Early Mornings, Naps and Martha Stewart

I have always been an early riser. I love the mornings when few folks are out. The mornings are also the coolest time of the day, and if the days are hot, I choose to start early and end early on outside projects. In the mornings, before anyone is up at our house and the world begins to spin, I love the smell of the coffee and quiet moments on the front porch. The older I get, the longer it takes my brain to begin functioning correctly, so I need a few minutes.

Some of my best memories have come around a mid-day nap when I have been up early. Take elk hunting, for example. I hike way up into the timber or along a ridge, find a comfortable tree or a dead fall to lean against and doze, nodding in and out. That time being quiet and just sitting there has provided many a shot at unsuspecting elk. I remember once waking, standing up and being in the middle of a herd of them. Crazy.

Our cat likes to nap a lot, and I know few earthly creatures that are as calm and cool as Pumpkin. Pumpkin was an old feral stray that, over the years, has conned his way into a regular feeding bowl and warm comforts during the winter months. I usually find him tucked away napping or watching his cat world go by. I have seen him pounce on other cats coming in the yard, and he kicks tail on them. He doesn’t want anyone coming in on his gig. But, mostly, he is calm, seemingly going from one objective to the next or resting.

I like a breeze when I am napping, too. I love the sound of the wind through the trees, the song of the wind chimes, the breeze crossing through the house. The air seems cleaner when it is moving, too -- no science behind that observation, just a personal thought.

I saw where Barbara Jordan was once quoted as saying, “Think what a better world it would be if about 3 o’clock, the whole world just had a few cookies, a glass of milk and took a nap.” How can you not like that? Who would not like that in their day-timer every day?

If you really struggle with naps, just consider what Martha Stewart was once quoted as saying, “I catnap now and then, but I think while I nap, so it’s not a waste of time.” That’s it -- nap and think at the same time. I may think best when I nap.

The Mexican culture has it figured out -- siesta. They work hard until it gets hot, then they find a shade tree and nap for a few hours; revitalized, they return to work and finish the day. Long haul drivers say when they get tired, they stop on the side of the road and nap for a few minutes. It refreshes them so they can get on with their work.

I know some folks who just can’t nap or slow down during the day. That is fine. My wife, forget it, she is non-stop all day. I don’t know where the energy comes from, but it wears me out just writing about it and I might have to take a quick nap right here and now.

Truthfully, I have said it before, it is these moments and ones like it when I best communicate with God -- quiet, restful, contemplative times. He is always there; I just don’t always think about Him being there. I guess maybe I take Him for granted. Maybe I just get moving so fast that I forget to talk with Him about things. When I can rest, when I can slow down and be still, I notice Him there with me and I do better.

Yes, there are times you have to mow the world down, push through when you are tired to get something done. Yes, some people can be slothful and wait for the world to hand them something or fill their needs. I am not talking about that.

I am thinking we might be better off if we were more like Pumpkin, maybe a Mexican Pumpkin. Work hard and pay attention to what is going on around us. Take some time each day to slow down and make sure life and the things important to us are not slipping by. I, for one, am going to try my best to take time each day to check in with God, try to keep Him closer, to listen when He whispers and not wait for Him to be yelling, “Hey knuckle head, I am talking to you!”

I will not waste another minute when I get a chance to nap, either. I am going to be thinking the whole time, just like Martha. Planning meals, considering drapes for the foyer and cool new craft ideas will be my objective, and I vow to stay napping until I figure out that crazy tomato plant thing I saw on TV that grows upside down.

Thinking, napping and quiet time with God -- perfect!

The War at Home - Our Soldier.

Two years ago my nephew left for the war in Iraq. This is what I blogged and seems appropriate to rerun it today.

Monday, October 20, 2008

The War at Home

Jason has been a warrior his whole life. I have heard stories of his childhood obsession playing with green army men for years. He would play for hours in his room or in the yard strategizing and destroying the enemy. The most recent story I heard was when his soldiers would die, he would bury them then forget where and they would be lost.“I didn’t just dig a hole and stick them in it; I had a service and all. I did it right,” he explained. I can tell you somewhere in south Austin, buried in the yard of his childhood home, are possibly thousands of small green army men. The graveyard.

