Dirty Pool

Posted on July 24, 2017 by radamdavidson

Here’s what happened, since you asked, and you didn’t, but here goes: we’ve had many friends and family over to our house over the past few weeks.  This is a grand gift of kinship and the like, and I for one am not grinching about that at all.  Simply put, many people + mud + cannonballs + >Cl = unintended life forms in the backyard oval.  We’re talking about the simple rules of chemistry, and I’m no chemist (more of a musician/ponderer), but I must say that one does not need to be a chemist to see the pond-like water in our Intex Model  28131EH.  I feel the shame of the homeowner which usually leads to the courage of the suburban warrior and/or waiting for it to freeze.  Here in Michigan, we can always count on winter to cover us.  By mid-January, none of us believe the snow will ever leave, and what is covered is simply forgotten.  It’s a convenient method of landscaping denial that relies exclusively on the mighty forces of nature.

Arise the suburban warrior.

Get: chemicals.  Apply: chemicals.  Check afterward whether I should have mixed those.  Wait: for cleanliness or something catastrophic.  Either way, there’s progress.

I think about how my soul collects the same kind of garbage. Sources include the world we’re in, the constant input of information, the temperature of the room (spiritually) and, most potently, the brokenness within me.  Left unattended, the waters get a little cloudy, then dirty, then green.  And there’s a process to be endured.

When is a pool gross?  When it’s murky and slick.  When is a pool really gross?  When you’re swimming in water that’s murky and slick.  I can ignore the pool in my backyard (as I have for the past few days) but I can’t ignore my soul.  What’s worse is this: I think I can ignore my soul, as if it’s only an occasional voice.  I can avoid the topic of my heart.  Whether I’m aware of it or not, everything flows from it.

Time to reflect.  To stir.  To skim.  To treat.  And then, to wait.  The chlorine does something I can’t do.  Jesus does something I can’t do.  But, by faith, I do something in response to his grace, and he does the spiritual heavy lifting — the spiritual chemistry.  My work?  No.  His.  But I join him in this process.  How… synergistic.

As I write this, I’m watching my pool heal.  It’ll be a few days before someone jumps in, at least on purpose.  All I did was ignore it for a few days, and nature took its course.  It doesn’t take much to get the wrong stuff growing.  It’s chemistry, environment, and, a lack of attention.  The best approach is to stop it from reaching that point in the first place.  But it can be rescued.  I can be.  You, too.

I try to pay attention to my soul by setting time aside for just that.  God is there.  I am there.  Sometimes it’s deep, and other times it’s quiet.  Occasionally, it’s frustrating, Just like when you’re skimming the pool and can’t get that one leaf to get off the bottom and jump into the net.  Do I give up?  And let the leaf win?  Not a chance.

Here’s to prayerfully coming to terms with the condition of the water of our souls.  And here’s to the glorious One who provides the grace and spiritual power that will take care of it.

I often start prayer by saying “Okay,” followed by “here I am.”  Let Father, Son, and Spirit take it from there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Teenage

Posted on July 15, 2017 by radamdavidson

I am now the father of a teen.  Now, for a lively season, her age will end with the suffix “-teen”, as in “six-teen going on seven-teen.”

Thankfully, we’re only at thir-teen.

I remember when she was just thir.

Physically, she’s a teen.  Cognitively, she’s certainly not.  We know that.  She doesn’t.  As far as she’s concerned, some people came over (about 50) and sang Wheels on the Bus upon request since, after all, she is the birthday girl.  Several toys and gifts were given, thanks to the kindness of family and friends, and more Wheels on the Bus.

She knows what she wants.

So we gave her that. Many friends brought over auxiliary vegetables and copious amounts of water, some cheese and crackers, and the like.  It was, as they say, a party.  Par-tay.

She’s 13.  I can’t believe it.

I remember when the social worker told us she’d never drive, she’d never live on her own, and that our expectations should be realistic.  A doctor told us she may never walk.  Well, Wheels on the Bus to that, I’d say.

There’s more, much more to be said and thought and thankful for.  But today, I simply say: Happy Birthday, Lexi.  Your dad loves you a whole bunch.

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Midwestern Pilgrimage

Posted on June 28, 2017 by radamdavidson

Over the last few days, our little family has taken temporary residence in the great state of Chicago, with her flowing river and jagged posture toward beketchuped hot dogs. Zac had to dance for it (literally) before the vendor would vend ketchup on his hot diggity dog. After that, our boys were culturally aware enough to ask us, under cover of hand to ear, whether it would be kuth to request ketchup for their fries, which we appreciated. Zac was again ready to do a dance if absolutely required. 

