carbonated joy

Once upon a time I was almost an NBA cheerleader…
Seriously!
A few years ago, when we lived in Dallas, I almost became an NBA dancer…oh, it’s true!
I was a HUGE Mavericks fan, and I saw in the newspaper that the Mavs were having tryouts for Maniaacs.
The Mavs Maniaacs are a hip hop dance troupe of beefy, uninhibited men.
They were the original NBA big man dance team.
They dance at halftime and during breaks.
The tryouts were being held at a local dance studio. There were about 100 big, sweaty, over enthusiastic dancing men. It was a sight to behold and a fragrance to be smelled. The judges were Mavs dancers and local dignitaries. I was dressed for battle: a bright orange Mavericks shirt, blue basketball shorts and Chuck Taylor all stars.
I’m a condensed beefy boy, I was at least a foot shorter that the other dudes. In fact, I Heard one of the judges say “look, is that mini-me?”
This didn’t discourage me.
This was my shot, I was gonna take it.
I knew in my heart that this was my only chance to ever be in the NBA.
They divided us into groups.
They taught us a choreographed combo that we did as a group and then we got to freestyle some serious dancing.
They would eliminate several people after each round. You would wait for your number to be called (or not) and you would proceed (or not).
Again and again I danced my guts out and made it through.
This was my shot, I was gonna take it.
We ended up doing the routine about 8 times. I hadn’t danced like this since…never.
My muscles were rebelling against me.
I’m allergic to choreography.
I’m not coordinated enough to keep up, but I can creatively shake my booty.
This was my chance…my ONLY chance to be a part of an NBA team.
Sometimes life gives you a free throw and you got to take a shot.
Whether you make it or not, you take pride in the fact that you tried.
I made it to the final ten!!! Then they told us that they were looking for five dancers.
One more round…
Ignore the pain…
Take your shot.
During the last round , one of the judges shouted words that I thought I would never hear: “Okay, we want to see some flesh…if you want to be a Maniaac, we need to see your stomach!”
This caused most of the guys next to me to start ripping off their damp shirts and flinging them around slinging warm sweat everywhere. I learned the true meaning of GUTS and glory.
Some things should never be seen…
Some things can never be unseen.
I. Just. Could. Not.
As much as I wanted to be a Maniaac, I wanted to hold onto some shred of dignity.
I couldn’t bring myself to unfurl my man boobs.
I didn’t make the top five.
I was ALMOST an NBA dancer.
I left with my dignity, a really sore back and a great story.
I had stepped out and lived a great story.
Life is about stepping out even when you don’t make the cut.
It’s taking risks, it’s overcoming the paralyzing fear of public opinion.

What if success were all about risking instead of reaping.
What if we realized that it’s better to be an “almost was” than a “never tried”.
What if success were found in the act of stepping out.

Sometimes you got to do something unexpected…unlikely…unbelievable.
We should live in constant pursuit of a better story.
Sometimes life gives you a free throw and you have to take a shot.
Sometimes it goes in the basket…nothing but air.
Sometimes it bounces off the backboard.
Sometimes you don’t even get close.
The point is that you took a shot…you played…you tried…you danced.
You got off your butt, you took a risk, you overcame fear.
And you gained something more valuable than any trophy…
A life lived in pursuit of a better story.
Step up…
Take a shot…
But please, for the love of God, leave your shirt on.

