Thoughts and Musings

Made to meet your Maker

I am standing beside a tiny creek that runs parallel to Hwy. 103, about a mile outside of Mount Airy.  I'm in that area where the ground becomes less firm, and I can feel my black Sunday dress shoes giving in to the soft earth.  I am there with a dozen or so folks, including the family who invited me to be here with them after their loved one died in late spring; invited me to join them behind the small structure on the side of the road that used to house the family store. We've come to this place to spread the ashes of their beloved wife and mother in the creek behind the old store; a space that has deep meaning for them.  Sacred spaces can be hallowed sanctuaries of brick and mortar and stained glass, but they can also be a small creek off a remote highway.  And that is where we are now.

I am standing there with the full realization that I've never done anything like this before.  Funerals and memorial services, graveside committals, even the burying of ashes - I've done plenty of those in my nearly 17 years of ministry.  But spreading ashes in a creek?  This is something new.

They are looking at me to tell me they're ready to begin.  I've planned out a few things to say - but I've also left a lot of space, because I've done this sort of thing long enough to know when I need to script it out and when I need to step aside and get out of the way.  And so I begin by acknowledging the beautiful day, by reading a few scriptures about rivers and water, and by telling them how rivers are a metaphor for life: they flow constantly, and they only flow one way.  There's no reversing the course of the river, and there's no way to stop the water from running the way it goes.  Life, it turns out, acts much the same way.  And so as we commit these ashes to the waters, knowing they will be taken somewhere, I tell them that we commit our loved one to the journey that we are not yet able to go on ourselves.  But one day it'll be our time to take a trip down the river, where we will meet our God and the loved one who went on before us.

I've said all I need to say.  I motion to the widower and his middle-aged daughters, and together the three remove their shoes and step out into the creek, where the water's flow is strongest.  Those standing on the bank are tossing small flowers in, and it is a beautiful scene.

And that is when Mumford & Sons' "Awake My Soul" starts playing.

I'd almost forgotten that they told me they were going to do this - a song they said she loved.  With us unaware, the son-in-law had pulled the car up behind the small gathering and opened its windows, and now the space is filled with that familiar, flowing octave-D intro.  Small flowers continue to fill the air and water as the words come....

        How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes
        I struggle to find any truth in your lies
        And now I am certain of things I don't know
        My weakness I feel I must finally show.

It is never easy to let go of our loved ones when it is their time.  We are created to live; and while dying is a part of life, it's that part further down the river that we can't see.  So we are afraid of it, for ourselves and for others.  And yet, in order to let go, we have to go into our weakness - just as these three were doing, stepping into the chilly water and onto the rocky uneven creek bed, holding each other's hands for both physical and emotional stability.... 

        Lend me your hand and I'll conquer them all
        But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall
        Lend me your eyes, I can change what you see
        But your soul you must keep totally free

They open the plastic bag and tip the end down so the ashes begin their descent into the flowing waters. The journey has begun.  And as the water turns a smoky white, the descant fills the air around us like a musical benediction:

        Awake, my soul
        Awake, my soul

Yes, we are on holy ground, the likes of which I've never been on before.  

        In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
        Where you invest your love, you invest your life.

Memories of this person flow through my mind as her ashes now flow through the waters.  Her love for music and the people who shared that love.  Her passion for basketball - which reminds me of the last conversation I had with her at the Hospice home days before her death, when she snapped out of her cancer-driven fog long enough to describe in great detail the ball she was passing to me on some distant court.   Her amazing ability to get along with everyone and smile perpetually, even as her body failed her.  This woman had invested her love in so many places with so many people, and because of that her life would live on long after her remains made their way through the water into the woods.

The bag is now empty, and all the ashes have been sent on their way.  And so the three step out of the water and back on to the marshy land.  Tears fill their eyes, as they are filling the eyes of the rest of us.  A flowing water of a different kind.  The song is now picking up its tempo; the soft-flowing melody making way for the pulsing celebration as the creek begins to return to its normal color...

        Awake my soul
        Awake my soul
        Awake my soul
        You were made to meet your maker

Love you! Learn stuff!

Every weekday morning, depending on my wife's substitute teaching schedule, I engage in one of my favorite morning rituals: dropping the boys off at school.  My ten year-old son goes to one school, and he's long past the days of his Dad walking him in.  So we pull up in the circle; he opens the door and steps out, and I tell him the same thing every single morning: Love you! Learn stuff!

