Intentional Intensity

There are places in life that we have to exert control. And yes, I am speaking in both tangible and intangible ways.

Control over one's right foot when driving, for example - that the accelerator might keep the vehicle within the posted speed limit. Even when all around you think of it more as a guideline than a law.

** Rant alert... **

Really, people? 50+ mph just heading up Leonard Street, where the posted speed is 35, sometimes 30, and only 45 when you finally get to the bridge over the highway? Give me a break... Remember, non-patient personages, you'll be on 96 soon enough, and can get your speedy ya-ya's out to your hearts content. In the meantime, BACK OFF!

(And, since I'm over-generalizing here, I'll be imagining that once you actually get ON the highway, you'll realize that 70 mph is certainly fast enough for anyone to get where they need to go in a reasonable amount of time, so certainly the speed limit will be observed by you and all others.

Ha ha ha hee hee hee ho ho ho *snort* Woo......

I crack me up sometimes.)

Yup, I'm the guy you don't want to be behind, the person you dread when gunning it down a city street, the bane to your existence on any two lane road...

I'm the driver who goes right about the speed limit. (Or even slightly below...) All the time. Even on the highway - I actually drive about 65 there. *gasp* *shudder* I'm the driver that you seem to feel the need to jump on the back bumper of.

And, just to clear a few things up...

NO, getting so close that I can see what kind of gum you're chewing will not inspire me to go faster.

NO, flashing your lights makes no difference either.

As for your horn? Stuff it. Even a lame driver like me knows that gas pedals aren't controlled by Siri - no matter how much noise you make, my car won't respond to your subtle sonic cues and go faster.

And, for the record, if I AM in the left lane going *gasp* the actual speed limit, it's not to tick off the populace in general and you in particular - there's (usually) a reason.

For example, perhaps I'm getting ready to turn left and I'm not a fan of the "turn left from the right lane" technique I see so aptly demonstrated many times a day;

Or maybe I know that the road will shortly go down to one lane, and I'd rather plan ahead and be in the correct lane, than to try and fling in front of someone at the last minute, as again I see demonstrated many, many times a day;

Perhaps since I drive this street, I don't know, a whole honkin' LOT of times in a week, I have intimate knowledge of that upcoming construction project that is woefully undersigned but will shortly bring us all to a crawl, and again don't really want to be one of those drivers momma warned you about that zips up the lane right to the place where it closes and THEN turns on their signal, becoming indignant when a few folks ignore their plight, letting them sit there for a moment. (And only for a moment, since these folks are usually not the patient type and simply ram their nose in front of you - the "No hole? MAKE a hole!" technique that earns them such praise, respect, and commendations from all their peers...

Said nobody, ever.)

So, you're slightly inconvenienced from your pursuit of going like a bat out of Sheol by my pursuit of actually obeying the law? Get over it. Loosen the bone, Wilma. Chillax, dude.

Sheesh.

** Rant alert ended. Thanks for your patience. **

So yes, getting back to my original premise, there are times in life to exert control.

Really.

"To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under Heaven."

Solomon - what a wise guy.

Nyuk nyuk nuyk.

In my ongoing examination of how bipolar disorder impacts my day-to-day life, I'm learning to use the intensity knob - there are times where I have to mindfully realize what is going on, and apply control.

But that's true for just about anyone, isn't it? So I'm not really spouting stuff you didn't know already, right? 

Or, perhaps like me, you're still learning. Or need a refresher course. Then let's saddle up and ride on...

The place I'm learning to use the intensity knob is when dealing with mania - the "upswing" side of bipolar. When I've been intensely creative - spending a day making something or writing, maybe performing music or telling stories, even buried in a book for a day or watching a movie that drew me in hook, line, and sinker - when that's done, whatever it is, I'll be at the crest of an "up" cycle. And before I realize it, I could be so excited, so focused on creative energy, so wrapped up in a story or visual stimulation, that I'm in the thrall of mania and don't know it.

And that's bad because?

