Running Takes On Whole New Meaning at the Boston Marathon

Marathon running is the gold standard for human perseverance. Nine years ago I was coaxed into my first experience with it at the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. Since then, I have run four more: renegade at the Disney Marathon in 2000, the Louisville Marathon in 2002 (Lia ran half), then the OBX marathon with Robbie last year...it was during that run in the pouring rain that I decided to see if it was possible: if I could train my body into running fast enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon...so I did, and last March, I managed to post a qualifying time at the Ocean Drive Marathon in New Jersey. A year later, it was time to go to Boston.

Training had gone fine. Because of Haiti, a speaking engagement, and the delightful inconvenience called parenthood, I was unable to get in the distance that I would have wanted, but I was definitely in fine enough shape to have a pleasant experience. However, things changed last week. Most likely, the bug was the one that Lia had the weekend before. It got to me on Thursday morning as I proceeded to crap out everything that I had eaten Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Friday was more of the same. I lost my appetite. Friday, I ate two pieces of bread and four bites of chicken. Saturday morning I stepped on the scale: 136; I hadn't weighed this little since high school! We flew to Boston. I ate one captain wafer and dinner with Dave and Katie (which was fantastic - which I pooped out later). Sunday (race eve) I ate one pancake, half a sandwich, and some pizza. Didn't feel great, but was pretty confident I could gut the run out the next day. But I was definitely bummed about how I was feeling. (An added disappointment was that because of the timing of naps and what not, we were unable to get to the registration bib pickup until they had run out of cool shirts; all they had left were X-large, XX-large and women sizes. I got a woman's large. See picture. Sucks to be me.)

At 4:30am, I woke myself up in mid puke, fortunately (if you really can say such a thing) catching it in my mouth and keeping Dave and Katie's blankets clean. I cannot say the same for their commodes. For the next hour, I barfed one more time, and dookied seven. About 5:30 or so, the dookie became straight water. My head was throbbing, I read cover to cover their toilet reading (Worst Case Scenario: Parenting - I give it a 6). Around 7:15, I called my father-in-law for some advice (Rich is an expert in many things). After talking it through, we decided to drink some Gatorade and if I could manage to keep it down, then I would go for it.

So I packed up my stuff, and Lia and I (and A-Ro) went to the CVS for Gatorade and Immodium. Lia stayed in the car; I grabbed her purse and walked in. And as I get to the drink aisle, my head starts spinning, and I begin to blackout. The next thing, I was leaning up against the cold glass doors, sliding down to a knee. Tears started rolling. I staggered to my feet and knocked over a stack of paper towels. People were looking. I decided to take a lap around the store to regain my composure and wiped the crying into my cheeks. I paid for the Gatorade with Lia's card, but I was having difficulty focusing on the key pad. The numbers were moving on me. And I mistyped. I started crying again. I couldn't see straight. And the lady at the counter patiently helped me push the buttons as I tried again. I walked to the car a broken man, painfully clear that I was too dehydrated to make a go of it. Lia held me as I weep in her lap.

Over the day, I managed to keep some fluids in. We did get to watch some of the race. It is quite an event. It was hard not to be devastated. My stomach is still up and down. I have been to the can already once during this journal entry. (I need to go now). But what can you say, marathon running is what it is - a test of perseverance - in many ways. There are going to be good days and bad days. The Boston just happened to land on a very bad one for me. But as our angelic stewardess counseled me last night on the airplane ride home: character is what matters and things like this build character. And things could be worse. And I still have my legs. And if I can qualify once for Boston, I can do it again. For me, it will just take a bit more work.

Haiti - 3 of 3 Dance

This is Dance (Day-ahnce). He's the one on the left. We met cutting rebar ties in Messailles, Haiti. And it only took him an hour or so to get comfortable enough around me to laugh at my multi-faceted inadequacies at everything manually laborious. It took me about a day for him to become one of my favorite people in the universe.

Communication had its obstacles. He didn't know English, I didn't know Creole, we both knew about the same amount of French, which wasn't that much. For instance, when he asked me how old I was, I said trois cent trois which I thought might mean thirty-three, he just shook his head like I was crazy. "What?" I said. "Can't you understand numbers?" He grabbed a 2" x 4" and wrote 303 with his finger. "Oh," I said, wiping my palm over the imaginary numbers like I was erasing them. With my finger, I wrote two threes, blushed and smiled. I think he said he was 58. Either 58 or 78. Something with an 8 on the end.

I learned that he had six children. The oldest was sick; he was waiting to see a doctor. Dance took me by the hand and introduced me to him. I brought Lia over and assured Dance that my wife would personally see to it that his son would get better. We were walking back to the construction site when he stopped to look me in the eyes. He said, as best as I could understand,"That man in there is my first son. Mon enfant premiere!" Love was in his eyes. And I think what he was trying to say was that although his son was sick, that he was proud of him, that he would always be his beloved son in whom he was well pleased.

The next day, I met three of his grandchildren (I never caught how many he had). They had just finished morning classes and were showing him the box of goodies that one of them had received. It was her birthday (her name was Grace, I think she said), and she unwrapped a cube of grape Hubba Bubba for him to chew. And then she offered one to me. And I wasn't paying attention because I was holding back the tears at how beautiful it was to see Dance with his grandchildren eating Hubba Bubba in the middle of Haiti. And Dance got to his feet, put his arms on my shoulders and introduced me to his grandchildren. He called me his Dear Friend, Ned. And I leaned over to the three girls and said, "Votre grand-pere est une homme tres importante," which was as close as I could get to the words I wanted to say.

That night I started scheming about how I could smuggle Dance back to America with me, to help him escape a country that couldn't pay him more than 10 dollars a day (The average wage is 2), to give him a chance to retire and live his last decades in peace. He could come home with Lia and I. And we could go on walks and sit on the back porch and name the birds. I could teach him to watch television. And the more I got to thinking the more I realized that even if I figured out a way, Dance wouldn't go.

Why would Dance want to leave? Leave his healthy cow and house that he had built with his own hands? Leave his six children who all live within walking distance? Leave the opportunity to work right next to the school where his grandchildren go? Leave the fruit juice slushy he shared with one of them every day at 10am? Leave his home? He had everything a man could ever hope, wish or imagine.

And it got me to thinking, is all the stuff I have really that great? Does it make me any more happy? What am I missing that Dance seems to have in wheelbarrow loads? (Let me tell you, the man can haul a wheelbarrow.) Why does this land of plenty leave so many of us wanting? What if Haitians really have it better than we do?

Maybe they do. Maybe Dance does. But as I have marinated on all of this the last few weeks, what I have come to decide is that the stuff or lack of stuff that is in our equation is beside the point. The solution is somewhere else. What Dance embodied was contentment. He actually enjoyed mixing cement; he loved his son even when he was sick; he adored his family; he wanted his picture taken; he was proud of that healthy cow of his, the fruit trees that dotted his property. He was happy being Dance. He didn't want to be anyone else.

