hands.
Memories make some of the greatest art…a mosaic composed of raw joy and raw pain.
Memories make the kind of art that up close, sometimes doesn’t make sense…like a drunk old man in a musty Saint Nick costume being driven around by his long suffering wife to grandkids who have figured things out….but, step away from the picture and it makes sense.
It makes wild, crazy, beautiful art.
The kind of art that remains.
Money can’t buy that kind of art.
It is carefully constructed by the moment makers…the dreamers…the amazing Grandmas who just want to make a little magic.
Magic that becomes moments.
Moments are better than money.
Have yourself a wild, crazy, beautiful, little Christmas.

It was a chilly morning in a small town…my hometown, Owasso, Oklahoma. It was a big day, people were sitting and standing along Main Street for the annual Christmas parade. They were huddled with fuzzy blankets and thermoses full of hot cocoa.
It was a big deal in a small town!
The high school marching band was there, playing “jingle bells” over and over again. The homecoming queen was clutching a bouquet of wilting roses and waving from the back of a red convertible. the rotary club had a float, so did the Future Farmers of America.
It was a big day in a small town.
And in the middle of all the excitement, there was a horde of first graders, dressed as Christmas presents.
I was one of those gifts!
We were wearing oversized cardboard boxes with strategically placed arm and head holes. My amazing Mom had wrapped the box in shiny, brightly colored foil gift wrap. I had a big bow on top of my buzz cut.
My prepackaged peers and I were supposed to throw candy to the crowd and sing Christmas carols.
Because we were overexcited first graders wearing cardboard boxes, I’m sure it looked like a robotic celebration of awkwardness.
We proudly marched down Main Street past the library, past Soc’s drug store, past the First Bank of Owasso (at the time it was the only bank), toward the finish line of Well’s grocery store. As we stumbled along we scanned the crowd looking for our parents. Because of the box, we couldn’t actually bend our arms. I think that was intentional, that way we couldn’t eat the hard candy that we were supposed to hurl into the crowd.
I was so excited, I couldn’t wait to give the gift of me.
I didn’t realize the significance of that at the time, that sometimes the greatest gift you can give is simply yourself!
Christmas time is a good time to pause and remember. We reflect on what has changed and what hasn’t.
Some things change…
We outgrow our boxes.
Small towns change, they grow or fade away. Mine has exploded. I hardly recognize it now.
We change, we get older and hopefully a little wiser. We become the parents and grandparents on the sidelines, cheering on our kids as they awkwardly march through life.
Scenery changes, friends change.
BUT, some things never change…
The power of community.
The joy that a kid brings.
The fact that the greatest present is presence.
The simple message of Christmas…
2,000 years ago in a small town hope was born.
God wrapped Himself in humanity and gave us the present of His presence.
It was a big day in a small town.
Jesus brought the gifts of joy…hope…peace.
He offers us the greatest gift…
Life, new life, real life.
He can REgift us!
He invites us, ALL of His children of all ages, to be a part of the parade.
Jump on in and look for me, I will be awkwardly marching behind the band, eating more candy than I throw out.

(A true story)

Yesterday we went to the Sushi Shogun House of Fried Rice and Fun,
We were wanting to celebrate the birthday of an amazing loved one.
We’ve been there before, lots of times, it had always been great.
Once, It had even been the best grilled zucchini that we had ever ate.
But, this time was different, it wasn’t hardly the same.
We ordered and waited over an hour before the chef came.
We munched on wilted salad with watery dressing,
The unexplained absence of a chef really kept us guessing.
Then, FINALLY, a man slowly pushed the cart of raw meat out.
He grunted something as he distributed shrimp sauce all about.
With a big chef hat, He certainly looked the part,
We waited anxiously for the shogun show to start.
We were expecting him to roll an egg or flip a shrimp,
But unfortunately his presentation was quite limp.
We wanted some fun, but he did…well…NOTHING.
Not so much as even one flaming volcano onion ring.
There was no friendly banter or corny jokes,
Just the awkward sound of sizzling egg yokes.
He didn’t flip his spatula or skillfully spin his knife.
He almost spilled a pint of soy sauce on my wife.
He had the enthusiasm of a heavily medicated sloth,
I even feel asleep in my cold clear onion soup broth.
Chef Geraldo clearly had other places to be,
That became painfully obvious to the others and me.
Apathy as an appetizer is the worst.
It can cause the party to seem cursed.
You can just show up and just go through the motion,
Do your work totally lacking any passion or devotion.
You can cause all of the people around you to start snoring.
Because you have made the questionable choice to be boring.
Don’t do it! Choose joy, choose to go!
Start to be part of a bigger, better show.
No matter what you do, you should give a flip,
Have a fun journey and take others on the trip.
Give it your all, skillfully spin your knife.
Make the most of your one and only life!

