Deeda

s1069683427_367685_2585874Ok, so I have decided after 2 years to come out of blog exile.  I have been reading some recent blogs from folks I know and don’t know and feel like I should add to the collective thought pool.  I learn so much more from life experience and from the experience of others.

Now, I fully acknowledge that I may be the only person who reads this, but then I guess it could be deemed healthy (or the opposite) self introspection.  Oh well, here goes.

I would like to start a petition for a word to be added to Webster’s list.  It is quite possibly the sweetest sound I have heard up to this point in my life.  It is one I am sure you have never heard of:

“Deeda” (emphasis on the last syllable)

It is the inverse of daddy and what Andrew has decided that I should be called.  Of course most of you know the battle we walked through to get him home.  Anytime I think of the pain, bitterness, and sadness that accompanied that journey, I recall deeda and I am reminded of providence.  Providence found only with the Father.

I know this post will sound pretty familiar to those written by hundreds of dads, but the last few months since we got home from Guatemala have been life-changing. Fatherhood has changed me, is changing me.  I cannot look at God the same.

He is my Father, my Deeda.  This is the God who looked upon His hurting people in Egypt, heard their cries, and rescued them.  This is so deeply intimate.  Later in Exodus, He calls us His treasured possession.  In Ephesians, we are His workmanship, His “poem”.  In Romans, we are His clay.  In Psalms, He is our seamster, sewing us together.

It gives me such great pleasure to love my son, to feed him, to gently rock him to sleep at night, to bathe him, to tickle him and hear his cackle, to dance and sing with him, to teach him and read him books, to giggle with him at his body sounds (sorry mom), to gaze at amazement at stuff in the world that used to be boring, to play with trains, to pray with him, and on and on.  Although it pains, me, I am committed to his discipline and pray for his soul daily.  I would die for him in an instant, give my lifeblood for his own.  He is my son and I am his deeda.

How much more does my deeda in heaven love me?  He is my deliverer, my provider, my constant, my protector, my Lord.

He is good and His will is perfect.  He gave His son for me while I was His bitter enemy.

I love you Jehovah Deeda

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Beauty

I was cruising through some old magazines at work yesterday and saw a really old picture of Jennifer Anniston. My first thoughts were what in the world is going on with her hair? To be honest I was questioning the very idea of her beauty. I think she is attractive but not 5 years ago. Then it hit me. Five years ago I thought she was pretty. So to experiment I looked at some older pictures of my wife and I. I had the same questions. What was Staci doing with her hair? Where did I get all that hair from and where has it gone? And boy, we look a lot better than we use to.

Beauty. What is it really? It is said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If that is so than beauty is nothing more then a temporal principle, changing with culture, philosophy or fashion.

No I think beauty is something much more. Invented by God. Beauty is the Psalm written by a murderous and adulterous king. Its an inept castout leading a chosen people into a land promised. Beauty is “…while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” Now that is beauty and that beauty is eternal.

On the eve of Mother’s Day, beauty is God expressing His love yet again to the lonely man in the garden. Making him a helpmate. One who will support him, love him, bear his children and raise them, pick up his pieces when the world tells him he’s a failure, cheer him on in the heat of battle, believe the best of him, and remind him of the Father’s love for him merely by her presence.

Why must we try to destroy this beauty? Just like everything else the Father has given us. It is clear that we do not savor real beauty. Oh God, help us to see what is beautiful.

I thank my God for Staci. My wife, my helpmate, my cheerleader, my spitfire, my sweet girl, the mother of my child, my first punkin head, my beauty.

May we as men enjoy the beauty that God has given us.

Start Your Engines…

Well fellows, I have put much thought into my first post and it will not disappoint. First off, I should explain the title of this page and my crusade against blogging.

First of all, I don’t believe in blogging. It should be illegal. I think it is putting on paper what we should be speaking from our mouth. Yes spouting off at the mouth does tend to get me in more trouble but it is a lot more fun than doing cartwheels in my bedroom after a really sweet post. (It should be requested at this point: please don’t take this post too seriously!) But I will indulge our increasingly introverted culture with a few of my random thoughts. Although it should be stated that I feel like I am getting back into the closet…

So to the main point of my post. If I must waste my time doing this, then I will spend this precious time on something important. In light of Rob’s last post, My subject: the chocolate malt. It grieves me when I think about the state of the malt in our culture today. It is truly a lost art. Now those who are not malt connoisseurs, ignore and return to that lost island with those who don’t drink coffee. There are very few places in the world where one can truly enjoy an authentic chocolate malt. I experimented at three local fast food joints and found no difference between the shake and the malt! HERESY! Off with your heads Sonic and your brothers.

I know that I will never truly savor a malt outside of my own kitchen but at least I can help those continue a dying foundation of life. Although I prefer vanilla ice cream, the best malt in town can be found at Cheeburger Cheeburger. They start with chocolate ice cream but balance it well with natural malt. While enjoyable, Steak n Shake is at best a far second. Too much malt and they don’t give you the extra in the metal cup. Sadly, that is it in North Alabama.

What have we come to in this sad town? Where will our children go to enjoy the life-altering malt that we once enjoyed?

Join with me my brothers and sisters as I launch a new crusade “Free the Malt”. Our motto is “Save the malt, save the World”.

More to come. Antibloggers unite!