There were other Haitians I met that wanted something else - to be living somewhere, to be doing something, to becoming someone other than who they were becoming. They were the pictures of hopelessness, resignation and despair. And those were the images which broke my heart and most reminded me of so many of the faces I see every day back here in America.

Contentment is not the same thing as complacency. It is not the antithesis of motivation. Contentment is something else. As the Apostle Paul writes, "I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want." It is a secret Dance has learned.

So I went to Haiti for Dance to teach me. And maybe I do need to simplify, there probably is some stuff I need to get rid of, but I shouldn't fool myself into thinking that simplicity is the answer to my problems. And I shouldn't think that adding something will either. Contentment is found somewhere else entirely. That's what I began to learn in Haiti. That's what I witnessed in my dear friend Dance. That's what I hope will stay with me forever.

Davidson

Davidson College has easily gotten more press in the last few weeks than any other school, certainly any other school with a team in the NCAA men's basketball tournament. And I have not minded one bit. I am so proud of those guys, and I have never been prouder to be an alumnus. I know I am biased, but there truly is no better school in the country than Davidson College.

Haiti - 2 of 3 Benson

It's hard to know when exactly this story begins. There was a boy on a table. His father wearing a yellow hard hat and baseball jersey. Was it of the Dodgers or am I remembering it wrong? I will never forget the boy. He was dying. The closest to death I think I have ever seen somebody. His eyelids parted slightly. His eyeballs were misty and as alive as marbles. His head flopped lifeless when his dad tried to prop him up. He had a temperature of 105. They don't have thermometers but his fever had been that way for three days.

The night before I was lying in bed when I had this sudden sense that I was alone. Sensations were taking on peculiarities because I had been wearing ear plugs. One has to in Haiti. Not for the snoring, but for the dogs, the turkeys, the braying of donkeys. But as I opened my eyes, I noticed I was right. Lia was gone. And as I dislodged my plugs I learned why, as my naked ears heard the retching in the bathroom. It was the first of a half dozen such waves poor Lia went through throughout. She spent the morning until noon in bed trying to recuperate. She was weak, but she rallied. Her one patient was a boy.

His name was Benson. I don't know how old he is. I don't know if his parents do either. By the time I checked in on them (he and Lia), Anita Skena had put in an IV for fluid. Lia and the other doctors felt that based on his symptoms, Benson was likely suffering from cerebral malaria, a disease which if left untreated is fatal within days. Since he was unconscious, their only hope of saving him was by giving him liquid quinine or chloroquine intravenously. They didn't have any liquid quinine or chloroquine. In desperation, they decided to rush Benson to a hospital to purchase the necessary medication. Convincing Pastor Charles Amicy to drive turned out to be more complicated than they expected. He had received death threats; there had been a rash of car-jackings lately. In fact, when the father saw Charles getting behind the wheel, he could not hide his astonishment. Bill Petty got into the passenger seat. John Phipps reached in his pocket and gave Bill all the money he had. He hoped it be enough.

The hospital was closed. The doctor gone. A nurse who happened to be there refused to help them. Charles pulled off the road in front of a cement shack. It turned out to be a pharmacy. That's what he called it. They did sell drugs. They bought what they needed. And they needed to get back, back to a place where they could get Benson his medicine. But there was traffic, and stuck there, somehow Benson opened his eyes. Quickly, they purchased a bag of water (water comes in bags in Haiti (don't drink it)) and Benson opened his lips. Dad quickly administered medicine. By the time they reached home, Benson was sitting up. He was strong enough to tie his shoes. The transformation was so dramatic, Bill felt comfortable allowing Benson's father to take him home. They would come tomorrow to check on him.

It had been quite apparent that a miracle had just taken place.

Charles Amicy told us that night how touched the father was by their courage and faith. He gave glory to God. And only then did he tell us that the father was an assistant priest in the local Voodoo temple. That Benson's grandfather is the witchdoctor for that area. That it was the Voodoo priests who were the danger to Charles' life. It was dead silent as he spoke. "I hope to serve God every day of my life," he said. Tears were running down his cheeks. "I want to die serving God." He ran out of the room. We let him go. We were too stunned to follow. To speak.

The next day, Lia, John, Bill, Anita, and Charles drove the rutted road to the sugar cane field which marked the border of Arnold the witchdoctor's compound. Charles had never been there before. He was nervous now, but they went anyway. Lia admitted, the place had an oppressive feel.

Arnold met them warmly. He was less than five feet tall, but he had a charisma about him. He was very excited they were there. He showed them the "hospital", a black room full of spent candle wax. It had been where Benson had been until they had giving up hope. Three nights earlier, I had heard drums as I was walking back to our room. Yelling and drums. I had told Lia about it as I was changing into my pajamas. Down the road some party was going on. "We should go," I said. She looked at me, the way Lia only does. "Ned," she said, "that's not a party. That's a Voodoo ceremony." As it turns out, it was a ceremony for Benson. Arnold showed them where he listens to the spirits, where they do sacrifices. He clarified, we stopped sacrificing children several years ago. Speaking of children, they were everywhere. Arnold has 32 offspring. 14 of his grandchildren go to Charles Amicy's school. The oldest sang a solo at church on Sunday.

And then, out came Benson. He was smiling. Lia checked him thoroughly, explained how and how often to administer his medications. Anita snapped a photo. The one at the top of this log. His fever was still above normal. But he was better. He was running along after the other children. It was a miracle. An honest to God miracle.

Haiti - 1of 3 - Beauty

Instead of trying to get everything down, I'm going to try to limit myself to three stories that will hopefully serve as a way for me to wrap my head around this experience and for you to get a glimpse into what this amazing island country is like.

Flying in, I was struck by the landscape. Being one for mountains and water, Haiti has plenty of both. The water, though slightly hazy compared to other Caribbean islands, was blue and turquoise and green. The mountains shot from the coast in cliffs, reminding me of how the Hogsback comes out of the Colorado plain. The wrinkles and ridges were very reminiscent of my memory of Colorado, driving up through Boulder to Rocky Mountain National Park, our drive up the Rue de Cabaret was a lot like that (only a lot bumpier).
But a closer look told a different story. There was trash everywhere. Broken buildings, broken infrastructure, broken opportunities, broken lives. You could see it on faces as clear as you could see the mounds of debris clogging the filthy streams that ran through town. It was heart breaking.

It reminded me a lot of my heart. Created so beautifully, so ugly when you take a close look at it. And it will take a miracle to turn this place around. Both Haiti and me. A friend of mine told me that a group of experts were asked to come to Haiti to create a redevelopment plan for this country. Their best, most cost effective solution was to make all 9 million Haitians refugees, send them to different countries, bring in folks to clean it up, and let the island heal for thirty years before bringing anyone back.

But if that was the whole story, it would be tragic. And to an extent it is. The history of this island and my heart is ugly and brutal and broken. But what I learned while in Haiti is that even in the brokenness there still exists an undeniable beauty. I saw it the flowers that refused to stop growing. The bananas and mango trees that still rose to the sun. Mostly, I saw it in the faces. I saw it in their gratitude. In their faith, hope and love. And it inspired me. It gave me hope. It gave me hope for them. It gave me hope for myself. Maybe all is not lost. Maybe while beauty remains there is hope for us all.