It seems that some people know their destiny early. They, I believe, are the lucky ones. They are driven to be whom they know they are. After high school Jason went straight into the National Guard. A week or two into it he called home and wanted out. His mom and I talked and she decided to put the kibosh on his leaving.“No, you don’t want to regret this,” she coaxed him. He knew in his heart she was right. He completed the time with honors.Not long after returning from his National Guard training and duties he was milling around trying to figure out what he was going to do next. Police work became his next objective and he started his education at cop school. Upon graduation he found a position in a small town east of Austin and went to work. Police work was good to Jason.

He shared story after story of his days and nights on the job. He loved his work and you could hear it in every word. As he began his emersion into police work, each month he would report for National Guard duties. Then came 9/11. The world was thrown into frenzy. Americans raised their hands over their hearts and were proud to be Americans as we took on the terrorist of our world. They had attacked us all around the world and we were detached, but now they were in our country and everyone felt the heartache and patriotism. We are Americans and this is our country and that cannot happen here. Jason was standing tall ready to go should they call.

Eventually he moved to a bigger city and a new position in their police department. There he had drug duty and sting operations -- he loved all that. He always said, “I want to be in the tough part of the city – the rough side.” He usually was. After years of weekends and summer training Jason’s time with the National Guard was coming to an end. He had never been called up to fight in Iraq, some don’t. He was well into his new job and had gotten married and had a newborn baby girl. Everything was in place. Except for one thing -- he had to decide, do I re”up” with the guard or not.

Resigning with the guard meant a lot of things. It meant he would be able to continue to work on the pension and other rewards he would eventually receive when he completed his service. But it also meant he was probably going to go to Iraq for a period of time, most likely a year or more. A decision that meant leaving his wife, new baby daughter and other family. It meant months of boot camp style training with long days and short nights.We had long talks about the pros and cons of going to Iraq and the chances he would take. He went to council with others and prayed about it with his wife. When he told me he had decided to go and that they had a date for him to leave, I was mad. How, why, why now with the baby?

But I know why Jason went; I know why he is there. He is there because since he was little boy, he has been preparing to be an American soldier. He is there because deep inside Jason, ingrained in this young man with everything going for him, is the desire to serve his country. He is old school patriotic. He is willing to give his life so others may be spared the tragedy of 9/11 or something even more horrific. He is, like so many of our American soldiers, committed to the calling of God and country.

Don’t tell me American is anything less than great. Don’t put our president or our soldiers down in front of me. I stand next to my nephew who is headed to Iraq; I am humbled by his bravery, his honor of country, his willingness to die to protect his nieces and nephews. He is willing to sacrifice all he has for you and me. He is a man. I pray a legion of angels will protect him as he goes forward and that God will use him to minister to others in His great commission.

We can agree to disagree here in America and not have our hands cut off, our families killed, our daughters beaten and raped because of the freedom our soldiers have sacrificed for. So, tell me, what are you doing?

***Update: Jason, his two daughters and wife are good, living in Victoria, Texas and continues his police work and National Guard service.

Survival Camp

With Kids Outdoor Zone youth adventure ministry Jesus has and still does come alongside us time and time again. He loves on us and cares for us. He carries the yoke we struggle with and talks to us in those still quiet moments encouraging g us and comforting us.

Over the last few months we have learned to “press in,” to strive for God’s love and direction in our lives and KOZ. We are learning a lot about preparing our hearts and our intentions before acting on behalf of KOZ. He showed us this weekend that He is there and that He loves that we love Him and are coming to Him for cover and direction.

This Friday we left Austin with eight boys, one guide in training and three men who have a heart for the Lord and KOZ.

Saturday was spent teaching survival skills to the boys as if they were stranded from a plane wreck. They learned about finding water and purifying it. They were taught how to start a fire and create an SOS. They build debris huts and learned how to select the right spot to build shelter. They caught fish with survival tools and ate them. They all did a great job.