The little cowboy had examined his path and decided to go down a different trail, even though at barely 7 years old, his previous path wasn’t exactly littered with tumbleweed and bad decisions.
But he had decided to follow Jesus.
He wanted everyone to know that he was a part of God’s posse. So he went public and took the next step, he decided to get dunked.
If memory serves, it was a Sunday night service in a Baptist Church in Owasso, Oklahoma.
The little cowboy was proudly wearing a t-shirt, cut off Blue Jean shorts and red and black cowboy boots.
Like any good little cowpoke, he refused to take his boots off.
After he got baptized he dried his moppy head with an old towel, and then he stepped out of the baptism waiting room that was right behind the church platform. He stepped into the main sanctuary where the pastor was trying to proceed with a serious, stuffy evening service. But, suddenly, across the room, over the sound of the sermon you heard…
SQUISH, SQUISH, SLUMP, SQUISH.
It was the beautiful sound of soaking wet cowboy boots walking on freshly vacuumed church carpet.
Some of the church folks were indignant, some couldn’t help but giggle.
I think it made God laugh loud.
That was the FIRST time that I was ever baptized.
Over the years, I went down some wrong trails. Every time that I came to my senses and got back on the path, I felt compelled to wash the trail dust off with a fresh dunking. It wasn’t always necessary, but it didn’t hurt anything.
My first baptism was also the first time that my Dad had been to church in a while and he stuck around. He even taught Royal Ambassadors (which was a baptist version of the Boy Scouts). He left the same church a few years later when, on another Sunday evening, they kicked my Mom out…seriously! (One of the deacons did tell Dad that he could still come and bring us boys. Dad told him where he could stick his church). Religious people can be pretty mean sometimes. Maybe they need to get dunked again, held under a little longer.
But, It turns out that baptism isn’t about who you are riding WITH, it’s about who you are riding FOR.
This little cowboy got dunked over 4 decades ago.
I haven’t regretted the decision to follow Jesus or the decision to let others know about it.
At times, it has required true grit.
I can’t live unforgiven.
I’ve disappointed others and I’ve been disappointed.
I’ve encountered the good, the bad, and the ugly…desperados, dandies, lone rangers, and true heroes.
But, I’ve been delivered and dunked and so, everyday, I strap on my boots (I try not to get them wet), and I chose to ride a blazing saddle all the way to Heaven’s gate.
Giddy Up!

I remember when I was a kid, playing in the front yard of my Grandma’s house, when suddenly I would hear a sweet familiar sound…
tink dink ta dink da dinkity dink…
it…was…THE ICE CREAM TRUCK!!!!
My heart skipped a beat, I made sure I had a dollar and THEN I ran…
I ran as fast as my unnaturally short legs could run.
I ran like an over caffeinated squirrel.
I chased after the truck because I was consumed by a sweet affection.
I had to catch that truck!
I desperately wanted a Fred Flintstone orange push-up, or a rocket pop, or a drumstick…such unparalleled deliciousness!!
I still start to twitch and want to frantically take off when I hear the familiar noise…
tink dink ta dink da dinkity dink…

Let me suggest a completely ridiculous idea…
To God YOU are the ICE CREAM TRUCK!!!!

It’s simple, He is crazy about you, He loves you in a most unconditional, nonsensical manner. He chases you like an overexcited seven year chases after a ice cream truck.
Does that seem a little sacrilegious to you? Does the thought give you a bit of a brain freeze?
God is consumed by a sweet affection.
We get a sweet, triple scooped picture of this concept in three different ridiculous stories that Jesus told in the Bible.
In Luke chapter 15, he talks about a shepherd that has a hundred sheep and loses one…
…tink dink ta dink…
And a woman who has ten coins and loses one…
…da dinkity…
And a father who has two sons and loses one.
…dink.
They all run towards what they lost.
Their love compels them to chase.
All three of the heroes in the stories, the Shepherd, the Woman, and the Father, represent the God who runs in pursuit of the object of His affection.
And guess what, here is where it gets personal…
All three lost items, the directionally challenged lamb, the misplaced coin, and the wayward son, all represent us.
We are the pursued ones.
We are the objects of a sweet affection.
We are the ice cream truck.
tink dink ta dink da dinkity dink…
Psalm 23:6 puts it like this: “Your beauty and love chase after me every day of my life. I’m back home in the house of God for the rest of my life.”
The Creator chases you simply because He loves you and He wants you to be a part of His family.
How do you respond when you are chased by sovereign sweetness?
Let Him catch you!!
Get found!!
Maybe you are in a sour place right now, realize that you are the object of a sweet sovereign affection.
You are the ice cream truck.