Bros With Fros

I learned a good lesson this week. Just because you have awesome hair, awesome uniforms, and an awesome name like Jackie Moon does not necessarily mean that you are going to make an awesome movie.

Semi Pro could have been awesome. It had so much potential. I think that was the thing that disappointed me. It had all the makings of a classic. The teal and the orange of the ABA's Flint, Michigan Tropics, a catchy song in "Love Me Sexy", the alley-oop. I even liked Dewey the Bear. But the movie lacked energy, dialogue, story, anything that could become memorable.

I guess what I want to say is that I like Will Ferrell. I think he is incredibly talented. And I want to thank him for the excuse to dress up in afros and basketball getup. And I want to thank him for reminding me that accessories are no substitute for substance. Next time, Will, leave it all on the floor. Thanks for the reminder.

The all-stars from left to right: Tim "Feed Me the Rock" Musser, Michael "Slam Jam Thank You Mam" Craig, Blake "Whitey" Hill, Squirrely Ned, Scott "The" Mann, Chis "That's My Real Hair" Turner, not pictured Robert "Bobby" Milam, and Chris "The Colonel" Sanders

The Results Are In!

The following is taken from Winnie's "mixed breed analysis." "Winnie is unique, unlike any other dog in the world. Results like Winnie's are found in about 70% of mixed breed dogs in the U.S. (I'm not quite sure what that means) Winnie's ancestry contains some Australian Cattle Dog and Boxer and also includes distant traces of Staffordshire Bull Terrier (Pit Bull). There are also faint signals from other breeds which are not strong enough to identify." Basically, she is really a mutt.

Of the 16 votes, many demonstrated expert breed identification skills, successfully spotting Winnie's Boxer and Pit Bull geneology. However, no one recognized her Australian Cattle Dog roots. Therefore, choosing a winner has been difficult, but after thorough deliberation between Lia, Anna Rose, Winnie and I we have concluded that "Bobo" (a.k.a. Kojack a.k.a. Quota Boy a.k.a. Joe Extraordinaire a.k.a. Kerry Koberg) is our winner. Congratulations! You have achieved Apprentice Dog Whisperer Status.

australian cattle dog.............boxer........................pit bull

Bowl-O-Rama 2008

The 2nd Annual Bowl-O-Rama was on all accounts a huge success. In the end, the championship difference came down to one pin. Phil and Christal Murray of team "Slippery Spur" saved their best bowling for last, and it was down to Ben of team "Striker" to do just that. But though all ten wobbled, only nine went down. It was quite a finish.

Props should also go to Tim and Lindsay Musser of team "Justice League" for bringing home the Best Dressed Award, Caroline and Katherine Bell of team "Pinhead" for dancing to the Spirit Award, and Mary Beth and Lexi Edens of team "Gutterball" for appropriately going home with worst bowler honors.

Lia and I were sore the next day. My lower glutes were giving me problems and Lia's wrist was out of whack (which isn't surprising if you've ever watched her bowl). But despite our injuries, it was well worth the effort. Thanks y'all for coming! And special thanks to Pam, Jean, Deborah, and everyone else at AMF Lanes on Jonestown Road. We'll see you next year!

Bet

Winnie has now been with us for two and a quarter years. She was found by a dumpster in Walsenburg, Colorado on September 16, 2005, a three day old pup of an unspecified mutt of a mother. She was eight weeks old when Lia brought her home from the rescue. The above picture was taken shortly thereafter.

I was less keen on the decision than she was (an understatement). We had recently gone through the pain of losing our fourteen year old extremely well-bred English Springer Spaniel, Chelsea, and I confess I wasn't emotionally prepared for another longterm relationship. However, Lia was on a mission, and so against my better judgement I allowed her to go on her own to choose us a next pet. I left her with the instructions that I wanted the largest, fattest, laziest dog in the pound, something that would keep my feet warm as I wrote. She said, "Sure thing," and proceeded to disobey every word.

Winnie was energetic from the start (an understatement). She took her first nap, I think, when she was three months old. And she took everything out of me. It didn't help that when I asked the vet her opinion on what breeding background Winnie might have she said that she looked to be mostly jack russell terrier and had a winning chance of making it to 25 lbs someday. Just what I needed.

I started feeding her triple the prescribed amount and added stretching and calisthenics to her already rigorous natural training regimen. Winning chance...I wasn't going to give up without giving it a fighting one...

By her one year birthday, she was 45 lbs, stood as tall as any lab, and was faster than every dog, every dog, at the dog park. She could catch a frisbee like a champion. During the spring, summer and fall, I show off her leaping prowess for the neighborhood as we wait for Lia to come home from work. She jets across two lawns, launches all four feet off the ground, snatches the disc, ducks around a looming oak tree, and sprints back to my feet to await the next toss. She has become the most obedient dog I have ever been a part of training. One whistle and she comes flying to your side. She is patient and passive with the most vicious of children. She has never growled a day in her life. She takes long naps (not at my feet). Her one behavioral question mark is her ardent tongue. She is one heck of a licker. "Fastest tongue in the west," is what I usually say. We have been able to do little to assuage her ferver.

All in all, Lia made a wonderful choice. We love Winnie. She is family. Yet we still have this ongoing debate on what she is. Is she part pit bull, greyhound, boxer, border collie, lab, jack russell? If there was only a way to find out...

Well, it turns out there is. We were at the vet yesterday and learned of a test you can take to find out your dogs exact breeding. Eric, our vet, said he had always wanted to try it out but had never found a pet owner willing to go through with it. "We will," I said without even consulting. Didn't have to. Lia said it at the exact same time.

So the blood test went out in the mail this morning. We should know in a couple weeks. And so, I ask you: what do you think? What is Winnie? What is this love child of two mutts?

We'll see...let us know what you think. We're giving a prize to the winner.

Day of the Iguana

You know, you wonder, least I do, when that first memory is going to happen. That one that stays with you for the rest of your life. I'm sitting here trying to remember mine, sifting through (and there are not that many) the ones that I can picture only because my parents like to tell the story versus the ones that I actually first-handedly recall.

I remember standing on the foot of my bed, my mother next to me, and looking out the window and discovering that the moon had followed us to our new house. I can hear my voice excitedly reporting the news to my mother. According to her, I said, "Look mom, the moon found us!" But I don't entirely remember. I was three.

I remember bits and pieces of my life before then. I can picture the duplex we lived in, the rooms inside. I have a vivid image of the underneath of our dining room table and the rungs of my crib and the mellow brownish yellow of the wall. But most of what's in my head is fuzzy. I vaguely recall getting kissed by my younger cousin at the foot of the stairs, but I think it is really just because someone photographed it. I can imagine lying naked on top of the dining room table and being mesmerized by the lights on the chandelier but only because my parents like to tell that story too, the one how they had read it in a book somewhere that light therapy was good for babies.

