carbonated 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!”

Thanksgiving is almost here.
I’m thankful for that!!
There’s nothing like a big thanksgiving celebration.
The smells…the sounds…the stories.
There are family members who always end up napping in the corner.
There is football or cornhole in the front yard.
There is a cousin who only eats pie.
There is life and laughter.
And THEN there is always the crazy uncle!!
It seems like everyone has one.
That crazy uncle who will inevitably say or do something embarrassing. He is unconventional and he is willing to do goofy things to entertain the inhabitants of the kids table. He just wants to have fun, but sometimes he is misunderstood.
I know, because I AM THAT GUY!!
I’m a crazy uncle!
I have been for over 25 years.
I’m the crazy uncle to 21 wonderful human beings!
It’s thanksgiving and as the designated crazy uncle, I feel compelled to rant a little.
This is going to be a completely different kind of thanksgiving this year.
Things could get ugly. (I’m okay with weird and crazy, I’m not okay with ugly).
We will all gather around the single most powerful piece of furniture in the room…the table.
It has the power to serve deliciousness, create conversations and birth stories.
There will be a temptation to turn our thanksgiving into a talk about the times in which we live. That would be a shame. There will be a tendency to turn our time together into talk about politics, rather than a celebration of the people in our lives.
As the crazy uncle, I say let’s just have some fun and give some thanks. Let’s focus on what we have been given instead of what we don’t have.
Let’s share stories, food, drink and football (go cowboys!!). But, let’s resist the urge to share our opinions if there’s a chance they might hurt or divide.
On Thursday, we come together, don’t let that bring us apart.
You see, the really crazy thing about thanksgiving…
It’s all about thanks!
There shouldn’t be any chest thumping or finger pointing.
Just hands open in gentle gratitude.
The posture of “whew!! It’s been a wild year, but here we are!! Pass the green bean casserole!”
We celebrate the beautiful, diverse belonging that we find at the table.
Our differences make us all the same.
We are going to be okay, the things that got us HERE, faith, hope and love, will take us THERE.
Let’s serve up grace like gravy.
Happy thanksgiving from this crazy uncle.

Norbert has a big snout.
It’s a huge, unbelievably ginormous nose!
It’s appearance is just plain weird,
Like a cross between a mango and garden hose!

People stare and then look away,
Hoping he doesn’t notice, I suppose.
But the actual factual is—it’s true—
That Norbert knows his nose!

He knows his schnoz is just plain big
And shaped like tropical fruit.
But it’s okay. In fact, you see,
He actually likes his snoot!

He smiles because
He thinks it’s real funny,
Especially when
It’s red and runny.

That’s just the start. All Norbert’s parts
Will often make him giggle.
He laughs a lot when he chews food
’Cause it makes his ears both wiggle.

He snorts out loud at his little toes
’Cause they’re shaped just like cheese curls.
Just mention his neck or belly button,
And he’ll laugh until he hurls.

Norbert wouldn’t change if he could.
He’s totally self-content.
Norbert likes all of the things
That make him different.

Norbert knows the truth, you see.
Even though we have the same parts,
We’re different sizes, shapes, and colors,
All with various kinds of skills and smarts!

Our differences are what make us unique.
So Norbert celebrates his hairy, huge feet.

Our differences make us one of a kind.
Everyone’s a limited-edition, priceless find!

If you try spending all your time
To be like Jane or Bill,
There’d be an empty spot in history
That only you could fill.

You are not like anyone else
In all the whole wide world.
So don’t you go and follow the crowd.
Let the real you be unfurled!

I’m not a slave to space, system or situation.
The UNLIMITED ONE has brought me liberation.
I am free.
I can dream BIG and walk true and truly free,
Heaven’s resources are now available to me.
I am free.
I’m not a slave to the rhythm.
It’s a new dance that I’ve been given.
I am free.
My Independence didn’t come by mere earthly means,
If it had, it would be no bigger than mere human beings.
I am free.
It was a joyful revolution,
The only real solution.
It’s not about retribution.
It’s not because of institution.
It was an unimaginable substitution,
That lead to undeserved absolution.
I am free.
Jesus broke every chain that was holding me,
His GREAT love has bought me the sweetest liberty.
I am not a slave.
I am free.