I love having a wife who makes me laugh.

    Electric skillets are perhaps the most convenient cooking tool ever invented.  They're large, so they hold plenty of food -- I can fit four quarter-pound hamburger patties in my skillet, as opposed to barely three in the cast-iron pan -- and they are extremely easy to clean.  Also, they double as deep fat fryers, as Ashley and I have found out, much to our delight.  Chinese food is our preferred fried meal, and she has perfected the art of homemade crab rangoons.  Surprisingly enough, the recipe for wonton wrappers is quite simple, but even so, we have been hunting for pre-packaged ones for some time now, just to test the frying difference - if any.  We used them tonight, all fifty of them, and they turned out quite nicely.  Store-bought wrappers are thinner than we can roll them out, so they fried up a tad crispier, and weren't as tough.  We have a ginormous Pyrex bowl in the fridge of leftovers, which, when a good friend of mine from work came to hang out with us on his lunch break, (I was off tonight), Ashley offered him some.  The conversation went like this.

Ashley: "We have crab rangoons."

Phil: "What?"

Ashley: "..."

    The look on my wife's face was one of sheer panic, and she immediately looked at me in desperation.  I can only imagine her thought process was something like this: "He didn't understand! What do I do?!" I finally answered for her when it became apparent that she was too tired to respond on her own. We all got a humongous laugh out of it.  

    I like my nights off, and I love having a wife who is funny both intentionally, and unintentionally.  The former more often than the latter, which is good for me, because I get in trouble less for making fun of her that way.

The Worst Week of My Life is (finally) Behind Me

It came and went, although not nearly as quickly as I would have liked, unfortunately.  First up: My bike got stolen.  Since I have moved here in March, it has remained in the exact same spot: u-bolt locked to a clothesline pole in the backyard of our apartment/house.  I have rotated it around said pole once or twice for the neighbors hanging up clothes, or for the landlord mowing the lawn.  That's it.  But alas, I was doing the dishes last week and when I looked out the window above the sink, I saw...nothing.  Shocked and angered, I shouted out a hearty "@*%$" and quickly threw my shoes on and stormed outside to find that, sure enough, my bike had been lifted from the backyard, u-bolt lock and all.  A few faint footprints were worn in our light dusting of snow, and I followed them to the street where they quickly disappeared.  Still shocked, still angry, and now utterly incredulous, I grabbed the phone book, and dialed 911 to have them patch me through to the police station where I made my first, (and hopefully last) police report over the phone. (911 is funky around here, they're more a relay station than an emergency service.)  I did get asked "Do you know who took it?" I wanted to ask her, "If I knew, don't you think I'd be calling them instead of you?"  In retrospect, I don't miss it, really.  I haven't ridden it in 9 months, and when my wife and I finally move, it will be one less thing to haul.  But who steals a bike in the Winter?  Seriously?
  Second, and worst of the big 3 incidents: I had to take my wife to the emergency room.  She has suffered from night terrors her entire life, so her freaking out in the middle of the night is nothing new to me.  But last Thursday, I was never more concerned for her well being.  She was laying in bed, wide awake, and all of a sudden started crying, flailing arms and legs, and muttering barely coherent things over and over again. "I can't...I can't...I can't..." I tried several times to calm her down, and just when she seemed to be making progress, BAM! it would start all over again.  Soon seeing that we were getting nowhere, recognizing that I needed some outside help, and scared out of my wits for her, I called 911 (again), and got ahold of some on-call EMTs for the evening, who quickly arrived on the scene.  Not daring to risk taking the time for extra clothing, as my Dearest went off even more when I wasn't hugging her or trying to comfort her in some way, I answered the door in my underwear.  But I did not care, as I had far more important things to worry about.  They came in, took her blood pressure and pulse (which were both astronomical, at a pulse of 168), tried to calm her down and ask her some identifying questions, which she was barely able to do. Her name, where she was, what she had to eat that day, etc.  We soon realized that a hospital visit was in order, and also realizing that in her wigging-out condition, there was no way she was going to let the EMTs put her in an ambulance (whether I rode with her or not), I ended up driving her myself.  I called her parents, who, bless their hearts, left their house upstate as fast as they could to come help me care for their daughter.  I checked her in at the ER, and we got a room.  After about an hour, she began to wear herself out, and due to that and a sedative they gave her, she soon got some much-needed sleep.  After about another hour, her parents arrived, and when she woke up, she was a little disoriented, but very stable, very coherent, and very much ok.  I was so relieved.  Things are looking up, and further treatment is currently being pursued.  I just hope I never have to relive that again.  Ever.
  And third on my list of "Big Piles of Crap I Waded Through Last Week" is punishment at work for too many call-ins.  I had five on my record, one of which included the aforementioned night of H.E.double-hockey-sticks.  I have only honestly, seriously, and technically called off of work once because I wasn't feeling well.  Every other time was either an emergency (as per the ER trip), or a scheduling snafu (the computer's schedule didn't match the paper schedule), or the fact that I began to not feel well while AT work, and so I got permission to go home early, but, as I learned LATER, that if I don't work at least half of my shift (which I was a measly hour away from), it's counted as a complete absence.  Hey, everybody who ever went to a public school, remember pink slips?  Or behavior plans?  Or whatever lame-as-crap name your school system had for them?  You know, those pieces of paper you got sent home with that said: "(insert name here) was a bad boy/girl, because he/she was caught doing (insert crime here)" and you had to B.S. a sentence or two about how you planned on fixing it?  Yeah.  I had to do that at work about my attendance.  My first pink slip in life comes when I'm 26 years old working for Wal-Mart.  Don't you just love corporate rules and regulations?
  *Sigh*  Whatever.  I now have an invisible bicycle (that I never rode anyway); a much-better wife whom I love dearly, who is the light of my life, and who has hopefully seen the worst of panic attacks for the last time; and a permanent record at work.  *Shrug*  Things could be worse.  I'm thankful for all that I DO have, and everybody who helps me get through crappy times like these.  You know who you are.  Thank you immensely!