I was a HUGE professional wrestling fan growing up.
Every Saturday at noon, my brother, Mark, and me stopped everything to watch Mid-South wrestling. Then we would try to recreate the wrestling holds and moves. We would practice piledrivers off of the back of our couch when mom wasn’t watching. We went to live matches with our Grandpa Cox at the Tulsa convention center.
For me, THIS was the true golden age of professional wrestling. Cowboy Bill Watts ran the show with his boots and bravado. It was the GREATEST! We got to watch (and imitate) the most amazing wrestling superstars ever! There were legends like Hacksaw Jim Duggan (with the BIG stick and a BIGGER patriotic strut – HOOOOO!!), the Junkyard Dog (with “Another One Bites The Dust” as his entrance music…GREATNESS!!), Ted DiBiase (we got to see the Million Dollar Man before he hit the jackpot), the Rock and Roll Express, the Fabulous Freebirds (who said tough guys can’t have feathered hair), and “Dr. Death” Steve Williams. There was even a mysterious masked man named Mr. X, I’m not super proud of this, but I tried to imitate Mr. X by putting a pair of (hopefully clean) underwear on as a mask. I thought it made me look pretty mysterious.

these were my heroes. They were tough guys in tights and trunks. The announcer was a young dude named Jim Ross, he was also an agricultural reporter for a local radio station, so he would talk about angus one day and armbars the next. He was clearly more excited about wrestling, he went on to find his place in the hall of fame.
It all added up to unparalleled sweaty greatness and we got to witness it!
I loved Wrestling. It might have been genetic, wrestling was so sacred to our Grandma Lang that if you went to her house while wrestling was on, you couldn’t talk to her. And, if you stood between her and the little black and white TV, she would likely hurl an ashtray at your face.
Wrestling was serious stuff in my family.
AND, to me it was REAL. Every body slam and storyline was the real deal.
It was simple, every week, someone was wrestling for a new title. Titles were important! They fought to get the belt. It was a big deal.
You can argue that it was fake, but the truth is nobody gets out unscathed. That isn’t fake. Real hurt happened. Have you recently seen some of the older wrestlers? These are men who left it all in the ring night after night, and now they have the scars to prove it. Their bodies have been broken. They walk slow, probably with a limp. They hurt.

It’s crazy, but wrestling wasn’t invented in Tulsa, or Connecticut, or anytime in our lifetimes. I’m pretty sure that wrestling is the oldest sport in the history of the world. Guys have been doing it since the dawn of time. Put two boys in a room and when they run out of stuff to talk about, which usually doesn’t take long, they wrestle. We are better at chokeholds than conversation.

