Over Forty Three Years of True Love

He saw her from across the crowded cattle truck that was about to take their youth groups up the mountain to Hartland Christian Camp. Nudging his friend, he pointed at her and said, "I'm gonna marry her some day." They were in 6th grade. He was convinced she was the one and she didn't know he existed.

Their senior year of high school he grew his hair out. Not shoulder length or anything (don't get crazy). He just went from a crew cut to a short cut. It was a matter of maybe an inch but it made all the difference because, as legend has it, she finally noticed him.

Five years later, on December 19, 1970, they got married.

And oh the fires their marriage has been through in those 43 years. I don't need to go into detail but suffice it to say, they had 3 "wonderful" children whom God used to refine them in ways I'm sure they never could've imagined.

They chose each day who they would serve and who they would love. My parents set and maintained their priorities: God, each other, and then us kids. We were never first or second on the list and that is a huge part of why they are still in love today.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad! You're the best parents I've ever had! :)

Heaven and Earth: The difference is a head tilt

With the slightest adjustment of my gaze, from looking below the horizon to looking above it, everything changes. 

All it takes is a head tilt and the things of earth really do grow strangely dim and out of focus.

And then I blink.
And find myself looking down again.

But, I'm reassured right before the blink that heaven is real and that in the twinkling of an eye we'll all be home.

Skydiving = ________? You fill in the blank.

I was looking through my nightstand and a paper fell out. I unfolded it to find these words. They apply to so many subjects…


I want to go skydiving. I really, really do. How many years have I been saying that?! 10? 12? I want to face my fears, be adventurous, and do it already!

Or do I?

I do the research, pay the deposit, talk to experts, and set a timeframe. I even tell people about it. Everyone's excited and supportive, EAGER for me to have this experience.

I'm nervous. Well, terrified actually. Turns out when given the opportunity, I'd rather stay in the plane where it feels safe and familiar. I like it up here, flying solo, it's what I've done for years and I'm pretty good at it. At least I'm good at acting like I'm good at it. I'm afraid of failure, embarrassment, and rejection. So I stay on the plane.

I think I need a push, a swift kick, someone to shove me out, or maybe a hand to hold on the way down. But I abhor feeling forced, pressured, or guilted into doing anything. My stubborness wells up in me like a flame that refuses to be extinguished. I resist even the most appealing, deepest desire of my heart. Why? Out of fear. Self defense. Protection.

I think I'm guarding my heart but what I'm really doing is sitting on a plane talking about how much I want to go skydiving.

Waiting in Line is Hard

Waiting in line is hard. I've never met anyone who loves to wait in line and certainly can't imagine there being a person who hopes to get as close as he can to the back of the line. Well, unless the line is leading to something horrible. But I'm talking about lines for desirable things, lines that we have a choice about being in. The line I'm talking about is the one leading to "The happiest place on earth", Disneyland.

I read an email today that sent me on a journey without a clear destination. The email was about Disneyland changing it's policy about who they give special passes to and why. The email spelled out ways that the special passes have been used and abused. People have faked being disabled and have taken advantage of a loophole that was designed to help people who literally cannot wait in lines.

Waiting in line for a ride at Disneyland is not as fun as riding the ride but most people can handle it. They wait 2 hours because they understand that there is a payoff at the end that they believe will be worth the wait. Most people are able to endure the long lines and still have the capacity to fully enjoy the experience of riding the ride. Most people.

Now try standing in that same 2 hour line with my brother Nathan or with someone else's sibling who has an 'invisible' diagnosis like say autism. Try waiting in line with them and I bet that after about 10 minutes you will wish one of things: either they should be let on the ride before you or you should be let on first. Either way someone needs to get some sort of pass to make the crying stop so that we can go back to believing we are all happy.

Should all the people capable of waiting in lines be punished for their ability by having to wait longer? Should people without that particular ability get to be rewarded for their disability by being allowed to walk right onto the rides? 

Are those the only two perspectives?

When I was 19 years old I asked my parents if we could go to Disneyland. I thought it would be fun now that Nathan and I were adults to experience the magic. Actually I thought it'd be fun to get on all the rides without having to...wait in line. Well, well, well...look at this pot calling the kettle black. I wanted to take advantage of my brother's disability. My motivation wasn't for Nathan to have a good time. It was all about me and how I wanted to have a good time. I had this feeling that I would finally benefit from Nathan's disability. Finally! 

