carbonated joy

I was/am far from a perfect parent.

A few years back I had one of the sweetest moments of my life.

I suck at sports.

Mitch Kupchak has been named president and general manager of the Charlotte Hornets. This stirs up a horribly awkward memory for me…years ago, I was eating lunch with some friends in Los Angeles. Mr. Kupchak was eating at the same place. We asked for a group photo and he agreed, even though at first we called him Jerry West. So we all lined up for our big photo op. Of course, everyone thought it would be pretty hilarious if 5’1” tall me stood next to 6’9” tall him. I took my place and tried to reach around his back (which, no surprise, was out of my reach) instead I grabbed a handful of the man’s butt. He looked shocked and a little disgusted. I just kinda backed away and nervously giggled like a 9 year old.
Welcome to Charlotte Mr. Kupchak!

I have an ugly confession to make.
Sometimes I’m a jerk.
For example, when I watch sporting events.
It’s not about what is happening on the field, court, rink, or track…
It’s about what is happening in the first few rows of spectators, in the good seats.
Very often, I will be watching a game with my wife and I will see a little kid sitting on the front row and I shout…
“WHAT A WASTE!!”
I think…
Why is a kid sitting in that sweet seat?
They aren’t even paying attention!!
They are throwing popcorn around and acting like a child!
“WHAT A WASTE!!”
They didn’t EVEN pay for that ticket!!
They don’t even appreciate what they have!!

I know, I’m a jerk.

It makes me so mad that some kid is sitting in seats that I can’t afford.
I didn’t stop and think about the fact that the kid can’t afford those seats either!!
That kid DIDN’T pay for that ticket! They are obviously there BECAUSE of someone else. Someone who cares enough about them to get them a seat. It was a gift.
Why do I have a problem with that?!
I was pondering all this and I realized that my thinking is pretty messed up.
It’s petty jealousy on my part.
I can make comparison a competitive sport.
“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice that you don’t deserve to sit THERE!”
I don’t recognize the fact that I don’t deserve to sit THERE either.

Here’s the deal that I often lose sight of, the REAL waste is NOT that a 6 year old gets to sit in the nice seats.
The REAL waste is that 2 rows behind the kid there is an EMPTY seat.
The only way that the tickets are wasted is if someone doesn’t use them.

We can apply this same messed up thinking to love, faith and matters of grace too…
We see people who mess up and keep coming back to God to ask for forgiveness.
We think WHAT A WASTE OF GRACE!
When will they get their act together?
We grumble about how that person doesn’t appreciate what they have.
God has forgiven them over and over for the same thing.
WHAT A WASTE OF GRACE!!
Jesus, the originator, practitioner and dispenser of grace said this…
“Why worry about a peck in your friend’s eye when you have a log in your own?” (Matt 7:3)
Maybe…
It’s time for me to get the log out of my eye.
It keeps me from seeing the game.
I have to remember some things…
I didn’t pay for my ticket, I’m only in the stadium because God loves me enough to get me a seat.
Sometimes I misuse the seat, sometimes I don’t appreciate it, I’ve fallen out of the seat a few times. The ticket is still mine.
I don’t get to decide who else gets a ticket.
I don’t get to decide who sits where.
None of us deserve the seat we are given.
That doesn’t make it a waste.
That makes it a gift.
Grace is only wasted when it’s unused.
The only way that the tickets are wasted is if someone doesn’t use them.
The only way to waste grace is to never reach for it…
WHAT A WASTE!!
So, go ahead…
Take your completely undeserved seat in the stadium that grace built.
High five your neighbor and share some popcorn with the kid in the front row.

The little bitty fingerprints on my glasses actually give me a clearer vision of what’s REALLY important.

(A rock and roll cautionary tale)

This is the story of four musicians from Livermush, Ohio, Mick, Mickey, Mikey, and Earl (who was a girl).
It was 1983.
They all worked at Arby’s together during their senior year of high school. As they refilled the horsey sauce containers late at night they would talk and dream about being rock stars. They formed a band and practiced in Earl the Girl’s parent’s garage.
Mickey suggested the name the Meatsweats after an unfortunate incident with some bad salami.
They started out with a most noble musical pursuit, they just wanted to make some savory dance music.
But fame, hurt feelings, and a lack of proper refrigeration can spoil rock and roll dreams.
Their first gig was May 24th, 1983 at the Spare Rib Bowling Alley.
They were good, they begin to get some attention and actually started to get paid for serving up saucy songs.
They became big in their small town.
Then things started to heat up.
They played state fairs and butcher shops all over the Midwest. It was while they were playing at the Big Tex steak house in Goatlick, Indiana that an unsuccessful fry cook named Sloppy Joe McWorcestershire heard them play. He cooked up a deal with them on the spot and became their manager. Somehow, he managed to get the Meatsweats signed to Big Veal Records.
They recorded one album, “Meet the Meatsweats”, which featured their one big hit, “Pastrami, You are no friend of mine.”
BIG things began to simmer for the Meatsweats.
Their video was in regular rotation on MTV and the food network.
Earl was voted Bob Appetit Magazine’s most popular girl drummer in 1985.
Mickey the bass player started a very shortly lived fashion trend: the sesame seed man bun.
But success was a slow burn.
And like many medium rare bands before them, the Meatsweats weren’t ready for it.
Their dreams were toast.
Several factors contributed to the band’s greasy demise…
Mick the lead singer viewed himself as a serious artist. He only wanted to write and perform depressing ballads about burnt brisket. That became the first step in the band’s undoing. You can’t dance to a dirge about overdone barbecue. People wanted peppy music about bacon.
Mick also got a girlfriend, Tofu Ohno, this broke Earl’s heart. She had had a secret crush on Mick since 8th grade even though he treated her like spoiled braunschweiger. Tofu converted Mick to vegetarianism, driving an irreparable wedge between him and the band.
The Meatsweats developed a beef with each other.
Suddenly, they couldn’t be in the same room together without some gristle.
The final blow to the band came on November 9th, 1986 when Mikey (the quiet one) stole a Gyro truck in Porkroll, New Jersey. Witnesses said that he had a half basted look on his face as he hopped in the truck and shouted “I’m jumping off the hot plate now!” And then he drove over the East Porkroll bridge. He was never seen or heard from again.

