The Life Less Traveled Has Moved

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The Ride of Your Life

You ever have one of those defining moments in your life?  You know the ones I’m talking about.  The ones where you’re facing some huge, insurmountable challenge, and you have to decide, am I going to go for it and take down Goliath?  Or am I going to run away like a scared little girl?

I used to have an unreasonable fear of heights, and every year, when my family would take our annual trip to King’s Island, I would have to decide if this was going to be the year I would conquer it.  And every year, I would come home utterly defeated.

But then I got a free pass through my middle school years.  I suspect we stayed home those years because my parents knew I would just sissy out when it came to the big rides.  What’s the point in spending all of that money and driving to Cincinnati, just to watch your son eat cotton candy? 

So, throughout junior high I got to lay low and pretend my acrophobia didn’t exist.  Then in the summer of 1987, the summer I turned fifteen, King’s Island introduced its first new roller coaster in years, the Vortex. 

From the moment I saw the TV commercial that featured a monstrous, robotic hand twisting metal coaster track in its grip, I knew my time had arrived.  The Vortex would be the altar where I would sacrifice my fear of heights. 

Losing Your Marbles?

There’s nothing like an element of danger to do wonders for your prayer life.  Put most of us in a risky situation, and suddenly we’re praying like Billy Graham.  Take my friend Jenn for instance.   She serves as a small group leader for elementary boys. Can you imagine any more dangerous profession?

A few months ago, she got a lesson that sent her straight to her knees.   She opened her e-mail to see that the lesson required marbles.  Marbles!  She had led these boys long enough to know that they could weaponize anything.   Like miniature McGyvers they could transform the most common objects into implements of disaster. 

So, Jenn bowed her head and prayed a common mother’s prayer, “Lord, please keep them from throwing marbles at each other or getting them stuck in their noses.”

If ever someone needed an answer to prayer, this was the time.   Sunday rolled around and she was still nervous. 

When she sat down with her boys, though, she relaxed as she handed out the marbles and saw how excited they were to receive their toy. 

She told them firmly, “Do not throw these marbles or stick them in your noses.”  Seemed clear enough, right?  Unfortunately, she did not mention other body parts.  Then she made the mistake of glancing down in her supply basket to pull out her remaining supplies.

She forgot the first rule of children’s ministry.  Never take your eyes off of elementary boys.

“Look, Miss Jenn,” one boy said.  “I put it in my ear.”  Rats.  She hadn’t said anything about their ears. 

Once again she gave them a stern warning.  “Do not put the marbles in your ears.”  By this time several boys had to take their marbles out of their ears just to hear her.  She realized she hadn’t prayed at all about their ears.   Oh well, now she had things under control, and they could move on with their lesson.

Just as she was about to continue, a small quiet boy named Colin approached her and looked up with his big, blue eyes. “Um, Miss Jenn,” he said.

“Yes, Colin?”

“I put my marble in my pants, and I can’t find it.”

She hadn’t prayed about that possibility either.   She laughed to herself and told Colin to stand up and try to shake the marble down his pant leg.  He shook and shimmied and wiggled, but still no marble.  So Jenn took the cuff of his leg and tried to shake it out herself.  Nothing.

While she was in mid-shake, Colin looked down at her and said, “Yeah . . . I think I may have lost it in my underpants.”

All she could think was that it was good thing they got to take those marbles home.

Sometimes when I pray, God answers with a spectacular “yes,” solving my problem or supplying my need.  Other times, He tells me plainly, “no” or “wait,” just as I frequently have to tell my own children.  Then there are the times when He doesn’t seem to answer at all, times when He feels distant and maddeningly silent.  In those seasons I can get bitter or simply choose to wait and trust, knowing that I can count on God’s character.  

But my favorite times are the times I pray and God answers with the unexpected, the ridiculous, the hilarious, the adventure that gives me great stories to make me smile later down the road.  Some days when life is so hectic and I feel like I’m losing my marbles I think of Colin and pray a little that God won’t just give me what I ask for but what I truly need.

My Perfect Facebook Life

Social media is an awesome way to connect with all kinds of people, but when it comes to your online persona, just how honest are you?

For my take on this, check out my article, "My Perfect Facebook Life," just published online in Southern Indiana Living Magazine. 

Also, don't miss the sidebar,"What If Real Life Were Like Facebook?"  Thanks to my Facebook Friends for all of your awesome ideas. 

Print version hits the stands in a couple of days.

Too Good To Be True

Last fall my wife and I began house-shopping, hoping to get into something affordable while interest rates were low.  We looked at several homes but couldn’t find anything in our price range until one day our realtor stumbled onto a bank foreclosure. 

One glance inside and we fell in love.  It had to be the nicest looking foreclosure anyone had ever seen.  The front door opened to a two-story living room with a stone fireplace that went floor to ceiling.  Everywhere we looked we found cool touches like a window seat in the master bedroom and a Jack and Jill bathroom that would connect our girls’ rooms upstairs.  To top it all off, the bank had given it a fresh coat of paint and replaced all of the carpet. 

I couldn’t believe we were going to get into a house considerably larger than ours for almost the same house payment.  It seemed too good to be true.

Then we had the home inspection.  Not good. 

A Beautiful Mess

One Saturday morning last fall my 2 year-old daughter Kate bounced up to me and tugged on my shirt to get my attention.

"What is it, Babe?"  I asked.

"Wa-wa. Mess," she said.

Hmm.  I didn't think much about it because she's always playing in the bathroom sink, splashing water all over the counter and herself. Little did I know that she'd taken things to a whole new level.

About an hour later I went to get my laptop, the precious laptop that I use for all of my writing projects. What I saw sent shivers down my spine.  Water and lots of it.

An ominous pool seeped out from underneath the computer. An empty glass lay on its side nearby. Though I'm no detective, I began to suspect I wouldn't like where this trail of clues was leading me.

God of the Blank Page

At the end of last December, I faced an early deadline for this column because of the New Year’s holiday.  I was fried from a week of travel and celebration and did not feel like getting up early to write. But a deadline is a deadline, so I dragged my groggy self out of bed and fired up the laptop.

Nothing. I had nothing to say.

I’d been writing holiday-themed pieces for the past few months, milking Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas for all they were worth. I thought I would wrap it up with a New Year’s column, but I didn’t have a real idea.

All I had was an empty Word document and a ticking clock.