Eyes...

This afternoon Avery, Sutton and I went to the Waco Art Center to take a look at the Steve McCurry exhibit. I'm pretty ignorant of what seperates good photography from excellent photography, but his is one of those talents that requires very little imagination to figure out that he is one of the best. It was my fourth time to visit the exhibit, and I'm continually amazed that we have something like it in Waco.

Ocassionally when I have the kids I'll try to do something that's a little more substantative than analyzing Zach and Cody's "suite life." It rarely works. They remain interested for a few moments then return to being children, as they should be. But by the end of the afternoon, I was glad we came. We played a game where I pretended I was blind and had the kids walk me around and describe the photos for me.

Before that, though, when we walked in we saw McCurry's most famous subject, and one of the most recognized photographs in history, Sharbat Gula, also known as Afghan Girl. The kids were unimpressed, which disappointed me a bit. But I found it interesting that when we found the photograph taken of the Afghan Girl just a few years ago, Avery needed no help in noticing that it was the same girl. We walked by the adult picture, she looked up, and shrugged "It's the same person." I asked how she know it, because the first one was a girl and the second an adult.

"She has the same pretty eyes," Avery said.





I'm not being paid by the Waco Art Center, but you should really check it out if you are in town. It's going on until the end of next March.

Here, There, Everywhere...

It's Sunday night. Needing to get a few weekly food items, I drove down Bosque to the grocery store. On my way past the Fair Grounds, I remembered something I learned in Sunday School as a child. God is everywhere. Later I learned the word omnipresent , which sounds much more intelligent, but doesn't carry the same punch as saying God is everywhere.

This past week was the Heart of Texas Fair and Rodeo. Last night was the last night. Tonight, in the darkness, surrounded by a breeze that wants desperately to be cool, and in the midst of gathering rain, the fair grounds are desolate, despite the numerous displays and attractions that have yet to be disassembled. I imagine the wind blowing through the asphalt and exhibit buildings, thrashing about discarded tickets, popped balloons, and the remains of what amounts to junk mail collected at vendor booths.

I suppose if God is everywhere, if God is, indeed, omnipresent, then the Holy Spirit is having a field day in this insignificant corner of the world, abandoned temporarily by human activity. I also suppose this thought doesn't excite many people, me included. Speaking of God's everywhere-presence carries little weight when the setting doesn't lend to our lives being important. Plots of land existing a day after massive activity has ceased lends nothing to my striving to be consequential. They are just places with wind and junk and the ghosts of revelers past.

Driving by the fairgrounds, contemplating the emptiness of it all, I thought of loss. I thought of how we are all walking around with the weight of loss, both experienced and inevitable, and how in many ways loss defines the condition we are in. We once were lost, now we're found, once were blind, now we have sight-- But we just keep losing until the end.

In light of all this, all we have to offer is a scratched-voice cry for help. Luckily, God is here, present, ready to fill the empty spaces, even has he dances along the trash filled streets of a now-over county fair.

New Wheels...

Driving something a little beat up and a little out of the ordinary is a good way to be recognized. Driving it for almost ten years will in some ways marry your image to the image of that car. Such has been the case with a little red '96 Eagle Talon and me. If someone sees a car that looks like that car, it is likely me behind the wheel. The rusted black rooftop, spider-web crack in the windshield, missing driver side mirror coupled with a door handle that doesn't work on the driver's side, all say one thing-- Craig.

But no more. After years of prodding from those who love me most, I'm now driving a new car. '96 Eagle Talon has gone to the graveyard of 16-year old's first vehicles, and in it's place '07 Saturn Ion has emerged. I'm now a mortal, just like the rest of Waco.

Damn, I'll miss that Talon.

Who am I kidding? No I won't.

I will, however, miss the feeling of not having a car payment due at the end of the month.

Wow...

5-0 (By the grace of the Almighty.)

Still Here...

I read something recently that addressed the state of the blog. It spoke of how "wired" the whole world is and how bloggers have to constantly be updating their site or it gets ignored. One pastor of a fairly large church resigned his position just so he could minister to the world through his blog. Another blogger stated that if he went more than six hours without posting even the slightest "I have nothing to say," then he would start to receive emails wondering if he was ok.

This is constantly in my mind. I've been spending a lot of time just taking care of myself and my dog, and working. But there's always that voice that says if I wait much longer to start writing, then people will stop reading. And, over the past few years, some of my self-worth has been based on knowing many of you are reading. I've recognized this and have tried to deliberately pace myself with everything I do.

So this is me saying thanks for reading, and be patient. I'm trying to prioritize.

But I'll give you a tiny nugget of something insignificant, but somewhat humorous, going on in my life-- You know those movies that give voices to animals? And how extremely awesome they are? Well lately, in my mind, I've given a voice to my dog Jane. It's the voice of Queen Latifah.