All of these factors ground up the Meatsweats like yesterday’s sausage.
There was no second hit, no sophomore album, just the pungent smell of what might have been.

Today…
The Meatsweats have gone their separate ways like a loose meat sandwich…

Mick plays disco cover tunes at the Holiday Inn lounge in downtown Livermush. He and Tofu split up long ago. He is no longer vegan.

Mickey met a nice girl named Patty. They married and settled down in Ribeye, Texas, where he manages the Golden Corral.

Earl became a gifted songwriter and poet. She had a bestselling book “My name is Earl, I am a Girl”. She lives in upstate New York where in her spare time she likes to garden.

The morale of the story is clear as beef stew…
Life can grill you. It can burn you. It can leave you fried.
It’s really a bunch of Bologna!
You have to stay out of the skillet.
Don’t forget who your friends are.
Don’t lose your flavor.
Don’t stop the music.

Our granddaughter, the simply amazing Moonpie McLovenugget, is eleven months old.
For most of her life her diet has consisted of grayish formula that smells like plant food.
Lately that has changed!
She is the proud owner of seven and a half teeth!! This opens up endless dining opportunities!
The world is her oyster…WAIT!…Who would give an oyster to a baby? The world is her chicken nugget!
So this means that when we go out to eat, she isn’t just a car seat bound spectator anymore, she is an active participant…sometimes VERY active.
Most of the time she is awesome. She is content to eat a little, flirt with the server, and wave at whoever is seated around us.
But yesterday…
Maybe we should have known better. She was tired. We had been playing at the park for an hour. She was a little fussy.
But, we didn’t read the signs, we were hungry. So we stopped at our favorite Italian restaurant down the street from our house. It’s called Pomodoros, which is Italian for “tomatoes”. You know it’s going to be delicious because they celebrate the tomato. They serve amazing food and play great music, they also have fantastic lunch specials…we were blinded by that.
We were seated right in the middle of everything…awesome.
The Moonpie tried to eat the complimentary kid’s crayons. When we wouldn’t let her eat the red crayon, she flung it across the restaurant. It bounced off a man’s lasagna and skidded to a stop on his table.
Then it seemed she tried to do that magic trick where you jerk a table cloth (or in this case, a large napkin) out from under glasses and silverware without disturbing anything.
She has some work to do.
She has suddenly developed some serious grabbing skills. She moves with the speed and dexterity of an over caffeinated jungle cat ninja. It would be really impressive, if she wasn’t grabbing your sweet tea. She moved with lightning quick quickness to grab anything within her limited reach.
At the same time she was dropping her sippy cup every 47 seconds because it’s funny watching Big Papi try to bend over and retrieve a Minnie Mouse cup.
We had ordered her some noodles, they arrived at the table. There didn’t seem to be that many on the plate. Diana chopped some up and put them on the Moonpie’s highchair.
THAT is when the massacre started.
Those poor noodles never had a chance.
The Moonpie was grabbing noodles in both of her chunky fists and flinging then over her head.
Angel hair pasta was flying around in a crazy buttery pasta frenzy.
She would stop occasionally long enough to make a happy squeal and point at something that she wanted…a French fry, a chunk of bread, the Parmesan cheese jar. She was clearly having a blast.
Through it all, the pasta flew.
Those poor defenseless noodles!
Oh the humanity!!
We decided the massacre must end. We got up to leave and realized that there was a mountain of dead noodles under our table. It seems like the pasta had multiplied in a crazy culinary miracle. Our table was a mess. Sorry Pomodoros!
I had noodles in my beard, Diana had barely been able to touch her lunch.
I got the Moonpie out of her high chair. She seemed to be covered in butter, marinara sauce, and bread crumbs.
As we hastily scurried out the front door, I swear my eleven month old grand baby looked at the hostess and said in a chirpy voice…
“Ciao baby”

I am the proud product of public education in Oklahoma.
Growing up I had some incredible teachers.
They taught me how to read, that changed everything. Suddenly, the world was wide open.
They also taught me how to share my crayons and how to speak in public. I learned how to write in cursive. I learned not to eat paste. I learned math and art (art was my favorite.) I learned about space and spelling.
These hardworking women and men molded my mind, and they helped to shape my story.
They ignited curiosity.
They invited me to a lifetime of learning.
I’m so very grateful.
Their jobs have gotten tougher and tougher.
Every day, in the middle of increasingly hard situations, good teachers show up and create potential, they make something out of nothing.
They do not get thanked enough.
They do not receive enough respect.
They don’t get paid enough.
They are heroes.
They are the music makers…
They are the crafters of dreams.
I stand with them.
From 1,091 miles away…
I stand with them.