Tomorrow

I love the feeling I get as I mark a task off my "to do" list. To me, it feels something like stepping on the scale and seeing a number smaller than yesterday's number. Accomplished. So why, if it feels so good, then tell me, why on earth do I put some tasks off for so long? Why would I tell myself for weeks that I will start the job, only to wait until the night before to actually make myself do it?

I know better than this. I am better than this -- this dreadful enemy -- procrastination.

Ah, another sleepless night, a killer headache, and an overdose on caffeine, all because I, again, waited too long to start my assignment. I tell myself that I work better under pressure with a deadline breathing down my neck, but seriously, I have to ask myself if this feeling of accomplishment is worth the agony, the stress, the frustration, the utter exhaustion I'm feeling at this very moment. And the answer is...

Well, truthfully, I have a feeling I will actually sleep tonight when my head hits the pillow. So, I think I will have to wait until tomorrow to answer that question when the headache is gone, the caffeine is worn off, and I've had a good night of rest.

A Super-Powered Heart

Happy Birthday, Phil!

 

Remember when we would pretend the beds were rescue boats, and throw dolls and stuffed animals into the crocodile and shark infested waters so we could risk our own lives to dive in and save them? Remember the thrill of being the hero? Do you remember the day I taught you how to ride a bike and you were so afraid of crashing? Do you remember the moment you realized I wasn't holding on to the seat of your bike and you were riding it all by yourself?

 

If you aren't so old that your memory can't recall the courageous moments of your youth, I want you to take a few moments to remember the thrill of being the hero... Do you remember it now? I hope you remember it well and realize that it's a thrill you should be so familiar with, for you live the heroic life. Not only are you a hero as a father and a husband, you are a hero in the lives of every young person you touch. I know the pay isn't great and the commitment is sometimes exhausting, but when I think about all the fictitious superheroes, there isn't one that I can think of that did it for the money.  You may not have a cape, cool spiderweb spinners, or the speed of lightning, but you are a super hero with a super-powered heart. And I couldn't be prouder of the amazing man that you've become.

 

Happy Birthday, Bubba! May this year you experience the thrill of being the hero that you truly are! Enjoy the day celebrating the gift of you. Love you!

Confessions of a Dreamer

I'm a dreamer. There, I said it; I didn't just put it in print; I spoke it out loud, as if I were confessing it at some Dreamers Anonymous support group meeting. I'm not sure when or how I learned that there should be shame associated with that fact, but somewhere along the journey of my life I learned to tone it down a bit and not share all of the ideas that enthusiastically and spontaneously jump into my heart. But today, I thought about how my stifling of my dreams has suffocated my joy, and I find myself longing to dream big again, desperate for exciting sleepless nights and early morning inspiration. Oh to be free to see the potential of a situation instead of being ultra aware of the reality of it... So today, I have given myself permission to be me again, to be the me that some people ridicule and mock. I'm giving the realists in my life fair warning. The dreamer in me is being set free, and with that there will be no shame. You can keep your eyes fixed on the reality of the problem, but I choose to see the potential that is awaiting discovery!

Dreary Days

I love dreary, overcast days. It must be the romantic side of me, the part that knows that others consider it an “ugly” day, which compels me to find the beauty in it.

Diffused behind the grey clouds, the sun is there. The shine is brilliant, so evident, not hiding as it does at night, but ever-present, offering an often unappreciated yet beautiful glow.

Hazy days remind me of the days when I am certain God is there, but I can’t hear His voice, can’t feel His warmth, and can’t see His hand at work.

Nevertheless, He is there behind the haze that tries so desperately to conceal His light and separate me from Him; yet, He is present—subtle—but present, waiting to be noticed.

Absent are the brilliant displays of the bright, sunny days that radiate, shout out His blessings unconcealed; devoid are the storms of the darkest days that propel me to seek His refuge and commune with Him.

Ah, hazy days are special.

They compel me to seek beyond the grey, the complacency of life-as-usual, when communing with Him has become habit instead of heartfelt, when the meditation on my lips has become nothing more than empty lip service. These hazy days are overcast with my own agenda and my vain attempts at life; still He illuminates through the mundane and gently reminds me that beauty is here, yes, even in the mundane. It is here where He waits, ever patiently for me, illuminating through the haze. With a beautiful glow, He whispers softly, romancing me, humming a song from His heart that beckons me to step away from the busyness of my life and my plans and commune with Him, truly commune with Him.

Drop the disguise; remove the mask; forget about my to-do list; look beyond the grey haze, and embrace the One who illuminates the dreariest of days.

Oh, how I love dreary, overcast days.