I take my eight year-old son to school next because his is closer to the church. Thankfully, he still enjoys his Dad walking him in.  So I park the car and we get out, and he grabs my hand before I reach for his.  I know this will change some day, but you can bet I'm enjoying it now.  I walk him into the lobby area - we used to go all the way to the classroom, but that was years ago.  For this second grader, the lobby is the established point of departure.  The handshake transforms into a brief hug and I say what I've always said to him since his very first day of preschool: Love you! Learn stuff!

A slight change-up this morning.  As we get to the lobby, I ask if I can take him all the way to his class.  Without hesitation he says yes.  But he lets go of my hand - an unspoken compromise, I'm guessing, for my special request.  That is fine.  We walk down the hallway and I playfully grab for his head, and he jukes me in the same way he's accustomed to doing with me on the basketball court at home.  When we get to his classroom, I give him a quick hug, I say my thing, and watch him take his seat before turning and heading to the parking lot.

Maybe he knows the reason I asked to walk him to his class was because somewhere in Boston today, there is a father who wasn't able to do the same thing with his eight year-old son.  Maybe he doesn't.  If I had to guess, I imagine he's aware at some level; because kids are much more perceptive than we give them credit for, and because my wife and I made the decision after Newtown that our boys were old enough to know, that trying to shield them from stuff like what happened in Boston yesterday was futile in an age when our kids are almost as electronically-plugged in as we are.  As long as they know we can talk about our fears and concerns as a family, and that we're all in this together.

God, I'm tired of the sick, numbing ritual our society seems to be engaging in more and more these days: the sudden, out-of-nowhere "breaking news," the multi-tasking of watching cable news and scanning Facebook and Twitter feeds, trying to piece together a puzzle whose final picture we already know we won't want to see; the increasing injury and death counts, the names and pictures and faces and personal stories of ended lives, and the inevitable movie/music star benefit concert televised live on a Friday night with the 888 number scrolling at the bottom of the screen.  I'm tired of the ritual of having one more location stripped of its innocence, a mental checklist we keep and remember: elementary schools, movie theaters, houses of worship, college campuses, summer youth camps, and now marathon finish lines.  I'm tired of the thought that runs circles in my head after the initial shock wears off, when I can momentarily pull my thoughts away from the television screen and the website: Here we go again.  It's a ritual that I hate and despise; and sadly, one that is feeling more and more familiar.

Which is why I so desperately need the other rituals.  The ritual of going to work, of dinner with my family, of running three miles in the morning, of listening to and performing music, of checking in on a homebound church member, of writing a sermon, of a lunch date with my wife, of gathering with the body of Christ on Sunday mornings, of dropping my sons off at school and saying Love you! Learn stuff!  These rituals are the important ones, if for no other reason than they're the very ones those who planted the bombs in Boston want most to disrupt.  They want me to be afraid of going to schools and movie theaters and houses of worship and college campuses and summer youth camps and marathon finish lines and the next unknown place where some unspeakable tragedy will happen.  They want me to live in fear.

I'm not going to give them that pleasure.  It's nerve-racking dropping my boys off at school where they will be somewhere I am not, but I am going to refuse to cave in to the fear they so desperately want me to drown in.  I'm just not going to do it.  I'm going to refuse for me and my family, for my church and community, for a father in Boston who will never be able to drop his son off at school again.  I'm going to keep doing what I do, and I'm going to do it out of love. Which is always greater than fear. Always.

And you better believe I'm going to hold his hand as long as he'll let me.

Imagine when...

I was catching a cup of coffee after a presbytery meeting at my favorite coffee house in Winston-Salem, Krankies.  I had my computer with me and was going to work on a sermon, because that's what I'm always doing, and because I tend to do my best sermonizing when coffee is involved.  Anyway, I grabbed my cup of Kenyan and sat down at a table in the corner, and when I looked up at the wall next to me this is what I saw:

It's called an "Imagination Installation," a local movement of sorts in the area; and per its website it's about "harnessing the collective power of our community's dreams."  Which, in case you're wondering, is awesome.  So was this wall - dozens of small lime green signs tacked and taped all over the place, each with the simple title "Imagine When...."at the top,  and lots of space underneath for folks to write whatever.

So the sermon would have to wait awhile, because in truth I was looking at tons of little sermons on the wall of this coffee house, and it's always good when the preacher gets preached too. Here are a few that particularily spoke to me:

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...the word "can't" is lost from the spoken language

...people "make each other right"

...we decide to invest in happiness instead of war and hatred.

...nutritiuous local food is abundantly available everywhere and is preferred

...elected officials work for the good of the people, not for the power of the office

...human beings realize we are stewards of this earth, and no more important than any other living being

...we are not strangers

...there is a woman in the White House!