I’m not gonna lie…
It’s been a painful summer.
My arms have hurt real bad.
They have stung and tingled and ached.
It’s been kind of like getting a tattoo nonstop for 4 months straight without any cool new ink to show for it.
At times it has felt like an angry professional wrestler was standing on my arms.
I was concerned.
I’ve tried to get answers .
I wanted to think it might be an old football injury. But that’s unlikely since I didn’t play football, I DID fall out of my recliner once while watching a game.
I talked to friends, I checked out webMD.
I took aspirin and bubble baths (yeah! I said it, I’m a man who loves a good bubble bath!)
I went to a really cool chiropractor who used some blades that looked like samurai ginseng knives to knead my muscles. He used a power tool that looked like a sander to polish my unchiseled girth. After 3 visits my back and neck felt AWESOME, but sadly my arms still hurt real bad.
So, we took X-rays.
The X-ray confirmed that I AM a short man, this was news that I had been waiting on for years.
They also confirmed that something sketchy was happening with my neck.
A really good friend, Donna, recommended an amazing nerve specialist.
I went to talk to the very nice specialist and we talked about neurology and discs and things I had always taken for granted.
I went in for a MRI.
It was in a tractor trailer in a hospital parking lot. I was led into a well lit room. I laid down and the technician strapped my head down. I suddenly felt like a science experiment. I was moved headfirst into a tight magnetic tube. The MRI was kind of like spending 20 minutes in a really loud soda can.
Then I got to take some nerve tests. My wife went back with me for this, because, frankly, she makes me brave. During that party the good Doctor poked some needles into my arms and shocked me with something that looked like a fun sized tazer. (I wanted to shout “Don’t take me bro!”) I remember my arm twitching like a drunken hand puppet.
So after the tests and about 2 weeks, I was given the results. I have Arthritis in my neck which has caused narrowing of the spine. I have no nerve or spine damage.
But, I do have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (which sounds like the title of a cool SCI FI movie, but. It’s is NOT). Evidently THAT has been the source of my pain all along. I get to wear some arm splints that make me feel like a stormtrooper…I like that.
So the inevitable painful prognosis is…
I am getting old.
It happens to all of us, unless it doesn’t and that’s a much sadder prognosis.
Getting old(er) is NOT for sissies!!
And an additional painful kick to the arm, the medical bills are now rolling in! They are like unwanted love letters from our healthcare system. I have an unbelievably high deductible so we get to pay for all the fun. There are many things I would rather spend money on, like grouting.
It would be easy to get grumpy.
But, that has never really been my style.
Besides, along with the pain has come a little wisdom, that is what is supposed to happen as you get old.
Here’s what I’ve learned…
Gratitude is a great pain reliever.
My arms hurt, BUT…
I have so much to be grateful for!
Family, friends, a good dog, tacos.
When I focus on those things, the good and right outweighs the pain.
Gratitude is a pain reliever.
It’s been a painful summer, but it’s also been the most wonderful summer ever. I’ve gotten to play with my sweet little granddaughter.
I hold her in my sore arms and my heart fills with thankfulness and everything is better.
I want to live a life marked by gratitude, not pain.

You may say that I’m a dreamer…
And you’d be absolutely right.
I’ve always been a wild eyed dreamer.

Many of my dreams have come true.
But…some haven’t.

Some of my dreams were pretty selfish so they needed to go away.
Some of my wildest dreams have been taken captive by others and tamed until they were unrecognizable.
Some were ground to dust by dreambusters who REALLY did not like me.
Some dreams have flown in a holding pattern until they gradually just ran out of gas.
And now I stand in the second half of my life and I wonder if dreaming is a young man’s sport.
With apologies to Tennyson…In the winter an old man’s fancy heavily turns to thoughts of riding off into the sunset, right?!
But, it turns out it’s not time to saddle up quite yet, unless I’m riding off in search of a new adventure…
This week I read a Bible verse that I have read at least 6,347 times.
But, suddenly part of it felt brand new (even though it was about old!!! Irony!).

It was a chunk of Acts 2:17: “in the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit upon all people…
Your old men will dream dreams.”

WHAAAA???
That smells like a permission slip for old dudes (AND older ladies too) to still dream some wild dreams.
I just read an article about a 65 year old lady here in North Carolina who saw an ad in the paper for fencing lessons. Now, seven years later she is a four time competitor at the US Fencing National Championships! I love that!! There are always new things to learn, new passions to pursue, and new dreams to grab ahold of.
As long as you have breath in your lungs, it’s never too late to break out the balloons and head for Paradise Falls.
So I stand up, slightly slower than I used to, but nevertheless, I stand and I look into the starry night, ready to dream big, crazy, wild-eyed, Spirit infused dreams.
Are you with me?

You may say that I’m a dreamer…
(And you’re still right.)
But I’m not the only one
I hope some day you’ll join us
And the world will be more fun.