Doubts, Fears, and the Second grade

Running down a secluded, darkened hallway. Familiar surroundings; déjà vu; lessons learned; truths remembered. 

Closes my eyes in front of my second-grade classroom, remembering sitting in the second row, raising my hand so frantically trying desperately to get my teacher’s attention to ask if I can go to the bathroom because I feel like I have to . . .

Puke.  All over my desk.  A disgusted, horrified look on the faces of the two girls in front of me.  Shock, pity, and humor on my teacher’s face.  Pure terror on mine.  Mortified.  A day that will be long remembered, even by one of those girls over twelve years later. 

Coming out of my reverie, I continue down the hallway.  This teacher used to be in that classroom, That room was where Those kids went, the ones who had emotional problems, or couldn’t read as well as they should have been able to at their age.  Everything so structured; so safe. 

What happened?  What the hell happened to me?  To them?  To all of us?  Somewhere along the road, the safe, structured, knowing-if-I-ever-have-a-problem-or-get-scared-or-need-to-go-home-sick-or-just-plain-want-to-be-left-alone-and-read-for-a-while-ness turned into a massive mountain of self-responsibility that I never asked for.  And don’t get me wrong, I love the freedom that my adult life brings with it, but I just get so sick of being scared of all the uncertainties of the future.  Where will I live a year or two from now?  What will my new job be in only months’ time, and how many “new job”s will I have before I die?  When will I be ready to have kids?  Will I ever, actually BE “ready”?  What will my wife and I name our first goldfish?  What will our first fight be about?  How many anniversaries will we celebrate together before one of us returns to the dust?  And will we EVER have enough money. . .

                                             Money . . .

                                                             Money . . . . . . . . .?

God, please help me cling to You more strongly than I ever have before.  Help me to know that it’s ok if I never know the answers to some of these questions.  Help me to revel in the mystery, the uncertainty, the fact that nothing is set in stone and I shouldn’t ever take anything for granted.  Help me to know that unless it’s in You, “security” is just a word, and “safe” is just a big, metal box you put your money in so it doesn’t get stolen, and even then . . .

There are no guarantees, except that You exist, and that You reward those who earnestly seek You. (Heb. 11:6)I

So, when I get scared, help me to not wish I was seven again, but to boldly stand up and say to the dark, secluded hallway:

“Thank you, for all that you have given me: Familiar surroundings; déjà vu; lessons learned, and truths remembered.  You helped me grow, and learn, and find out just enough about myself to build upon that information throughout the rest of my life.  Yes, thank you.  But know that I have moved on.  I can never go back to the way things were, and if I do, I’m only ignoring my life now.  No more running; no more wanting to go back; and no more denying my fear.  I’m afraid, and that’s ok.  That’s OK. 

“So go.  Help more kids.  Create more whole, complete, passionate children; ready and willing to live their lives as strongly and as powerfully as they possibly can. 

“Yes, go.  Because I’ve moved on.  I can only learn so much from puking on my desk.  I can only have my horizons broadened so far by the field trips we took.  And I can only be so nourished by the eight chicken nuggets in that little compartment on my lunch tray.”

            My life is here and now, and it’s time I started living it.  Fearlessly.  Unashamedly.  And dangerously.  After all, “secure” is just a word . . .

- Fin

Apparently Multitasking is a Cardinal Sin

I could feel the anger building up inside of him.  His face got redder by the second; veins began popping out on the front and sides of his forehead.  His voice raised itself from that of a koala bear asking directions to the nearest Taco Bell to that of a three-thousand foot tall Tyrannosaurus Rex informing the citizens of New Delhi that either he gets a world-class dish of curry or they will be destroyed before they can say “Shiva.”