So you wonder when the first one is going to happen to your child. You know? Will you realize it at the time, or will it only be discovered after years have gone by? Will it be a happy one? You can only hope. Will it be a trauma of some sort? Who knows? Maybe it will be both.

Maybe both...

Chad and Todd, my brother inlaws, and me and Anna Rose, well all of us related to the Simpson side of the family, were on vacation in the Florida Keys the first week of January. But it was us and Anna Rose when we happened to see this green iguana hanging out by the cabana. At that point we didn't know much about iguanas, still don't. I have learned since that iguanas are not indigenous to Florida. They began there as pets, and as they grew too large for their cages, their owners had started releasing them into the wild. As it turns out, iguanas really do well in Florida. Really well. I think they are the state rat. Some, like the one pictured here, were huge. This guy was easily six feet long counting his tail. The green one on our rental property was about half that size.

So anyway, we decided to hunt this greeny like the Crocodile Hunter, not really knowing what we would do if we actually caught her, but we figured the chances of a successful nabbing so slim that it was fun to try. Chad took the lead (and the video camera). Todd, Anna Rose (in my arms) and I followed. In a few seconds we had the little dinosaur "surrounded." If she came my direction, I would be running not grabbing. Suddenly, the creature leapt, and I don't know if it was on purpose or not but she landed smack dab on the slippery white deck of our boat. The next thing I know the reptile is frantically thrashing around trying to get a foot hold. All three of us men are screaming like little girls. And my heart is pounding at the realization that we are going to have really catch her now. The thing was helpless. Finally, and thank God, the iguana managed to super-reptilianly jump overboard on her own.

And immediately and now, a month later, every time Anna Rose sees a picture of a boat or hears someone mention the word, A-Ro says "iguana!" (well her version, which is simply sticking her tongue in and out). Sometimes the memory will just hit her, and out of the blue she'll exclaim: "Boap!" and there it goes, her tongue, in and out, in and out. The scene is etched on her spongy brain. That hilarious trauma. Will it be the one? That first one? I guess, only time will tell.

Announcing New Blog

To celebrate Anna Rose's 1 and 1/2 year birthday, she has decided to launch a blog of her own.

It will be filled with her Favorites, Firsts, Tips and Tricks.

It will also have pictures, videos, and of course interesting anecdotes about life according to Anna Rose.

Lia and I will take on the writing responsibilities for the foreseeable future until Anna Rose figures out how to type, but for all intents and purposes this space is hers.

I've added a link to it from this blog. Feel free to click on over.

Unexpected Christmas Present

We were eating at a friend's house last night. It was great time, enjoying easy food and long friendship. And though it was tight around the table - the three of us, the five of them, and the two dogs, Nalo the mutt and Shadow the one-fanged Pekingnese, sharing elbow and knee room - we were making merry of it. And things got better in the personal space category when Little Annie excused herself and started stirring a pot of Christmas cookie cutouts on the floor. Up on chairs, the rest of us continued sharing our cozy quarters and telling stories in between bites of pepperoni pizza.

A few minutes later, from behind me, a little finger started tapping my behind. So I turned to find Anna Rose looking up at me with a smile on her face. "What's up, A-Ro?" I asked. She was rocking back and forth and I could tell she was excited. "Boop!" she exclaimed. "Boop? Oh dear," I said. (Boop, I have learned, means that she has done something malodorous down below.) So wiping my chin free of pizza sauce, I reached down and took Annie in my arms and carried her to the livingroom grabbing her diaper bag on the way.

I pondered the best place for a changing but was having a hard time. The couch, the coffee table, the hearth - they all felt a little too invasive. So I proceeded to the foyer and spread out the changing thingy on the floor.

This being my millionth diaper change, things went along fine. It wasn't the largest of poos, but it was plenty. So I placed the dirty Pampers to the side and started wiping the vestiges off her rump. My right hand holding her ankle, my left holding the wet wipe, I was amost done when all of the sudden, I looked over and Shadow, our friend's one-fanged Pekingnese, had her face in the discarded diaper! "Oh crap!" I shouted as I lunged. But it was too late. Shadow's mono-toothed chops were chomping down and munching away.

I apologized to my girl for saying crap (something I need to work on), and immediately started laughing. "Anna Rose," I said, "That was your very first Christmas present. It was even partially wrapped." She smiled up at me and said, "Boop!" "That's right," I replied.

(to protect Shadow's fragile esteem, the above picture is merely a representation)

Is this Christmas or what?

Y'all, the only thing funnier than this picture was being there and seeing it first hand. Even Santa wanted to take a look at it when it was all over.

Prior to it all, Lia warned Santa that A-Ro was going to have a conniption. He said, "I don't mind if they cry, but I'll throw them to the ground if they start kicking."

Good thing Anna Rose only screamed, but I'll tell you, she was on and off of his lap in two seconds.

The worst part of it was, Lia and I totally knew this was going to happen. And we still did it! It makes you wonder where exactly the line is for child abuse.

A-Ro, I'm sorry, but this picture will figure prominently in your rehearsal dinner slide show.

Thankfulness Quotes

“If ‘thank you’ is the only prayer you say, that will be enough.”--Meister Eckhart

“Reflect upon your present blessings, of which every man has plenty; not on your past misfortunes of which all men have some.”--Charles Dickens

“Of all the "attitudes" we can acquire, surely the attitude of gratitude is the most important and by far the most life-changing.”--Zig Ziglar

"One of life's gifts is that each of us, no matter how tired and downtrodden, finds reasons for thankfulness.”--J. Robert Maskin

“Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all the others.”—Cicero

There is no better habit than the habit of thankfulness. It is the surest, quickest way to fill ones heart and lift ones spirits.

This morning, I am thankful for these fingers, this computer, the gift of words. I am thankful for this coffee. And I'm grateful for this place. I am thankful for the turn in the weather, for the run I am about to go on, for the afternoon I get to spend with my girls. Yes, I am thankful for my family - both immediate and extended - I am thankful that you are my mother, my father, my sister, my brother. I am thankful for you. And I am thankful for my Lord. I am thankful to Jesus for all of this - for by him all things are made. He is the sweet source. And if I am only this one thing - his - it is enough. For it all springs out from this one reality. I am my beloved's; he is mine. And he can be yours... So come, I invite you...come into the beauty - the marvel of my Master, the ecstacy of nature and love, the wonder of all of this... Come.

Kent's Night

Oh, my brother

won't you stand here beside me

we shall carry each other

and should your soul grow weary

or the strength leave your bones

oh my brother

I will carry you home.