Because unlike someone who doesn't deal with bipolar (honestly, we all move from emotion to emotion, so we all "deal" with it to some extent), I don't come down gently and gradually from such a place. I don't go all in, experience the joy and emotional high from those things, and then calmly settle back to normal. Instead, without realizing it, I'll be chasing the mania, rolling the snowball downhill as it gains size and momentum, becoming an out-of-control monster...

Until it crashes.

Without control, without awareness, the shift doesn't come gradually. I'll go from full-tilt exuberance to absolute frustration and despair when the wave crashes down.

Maybe I'm crocheting, working along, things are looking wonderful, I'm almost done and am really happy with how the project is shaping up. But I don't realize that I'm getting tired - my mind has focused so intensely and totally that it's now reached the "Check, please" stage and is done playing nice with others. It's ready to go outside for recess, and it's going to leave with or without my consent.

Wham.

Immediately, what was going so well, looking so nice (in my eyes, that is - it might look like a yarn train wreck to someone else, and probably does...), what was coming right along and nearing completion hits a brick wall and crashes. Maybe I drop a stitch, or make a mistake - whatever happened, the switch has been thrown and what was giving me such delight is now frustrating, is bug-ugly, and proves that I should never, NEVER have either crochet hook or yarn in hand ever again.

From there, it'll just head down to thoughts of how I can never actually produce anything decent, wondering why I keep trying even though I never make anything to be proud of or that is useful for anyone else, and, if left unchecked, will result in either such frustration that I'll rip the whole thing apart, trashing it, (or throwing it to BekaV as a new snack) or such a black mood that I'll withdraw into a dark hole and lose myself for a while.

Now, this is what bipolar feels like to me from the inside out. Your mileage may vary, and I certainly hope it does. A lot.

Is this the point where we turn the corner into happy happy joy land, away from the land where Cal eternally sucks us down a deep pit?

Sort of. Maybe. Kind of.

This is where I am learning to use the intensity knob - to mindfully apply the kind of control that comes naturally to most people but (because of a chemical imbalance in my brain) doesn't to me. 

The biggest factor is recognizing an extreme - if I don't at least try to remain aware of my emotional balance, then I will get hit by a freight train without even knowing I was on the tracks. So I'm learning to be aware of the behaviors and triggers that warn of an upswing...

For example, if I'm listening to a song, and keep hitting 'repeat,' so that I'm listening to it over and over again, something might be tilting a bit. Time to open my eyes and keep watch - that's a red flag that something might be lurking over the horizon.

(I think my personal best is listening to a Secret Garden song 15 or 20 times in a row - I'm not proud of that, for the record...)

If I keep rubbing my head back and forth, that's a red flag... and will prompt a remark from Herself that my hair's getting thin enough without me helping it along.

Ha ha ha. Very funny.

Triggers can be things like getting deeply into a project at the wrong time of day - I know that I might hyperfocus on this and get so caught up in it that I can't easily come out, so planning in advance my "exit strategy" is key. Things that I have to intensely focus on can be triggers that move me toward mania. Things that I deeply love can do it too.

Movies and I don't get along so well these days - I tend to either be very neutral about them, kind of seeing the story wash around me like a river flowing around a rock but not really having an effect on it; or I get so focused and "into" the story that when the movie ends, I don't want to come back - my imagination stays in that world, spinning new tales and ideas, trying to keep the upswing going. Trigger. Totally.

Knowing my mental and physical rhythm helps too... I know that my worst time is after 7pm - that's when my mental processing plant starts shutting down, as the little minions head off to quaff a few cold ones before beddie-bye. 

And by "cold ones," I, of course, mean root beer.

The later it gets, the less control I'll be able to exert.

If I need to be doing something into the "Danger Zone," (I heard you running the song through your noggin - don't deny it...) I have to keep awareness right in front of me, and recognize the signs that mean my saddle is starting to slip.

Time to crank the intensity knob down... way, w-a-a-y down.