My plan totally backfired on me though because the only ride Nathan wanted to go on was Autopia. The one where you pretend to drive cars around a track and the only thing you have any control over is the gas pedal. The only rule is not to bump into the car in front of you. There were workers spaced out throughout the track to remind and enforce this rule. If you bumped the car in front of you, then  you could be kicked off the ride. Guess what Nathan called the ride? Yep, The Bumper Cars. And guess what he did every time we rode it (which was often because we didn't have to wait in line)? He bumped the car in front of him! "YOU CAN'T DO THAT! IT'S AGAINST THE RULES NATHAN!" I would yell and he would laugh. "YOU'RE GONNA GET KICKED OFF THE RIDE NATHAN! YOU CAN'T BUMP THE CAR IN FRONT OF YOU!" I would scream and he would act like he couldn't hear me.

The workers heard me though and they could tell something was different about him and me. And they would give him a free pass to bump people. It was an accident. He didn't do it on purpose. WHATEVER! I wanted him to get kicked off the ride so that he would be forced to ride Splash Mountain with me. 

That plan backfired too. big surprise.

I was mad at him about that trip for years after it was over. I hated the fact that he refused to go on rides that I wanted to go on. He refused to let me use his disability for my own selfish gain.

Okay, maybe he wasn't thinking that deeply but he also didn't care that I was mad at him. Every time I brought it up he would just turn his head and wave his hand at me like I should get over it. He didn't care to hear about it any more. His attitude only fueled my selfish fire.

So today, when I read the email about people finding a way to take advantage of the special pass and using people with disabilities for their own gain, I must admit, I was impressed. Not outraged. Typical sibling response. 

But I was also faced with the fact that the special pass does actually enable people to enjoy Disneyland and that without it they would not be able to go on any rides with lines (which pretty much covers all of them!). As an advocate for people with disabilities, I'd say check out the petition that can be signed here.  

Standing in line is hard but there's no need to make it harder. Maybe getting to the front of the line first isn't the only goal in life.

Each Other's Voices

Once upon a time there lived a boy and his sister. They loved each other very much. As children, they were almost always seen together. The boy’s name was Nathan. He was very friendly and loved to talk to everyone he met. If he saw someone he knew he would walk (sometimes run) across any size room to greet and connect with that person. 

Nathan’s sister, Beth, was quite the opposite of him in social settings. She would spot someone she knew, take note of her presence, and only greet her if it was unavoidable. Beth was very friendly in her own way but was often too uncomfortable to show it. She would tell herself that the person was too busy to talk to her. She didn’t want to bother anyone.

Nathan, on the other hand, had no hesitation or inhibition when it came to greeting people he knew or had been introduced to even once. He wanted to talk to them, wanted to have a connection, wanted to tell them (embarrassing) stories about how his favorite gospel quartet was coming to town and how he could hardly wait to see them. He wanted to say and share all these things. He didn’t feel like they wouldn’t want to hear about singing bass or about his latest medical procedure or about his newest CD. He didn’t second guess himself. He would just greet and share and enjoy the inevitable positive feedback that he would get from doing so. 

The only problem was that Nathan didn’t have a voice. At least not one that most people could hear and understand. He made sounds but his words were not clear. He said fragments of words, made some other incoherent sounds, used gestures and facial expressions, and avoided eye contact yet expected to be understood. 

Most people would acknowledge his friendliness with awkward yet genuine joy but have very little idea what he was actually saying, besides the obvious greeting. They’d smile, high five, laugh, nod, smile some more, and maybe even try, to the best of their ability, to guess what he was saying,. But how can people be expected to hear “my group” and “excited” and see lots of hand gestures, jumping in place, a lightening quick point to his shirt and understand that his favorite gospel quartet Acappella was coming to Visalia on the 20th for a concert and he wanted to get their autographs? 

But if Beth was there, she would translate. She would fill in the words that he left out. She would hear those fragmented sentences and tell the stories for him. She would plug those words into a massive database and do a keyword search. She knew his history. She was one of the only people that could see all his cues, interpret them, and really hear all that he was saying. He relied on her to be his interpreter and she relied on him to help her reach out beyond herself to connect with the community around them.