I spent a few hours this morning wandering around downtown, flying solo as the rest of the gang continued their urban slumber. I noticed three things on my journey:

1. Chicagoans walk at the correct speed. Older men in 3-piece suits outpaced me by nearly double. Me and my legs felt good about that. 

2.  Chicagoans seem to prefer Apple earbuds. Their ear canals must be just the right size to keep them in place, whereas I need a headband.

3. There are more Dunkin’ Donuts than there are Starbucks.  I’m not sure why that matters, but I did notice this. Donuts matter, so there’s that.  Just don’t ask for ketchup on your French Cruller. 

Ah, Chicago. 

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Walk This Way

Posted on June 5, 2017 by radamdavidson

I walk with our boys to school this morning, as I do most mornings.  Donning my prescribed Michigan attire, I wore my gym shorts and sandals (because it’s warm) and hoddie (because it’s cold).  The sun was on its way to overwhelming the overnight chill.

We were en route to the elementary.  The daily conversation as we walked was the unlikability of Superman, from whose branded mug I was drinking coffee.  “Dad, Superman is the worst of the superheroes.  I mean, who puts their Fortress of Solitude in Antarctica, which is where the Penguin lives?”  Also, “Bad guys don’t even engage in battles with Superman because they know they’ll lose, since he’s so overpowered.”  Etc.  Up until this morning I really liked S(o)up.  Now I second guess.  Perhaps Shazam is the unrecognized mastermind second fiddle?

By the time we arrived, the conversation morphed into how strange the word Iron is (eye-ron? ayeRAHN?  Eiren?)  These are the conversations I love.  Zac leaned into a shrubbery and pretended to be caught in its branches.  Mac gave a piece of chocolate to a 2nd grader.

Then we heard a {POP} from the front of the school.  Back in my day, we’d say the sound was a ’78 Chevy backfiring, but, as you know, we don’t hear that sound very much these days.  The parents around me listened close and thought about many things at once.  The leading thought in my mind was “no worries,” even though we heard something that might be a gun firing at an Elementary School, even though it wasn’t… was it?  Did a kid bring a firecracker?  “No worries…”

Then a kid came around and said “the bus driver ran over a basketball!” which explained everything, except for the question of why was a basketball under the tire of a bus?  {POP} went gym class.

I sure do miss the days where we assumed a backfiring car and not a terrorist attack.  I long for the feeling of security, even if we as kids didn’t realize the inherent danger in simply existing.

This tension and the framework for the sound of a {POP} reveals just how much I long for the broken world to be fixed.  As a follower of Jesus, I look forward to the coming Kingdom, where all will be well.  And it will.  And it is.  The Kingdom is now.  I’m supposed to carry peace into the world.  So I will, by choice, by virtue of the victory of Christ, and simply because I believe what He said will happen.  Is there a greater hope?

We started our conversation with a roundabout on Superman and the strengths and weaknesses of superheroes and villans.  Then, I thought for a split second that we needed a superhero. It was just a basketball versus a Bluebird bus.  No worries.

As cheesy as it sounds, Jesus is the only superhero.  And He’s all we need.

 

 

 

 

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How To S’more

Posted on June 4, 2017 by radamdavidson

Last night we started a fire in our backyard (on purpose) and toasted up some marshmallows.  Getting a marshmallow just right for a S’more is just as much art as it is science.  Anybody can turn a marshmallow into a torch, like the kind they’d match with their pitchforks and shouting as they go after Frankenstein.  But toasting — browning, not burning — is no easy task.  Three reasons persist:

  1. Marshmallows are cylinders of sugar and processed byproduct, just ripe for the torching.  By the way, if your marshmallows are indeed “ripe”, you should check with a physician.
  2. Fires are inconsistent.  The only consistency of a fire is “hot.” Fire likes to spread, especially to marshmallows.
  3. We are inconsistent.  We get impatient.  We want so badly to build a S’more NOW but know we need to get the exterior bruleeing spot on.  So we lean the stick in, lean too far, it catches fire, we express our frustration, and start over.

I think that’s the problem, really, at least for me.  I am inconsistent.  Self control, perseverance, patience, awareness, flexibility — all of these are marks of maturity that are truly put to the test around a campfire.  Over time, we learn. We grow. We shake our heads at our children who torch their marshmallows, not in judgement but in the shared journey of getting better at something simple yet nuanced.  But don’t think too highly of yourself (Adam) because when we finally reach this maturity, we celebrate by jamming a marshmallow/chocolate/graham cracker sammich into our mouths.

Just as we should.