"Oh, My Brother"

– Eddie From Ohio

Many of you have been able to join us the last two Thanksgivings, to remember our brother, friend, and son, Kent Welch. Coming together has given us a chance to feel his presence again, and to share memories, stories, and relationships in honor of Kent. Through us – his family, friends, and loved ones – his legacy continues. We hope that you can join us once more for Kent's Night at THE WEREHOUSE on Friday, November 23. The doors will open at 9 pm and we will once again be accepting donations to the Edward Kent Welch Memorial Fund, in care of the Winston-Salem Foundation.* Music will be provided by Kent's first banjo instructor, Rex McGee, and his band Dixie Broadway. We hope this finds you well and ask that you help us spread the word by sharing this invitation with family and friends. We look forward to seeing you all on November 23rd.

a halloween poem for you

It’s Halloween!
And it can’t be beat
There is no better day
To do tricks and get treats.
And get dressed in costumes
And walk around town
And get so much candy
You weigh it in pounds.
This year I will go as
A blithe buccaneer
With a patch on my eye
And a ring in my ear,
Or maybe I’ll dress
As a slick unicorn
With a mop for a mane
And a pole for a horn,
Or maybe a tiger
Or maybe a ghost
Or maybe a wizard
Or maybe some toast.
I really don’t care
I'm in it for treats
As long as they’re chocolate
Or nutty or sweet.
Oh Halloween! Halloween!
Halloween! Halloween!
It’s the best holiday
If you know what I mean!

NEWS! Lower Providence

After four years, I have just finished my first draft of my first novel, Lower Providence. The next months and years (hopefully not) will now be devoted to convincing someone to publish it.

What's it about it? I get that question a lot, and I need to come up with a better answer. Simply, it is a coming of age story about two boys growing up just outside of Philadelphia in the 1980's. But it is also a story of love and fear and brokenness and hope. And it is in some ways mostly the story about the hidden hand of God - of lower providence...a providence that "meets us in the dark recesses and the messes we have made of ourselves. And maybe we see it, and maybe we don’t. And it may never explain itself, it doesn’t say a thing, like it was necessarily, imperatively mysterious. It is lower providence. And it touches us on the everydays, directing us down the long, wide river like the passive fallen leaves of autumn. And it may drown us or save us or break us. It may do all. And it will often leave us uncertain and always leave us changed. And that providence may be the most divine of all."

I'm tempted to write more, but for now I'll leave it at that. And if you wouldn't mind praying for open doors, I'd much appreciate it.

Stay tuned...

Group Studies - Chilling with my homies

The following are testimonies for the Bible Study entitled: Chilling with my homies

Homeless Guy: Member of a gang, attempted to murder a preacher

Nicky was only 3-1/2 years old when his heart turned to stone. As one of 18 children born to witchcraft-practicing parents from Puerto Rico, bloodshed and mayhem were common occurrences in his life. He suffered severe physical and mental abuse at their hands, at one time being declared the "Son of Satan" by his mother while she was in a spiritual trance.When he was 15, Nicky's father sent him to visit an older brother in New York. Nicky didn't stay with his brother long. Instead, full of anger and rage, he chose to make it on his own.

Tough, but lonely, by age 16 he became a member of the notorious Brooklyn street gang known as the Mau Maus (named after a bloodthirsty African tribe). Within six months he became their president. Cruz fearlessly ruled the streets as warlord of one of the gangs most dreaded by rivals and police. Lost in the cycle of drugs, alcohol, and brutal violence, his life took a tragic turn for the worse after a friend and fellow gang member was horribly stabbed and beaten and died in Nicky's arms.As Cruz' reputation grew, so did his haunting nightmares. Arrested countless times, a court-ordered psychiatrist pronounced Nicky's fate as "headed to prison, the electric chair, and hell."No authority figure could reach Cruz - until he met a skinny street-preacher named David Wilkerson. He disarmed Nicky - showing him something he'd never known before: Relentless love. His interest in the young thug was persistent. Nicky beat him up, spit on him and, on one occasion, seriously threatened his life. Yet the love of God remained - stronger than any adversary Nicky had ever encountered.Finally, Wilkerson's presentation of the gospel message and the love of Jesus melted the thick walls of his heart. Nicky received the forgiveness, love and new life that can only come through Jesus. Since then, he has dedicated that life to helping others find the same freedom.
(For Nicky's complete, dramatic testimony, order your copy of Run Baby Run today.)

http://www.nickycruz.org/about/bio.htm



Muslim: Militant, trained to kill Christians

I live in the Middle East. I was born as a Muslim, and at the age of 18 I became a member of one of the Islamic groups, as I had a relative who was one of the leaders of this group. I thought I was doing everything I could for God as I knew him at this point.
After a short time I started to get some training in using guns and making explosives. I wasn't very comfortable with what I was doing - hurting people for God's sake. I thought that either I or the group had misunderstood the teachings of God. I started to study the Qur'an and the Hadith all over again, (with the help of one of the leaders of the group, without telling him my real reasons for studying) to see what I had missed. After a couple of years I was astonished at what I found. I found that Islam is not the peaceful path to God, as I used to believe; on the contrary, it's so violent.
I never considered myself leaving Islam for anything else, yet at this point I was sure that it wasn't leading me to God. I had a kind of breakdown for some time when I found that every thing I had believed in wasn't right; I started doing drugs, and not talking about God at all.
Then I met a Christian who didn't know much of the Christian theology but who was full of love to others, whatever and whoever they are. One of the [members of our group] said about him that he must be killed because he was Christian, yet this didn't stop [the Christian man from] loving this man. I asked this friend if I could have a copy of the Bible.
After starting to read the Bible I found a very big difference between what is actually written in the Bible and what I had heard people (Muslims and even nominal Christians) say about it.
I was really struck by one thing in the Bible, namely the teaching that no one is righteous but Jesus; even those who were called God's people like David, Jacob and Abraham, the twelve apostles - everyone has done something wrong. It took me some time till I finished the whole Bible. After about one year of hard struggle with myself, I decided that I wanted to follow God as He shows himself in Christ, not as anyone else says He is.
I prayed to Him and He was here; for the first time in my life I felt that God was here, and to say it was a very strange feeling for me would be an understatement. I was so happy, so sad. Happy to know he is here and sad for what I had missed. It felt very peaceful and I wanted this feeling to last for good. I still remember this very first time I prayed; I ran out of the room because for the first time in my life I felt the Presence of God. I have been following Him since then. He changed all my life. I went off drugs; I became a whole new person to every one that I know, but as I said before I live in the Middle East where every one thinks that he IS RIGHT and every one else is wrong, so I had some trouble with my family and they kicked me out of the house. As Jesus says "Brother will deliver up brother to death, and the father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death" (Matthew 10:21) and that is what happed with me.
My father delivered me to the Security Forces and they arrested me and put me in prison for converting out of Islam. I had a very bad time there, as they tortured me to force me to return to Islam. They used electric shocks, beatings, and hanging me from my wrists all night. After few week of this I was put in solitary confinement for almost a year. But I couldn't deny the one that gave me life. Now I am out of jail and I have left my home country as I am still wanted there for apostasy from Islam. I am still walking with Jesus, and I love Him because He loved me first and put Himself on the cross for me. I knew from the very beginning that I was going to have some trouble; didn't He say about Paul "for I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name." (Acts 9:16)
Now I am free from everything. I have a lovely wife whom I met after getting out of prison, and who is supporting me in everything I do for God, but the most important thing for me is I have my eternal assurance that I am going to be with Him for ever, whatever might happen. And as a result I decided to spend my life telling people about his great love to us. As he ordered me "Do not be afraid, but speak and do not be silent; for I am with you, and no man shall attack you to harm you; for I have many people in this city." (Acts 18:9, 10)
Please feel free to write me if you want to know more.
Bassam
http://www.answering-islam.org/Testimonies/bassam.html






Mother: Alcoholic

It was Feb. 21, 1988 10:00A.M.. I stood, outside my home, drinking orange juice mixed with white wine. Now days I was drinking a little over 1/2 gallon of wine per day. To say I was bewildered is an understatement. I felt numb or a better description is, I felt dead inside.
I had read every self help book around. I tried rejoining the church, [but] I was drinking more then ever and teaching Sunday school with a hangover. I was 40 years old and had now been drinking alcoholically for 20 years.