They were each other’s voices. 

Fascinating

I grew up watching Star Trek with my dad and two brothers. My mom would leave the room (probably to get some respite or sew me a new dress) while the four of us were glued to the TV for an hour of sci-fi entertainment. Nathan loved all things Star Trek (shh--so did I) but the theme song at the beginning and end were always the highlights for him. He would get as close to the screen as possible, blocking all of our views and evoking loud requests for him to "SCOOT BACK!!!" He'd move about a centimeter and there would be more yelling. We'd finally settle for him moving to the side of the TV in front of the speakers where he'd only be blocking half the screen. He was fine with that because it was all the better to have the music vibrate through him as he waved his arms wildly yet perfectly in tempo with the ballad.

When the actors and their names would start appearing on the screen he'd say, "name! name!" We'd take this opportunity to say, "We can't read it because you're blocking the screen. Move to the side...no way over to the side, and we'll tell you the names." Every one of us had long since memorized all the actors names but that was not the point. He'd move, we'd recite the names, and he'd repeat them as they flashed by.

Nathan can't read but he loves words anyway. He recognizes the ones that are most important in his world. His name, immediate family member names, dodgers, giants, volleyball, the group names of every gospel quartet, the scores in the sports section of the newspaper, and Star Trek.

One day he wanted to buy a Star Trek book. The one he wanted had a great picture on the front but was a 2" thick, small print novel with absolutely no graphics or pictures inside. Just pages and pages of tiny words. It didn't matter to him that he couldn't read it, he wanted it anyway. He must have had enough money, or made some kind of deal with mom, because he ended up buying it and happily taking it home.

A few nights later he came out from his room, sat on the couch, and opened his book to like chapter 3 or something giving the impression that he'd already covered some ground in the book. He sat there scanning each page and then turning them at a pace that made it look like he was taking in every word. We weren't paying much attention to him until he turned another page and, in a soft voice, said, "Fascinating!"

There was a collective gasp. I almost spit my water out. Heads whipped around and eyes focused on Nathan. What in the world?! Can he somehow tell what it says? Are there pictures in there that we hadn't seen before? Did we just witness some sort of strange miracle? What is happening?

All these thoughts are swirling around our heads and are about to come spewing out of our mouths when suddenly a sly grin forms and he starts giggling. He couldn't keep a straight face!! He had totally tricked us! We'd been punked! He had no idea what the book said. No literacy miracle had occurred but a comical one had!  It was as though he was showing us what we look like to him when we read and he was making fun of us. It was absolutely HILARIOUS!

We laughed and laughed and proceeded to re-enact that scene for years to come. He eventually stopped saying it on command but every once in a while he finds himself with a book and he can't resist. He looks to his right and his left to see if anyone is watching and that sly grin starts to form as he utters that famous word...fascinating!

Deal or Never

For several years there was a game show on tv called Deal or No Deal. It went something like this, a number chosen, a human interest story told, and an amount of money offered to the contestant. Then, at the height of the build up, the host would look the contestant in the eye and say, in the most compelling, deliberate, and measured way, Deal (dramatic pause) or No Deal?!? Thus throwing the decision at the feet of the contestant willing her to make the only wise choice. It was now up to the contestant to decipher just what the wise choice actually was. 

The music, the staging, and the lights made this choice feel like everything in the contestant's life had lead up to this moment and that it would define her for all time. This decision could only end in jubilee or in absolute ruin. So it is basically life and death. Oh the drama of it all! People are crying, screaming, and holding each other all while trying to project their choice onto the contestant. Each one wishing he had been offered a huge amount of money but grateful he was not the ones faced with this life altering fork-in-the-road dilemma. 


My brother Nathan can invoke those same emotions and create that same sense of urgency when he makes a sales pitch about eating out. He stands up as though taking the stage, finds a coin, balances it on his thumb in flipping position, and says emphatically, "Deal (dramatic pause) or NEVER?!?" The tension and seriousness is palatable and suddenly I'm standing on that stage with the lights, cameras, and eyes all on me burning through my resolve to be anything close to rational. I laugh still my stomach hurts and exclaim, "Deal!!!"