We love all the guy activities. It gets hot, we get tired and hungry but we bond together during these lessons. This trip was no different than ones we have done in the past except that, the weeks leading up to this trip our leaders, prayer warriors and intercessors cried out for Jesus to be with us, to heal the boys who were coming, to love on them. To show us how to love them, care for them, lead them to Him.

Saturday evening started off tense with a lot of the boys tired and hot. That can be fuel for anger, frustration and a mean spirit. The talk about the campfire was all but loving and caring. One of the leaders called for a time of quiet reflection and for all the boys to separate for a period of time. They were not allowed to talk or be together, they spread about the pasture, valley and creek side.

When they returned we pressed in. We began to talk about where they were in their walk with the Lord. That is when He came. The Holy Spirit filled the valley, the pasture, the camp ground, the area about the camp fire and the boys. Over the next period of time they shared their hearts and heart breaks, their love for family and worries. We wept and hugged and cried more. This was one of the most powerful times with God many of us had ever experienced. The wounded began healing, the lost accepted His direction and caring. Eternal life changing moments flowed from the 10-year-old to the 17-year-old. Beautiful words and emotions. By the end of the time together we were exhausted and sleep came easy.

Sunday morning was beautiful and a cool breeze crossed the valley. We awoke to find the Lord was not finished with us. One young man with a wounded eye from months before woke in severe discomfort. His eye was red and swollen and he could not keep it open. A leader asked if he could pray healing over him and as he did the Lord told him to press in. He prayed over and over and over pressing in as the boys eye got better, and better and then, like the man on the road to Jerico, his eye healed. Healed. A physical healing. A wounded eye from a wounded boy crying for the Lord to help him, heal him, be with him. It was nothing less that miraculous.

After breakfast the boys made their way to the creek. The cool waters were a comfort in the heat the day before and on this Sunday morning they became a place of healing and commitment to live a life for the Lord. Four boys accepted the eternal gift of life with our Lord in front of their peers. The time was joyous and filled with cheering and laughter. A true day of glory for the Lord.

The blind man took up his garments and followed Jesus after he was healed. Lord we pray these boys, mentors and leaders hunger to follow you each moment. It was not a prayer that Jesus prayed, it was the blind man’s trust that the Lord would heal him that healed him. Lord thank you for the boys who inspired faith this weekend. Thank you for their hearts of innocence and joy. Thank you for filling us with the Holy Spirit and His guidance. Lord thank you for those who cover us in prayer and stand beside us when we waver or feel down. Holy Spirit use us, tool our hearts into servant hearts that please You.

The survival skills for the boys at this camp were well received and the one boy who has done Marine Corps training summer camp said it was awesome and he learned a lot. As far as us leaders, we changed the name from Survival Camp to God Camp. He provided the boys with survival tools they can use for eternity and used the leaders along the way. We, again, found He provides us with pure fresh living water, burning fire, comforting safe shelter and food for life. The best survival tools we could ever need and no devastating crash required.

Amen!

The Summer Vacation

I have lived the movie “Vacation” with Clark Griswold (Chevy Chase). The crazy adventures and slapstick humor are off the wall but just barely different from my experiences growing up and some of those we experience at our house today.

My dad built the ultimate camping trailer when we were kids. It had compartments for every item from the tent and coffeepot to the Coleman stove. It was a rolling shadow box of camping gear that pulled behind our family station wagon.

We would travel each summer to a different destination mapped out on our free Shell gasoline station map and handy camper guide. Mom had the check-off list for everything we needed. We travelled to the Grand Canyon, Petrified Forest and Yellow Stone. It was there in these national treasures we had our National Lampoon moments.

There was the time we were camping when, in the middle of the night, my sister needed to go to the bathroom. I was charged with walking her to the public restroom. Just as we began to leave, out of our camping spot a large black bear walked in front of us. She screamed and we both ran back into the tent scared. We watched out the tent window as the bear moved from camping area to camping area, destroying ice chests and picnic baskets. On another night, in the middle of the night, a bear chased a small squirrel up and over our tent. My mom used hairspray to coat the bear paw prints that went up the side of the tent just above where my brothers, sisters and I slept.