So for example, at rehearsal on Thursday nights, I might seem distant or withdrawn as we get near the end of practice. That's not the case, really - I'm just pulling inward, using whatever resources remain to keep focus and maintain balance. To do more - to be gregarious and engaging, to be chatty and smiling, could start a snowball that I can't stop.

Overdramatic? Milking the situation for all the sympathy I can? Becoming one of those people you really don't like talking to, because they give you a catalogue of all their struggles every time you even say "Hi?"

No, I don't think so. Frankly, going through the laundry list of all the crapola it takes to keep me moving through the world isn't all that much fun, so trotting it out there and hoping others will pat me on the shoulder and tell me it's alright isn't really worth the effort.

Check out this little window into my world...

We were hanging out with some friends a while back... Ok, I was hanging out. Herself was digging into our friend's computer, helping to figure some stuff out and doing things that I'm pretty well convinced are allied with dark powers...

I love my wife, but I really don't understand what she does for a living. But hey - as long as the checks keep coming in, ignorance is a whole honkin' huge truckload of bliss. That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.

Anyway, we hung out, Herself muttered incantations over technology, we enjoyed supper together, Herself summoned strange and unpronounceable characters onto the screen, we had an impromptu crochet lesson, Herself was buried up to her lovely neck in files, names, extensions, and other poopy that I shudder to consider...

So the two wifely personages were making technology succumb to their collective will, and I was teaching my buddy how to crochet. Good times.

Oh, I also read the kiddos a bedtime story -  "Charlie The Ranch Dog" by Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman). Want me to read it to you? It's on my iPad - just ask...

And a lovely afternoon / evening moved on. Before we realized it, we'd crossed the 7pm line and were running on borrowed time.

We started getting on toward 9pm, and I knew it was just a matter of minutes before I shifted into waka-waka mode, but between this and that, we delayed...

And mania hit. Freight train.

I was trying to be aware, I knew it was coming, but I didn't reach for the intensity knob early enough.

The mania showed up in my conversation... I started babbling. Ok, it wasn't like incoherent mumbling or speaking in tongues or anything that should result in me being strapped into a special chair and hoisted off to a padded room...

Not that there's anything wrong with that, just for the record.

No, I just got "chatty." Kind of bubbling on, chatting about this and that in the euphoria of having spent time with good friends, without "this" or "that" necessarily being related to each other OR anything we were actually talking about.

Then I was trying and trying to find a really funny picture on my iPad that I just HAD to show them before we left. I mean, trying really hard. Looking through my "iPad Humor" file again and again, pausing to show them another funny picture, then back on the search. On and on.

Then, for my encore, I felt the need to lovingly mention that, boy, that dish we had for dinner was REALLY spicy, (which it wasn't...) and didn't work with my system at all, but it was still really tasty...

Mania.

After we finally left, and my Beloved was driving home, I realized just how far my control had slipped, how much of an idiot I had acted like, and how embarrassed I was at having even mentioned the lovely and very slightly spicy dinner...

I swung straight down to the opposite extreme. Crash, bang, boom.

Now add to that deep sadness and embarrassment this little tidbit: When I stop focusing on something, anything, at that time of night, I'm going to "crash" very quickly - my head is going to shut down, I'm not going to be able to concentrate on much at all, and there's not a great deal I can do to stop it from happening.

Oh yeah - that'll help curb the darkness and depression. Yup.

So my Beloved had the joyous task of getting me home, riding herd on me like a rebellious toddler as she tried to keep me moving forward, keeping me focused on getting ready for bed while assuring me that things were alright and helping me use what little control I had remaining to step away from the darkness so I could have a chance of sleeping.

Thus endeth the little window into my world. Please close the drapes - quickly. No need to yank the cord off, tho...

(Our friends are aware of what we deal with, are very understanding, and for some odd reason love us. They'd never seen it in action, tho... Now they have.

My beloved apologized on my behalf the next day at church - I was so embarrassed, I couldn't even talk to them. Thanks, guys - we love you.)

That little scene from my world is, in a nutshell, why using the intensity knob is so very important. If I'm on an upswing, I've got to work hard to come down softly - before my head leaves the party with or without me.