My crime?  (Get ready for this one, it’s a doozy!):  Texting Ashley during our nightly meeting at work.  By the veracity of this man’s words and tone of voice, you’d think I’d just attempted smuggling twenty pounds of steak and a new Blu-Ray player out the back door, or taken a swing at a fellow employee. 

My manager went on an on about how I violated company policy and how I showed him (in his mind) virtually no respect because I was not giving him my undivided and utmost attention. (Never mind the man probably spoke about four bullet-points’ worth of information actually listening to; the other fifteen minutes of the meeting was him just repeating himself because he thought we couldn’t understand what it was that he just said. 

I was surprised at myself that evening that I wasn’t really angry in that room; heck, I still am.  Instead, I was completely and utterly incredulous.  I didn’t know what to say, or even what to think for that matter, for the sheer shock of being literally yelled at for something so insanely trivial never ceased to be most forefront in my mind.  Here he was, giving me the riot act, and there I was, seriously beginning to question his sanity.

Now, to be fair, was I actually violating company policy on cell phones?  Yes; we’re not supposed to have them…you know?  I honestly can’t remember what, exactly; our policy is because I haven’t heard it in its official form since my orientation almost five months ago.  I do know that, technically, we’re not supposed to have them with us on the floor (where the customers are), but nearly everybody ß(not an exaggeration) uses them to keep track of the time; to know when to go to break and lunch and to actually leave in the morning, because let’s face it, if you’re not used to it, wearing a watch is insanely annoying, and you can end up looking really dorky if you’re not careful.  Not to mention the fact that I have texted countless times in pre-work meetings and nobody has ever mentioned a single word to me before about this behavior.  Ever. 

And maybe I wasn’t giving him my pure and undivided attention, but to say that I can’t send a text message every now and then and not be able to, whatsoever, pay attention to what he is saying is almost like a teacher telling a student that if he’s taking notes he can’t learn as well. E.g. Professor Severus Snape in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Harry’s first day in Potions class.

Am I using this post as a chance to vent?  Yes.  But at the same time, I do, seriously and honestly, believe that I was not only treated unfairly, but that I also struck a nerve in this man’s perhaps power hungry, probably in-desperate-need-of-attention-and-control, and most and worst of all, definitely married-to-his-job psyche. 

It saddens me that what I talked about last time is lost on so many Americans, and especially those in higher positions in their vocations.  Yes, a lot of hard work has gotten them where they are, but at the end of the day, what does it matter? 

Ecclesiastes 2:17-26 reads:

            So I hated life, because the work that is done under the sun was grievous to me. All of it is meaningless, a chasing after the wind. I hated all the things I had toiled for under the sun, because I must leave them to the one who comes after me. And who knows whether he will be a wise man or a fool? Yet he will have control over all the work into which I have poured my effort and skill under the sun. This too is meaningless. So my heart began to despair over all my toilsome labor under the sun. For a man may do his work with wisdom, knowledge and skill, and then he must leave all he owns to someone who has not worked for it. This too is meaningless and a great misfortune. What does a man get for all the toil and anxious striving with which he labors under the sun? All his days his work is pain and grief; even at night his mind does not rest. This too is meaningless. A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work. This too, I see, is from the hand of God, for without him, who can eat or find enjoyment? To the man who pleases him, God gives wisdom, knowledge and happiness, but to the sinner he gives the task of gathering and storing up wealth to hand it over to the one who pleases God. This too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind.

I believe this is the viewpoint on our jobs that we need to have.  You see, the Bible talks a lot in several other places about the benefits of working hard, none of which I doubt.  But I believe we let ourselves start sinking in mental quicksand when we start to equate our jobs and how hard we work in them with our personal identity.  Nobody is a better or worse person simply because of a position of a certain height they hold in their job.  A fry cook at McDonald’s is not necessarily lowly and good-for-nothing and a manager is not necessarily smarter, faster, or more capable than any other employee. 

Do people’s personalities and own personal traits usually find their way into their work ethic?  Absolutely.  A person who is lazy by nature is probably not going to be the person who gives their job 110 percent.  But at the same time, a person can have a very strong work ethic, and yet be overcome by personal shortfalls; i.e. they do not fail for a lack of trying. 

As a human race, as a nation, we have got to stop equating ourselves with our jobs.  You are more than what you do for a living, and you are worth more than the mere sum of your accomplishments.  Please know that.  In Acts 20:24, Paul says that “(…) I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me--the task of testifying to the gospel of God's grace.”

Granted, Paul’s task is different from many of ours, but God has still purposed all of us to do His work.  Let us find out what that work is, and then run for it with all our strength.  If God’s work is different from the work you’re already doing, be willing to give it up.  If it is the same as the job you have right now; if you are called to be most effective in the vocation you already have, then don’t let anything or anyone stop you from doing performing spectacularly on a regular basis. 