...we recognize that "the kingdom of God is here" (no waiting required)

..very child can squish mud between his or her toes in a creek

..we dream together to empower each other, rather than live in isolation

...we grow food rather than lawns, and share that food with our community

..we all Iive in the moments like our dogs, cats and horses do.

...our economic system rewards cooperation, collaboration and generosity over competition

...we all realize we are happier the more we give and love others, rather than how much we get and are loved.

...public art is on every corner in downtown Winston-Salem

...we know that life comes from death

...color is a hue that a painter uses to transform the canvas :-)

...the health care system is healed

..all pets have an owner that is loving and caring and a comfortable place to be

...corporations figure out that creativity and innovation comes from liberated, encouraged and respected employees

...children and adults go outside and play every day

...education rewards innovation and creativity more than compliance

...every child comes home at the end of school to a loving family member and a plate of cookies and milk

...each of us life our lives with respect and honor of all living beings

...we all remember that we're one big family

...people have the courage to be themselves

...we all let our authentic selves shine!

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Of course, I got in on the act. Here's the one I did.  If you know me, this should come as no surprise:


You know what I liked most about this excellent use of coffee house wall space? It's "Imagine When," not "Imagine If."  It's only a matter of time, folks.  Let's get busy.

Thor has a new home

An update on my blog from a few weeks ago about our foster dog Thor: he got himself a new home yesterday.  Which was our intention all along, you'll recall, when we decided to welcome the little furball into our lives back in late January.  You may not have believed me when I told you we were serious about him being just a foster dog. Glad I was able to make a believer out of you.

Well, not 100% glad.  Even with chaotic new doggie routines and the occasional puppy bites (I'm looking at a nice little mark on my hand at the moment), it's inevitable that you're going to get attached.  I think the neatest part was watching his progress.  When he came to us, he was a pretty unruly little fella.  Hopelessly cute, but unruly. Now he was snapping less and cuddling more.  And he was growing like crazy. You don't get into the foster dog business without a little eventual heartache.

We met the new family at a neutral site in Mount Airy; the home of Regina, a Surry Animal Rescue volunteer who was instrumental in the whole adoption process. The family was from nearby Winston-Salem - three kids ages 4-12, and a Golden Retriever named Jake.  Great people. They had lost one of their dogs just two months ago and were eager to be a two-dog family again. Thor was his energetic and adorable self, and they were hooked from the start. Regina pulled my wife and I aside at one point: I think this is a good match, she whispered. It's up to you.

There's a certain level of awkwardness in this type of situation, in case you're wondering.  There's no manual for determining when it's time to go.  It's more a sense of the inevitable being not some distant and dreaded point in the future, but now.  We shook hands, said our goodbyes.  My last memory of Thor was watching him run around the fenced-in backyard with the little four-year old girl, both of them cute as could be, both ready to grow up together and run around many more times together.  And I realized that this scene and the future the two will share would've never been possible had it not been for someone posting a puppy picture on Facebook and my wife sending them a message. And that made me smile.

Suffice to say we're gonna miss the little fella.  But he's going to be in good hands, and that's all we really ever wanted. If not us, we're very glad it's them.

Seriously, he's just a foster dog. Seriously.

Seriously.

Don't think I'm not aware of what's taking place on the other side of this computer screen. I sense your doubting thoughts; I see your mocking smile.  But trust me: he's just a foster dog.  And for the record, it's not like we go out looking for these animals. It's been like this for as long as I can remember.  Call it a Lindsley thing: we don't find stray animals.  They find us.  

Like Lady, who ran out in front of the family car on Halloween night 2008.  Or Rocky the boxer, who wandered into our front yard as my younger son and I were walking home from preschool.  Or Bandit the dog who we inherited from an animal rescue - in 1999.  Or Sydney our cat, who camped out one spring morning in a box in my front yard many years ago.  I thought I was breaking the cycle when I talked my then-girlfriend into taking the cat. Which she did.  And then I married that girlfriend. So I got the cat back. Darn thing found me twice.

And yes, I'm aware that still having these animals in our possession does not exactly support my "foster pet" claim. I'll grant you that.  But I'm telling you, it's different this time.  Thor - as the animal shelter in Virginia took to calling him - will seriously be a foster dog, no question about it. He will have a permanent happy home, but it won't be with us.

Seriously.