Turn down the intensity gradually, step down instead of jumping, use whatever technique I can to exert control.

But that's true for just about anyone, isn't it? So I'm not really spouting stuff you didn't know already, right?

Or, perhaps like me, you're still learning. 

A Tainted Legacy

"He followed the example of Jeroboam, continuing the sins of idolatry that Jeroboam had led Israel to commit. Thus, he aroused the anger of the LORD, the God of Israel." - 1 Kings 16:26

Jeroboam was NOT da man. Really.

I'm on my 2nd complete trip through the Bible, thanks to the Daily Audio Bible podcast. (Actually, it's time 2.5, since I started halfway in for my first trip, but time 2 for a complete run. This attempt at data integrity brought to you by the Proofreader, who, even though she didn't add these words, approves of them nontheless.) And in the middle of time 2...

(2.5? 2.38? 3.1414...? This is why I don't do data integrity. The Proofreader ALSO approves of this message, and adds a heartfelt "Amen.")

In the middle of what shall hereafter be called time 2, things continue to jump out at me, new stuff that didn't do so the first time around.

Like Jeroboam.

If you search his name in I and II Kings, you find a whole bunch of references that say things like, "He followed in the way of Jeroboam, doing the sleazy stuff that makes Jeroboam a monument to how to make God really, really angry to this day..."

Ok - you'll not find a single reference that puts it quite that way. Thankfully.

But attached to many other kings listed in those books is the reference that they followed in the ways of Jeroboam, leading the people to sin, worshiping idols, and doing evil in the sight of the Lord.

Now there's a legacy.

Think about it - how proud would it make you that your name can be used to immediately demonstrate just how far someone can sink in their sin? Like in a conversation...

"He's not a good man - a real Jeroboam."

"Whoa."

-----------

"You... you're... you're a... a... Jeroboam!"

"You take that back!!!!"

-----------

"You're a no-good, double-crossing, two-timing, lilly-livered, down-dirty-sneaky-shifty-nasty-stinky JEROBOAM!!"

"That's IT! Them's fightin' words!"

-----------

Yup. Like that.

How bad do you have to be for your name to become a synonym for evil of cartoonesque proportions? Not just for 15 minutes of fame in social media, but for generations?

Whoa. Mega-whoa.

(I'm trying s-o-o-o-o hard not to type the word 'Honey' here... Or 'Boo'... Or even a second 'Boo'... 

He who has ears, let him hear. And throw up a little bit. Ok, a lot.)

In our insty-fame world, I think we've lost some of the weight of legacy. Of how our lives, our actions, our examples leave impressions or ripples long after we've passed by. We're too used to "100 likes, drops down in the news feed, gone tomorrow, let's see what interesting nugget pops up today." In this media-driven culture, it's the next thing that catches our attention - what new video, new picture, new article, new blog post (Oi to the vey, he typed into his very own blog post...) will grab us and cause us to re-tweet, share, like, post, or otherwise keep the wave going...

Until tomorrow, that is, when the next little nugget drops in and it starts all over again.

Oh, the ripples and waves of yesterday's goodie are still spreading outward, still leaving an impression, and their echoes will still bounce back from time to time. But that initial surge will be past, the attention is gone, and like devouring insects, we're all looking for the next field to mow down.

Not buying it? Take a good look at your Facebook activity (or whatever other social media you dip your toe into and end up soaked) and notice how many things are funny pictures, heartwarming videos, outrageous stories, or LOL moments.

Lots, right?

Now, how many of those "I've just GOT to share this!" tidbits are still a part of your world? How many of them remain with you, to shape your life and be a bright spot in a dreary world?

*insert sound of crickets*

I didn't think so.

"Dude - lighten up! It's just Facebook!"

Exactly. We live in a disposable media culture - see it, let it tickle your fancy, drop it and move on. Nothing lasts, nothing endures, there are no waves, no ripples, no lasting consequences, no reason to think beyond today - just this moment, right now, and tomorrow will be totally different with some other tasty little tidbit to fill the void.