Other wacky, crazy events from my childhood summer vacations include once, while horseback riding in the mountains, my horse spooked, broke from the pack and bolted across a field, stopping at a fence and launching me from the saddle. Another adventure ended in disaster when I tried a shortcut down a steep cliff face where I lost my footing, slid and rolled to the bottom. My hands were cut up and my body bruised. I remember camping up on a mountain side once and watching a tornado in the valley below. I was frightened and kept asking my parents what we would do if it came after us. They explained we would just lay in a ditch, but that it would not come up the mountain. It didn’t. I did, however, become mindful of ditches at every camping area thereafter.

My kids are creating their own vacation memories. Jon–Michael remembers when we were passing through north Texas and entered the town of Dumas, Texas. He thinks “Dumas” is funny. He also tells of the time we were driving along a highway in Colorado when we passed two guys in Ninja suits with a sign that read “Free Ninja Hugs.” My daughter on the other hand remembers horses and young cowboy wranglers at the dude ranch and surf camp instructors -- uggg.

Jesus had a wacky vacation when He was young. His family went to celebrate the Passover, a must back then, and when his family was leaving, that nutty, crazy kid Jesus, then 12, slipped off and his parents left without Him. They each thought the other one knew where He was -- that He was with His buddies chasing camels or something. When they realized He was not with them, they had to go all the way back to town. They finally tracked Him down inside a temple teaching the adults.

That, for Joseph and Mary, was the moment they realized Jesus was going to be leaving their care soon. They realized that their time parenting Him was coming to a close and the intimate childhood moments and time together was to be savored.

The memories of time together, be it summer vacations or family night at home watching a movie, are precious moments etched in our hearts and, in many ways, make us who we are. I am sure those camping adventures as a young boy are a big part of why I am an outdoor writer and love outdoor adventure.

A favorite quote from “Vacation” -- Clark: “Hey, hey, easy kids. Everybody in the car. Boat leaves in two minutes... or perhaps you don't want to see the second largest ball of twine on the face of the earth, which is only four short hours away?”

This summer I am taking my family somewhere special. I haven’t got all the details worked out yet, but I have ordered a really good first aid kit, emergency radio, topographical map showing all the ditches in the area and a large bottle of Tylenol. You need to be prepared.

God bless, TJ

A Name Means Something

I was born into a Catholic family in 1959. From what I can tell it was a pretty standard family of that day. Five kids, mom stayed home and dad worked. I was the second of the five -- three boys, two girls. Brother, me, sister, brother, sister. We, for the most part, also carry the traditional Catholic names and names of our forefathers, grandmothers and saints.

I am Thomas Joseph. My grandfather and great-grandfather carried the same name. The family history is a checkered past with stories of troubled lives and mysterious happenings. Some of the stories have never been confirmed and probably won’t. Still, nothing unusual for the times, I don’t think.

Recently, I thought about my name and the apostle Thomas. Thomas was one of Jesus’ 12 favored followers. He was lesser known and, like many of the others, had a different name, Didymus, before Jesus came along. Jesus liked to change their names.

I grew up as Tom. Mom and dad called me Tom Tom when I was good and Thomas Joseph when I wasn’t. I heard the latter one named frequently as I got older.

Names back in the old country were many times given to a person for whom they were or would be. Bob Carpenter was a woodworker, John Smith, a blacksmith, Betty Crocker, a cook. Names in the new world did not always follow that trend; they created tough names like Buck, Wyatt, Jessie and Hop-a-Long.

Thomas is a pretty common name. It is very popular in England, Australia and Canada. It has over 24 spellings and pronunciations --, Tam, Tamas, Tamhas, Thom, Thoma, Thomason, Thomson, Thompson, Tom, Tomas, Tomaso, Tomasso, Tomasz, Tome, Tomek to name a few. Each one carries a little different history but, for the most part, ends up back to the doubting, yet zealous, apostle.

I believe that kids can take on their names, become a namesake. Say a doubting Thomas might be a guy who is always in trouble or a bit of a misbehaver but has a great heart and the sweetest disposition. He is, can be, a bit of a skeptic and learn a lot of things the hard way. He is probably really cute and had great hair, as a child anyway.