I will say, though, that Thor took this "finding a sucker" thing to a whole new level.  Apparently "running in front of the car" or "wandering into the front yard" is so five years ago. Who would've thought that a pup, mere weeks old, would be that social-media savvy.  That's where Thor found us - on Facebook.  Apparently he used his indelible puppy cuteness to wield control over a Facebook acquaintance of my wife's, compelling her to post his picture in her timeline with the explanation: At the Patrick County Animal Shelter. Needs a good home.

The pup's face bore a striking resemblance to a Golden Retriever my wife lost a few years ago; a beloved companion she acquired fresh out of law school.  My wife may not be practicing law anymore, but she still knows how to win an argument. Actually, she knows how to win an argument without actually having the argument, which is a brilliant skill.  The way she started talking with me about the whole thing, it was as if the decision had been agreed to in a previous conversation, and I'd just completely forgotten about it.  Maybe that was it.  Or maybe I just didn't care to put up a fight.

He bites like crazy, the animal shelter told her. That's why no one wants to adopt him.  Apparently both the shelter and potential owners had missed the memo about young pups biting things. But that's okay.  My wife hails from a long line of dog whisperers and would break Thor from his gnawing ways.  You know, so his next and permanent owner wouldn't have to deal with the bloody aftermath. Because Thor would be just a foster dog, mind you.

Seriously.

And so there I was, driving up to Stuart, VA to pick Thor up on Monday afternoon, so he'd be there when the rest of the family got home from school.  Was I excited?  Sure I was.  This would be the luckiest dog in the world, along with those other lucky foster pets of ours, Rocky and Bandit and Lady and Sydney.  The vet handed him to me with a bag full of medicine and a paper about his neutering surgery the week prior; I handed them the homemade chocolate chip cookies my wife made them.  On the car trip home I was pleased to learn first-hand that Thor's bodily functions worked properly, even if it meant driving the majority of the trip with the windows rolled down on a January day and a bottle of hand sanitizer within reach. 

Thor hit the North Carolina ground running, quite literally, thanks to two energetic boys who were totally excited to play with their new puppy they wouldn't be keeping permanently.  He did his biting thing, but he wasn't nearly the beast he'd been made out to be.  His presence was met with tremendous intrigue and more than a hint of jealousy from the other foster dogs permanently residing at the Lindsley Inn.  Especially Rocky, the "top dog" who is used to having the house interior all to himself.  We'll have to work on that.  Anyway, when Thor finally crawled into his crate for the night, he barely made it all the way inside before collapsing from exhaustion.  It was a good day for the little fella.  These pets know what they're doing when they pick us Lindsleys.

If you're interested in adopting Thor, get in line.  My wife already has a list of folks who've expressed interest, and she's going to be picky.  Which she should be, because Thor is an awesome dog.  If we didn't have three already, we'd probably keep him for ourselves.  But we won't be doing that, you understand.  He's a great dog, but he's just a foster dog. Seriously, that's all he is.

 Seriously.

 ***********

UPDATE 2.13.2013 - As of this afternoon, Thor is with his new adopted family.  They're from Winston-Salem - three kids ages 4-12, and a Golden Retriever named Jake.  You can read all about it HERE. Thanks to Regina Edwards and the fine folks at Surry Animal Rescue for connecting us with some great people. 

 

Life after being Mediocrely Bad

Here's a lesson I've learned in my 40+ years on this planet: it's easy saying "Yes" to something you love.  It's harder saying "goodbye" to the same.

About six years ago I got a call from my good friend and fellow Mayberry musician Jerry Chapman, asking me if I wanted to play keys in one of his bands, Mediocre Bad Guys.  The "yes" came quick and easy - it was a no-brainer.  While music is just an avocation for me, and I had done the solo acoustic thing for decades, the thing I'd always wanted to do is be in a band with guys who shared a similar taste in music.  Excluding the pseudo prog-rock trio that Michael Propst, Greg Faucette and I had for a single weekend my senior year in high school, it never happened.

The six years since that phone call have been quite a ride. Les, Jerry, Gary, David, and Doug have pushed me musically in ways I never could have myself.  We've played at numerous festivals, wineries, clubs, bars, weddings, street parties, July 4 parades, fundraisers, birthday parties, and neighborhood backyards.  We've shared the stage with the Rolling Stones sax player on either three or four occasions (it's kind of cool when you lose count of something like that) which you can reminisce HERE, HERE and HERE). Recently we've flexed our collective songwriting muscles and recorded what I believe to be some pretty nifty original tunes.  I've hauled Les's awesome Yamaha stage piano and Hammond XK3 (and yes, they're Les'; pretty much everything the band has is Les') across parking lots and up countless stairs, and I've given my brain an incredible spatial configuration workout every time I've tried to cram that godawful keyboard stand into any vehicle, no matter how big or small (you keyboard players out there feel my pain). I even picked up a new instrument on account of the band, adding an accordion to my arsenal.