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The Wild Game Dinner

Posted on June 2, 2017 by radamdavidson

Our church hosted a Wild Game Dinner tonight.  I took our boys.They had no idea what to expect.  “What is a wild game dinner?” they asked, to which I replied “it’s a dinner of delicious meats of animals — and with much more variety than they have at the meat section at Meijer.    “Like what?” asked Zac.  “Oh, like duck and venison and fishes of the sea and… pretty much a sampling of Genesis 1 and 2.”  Sweet Baby Ray’s BBQ sauce was there, too.

Any time you get a bunch of fellas from the church together, at least three things happen:

First, grunts.  Noises that defy syntax yet make sense in the moment.  Example: “Meat loaf. (Grunting sound).”

Second, jokes.  Some guys were firing arrows at plastic deer (no one had the courage to tell them they’re mannequin animals) and another guy said “Oh, [name removed] put the arrow in backwards!” Laugher (grunting sound).

Third, inspiration. Being in someone else’s garage always makes me want to go home and organize my own garage.  It also makes me want to stop by Harbor Freight Tools, a veritable Big Lots of hardware, and buy up whatever knockoff compressor tool or hydraulic something that they’re pretty much giving away at $9.95.  At Harbor Freight, I always think “I’d like to get that” but I never think “I don’t really need to get that.”  How many places have a business model that goes like this: even if you use it once, it’ll pay for itself!  And that’s all the times it’ll work anyway, so more space in the garage!  Ha!  Of course I kid.

The best part?  Probably the smoked duck.  Or the Venison Meatloaf.  Perhaps it was the pulled pork, cooked over a period of 7 months and hand shaved by artisans and surgeons of the pig.  The Sweet Baby Ray’s only took it up a notch (bam).

But the very best part?  The time with my boys, with other guys, talking about life, blood, hunting, bows and/or arrows, and faith.  It’s good for them to see men who believe and whose faith is central to their identity.  The time for this kind of spiritual shaping is right now.   It’s what the church — a bunch of believers united by Jesus — is all about.   Our 20 minute conversation on the car ride home was  interesting, kinda deep, but also ridiculous.  Like when guys get together.

Plus, they were deep frying perch or walleye or pufferfish or something, and it was amazing.

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Happy Admin Pros Day!

Posted on April 26, 2017 by radamdavidson

We took our Administrative Professionals out to lunch today.  There was bread with those little flavor flecks, whipped butter with those little green flecks, and dessert with a little pointy leaf.  Yep – it was that kind of place.  A nice meal?  Sure.  But they deserve so very much more.

Where would we be without administratively gifted people?  Answer: we wouldn’t even know, because administrators are the ones who tell us where we are in the first place.  People are aware of what I do, mostly because they see me (read: sit through it) every Sunday.  But people don’t realize what admin pros do.   They are the ones who arrange calendars and contacts.  They are the ones who make sure there’s gas in the tank before a long drive. They are the ones who remind us of what we’re already supposed to know. Administrative Professionals are, to put it plainly, the makers of reality.  Without them, we’d aimlessly wander around until we ran out of gas, and then scratch our heads until something shiny grabs our attention.  Okay, so most of us aren’t that incompetent.  But I often feel like I am.  So, yeah.  I’m grateful.

To all the Administrative Professionals: you are given a day (or is it a week?  not sure) and you deserve gratitude and showers of blessing every day.  Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

 

Posted in Gratitude, Leadership | 2 Comments

Record Store Day 2017

Posted on April 22, 2017 by radamdavidson

I was at a local food place when Kate told me that she was working a different shift today because of Record Store Day, which reminded me that Record Store Day is today, and good thing since I likely would’ve remembered at like 10:30pm, having missed a vast majority of said RS Day.

My vinyl budget is pretty limited, leaving me to rely mostly on Thrift Store Misses and desperate flea markets.  There was an era mid 2007, when vinyl was still a largely forgotten medium here in the midwest, which meant you could score a Led Zeppelin album for like $1.99 — a highly unlikely find today for anything less than $15-20.  These days, it’s all Barry Manilow (which, now that I think about it, may increase in value) and TONS of albums with titles like 101 Strings and Polka Chopin! and The TIME-LIFE Collection of Bagpipe Situations.  I estimate that 1/3 of my vinyl collection were Thrift Store Misses, which I define, by the way, as records that were missed by people who should’ve realized what they were.  What a time it was — and is — to be alive.