Why did I drink like this? I was a successful Real Estate Broker with all the material trappings that should make one happy and secure. Instead I was in a very unhappy 22 year old marriage. My two beautiful and gifted children age 16 & 19 were showing signs of alcohol and drug abuse. Everything seemed to be unraveling and I couldn t stop it. All of my positive thinking and affirmations seemed empty and lifeless. So as I stood looking at all my material possessions that February morning the void in my heart seemed unbearable and I wanted to die. I cried out to an unseen, unfelt, unknown God and said "if you are really there I need help. I can not do it by myself any more." The next day I attended the first of many AA meetings that were the beginning of my path to Christ.

I had to find Jesus Christ of the Bible. God had a plan. My family and I started family counseling trying to recover from the chaos my drinking had caused. I didn't know that the councilor was a Christian. She started praying for me and my family. At first it seemed like the more I recovered the sicker my kids and my marriage got. My family of origin, 2 brothers and a sister were also into drugs and alcohol. My nephew Steven came to live with us for a while. I didn t know that when he was 12 years old a neighbor family took him to church and he gave his heart to Jesus. Now at age 18 he realized that there was only one way for him to live an abundant life and that was to make Jesus lord of his life. He made that commitment when he was staying with us and began seeing our family counselor. I saw him change over the next months. He was excited and peaceful at the same time? There was a look of HOPE in his eyes that I knew I wanted. The end of that month Steve left for college but his prayers for me, along with our counselors prayers were being answered. All of a sudden I heard the Lord Jesus calling my name and I stopped to listen. I started asking my counselor and Steven questions and bought a Bible.

When I had been clean and sober for 3 years I was dismayed to see my marriage and my children were in worse shape than ever. My husband and I took a trip to Kailua-Kona Hawaii. We were going to try and rekindle our relationship. For no reason other then it was Gods plan, we decided to sell out in California and move to Hawaii. My daughter had already moved out and my son was going to leave for college. Neither of them was interested in moving to Hawaii. God placed me in a community of strong Christians and a group of mature Christian women began descipeling me and praying for my family. My children were not doing very well. My daughter was suffering from a dangerous eating disorder, drinking heavily, living in her car and dating an abusive man. She was very depressed over a second abortion. When she narrowly escaped serious injury in a drunk driving accident my counselor and my nephew Steven intervened and put her on a plane to Hawaii. The first six months she hooked up with a partying crowd and started cocktail waitressing in a bar. However our prayers prevailed and at the end of those 6 months she accepted Jesus as her savior and became a Christian. One of her boyfriends saw the difference immediately and asked to go to church with her. He also accepted Jesus and became a Christian and immediately quit a 7 year habit of smoking marijuana daily. My daughter Kim and this young man Josh went into missions in Washington state and Philadelphia for a year and when they returned they were married They now have 2 beautiful children .

When my husband and I moved to Hawaii we started a new retail furniture business. The day before our opening my husband fell off a ladder and crushed both of his heels His recovery has been very long and painful. During one of his 6 surgeries I was in need of help and asked my son to come and help me. My son had been living with a young woman but had recently broken that off and was now living in a camp ground. He was aimless and spent his time using drugs and going to rock concerts. He agreed to come and help me but wanted nothing to do with our religion and packed LSD in his suitcase. When he arrived in Hawaii he saw the difference in me and his sister. He was at a low point in his life and wanted to know how we knew our belief in Jesus was real? I told him our relationships with Christ were personal and he would have to seek the truth of Jesus himself. Well he did and within the month he became a Christian. Within a year he was married to a Christian girl. They spent 5 months on a honeymoon doing mission building for Youth With a Mission in Europe. Now my son works with us at our furniture store. He has a 2 year old daughter and another on the way.

Because of the difference Christ has made in our family, my mother, brother a nephew and a niece have become Christians. For a while my husband stayed on the sidelines watching his family change. My husband is a good man and didn t see a need for a savior for himself. Some of our sins are not as glaring as others and his were more hidden sins of deceit, manipulation and unforgiveness. However our prayers prevailed and my husband was baptized 3 years ago. As a family we survived what appeared to be insurmountable odds only by the Grace of God. My husband and I just celebrated our 32 wedding anniversary. I also celebrated 11 years clean and sober. My children are clean and sober and my sister just celebrated her 1 year wedding anniversary. Our lives are not trouble free. We daily face challenges just like everyone else. Jesus said, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."
There is much more to tell you. How God turned our misery around and has used our life experiences to minister to other alcoholics, homosexuals, failing marriages and on and on. The Bible says "to whom much has been forgiven, they will love much" This is true of our family and I give you this testimony to encourage you to give Jesus Christ your life.

Aloha Ke Akua,Linda Fite




http://christians-in-recovery.org/testimony/linda.html





Prostitute: Has had three abortions

My mother and father migrated to New York from the Caribbean looking to get out of their small town. Uneducated, they found themselves mixing with the wrong crowds and soon their lifestyle was filled with drugs, alcohol and violence. As a child growing up in that environment, life was very unpredictable. Every day was a different drama, causing my siblings and me to live in fear. My mom eventually divorced my father and remarried, but my father never accepted the divorce. He was always causing conflict and strife within the family…He would show up drunk and threaten to hurt my mom. Many times we had to call the police to get him out. I remember everyone being afraid of him. Living with him felt like being in a prison.

I used dancing and music to fade out the noise in my environment. I loved to dance. That was my outlet. I would turn up the music and dance until I dropped. My mother managed to put me into ballet school and I dreamed of one day becoming a ballerina. I took lessons, but with all the moving and instability I just couldn't stay focused. Without real support, I never developed the discipline to become a professional ballet dancer. I was left with broken dreams and became resentful of my parents.

In my teen years my mom pretty much vanished. She made sure we had food, clothing and shelter, but she was doing her own thing. I was left alone to raise my sister and myself, so I started to experiment with sex and drugs to take away the loneliness.

By 14 years old I got pregnant and had my first abortion. A neighborhood friend raped me at 16, leaving me feeling betrayed and fearful. This experience really altered the direction of my life. I began looking for love in abusive relationships. By 18 I had gotten pregnant two more times and had abortions. It was very painful, but I couldn't see myself having children. Abortion was how I solved all of my problems. I was very promiscuous and didn't trust anybody out on the streets. I hopped around from one relationship to another, searching for someone who would protect me from the storm and take away the pain.