And that's what prompts me to toss this around the ol' noodle and see if I get soup: I think we've lost the weight of what "legacy" means - that our actions, our responses, our lives, our statements, they can leave ripples and lasting impressions that remain long after we've passed by. Instead, our present culture ends up saying, "It doesn't really matter what I do today, because something different will come around tomorrow." We go on from day to day, knowing that tomorrow the channel will change, new stories will go viral, and some celebrity someplace will do something so dumb that all attention will be snapped onto it like bugs on a porch light.

Until the next tomorrow, that is.

No legacy - no lasting ripples or impressions. No long-term responsibility for the here and now. I don't have to be all that worried about what I do today, 'cause the swirling cesspool of culture will sweep the evidence away in nothing flat.

The stuff of which celebrity and political careers are made.

Politicians may talk about leaving a legacy, but they're talking to the masses who view most things from a "Use it and flush it" mentality. How can you create lasting change, a lasting legacy when many people don't understand the concept of something enduring beyond tomorrow?

Celebrities may talk about their responsibility to influence others as a role model, their position allowing them to pontificate on whatever is hot on their own agenda, (or on their radar to jack up a sagging career...) but all the while the people who hang on their every word in this moment have their hands on the pull chain, ready to send Spot the pet goldfish down the swirly funeral chute into the not-so-great beyond.

Besides, today's shining role model becomes tomorrow's YouTube fodder when they're caught doing something incredibly stupid. And yet, they'll probably be back to role model status the day after...

Why?

Because our actions, our statements, our thoughts have no lasting consequences, leave no impressions, do not endure. 

Think about some recent examples of "scandals" - have you noticed the closer we get to 'today,' the less time it seems to take to go from "Public scandal" to "Just made a little mistake" to "Whatever happened to..." to "Wow, it's nice to see them getting work again"?

No legacy. No lasting impressions. No enduring consequences.

"He followed the example of Jeroboam, continuing the sins of idolatry that Jeroboam had led Israel to commit. Thus, he aroused the anger of the LORD, the God of Israel."

Hmmm... Apparently, God has a different view of legacy.

To spend any time in the overarching story of God's word is to realize the weight of legacy. The lasting impressions, the consequences of actions, the ripples spreading outward, on and on.

My generation, and those who precede me, understand the weight of legacy and the truth that some things endure. But I fear the closer we get to today, the more that significance vanishes.

Since nothing endures from all the media we are exposed to daily, and since everything gets replaced with the next bright and shiny doodad that hits the 'net tomorrow, so it is with me and my life. Nothing endures, consequences don't last, responsibility isn't needed, because it'll all be gone, swept away by the next bright and shiny doodad that comes into my world.

So what I do isn't that big of a deal, 'cause nobody will remember it tomorrow.

Except for Grumpy Cat, of course. Grumpy is forever.

Yes, I'm a fan. I never claimed to be strong - just sincere.

So, yes, I guess I'm not a huge fan of disposable culture. I'm old-fashioned enough to believe that legacy exists, that our actions have consequences, that what I do can leave impressions long after I've passed by.

I believe that if I'm not mindful about my thoughts and actions, if I'm not striving to follow God with all my heart, if I'm not out to seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with Him, then I will leave a tainted legacy. Perhaps not like a  Jeroboam, reaching to multiple generations, (at least I hope and pray not!) but a tainted legacy all the same.

What I do today, with my eyes on what that will mean for tomorrow, can lay the foundation for a bright legacy, even if that legacy reaches no farther than my front door. It still matters. It all matters.

I'm comforted as I look at things from here in my mid-fifties, seeing my failures and shortcomings and tempted to believe that my time is already up, that it's not too late to build a legacy, or to shine one up that's been tainted and tarnished. God has been in the business of restoration a lot longer than Extreme Makeover, after all. He's a real pro.

So think about this with me, bat-friends:

If your name, if my name were passed along to a future generation, would it be a synonym for a bright legacy, or a tainted one?