There’s a story about a BIG wrestling match way back in the beginning of the Bible, Genesis 32:24-31 tells about the original wrestlemania.
It’s a small chunk of the story of Jacob.
Jacob had been a wrestler from the womb, literally!! He has fought his twin brother all their lives.
In professional wrestling, a heel is a wrestler who is a villain or a “bad guy”, Jacob is a “heel grabber” from birth. He has committed horrible acts of villainy against his brother. In this story, Jacob is against the ropes, he is about to face his brother the next day, they haven’t had a good storyline. Jacob has cheated and deceived his slightly older sibling and now it looks like he is 24 hours away from his day of reckoning. And, things could get ugly. He knows that his brother, Esau, is headed his way and he’s bringing 400 friends. It looks like it’s payback time! Jacob is stressed. He is alone wrestling with doubt and fear. Then the bells rings and a voice….”LET’s GET READY TO RUMBLE!!! In this corner, the deceiver, in that corner, the mysterious stranger”. He wrestles all night with this man and he unmasks Him. He is wrestling with God and he is left with the scar to prove it.
Once, Jacob figures out who he is grappling with, He says: “I will not let go unless you bless me.” Talk about bravado! He knows that God is nothing short of everything. And, Jacob won’t settle for anything less that everything that God has for him.
Jacob wrestled for a new title. He went from “Jacob the deceiver” to “Israel the God-wrestler”. Along with a new title, He is left with a limp for the rest of his life. He is marked.
As Jacob wrestles with God, he realizes who God is, AND for the first time, he realizes who HE really is. He is ISRAEL. He has a new undisputed title!! His life is never the same, he is never the same!
Don’t be afraid to wrestle with God, ask Him your questions, throw your doubts at Him. Be completely honest with the ONE who already knows you best. Press in and don’t let go of Him until you get all of Him! Contend for a new title. Let God tell you who you are. Let Him unmask you.
It won’t be easy. You will probably end up with a limp, but you will realize who God is.
Get body slammed by pure grace.
Grab your tights and jump in the ring!!
HOOOOOO!!!!

I love this picture of my daughter!
She looks a little crazy, I like that!
I’m a fan of crazy, it makes people interesting.
There is wild abandon in her eyes, she is clearly consumed by the spirit of “I MUST PLAY!!!!”
She is obviously on a great adventure. She is exploring strange new worlds, seeking out new life and new civilizations, and boldly going where no man has gone before. All it required was a wild imagination and a couple of boxes! I like how she clearly ignored the store bought, pricey plastic toy boat in the background. She had found some old cardboard and shiny tape and she built a spaceship. (She MIGHT have had a little help). (NOTE: There is Peanut butter toast and an apple on the trusty Pocahontas plate in front of her. These are healthy spaceship rations that honestly, were probably ignored.)
Did you ever notice the magical things that kids can do with things that grown ups throw away?
That’s because they are masters at recycling and imagination. They see things that old eyes can’t, they can turn a cardboard box into a super cool spaceship that takes them places! Recycling and imagineering are valuable life skills. We are all born with them. Imagination is inbred. Kids don’t have to be taught to play with whatever they can find. It’s a default setting. Imagination is a wild, untamed thing. imagination is all about wonder and wander. Wonder says life is mysterious and wonderful. Wander says let’s go in search of adventure. Imagination was designed to stay wild. But, we tend to domesticate it, it’s much more socially acceptable to have a tamed imagination. We unlearn the life skills and we learn to conform and keep our feet firmly planted on planet earth.
The recycling and imagineering skills are slowly squeezed out of us.
We forget how to build spaceships
In the endless quest to act our age we lose our orbit.
We start looking at cardboard and just seeing cardboard.
We quit looking up because we have our nose to the grindstone.
The gravity of life keeps us from getting off the ground.
We stop stargazing.

I think it’s time to build a better spaceship.

We need to become recyclers and imagineers again. It’s gonna require a little wildness and weirdness. We gotta get a little crazy. We’ve got to live with wild abandon and be consumed by a spirit of play. We need to live with wonder and wander. It takes losing control. I’m finding that it’s better to live with abandon than control, it’s also a lot more fun. But, you have to get your hands off the controls and trust mission control. That’s not easy, but it’s the only way to find your orbit.
Maybe we need to recycle some old dreams, take them out and dust them off.
You have to see what others have lost sight of.
We need to learn to to play again.
We need to defy gravity, don’t be held down by anything! Cut the ropes on bad choices, unforgiveness, toxic relationships or selfishness.
Imagine hard!
If we learned anything from Peter Pan about flight, it’s that you have to think happy thoughts. If you plan on ever reaching The “Second star to the right and straight on till morning” you got to get happy. Cynics never get to fly.
We need to help others build their spaceship. Rocket builders are meant to also become rocket launchers. Help the people around you find their orbit! Help your kids, friends, coworkers, and complete strangers.
So c’mon! Let’s build some super cool spaceships together and let’s go, in the words of my favorite space ranger, “To infinity and beyond!”