By the time I turned 25, I had had enough of my destructive lifestyle. I was at a crossroad in life. I was searching for a way out of the hell. I was living at the Hell's Angels Club House, a bikers club in New York City. I was dabbling in witchcraft, trying to find some peace. But I ended up in even more confusion. I couldn't escape my past. It was like living a bad nightmare. I became an abuser and everybody who crossed my path left wounded and victimized. I wanted everyone to pay for the rape, abuse, abortions and neglect. I was at rock bottom and headed right toward the path to prostitution.

One day a person came -- a girl stopped me in the street and invited me to a Bible study. That same girl, her name was Angel, later came to my house and began studying the Bible with me. She showed me the way out of hell through a relationship with Jesus. A year later I surrendered my life to Christ. That was ten years ago. Out of all the bad decisions I've made, giving my life to Christ has proven to be the best decision. Change is a process and it took many years to be set free from old habits, but with God I made it!

Now I have all the love, support and security I need. I can feel, cry and love myself. I couldn't do those things without Christ. I was self-destructive and now I’m productive. In, Christ I have divine protection, wisdom and boundaries. I love that I now have a guide to help me deal with life’s challenges. I’m not alone, even when everyone is gone -- he stays! I love Jesus because he is the Father I never had growing up. He has healed my broken heart, giving back my dreams and forgiving me from the past.

Today the most valuable thing I have is the peace I've found through my relationship with Christ. I have peace with my past, my enemies, my abusers, my family and most of all, myself. Nothing in the world can compare to God's peace. I’m now a godly wife, mother, and speaker. When I take my 5-year-old daughter to ballet class, I stop and say to God, "Thank you for giving me a second chance at life." • Learn more about Michelle's ministry - Soaring Higher Ministries.


http://christianity.about.com/od/drugandalcoholaddiction/a/micheltestimony.htm








Boy Raised in Church: Drank and did drugs in high school

Permalink Posted by: Jonno at 9:54PM EST on May 31, 2007
Christ changed my life in so many ways. I was born and raised in church. Like many others, I was a church baby; I grew up going to Sunday School and Wednesday night Bible Study. My dad was on the board of trustees, and my mom was a Bible Study teacher. As I grew older I began to play clarinet. I also sang in the children’s and youth choirs. I was one of those kids that knew all of the answers to those Bible trivia questions. You know, those questions like, “Who was fed by ravens?” or “Who built the temple?”

I knew church life, and knew so much about God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. It really wasn’t until I was about 14 or 15 when I started to explore. I explored different types of secular music. Later I explored alcohol and tried weed. That was all short lived, because I would drink, but wouldn’t get drunk, and I would toke up, but wouldn’t get high.

I was sitting in the balcony of my church, listening to a slender white guy singing soulfully, with a raspy voice, and playing a silver trumpet. The guy could play. Being a musician myself, I tuned into the man’s testimony as he shared about his prior drug addictions. I felt the anointing in his music. The Lord used Phil Driscoll’s ministry to change direction, and set me on a path towards a musical career.

I gave my life to the Lord…for real this time.

I started recording with my brother, and started to minister in music at other churches. I began getting calls to come play here and minister there. I thought that I wanted to be a Christian artist/musician. I continued in this vein for some time. I began to meet and befriend prominent people in Gospel music.

Over the next dozen-plus years I have received more confirming words from pastors, bishops, and evangelists. Each word brought more clarity and encouragement. The word “worship” began to gain in significance.

Now, I have come to a fuller understanding of what it is to be a worshipper. I have come to better understand my purpose. I no longer have the desire to be an “artist” rather a worshipper or worship leader. I consider everything that I do, every word I sing, every note I play, every principle I teach to be acts of worship. I encourage you to find the worshipper in you, and max it for all it’s worth.

http://www.myccm.org/post/shareyourtestimony/archives/05-01-2007.html






Hindu: Taught to worship idols and statues

I was born and brought up from an orthodox Brahmin, Hindu family. I used to worship idols and images as other Hindus do.

Nonetheless, I did not have any peace in my heart. In addition, I used to get severe headaches. Sometimes, it persisted for a long time and the pain was unbearable. Although my father who was a medical doctor treated me well, my headaches were agonizing.

Even specialists could not help me. One of my hobbies was in reading books, especially novels. One day, I was searching for some books to read from my father¡¯s shelf. In the midst of his books, I found a very old copy of the New Testament. I started to read from the Gospel of Matthew. While I was reading, I began to question, "Who is true God? If Christ is the true God, He must bring right personal to tell me more about Jesus".

Undoubtedly, I was expecting an answer. The next day, an old couple from Tamil Nadu who spoke Tamil (my mother tongue) came to our house. They were sharing the Gospel with my father. Gradually, I joined in and asked a few questions about Christ. That very day, I accepted Jesus and the couple asked me to confess my sins. While I was asked to kneel down for prayer I saw Jesus on the Cross-. He told directly "Daughter, Your sins are forgiven." Immediately, I was filled with the Holy Ghost. What¡¯s more, my incurable headache was gone that very moment. Furthermore, the peace I was longing for was overflowing from my heart. As time passed, I was able to share the Gospel with my sister, brothers and my parents. Since 1989, I dedicated to the Lord and Savior Jesus and His ministry.

http://www.myccm.org/post/shareyourtestimony/archives/05-01-2007.html






Single Guy: Homosexual

Permalink Posted by: trendyjesusboy at 2:17AM EST on May 12, 2007

At first i didnt even know they were gay feelings. I grew up a Christian in a Christian family - we had all asked Jesus into our hearts & were dedicated to our church & to God, so what could POSSIBLY go wrong?! I wonder how many other Christians have ever asked that....
[Home life was almost perfect. But] within that perfect time, there were many things that didn't add up to perfection. Personally, I was molested by a so-called family friend, a guy we called 'uncle Bud'. It didn't seem like a big deal at the time, but it has had reverberations ever since. It doesn't have to be violent to be crushing.

My parents…divorced when I was 13, and suddenly to add to the weight, I was the 'man' of the family. It was too much. I turned inward, and kept a distant from everyone, especially men. I became like an indoor cat - safe, yet isolated. We lived with my mom and 'didn't trust men' so my normal need for male mentoring became a kind of general loathing & a secret desire of desperation. And of course, 'desperate people do desperate things'.It also was what set me up to crave male companionship - normal cravings that were denied by: my situation, my insecurities, my lack of self-worth, my self-hatred, my…deep needs. At college, I met the 'perfect' guy, felt guilty & yet compelled to him, and he…responded equally. Looking back, it was God who kept showing me all along that there was the way He wanted my life to be, and then the way I craved it to be. I chose *my* way then.
I resigned that despite the crushing label, I was 'gay'. I now say 'gay identified' - b/c first, 'you are you', and you are made in the image of God - above any label. Like anyone who REALLY meets God, I had to get REAL with God. I decided to follow Him, but on one condition: He'd have to deal with *ALL* my baggage - I wasn't going to let ANY of it hide ANYMORE. I got serious with Him. And with myself. Every bit of me was surrendered now. And next, I had to receive His Love - and receive it OVER & OVER &OVER. I also had to find people…to be vulnerable to. It was so refreshing!!!
I still would struggle, but the Lord told me once that my male attractions only exposed my unmet need for male companionship: they're not wrong, just desperate feelings mixed with fantasy. When I connected honestly with guys on a personal level - past the "news, sports & weather" (sometimes called a 'wall of words'), I'd find a satisfaction that rightly filled that desperate feeling. I saw them as people and not objects. A big, solid step.
And when I'd step out trusting God, He would flood me with exactly what I needed…I hope this makes sense & helps everyone who reads it. "Just spread the love He give to You."