            Let’s not put all our eggs in one basket, and let’s especially not put all our Heavenly eggs in Earthly baskets, where moth and rust destroy.  (Matthew 6:19-20).  We need to be involved, yet detached.  Here, but There.  Aware, yet wary. 

            This is a lesson I pray my manager learns before it is too late.  And as for me, well, Jesus said to love our enemies. (Matthew 5:44)  I think I’ll make him some cookies…

So I commend the enjoyment of life, because nothing is better for a man under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany him in his work all the days of the life God has given him under the sun.

- Ecclesiastes 8:15

This Morning I Realized that Apathy can be a Good Thing

After getting married, I took a second job at Wal-Mart as a third-shift stocker in order to provide for my wonderful new wife and myself; to feed ourselves, clothe ourselves, keep a roof over our heads, and provide for any other essentials that the aforementioned categories may not necessarily cover.  E.g. soap. 

            Having never worked in a grocery or retail shopping center before, the new vocation proved to have a good number of intimidating challenges in *ahem* “store” for me.  Figuring out how to reload a pricing gun.  Finding the right spot on the shelf for the items.  Making sure said items are the correct SIZE! Who knew ketchup came in 16, 24, 32, 44, AND 64-oz. bottles?  And the most daunting aspect of this job? Speed.

            While most of my fellow employees seemed to be putting their inventory on the shelves with the speed and agility of a chipmunk with a crack-cocaine addiction, I felt like a 1984 slothmobile who drank ice-cold molasses for engine fuel.  Night after night I’d try and switch up my method for stocking the shelves, and night after night I’d fall behind, trying desperately to stay afloat amongst my own personal sea of pallets, feeling horribly guilty and tremendously inadequate when other employees had to come throw me a life preserver and pull me ashore to the Isle of I’m Done. 

            After struggling to accomplish the tasks set before me for about my first two weeks, a couple of the managers pulled me aside, and it was as if Morpheus himself was in the room with me.  “You’re faster than this.  Don’t think you are.  Know you are.”  And then proceeded to kick the crap out of me Kung Fu-style.  Just kidding. 

            Off I went over the next few weeks, empowered by their encouragement, and determined to show them that I can do this, I worked harder than ever.  I made a lot of improvement since then, but I have found myself plateauing as of late. 

            …And that’s when it hit me.  I work hard.  I try my best.  (Ok, maybe not all the time, but I don’t intentionally slack off, either.)  So why should I beat myself up when I fall short of perfection, letting an over glued box get the best of me, or taking a couple of extra minutes to hunt down that one flavor of Jell-O that keeps popping in and out of our universe, and, respectively, its location on the shelf?  It’s so easy to come down on myself for not living up to my own expectations, but one thing I need to realize, is that

This is not who I am.  Here in America, we place WAY too much importance on what it is we do for a living, what our job is, what activities we perform that earn us money, and we associate that occupation with our identity.  We foolishly think that we are what we do.  But as the character of Max in “Across the Universe” so beautifully put it, “Who you are defines what you do.”  Our jobs should reflect our character, our individuality, our talents, not the other way around. 

And this is profoundly connected to how we as Christians should view the world around us, too.  You see, even though I don’t want to work at Wal-Mart for the rest of my career, I still have a job there now.  And while my job is not my life, nor does it define me, the fact remains that I still have to put in a good amount of effort and dedication so that, not only will I continue to have a job there (i.e. not get myself fired for being lazy), but I can take this wonderful opportunity to go to work on the “inside”.  I can make friends I wouldn’t make otherwise.  I can touch lives I didn’t know existed.  I can make a difference.  And in terms of Christianity, we live in this world.  While being here does not define who we are, (we should not be absorbed by our surrounding culture), and while living each day for the thrill of our natural, sinful desires for more money and more possessions most certainly isn’t all there is to life, we cannot simply hang up our hats, sit back, and watch the world spin around us as we spiral further and further down into a pit of asceticism and arrogance (as one usually begets the other).  We absolutely need to be involved in the world around us, so that, first and foremost, they will not dismiss us as irrelevant but maybe take notice of when we step up to bat.  We have an opportunity to work on the “inside” in this world.  We can make friends we wouldn’t otherwise make.  We can touch lives we never knew existed.  We can make a difference. 

Apathy can be a good thing, just in very small doses.  Let’s not ignore our jobs or our neighbors completely, but let’s not focus so much on making more money, or trying so very hard to fit in to our surrounding cultures that we lose sight of pointing others toward God and His Son. 

It’s freeing, isn’t it?  Knowing you don’t have to place your entire self-worth in that next sale, or how many deliveries you make, or the total number of cars you can push through your drive-thru window in an hour?  You are not merely the reflection of your job or the culture around you…but, at least in part, they should be reflections of you.