You have names that have got to be bad choices and influence those who carry them. Vader Blauwbaard was convicted of murder and rape, Adolph Hitler, hello, bad choice. Pedro Rodrigues Filho convicted of 70 murders and Gwendolyn Graham who murdered five elderly nursing home residents and claimed to have killed another. My favorite, Thomas Ketchum, known as Black Jack Ketchum, a cowboy and cattle driver who later turned to a life of crime. Just teasing about these names -- lots of great folks have the name Vader and Adolph.

I do believe we speak into our children who they are at a young age. If you tell them they are bad, stupid or are never going to amount to anything, guess what -- you’re speaking it over them. Parents, the most important people in the world to them, telling them they are not worthy of great things can be devastating.

Thank God we have a loving Father who does not care about any of those things you may have been told as a child. Thank goodness He loves us no matter what and teaches us how to forgive. Mark 11:25 says: “And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins."

As a Thomas, I did pick up the craft of carpentry and tend to be a skeptic and doubter sometimes. I have never robbed a bank but do like the way of the cowboy. I love the Lord and know I have been forgiven; I have forgiven others. Let April, the beginning of spring, be the beginning of your new life in Him. It is not who someone says or said you are, it is who you can be.

God bless,

TJ Greaney

The Pyromaniac - Burn Baby Burn

I remember when I was young I had a thing with fire. I made a lot of bad decisions with fire. When I was about 8, my father built us a life-size, full out playhouse. It had doors, windows, rafters and shingles on the roof. It was truly a miniature house. He was a great carpenter.

You can guess where this is going. One morning I climbed into the rafters and held a match to the wooden roof. I watched it as it began to catch on fire. By the time I ran and got a dog bowl full of water, it was too late – it took my dad, a hose and a fireman to put it out. My tailbone got a lashing that day.

A few years later I stood over a five-gallon bucket of water, poured gas on top and dropped a match in. The explosion burned my face and all my eyebrows off. I thought the water would minimize the effects of the gas -- not true.

Today I enjoy my fires contained in the fireplace at my home, carefully crafted and screened. I also enjoy a good fire pit at the ranch. I can sit and watch what has been called “Texas TV,” (a burning fire pit outdoors) for hours. There is something peaceful and calming about sitting there watching the flames and colors, the warmth and the sounds.

When I went to Colorado last November to the Wild at Heart conference with John Eldredge, I was again drawn into the flames. It was not a physical burning flame that consumes playhouses and five-gallon buckets, not even logs of cedar or oak. It was a burning flame inside me to be a better man. To come to know Christ in a deeper and more personal way. It is a fire I hungered for a long time.

It seems most of us today are always in a hurry and few of us fan the flames of our passions. Even fewer folks listen to the quiet talk of our hearts or when God speaks to us. Oh, we try to when someone gets hurt or we are in trouble, and I believe God listens to us then, but what about in between?

Our country after 9-11 is a perfect example. The flames of patriotism and a search for God in our lives was evident by the masses heading into churches and giving financially to help organizations. Eventually that all faded and we returned to the hustle and bustle, the business of our lives. God, well He will be there when I need to chat with Him, on my terms, right?

What I want to do is live in the peace and comfort knowing God, a loving Father, cares about me. I want to please Him in who I am and what my life means. The love of a father is an intricate part of knowing love, feeling comforted, feeling safe, feeling OK. When I was on the mountain, I learned a lot about it. I learned more about God as my Father and how important that love is to me and for me.

The fire that I now crave is the one God placed on my heart to know him. It is a deep and burning flame that warms me and fills me. Yes, it does burn down and I have to intentionally and purposefully stoke it. The difference is that I want to know it more; I want it to burn in me.

When I burned down the playhouse, I remember being confused as to why I did it. I also remember when I was looking at myself without eyelashes after the water bucket fire experiment, thinking how stupid that was. Today, though, I am excited about the new flame I found burning. The one for which I was looking. I want to sit and enjoy it, the warmth, the comfort, the quiet, the complete sense that no matter what, my Father loves me and it is all gonna be OK.