In Him, ~Tom

http://www.myccm.org/post/shareyourtestimony/archives/05-01-2007.html





Physician: Addicted to Pornography

by Anonymous*

I am a family physician in Edmonton, Alberta. I am also a sex addict. I do not recall ever choosing to be the way I am, but my earliest pre-sexual memories are of watching “Tarzan” on television. I felt a deep, inexplicable thrill at the scantily clad women on this show, whose helplessness necessitated weekly rescue. I was drawn to these images of power and suffering — they filled me with a longing and excitement for which I had no name.

My self-esteem, which was never good to begin with, took a beating [because I was never good in athletics or popular]…My fantasy world became a safer refuge. I discovered masturbation at the same time I discovered soft-core pornography. It had an almost drug-like effect on me. This powerful source of pleasure combined with my cauldron of insecurity, self-hatred and loneliness created a firestorm of emotions I could neither understand nor control.

The jaws of addiction's trap were about to snap shut. I have read of the experience a heroin user has the first time he takes a “hit” — that's what I felt the first time I read a pornographic book. I felt at peace. In reality, I had just taken an enormous leap toward losing my soul. I had come to believe that I was a bad person, that no one could possibly like me if they really knew me, and that I could not rely on anyone else to meet my needs — the most important of which was sex.

To help cope with these beliefs, I entered a helping profession — a common pursuit for people like me. Medicine is particularly appealing with its blend of status, power and healing nature, and to my great satisfaction, I was quite good at it. Yet my addictive behaviors were never far away, and I returned time and again to pornography in times of stress or to relax. My loneliness finally drove me to trust a woman — the one who became my wife. She was honest and had an infectious zest for life. She was a Christian, I was not. We had vigorous arguments about religion and finally agreed to not talk about it, though I was keenly aware that in her faith she had something I did not.

After our son was born, my wife attended church regularly with him. I stayed home and fed my addiction, without my wife's knowledge. With the advent of the Internet, I became adept at downloading the pornography I craved, often staying up all night doing this. The hours I wasted were taking their toll, and my life became increasingly unmanageable. I loathed the filth I created, promising each time would be the last, and I lived in terror of being found out by my wife. I hated the lies that were necessary to cover up my detested secret life. I contemplated suicide, thinking that killing myself was preferable to living with the monster that was overpowering me.

When my wife insisted that I attend church on Easter 1992, I grudgingly agreed. And while sitting in church that Sunday, I heard a message of Jesus' love I hadn't heard before. At that moment, my 33-year-old soul battered and empty, I accepted Christ. I believed that with my newfound faith my 20-year-old behaviors were conquered. But they remained. I was, at turns, both angry with my new Friend for not removing them as I had earnestly asked and remorseful at breaking His rules I had pledged to obey. The fall backward convinced me that I was too unlovable and bad for even God to help. Suicide seemed the only way out.

At a men's retreat, a pastor courageously recounted his struggles with sexual addiction and pornography, as well as his 12-step recovery program. It was the first time I saw my problem as addiction. I sought the pastor and told him about my twisted life. I sobbed with shame as I confessed all that I had done before God, recognizing I had nowhere else to turn. Once a week, my pastor friend-turned-sponsor helped me walk through my own 12-step program.

I have been in solid recovery for more than two years. Granted, it's been the hardest thing I have ever done, but my marriage is deeper, my faith in God a joy, and I am a far better doctor than I was before. In fact, I find myself reaching out with compassion to addicts, people I previously did not understand. Their shattered lives, healed with Christ's love, are an ongoing source of wonder for me.

*Due to the nature of this testimony, Physician has agreed to keep in confidence the identities of those involved.
Copyright © 2002 Focus on the Family. This article originally appeared in the September/October 1999 issue of Physician magazine.

http://www.troubledwith.com/AbuseandAddiction/A000000766.cfm?topic=abuse%20and%20addiction%3A%20pornography%20and%20cybersex

1st Fourteener

The family, minus Winnie the Dog, headed back to Anna Rose's native land of Colorado a few weeks back. I had some business to get done for the Sun Valley Youth Center (one of the coolest groups with whom I had the pleasure of working), which was the impetus behind the trip. However, the "real" reason we ventured west was to take our daughter up her 1st fourteen thousand foot peak. (Psyche. It was to see friends and get some Kaladi Coffee.) We managed to do them all.

We summited Mount Evans, the closest in proximity to Denver. She is an inviting mountain. One of the things I like about her is that she offers a route for anyone, everything from pavement to class 5 leads. We took the short route up a shoulder from Summit Lake with our Lifer friends the Kobergs and Kleagers. And Anna Rose was a true champ. She made it to the top with out a Pip or Squeak (and she is both). And if it hadn't been gusting on top, sending the temperature lower than anything our Carolina warm blood had felt in almost two years, we would have been fine. In fact, we were. Annie just started screaming that's all. I ended up cradling her in my arms, a position in which she immediately fell asleep. I didn't have the heart to rearrange. So down the mountain we went - Anna Rose snoring, me fretting the next move. Mercifully, I only fell once and was able to contort my body in a position never before that moment attempted. She didn't even stir.

It was a great time. Congrats to Kelly Koberg in particular. It was her first fourteener as well. Thanks y'all!

Mr. Davidson

Let me just say it was an honor to participate, to just be in the presence of such distinguised and capable gentlemen. This, my first Mr. Davidson competition, was both exhilirating, humiliating and a little bit of everything in between.

For those of you who have not heard of Mr. Davidson. We are guys who graduated from the college in 1997, who every five years return to test our minds, bodies, and wills in a series of ten individual and three team events in order to see which one of us is Mr. Davidson. This year, Hayes Trotter ran away with the title. I managed to climb myself to second place going into the final event when I made a devastating tactical error catapulting me down the leader board to a lackluster yet respectable sixth place. Ha! It was a weekend of athletic ups and downs: winning the illustrious yet grueling bar hang, then immediatly finishing dead last in the car push, and being the only one to literally lose my lunch in the notoriously gut wrenching "Mr. Davidson shuttle run" (After doing dizzy lizzies and memorizing a Shakespearean couplet, we had to eat a McDonald's cheeseburger and fries). It was a memorable time on many levels.

And it was so great to be back with the crew. We honestly don't look bad for thirty-two year olds...

I can't wait for 2012.