Like Jeroboam.

When Things Get Quiet...

Sorry for the extended silence on the writing front... Sometimes, when the writing stops, it means there's some mental issues popping up and I've got my head down, trying to sort out the world and get my feet back on stable ground.

And that takes a while. Thus, silence on the writing front.

Unfortunately, that really isn't a good solution, since writing is the way I process and work through most of the mental issues, so stopping the writing means stuff just piles up.

I never claimed to be smart... just sincere. 

So, let me fill in the space with a cute picture of Beka, since that's my main go-to plan when there's a blog void...

 

A friend of ours called her "regal." I second that emotion.

Regal in repose.

Regal with her packmates. Or regal while climbing the heights of Momma Mountain. Not sure which.

Regal on the throne of previously clean clothes, now mysteriously covered with fine white hair.

Not quite so regal. But funny.

Thanks for filling in the empty space, Beka. Good doggie!

Phabulous Photo Um... Phriday-NOT! Anniversary Edition

This is a tribute to something I hold dear to my heart...

You're correct - I do hold her dear to my heart... But in this particular case, I speak not of Herself...

Once again, you are indeed correct - it is a well-documented fact that I loves my nieces to pieces. And my nephypoohs, just for the record. But, again, in this case, they are not of whom I speak at this time...

Wow - you do know me pretty well. Yes, my rolling companion for many miles, Big Blue, is dear to me. But again, we're not speaking of my amazing TerraTrike just now, or of my infatuation with the Musketawa Trail, or that sort of stuff.

Now you're just being silly...

*ahem* "I believe, and rightly so, that the big guy is referring, as is just and proper, to ME. At least, he'd better be if he expects to have any unshredded underwear..."

And, as she is on the rare occasion, BekaV is correct. She is whom of speak do I.

"Ta-DA! Here am I, of whom speak did you ever so obliquely and laboriously. Long-winded are you, but strong in the Force am I. Amateur Yoda wanna-be you remain."

Um... thanks.

A year ago, the day after Memorial day, we bid a VERY sad goodbye to our beloved Ezri, having loved her for 12 years. And yes, I still miss her...

But, just at the right time, we happened to be checking out the puppies from Lake Haven rescue. And just happened to pick out one, only to have him be adopted before we decided. And so...

"Good heavens and great gravy bones, man - will you just get on with it!! The folks are waiting to bask in my cuteness, and you're prattling on and on. STUFF A (shredded) SOCK IN IT!"

Um... Sorry.

So we came across another puppy, and that was pretty much that. Her name was...

"Hey hey HEY! Icksnay on the old aim-nay! I've got a contract - no naming the old name. No no no no! Bad Cal - BAD Cal!!"

Deal with it, Fuzzface. Her name was...

"DON'T DO IT!!!"

... Ziva.

"ARRRRRGGHHH!!! HE SAID IT!!!! THERE WILL BE BLOOD TONIGHT!!!!!!"

Um, Beka?

"WHAT?"

Unpaw my Proofreader, or you're never getting doggie bacon strips again... EVER.

"Oh... Well. Sorry. Um... Really. Don't know what came over me. Really. Doggie bacon strips? Had no idea what was at stake. My bad. Really. Sorry. Please continue with your tale, dearest doggie daddy...

No more doggie bacon strips." *shudder* "The very thought chills me tail..."

Within 24 hours, however, her name was changed from Ziv... Um... the artist formerly known as something ELSE....

To Beka Valentine. Named after a character from Gene Roddenberry's "Andromeda." And living up to the feisty nature of the original Beka Valentine. Yup - we picked the right name.

"Let's roll that beautiful puppy footage, shall we?"

Adoption day - June 16, 2012

"My peeps had NO idea what fun I had in store for them..."

"But I knew... Hee hee hee. And they thought I was the one that needed rescuing... Silly peeps."

Obviously, at 7 weeks old, we had NO idea what we were getting into... and yet we did and were ok with it.