Love and Money the Oldest Profession

The oldest profession in the world is held by women. They have been in the business since early on. The trade is not necessarily lucrative, and I am amazed at how many women choose it as a career path. I love that they do; I am a big fan. My wife loves it, and if she could, it is all she would do.

What -- you thought I was talking about … oh no way. I mean a mom, a wife, the keeper of the home. Eve was the first mom, wife and the grandmother to us all if you go all the way back. In society today, the mom is the rock. She is the one the guys yell to when they win the Super Bowl or World Series. It is always the wife or mom whom even the biggest ole’ boy wants around when he is sick.

The wife or mom is also the one in control of certain things most guys won’t touch. Take the grocery store, for instance. I am almost, just short of, evil-eyed close to not allowed to go. I will get a list or a call for a loaf of bread or gallon of milk. I will get the occasional call to pick up a few big steaks or diet soda. Beyond that, it is no use. I am not wanted in the grocery store aisles shopping for our home.

I tried going with her a time or two over the last 16 years; not gonna make that mistake again. When she goes, it is a slow process where she compares, experiments, works up and down the aisles in a very deliberate fashion. I say let’s rock this out and get home -- wrong. She knows what the kids need, what the house needs and what I might need.

Coupons are a big deal. If she does not get back $10 or $15 in coupon savings, she feels like she did not do well. Another very interesting sniglet is if she has, say, $200 to spend that day, you can bet it will be almost to the dollar, after coupons, without a calculator. I don’t know how she does it; she just does.

When anyone is sick around our house, it is always mom who gets the call. Medication is strictly controlled by her, and she knows who reacts and how. She knows the substitute drugs and homeopathic cures as well. Chicken soup, cold wash clothes, heating pad, oatmeal bath, stay home from school -- all the doctor’in is from mom. I am for that in a big way, especially when I am not feeling well.

Most guys I know just slam some painkillers or cold meds and hammer on down the road. That is what I do. However, when I am really sick, she steps in and takes care of me. I have noticed, though, that after all these years, some of the glamour of taking care of the old man has worn off and she has been known to cut corners. I have even had her tell me she was leaving to run errands and was not sure when she would be back while I laid on the couch sick. How could she be so cold? It could not possibly be that I am being a total un-nice sick person?

Home decorations are another thing moms are in charge of that most guys don’t have a say over. My wife has an affinity for rugs. Seems every other week she has a new rug replacing the old rug from the week before. Candleholders, picture frames, towels, tablecloths, drinking glasses. Things. I don’t know how much they cost. I don’t ask how much they cost. I know better than to go there. She spends money on things I see as frivolous and silly, but they make our home a home and that is what moms do. They nest. They create a home inside the cave, the teepee, the wood frame box with sheetrock on the walls.

Moms are the ones who love things that don’t make sense to anyone. They take the scribbled-on construction paper and put it on the refrigerator door. My wife kisses every card our kids have ever given her, paper, note or whatever before she disposes of them, if she ever does that is.

Now, it has to be said that moms love to be cared for as well. I have talked about scrubbing the big pots in the kitchen before. When we have large pans or pots dirty in our kitchen, I jump in and clean them. Motivational speaker Zig Ziglar talks about how he will take his wife’s car out early Saturday morning and fill it with gas, run it through the car wash, change the oil. These are things she could do, but he does them as part of the care he shows for her. Moms need to hear they are appreciated and feel they are appreciated. Kids don’t always understand it until later, but, usually, they figure out that mom was a pretty big help when they were young and dumb. I know I did.

The Bible talks a lot about moms and wives. It tells us just how much of a blessing they are. Any real man worth his weight knows that his wife, the kids’ mom, is a machine and deserves a Golden Globe, a Heisman, a Red Cross Safety and Medic award, a Purple Heart and a slew of precious stones in her crown when she gets to heaven.

Tell your mom you love her; hug your wife. Teach your boys to honor their moms and one day wife.

TJ Greaney
tj@kidsoutdoorzone.com