I believe in the "T" of Tulip...

(Fair Warning: F-Bomb contained herein)
_________________

This isn't a post about injustice or racism. It's about depravity.

In all the media frenzy over the injustices being done in Jena, La., the thing I hear most often from commentators is some version of "Can you believe people are still acting like this in 2007?" And it's not just with this situation. I watch a lot of cable news, probably way too much. This entire genre of journalism thrives on filling what used to be empty hours for news with the tales of the idiotic. It's really just Cops for the white collar crowd.

Over and over what do we hear? "Can you believe people actually act this way and do these things?"

And I just sit back on the couch and shake my head in wonder at the surprise of the elite that the human race is so extremely messed up. My only thought is that anyone who would be shocked at the behavior of people has never in their lives been responsible for the restrooms of a retail establishment.

Over the course of five years, spend hours plunging toilets, cleaning defecation off walls, and mopping sexual fluids off the floor, and then assess whether or not you can believe that people are fundamentally jacked up. A former, now deceased pastor and friend of mine would describe this condition as us being "Totally fucked up individuals," and I can't think of a phrase that better describes the state we are in.

Anyway, all that to say... No CNN and MSNBC, I'm not surprised. I actually CAN believe people are still acting this way. Here's a plunger, come see for yourself.

Don't let them all fly by...

Ask the Lake kids what Craig's favorite day of the week is and they will tell you "Monday." Ask them why and they will say "Because he loves us and he gets to see us on Mondays." They'll tell you this because they have been trained to. They'll also say it in a monotone disinterest, acting bored at such an obvious fact.

A typical Monday has me getting off of work around 3:00, heading home to change clothes, then waiting on the front porch with my dog. Since the house I'm now living in is just around the corner from the kids' school, it is not a long wait.

It used to be that when Jude first saw me he'd come running with his arms open wide for a hug. Today, however, I got a cursory wave and a "Hi, Craig," as he bolted toward Jane. He loves that dog so much. Jen tells me he sometimes mentions her in his nightly prayers for the things he is thankful for. She is resting quietly on the floor beside me right now, and perhaps this is her doing the same. Who knows?

After taking Avery and Jude to help me run an errand, (We are rotating weeks where Jen has one kid, I have two,) we then went over to MLK park for a few minutes of play. When we got back to the house I had Avery and Jude take turns walking Jane. She is so good with them. With me she runs against the leash, coming close to pulling my arm off. With them, however, she was calm and relaxed, as if she were training them in the ways of the world.

By this point my old friend and new neighbor Brandon Durham had ridden up and was hanging out on our front porch. (Have I mentioned I have a front porch?) I suggested to the kids that we join him as we were waiting for their mom and Sutton to return. I told them we could sit on the front porch like old people and talk about our tomato crops, fig preserves, and pickled okra. Pulling the humor from my past, I didn't expect any reaction. But both Jude and Avery gave a hearty chuckle, as if they understood all the nuances of nostalgia and East Texas folklore. I suppose, though, it was just that the words "fig preserves" and "pickled okra" are funny on the ears, especially if they are not a part of your common lexicon.

Jen eventually drove up and she and Sutton got out of the vehicle to visit for a bit before she had to take them all to get ready for a soccer game. We shot the bull, our conversation running the gamut from tatoos to landscaping, to lying to the kids about the "Coke" bottle caps they found on the porch. (They were "Miller Lite" caps.)

After the Lake clan headed off, I sat with Brandon, talking about our days, my upcoming vacation, and what a great dog Jane is. In the midst of all this Britt dropped by. He was running his final errand of the day, taking his office deposit to the bank across the street, so he stopped by to say hello. I introduced him to Brandon, trying to make the requisite connections, which was easy because both grew up in East Texas.

Brandon went on his way to work related chores while Britt and I remained. Then Holly, Britt's fiance' and my down-the-street neighbor showed up and more talking about days ensued. We were all hungry and so they suggested we head out to China Spring from Zebbs Grill, or something like that. Since it was Monday and Monday's are always the day I begin and end my commitment to healthy eating, I thought why the hell not? So we went and we ate and enjoyed each other's company.

Later I was walking Jane and the words to a Keith Urban song got lodged in my head and I realized once again that these mundane days are about all we've got. But they've been given and that giving is a gift. And the best response is the opening of hands in acceptance, acknowledging the Gift Giver as merciful, graceful, and full of all-that-is-good-about-Mondays.

...what's your hurry, son, slow it down
taste wild honey, listen to the sound
of the wind that blowing through the trees
river is flowing to the sea
yeah they're all heading home just like you and me
life's for living, boy can't you see
that these are the days that we'll remember...
--Keith Urban, These Are the Days