"I'm sorry - were you still talking? I dozed off a bit..."

No biggie - you just take a nap right here, little girl.

And so, our sweet rescue puppy came into our little family...

And into our hearts.

And no, I still don't understand this whole leg thing...

"I told you - the leg joints weren't due in for another week. It's all good - they just were backordered. No biggie."

And our girl grew, showing us that she wasn't at all what we expected... not an Australian Cattle Dog...

"Hey - you guys never asked. I could have TOLD you right up front, but no... you never asked."

You're right - it really didn't matter. We were smitten.

"All part of the plan, man."

We went on vacation...

"No, peeps - I did NOT travel in there. Just bein' clear. But it rocked for naps!"

And discovered that she really REALLY likes outdoors... green grass... backyards...

And getting us in trouble with the In-Laws.

"Did you have any idea what was down there? Seriously! I never find stuff like that in YOUR... I mean, OUR... I mean, MY yard!"

And so, our homegirl began to share her surprises with us...

Like the ears.

"Yes, they were leaning on each other... Hey - they were just getting started. I had to get them babies in shape before they could stand on their own!"

She showed us her crazy personality...

And crazy legs.

"Surprise!! Go look up "Ibizan Hound." Now sob quietly into your hankie. Now take me for a walk! Oh, and hand over a couple doggie bacon strips, STAT!"

And so, her true nature was revealed. Sweet, FAST, TALL, and claiming us as a part of her pack.

Including dear Auntie Hannah. She LOVES Auntie Hannah... especially her couch.

She politely informed us that the bed that was "our" bed is now "OUR" bed, which is translated as "HER" bed.

And is teaching us to get off our tushies and get outside... with her... often... like right NOW for example.

She's a companion, staying close to her packmates.

She's a cuddler, giving us all the fur therapy we need.

And her amber eyes melt my heart.

Happy anniversary, BekaV. Thanks for rescuing us.

"No problem, peeps. And, for the record, I love you. Thanks for rescuing me."

Thanks to the wonderful folks from Lake Haven Rescue for being an advocate for those who don't have a voice, for bringing 5 little puppies found in a box on the side of the road down south up to West Michigan, and for introducing us to our packmate. We're trying to honor the trust you placed in us when you let us bring Beka home.

Thank you.

When I Become Real, Round II: Fearless

Yup - that's me. Young, carefree, fearless. Or something like that.

So a while back, I wrote something called "When I Become Real." And yes, that is inspired by the amazing story "The Velveteen Rabbit" by Margery Williams.

*sniff sniff* I love that story...

*sniff sniff*

WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!! *insert sound of honkin' schnozzola being emptied into soggy hankie*

*sniff* Ok... I'm better now...

Nutshell version: When I'm using my gifts, being who I really am and doing what He really intends me to do, I become the most real that I will ever be in this world.

Really.

So on Sunday, June 2nd, I got to be really real once again, telling a story as part of our morning worship at First Cov. And any morning you cause your pastor to say, "I've never had to follow anything like that in my life," well, you know it's been a good morning.

What story, I hear you ask?

The one, the only, the most excellent...

"Tacky The Penguin" by Helen Lester!

(And, for the record, it's not the only... there are a series of books about Tacky the Penguin, but I told the original Tacky the Penguin story.)

I truly, truly love that story. It lets us all know that sometimes being an odd bird is the best kind of bird to be. And, as all the world knows, I are an odd bird.

In fact a member of a choir I directed gave me my copy of Tacky the Penguin, and wrote in the front, "To Cal - an odd bird."

Truer words were never spoken.

And I'll admit - I was a little surprised at how "all in" I went in the telling of it. The movements became a little more exaggerated, the facial expressions were a little bigger, and everything seemed a little more intense.

(Including my "Tacky face," which Herself says she doesn't remember seeing before, but it's the same expression I always use with that part, when Tacky greets others with his quirky smile, leading me to believe that it was always there, but it was buried under a little too much me to be seen...)