Today I went, not to a thrift store, but to actual record stores in Kalamazoo.  My first stop was Green Light Music.  Green Light features new and used vinyl, a fair amount of equipment, some 45’s and 78’s, and a pretty solid array of used CD’s, too.  I picked up (finally) a copy of Yes’s Close to the Edge, which some consider the most definitive Progressive Rock Album ever produced.  I tend to agree.  A good deal at $8.  I also picked up a $2.99 copy of Wind & Wuthering by Genesis.  My favorite find, though, was the music that they were playing in the store, which caught my ear enough to ask the guy if I could buy that, too — Beck-Ola (Jeff Beck).   I was an easy sell on the piano riffs of Nicky Hopkins.

After Green Light, it was on to our other local shop: Satellite Records.  Satellite had a live DJ who did things that were very, very right in just about every way.  That plus the 25+ people who roamed the narrow aisles with me made for a great RSD enviro.  While there, I finally landed on an album by Indie Rockers Hippo Campus — Landmark.  Except for the first listen I’m taking in right now, I know nothing of this band.  I bought it because of the description on the package: Landmark has elements of so much going on that it’s impossible to define in simple terms.  In simplest terms, it’s an Indie rock album with major electronic elements and impactful lyrics displayed in a vocally unpredictable format. 

“So much going on that it’s impossible to define in simple terms” is a key phrase for my life and maybe yours.  Oh, and the fact that they say it can’t be simply defined and then say “In simplest terms, it’s…” told me I was on the right track.  So far, I am very very impressed.  I want to spend some time getting the lyrics, but the sonic layers are quite well done.

Record Store 2017 — support your locals.  Keep the Record Stores alive.  Keep ’em spinning.

 

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Quartz Rocks

Posted on April 12, 2017 by radamdavidson

Our 10 year old son is suddenly interested in precious metals.

It began with a can of spray paint and some blocks of wood.  He noticed some pieces of two-by-four that were about the same size as gold bricks.  “Where has your son seen gold bricks?” ask you?  Certainly not at our house.  Perhaps he’s into Duck Tales (as he should be).

He asked me if we could buy some gold spray paint, so as to “make some gold bricks.”  My first analysis and report was the obvious (you don’t know things) but a better parenting moment surprised even me as I said “sure.”

The next thing I know, he’s harvesting our quartz landscaping rocks and painting them gold.  They shimmer in the most believable way.

As of yesterday, he has sold one rock to a friend at school.  Another one is supposed to bring money today.  At a dollar per gold nugget, he’s doing pretty well for himself.  I recommended setting up an LLC or at least an S-Corp.  We talked briefly about how taxes are impacted by corporate profit and loss.  I reccomended straight-line depreciation.  We talked briefly about a balance sheet.  Then he left our shareholder meeting.  He’s such a maverick.

Not only am I impressed by his relative understanding of how capitalism works, I am also moved by the fact that I did the exact same thing when I was little — and I’m most certain I never told him about it.

I was his age when me and my friends cooked up this crazy plot to take precious earth material from our neighbors and sell them at — I dunno — the bank?  We wandered the streets of our neighborhood in Garden City, plucking large quartz landscaping rocks from our neighbor’s well-manicured and maintained lawns.  We did this without remorse.  I owe these people big time today. It’s sort of like how we used to take donations from the Salvation Army Thrift Store drop-off dock.  Our assumption was that no one wanted these things, and, therefore, we wanted them for our backyard fort.  Our assumption was wrong, as I have confessed to every official within the Salvation Army organization.  I have offered recompense, but they have kindly declined.  This is good, because the interest alone would make them rich beyond my wildest nightmares.

Speaking of finances and poor life decisions, I pose an ethical parenting question: do I charge him for the quartz rocks?  Could be a capital expense that may help his bottom line come April 15.

If my son sells your kid a genuine gold nugget, I’d like to formally offer a refund from the parent corporation, with no questions asked.  It’s less than fool’s gold.  It’s fool’s fool’s gold.  It’s imitation pyrite.  It’s like a bad cover band.  Then again, they do shimmer… like some bad cover bands.

If our son puts a gold nugget in the offering plate at church this Sunday, please accept it but don’t feel like he needs a receipt. Feel free to deposit it — with all the other rocks out there.  I bet they’ll blend nicely with the others, over there by the drain tiles.

Here’s a vivid and often unconsidered truth: God values rocks.  Maybe this is the Imago Dei showing up in our son.  I’ve been so over quartz rocks now for about 30 years.  I couldn’t care less.  Yet he’s moved to tears.

Which one of us is more aware of the glory of nature?

Then again, which one of us is making a buck on spraypainted rocks?

 

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Audio Post

Posted on April 10, 2017 by radamdavidson
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