(*pause here for a moment for those who are still giggling over the use of the phrase "Tacky face" to catch up with us...

and...... there ya go. Welcome back.*)

As if all that wasn't enough excitement, I spontaneously added a jump.

As in, actually leaving the ground and becoming airborne for a moment. A whole whopping inch or so above the stage. Both feet.

Twice.

Whoa.

And I discovered something... Something I never realized... Something that really surprises me...

When I'm real, I'm fearless.

Whoa. Again.

When I step out of the way, allow God's good gifts to flow through me, employing them as He intended me to, there is no fear. There is no hesitation, no wondering "What in the world will they think of me?", no feeling inadequate, no questions, no baggage, no regret.

It's on like Donkey Kong, baby.

(As for "What in the world will they think of me?", let's face it - my peeps at First Cov have known me for many years, they love me for some strange reason, and if anyone in this world knows just how odd of a bird I be, it be them.

Word to yo goldfish.)

But this realization really startles me... When I'm "real," I'm fearless.

When I'm a storyteller, letting go of everything else, there's nothing in the way - it's all about the story, about blessing others with the wonderful way a story can touch people. It's a heartfelt desire to get out of the way and just be a conduit for a story, and a huge sense of wonder when the room gets quiet and the only thing being heard is the story itself.

I call it the storyteller's gift - when a whole room of folks get caught up in a single tale and leave everything else behind for a while. And it stuns and humbles me every time God allows me to see it in action.

Fearless and filled with wonder - pretty much my gig as a 'teller.

- BUT -

When I'm a writer, um, wow. Can I say I'm fearless?

I guess so. I hope so. I'd like to think so.

After all, when you only have 3.78 readers, it's easy to be fearless.

I jest. I kid. I ha ha ha.

It's a tough one, tho - am I fearless when I write? This one cuts closer to the bone, because most of my writing is on this blog, my personal journal and the best way for me to work through the mental chaos to clarity. To be real here is to be really real - transparent, visible...

Nekkid.

(And now we pause to wait for those who had to go use a little eye bleach, trying to ban some mental images that will haunt them to the end of days...
...
...
...  Never mind. They aren't coming back. Let's roll along, kids.)

But when I write, most anything is fair game. The ups, the downs, the weird, the crude, the wondrous. It's all on the menu. Fortunately, it gets passed through filters like decency, appropriateness, common sense, and TOO MUCH INFORMATION, MAN!!!

Cmd-Z is my friend. That's Ctrl-Z to you other folks out there.

When I look at the various and sundry stuff that I tend to pursue, the ones that God makes it clear that I'm gifted in and am to be active with, my premise holds true... When I become real, I'm fearless.

- BUT -

When I say that becoming real makes me fearless, I'm not saying there is no fear.

"Nice. You've once again headed the wrong way down a linguistic cul-du-sac, tried to make a U-turn, and ended up in some poor lady's begonias. Way to go, fearless writer boye."

Thank ya. Thank ya very muchhhhh. Uh HUH!

No one in their right mind (which usually leaves me out) isn't nervous, apprehensive, or a little afraid when hanging everything out there for others to see, observe, and pontificate upon. Stand up in front of a whole bunch of others and tell a story. Write about how your digestive track has been redecorated. Do something that you're gifted in, under the scrutiny of others - a couple others, a group of others, a crowd of others, or a whole honkin' boatload of others with the power to LIKE or UNLIKE you at the click of a mouse!

It's like painting a bullseye on your tuckus.

(Don't bother with the bleach - it's much too late now.)

When I say that when I become real, I'm fearless, it means that although I have the same butterflies in my tum-tum that everyone else would, when I'm real those little things don't stop me. They don't freeze me, intimidate me, make me second guess myself, or wonder why I'm even doing this.

Being real, doing and being exactly what God designed me for, so that His gifts flow through me without hesitation, well...

That's when I'm fearless.

And, perhaps you are too. Only one way to know - get out there, dive in where He's gifted you, swim as He designed you to, and watch the familiar shoreline disappear...

Be fearless.