In short, I've had an absolute blast.

But earlier this year, I felt something change.  Not my feelings about the band, mind you.  I still loved making music with Doug, Jerry and Les.  No, it wasn't about subtraction as much as addition.  Something else was entering the picture.  It was fuzzy at first, but over time the clarity came.  And it revolved around my family - specifically, my two boys.  When I first signed on, our boys were four and two; young enough where neither really noticed when I was away at an evening practice or gig.

But now they were 9 and 7, and it was clear that they missed me when I wasn't around.  My absences were noticed - and felt - more acutely.  And this realization was the tipping point: in just a few years they would be teenagers, and they wouldn't give a rat's behind where I might be.  I had this window, and I needed to jump on it.

Telling the guys my decision was a hard conversation, for sure.  These are not just bandmates; they're good friends.  But they understood, because they're fathers too. And because they're good friends.

That was back in September.  I told them I'd be happy to honor the gigs we'd already committed to through the end of the year.  Which means my last stand as a Mediocre Bad Guy will be on the very last day of the year - a New Year's Eve extravaganza at Old North State Winery in downtown Mayberry (here's the Facebook event if you wanna come).  Going out with a bang for sure.

I know that Les, Jerry and Doug are making plans to keep Mediocre Bad Guys chugging along in some configuration. Which is exactly what they should do.  Those dudes are way too talented not to make music together.  And I'm excited about the transition I'll be making to being a fan of theirs.  I'll be the first to download the original tunes they'll keep releasing; I'll enjoy being part of the crowd at some 2013 gig.

For the record, I won't be hanging up the music thing completely.  Back a few months ago, we auditioned for a band reality TV show on AMC; and if MBG gets the nod I'll be part of that.  I'll keep doing the solo acoustic thing, hanging on to a few regular gigs.  And who knows - maybe an occasional guest appearance with the band if they should ever ask.  After all, it's a small musical community we're part of here in the Greater Mayberry metropolis. Like Bono once said, being in a band is a lot like being in the mafia.  You really can't say "never."

I'm like a lot of people, I think, in that I struggle to let go of things when it's time to.  After all, being human is about being a creature of habit.  And most of us spend our waking hours all wrapped up in "doing" rather than "being;" crossing things off the list rather than taking a step back to check out what's actually on that list.  I'm glad I stepped back earlier this year; and while it means saying goodbye to something I've really enjoyed, it's going to help me focus myself where I need to be focused going forward.  Who knows - maybe my boys and I are meant to start up a band.  

Letting go of being mediocrely bad is going to be weird, for sure.  But I'll figure it out. With a lot of great memories and music to stay with me.

Unrefined thoughts in uncertain times

I'm one of those bloggers who tends to meticulously pore over my drafts before hitting the green "Publish" button - much the same way I do with my sermons.  Wanting to make sure every sentence, phrase, words is in its proper place.

But not this time.  I'm just going to type it and post.  Because sometimes, you won't be able to find the perfect set of words no matter how much refining you do.

I've been a parent for over ten years now, and I've never been so frightened.  Tuning in to the news networks throughout the day has been like uncovering a wound that you didn't think was as bad at first, only to slowly learn how deep it goes.  As of this post: 30 people dead at the elementary school in Connecticut; roughly 20 of which are children between the ages of 5 and 10.

The shooter has a name.  There's a back story developing; something about how his mother was a teacher there and how she was killed, along with a number of her kintergarden students.  No doubt we'll learn more about him and that back story; no doubt we'll see his face plastered on our television screens and newspapers and websites many more times than we care to - as we do every time this happens and it sure seems to be happening a whole lot more often these days.

I'm scared to death.  Not about guns or the warped people who use them to act out, but scared about all the things I can't control when it comes to my life and the life of my family.  Every day I kiss my wife as she heads out the door to work - at, of all places, an elementary school.  Every day I drop my boys off at their respective schools and hardly give it a thought.  As I said in a Facebook post earlier today, this sure is one of those "hug-your-kids-a-little-tighter" kinda days today.  Or, as someone commented, "a lot tighter."

And with Christmas approaching, of all things!  Where is the peace and hope we're supposed to seek?  Where is the promise fulfilled, the Good News??  To which I remind myself that Jesus was not born into a world of peace and hope, but came to make that possible.  The circumstances around his birth were anything but peaceful, hopeful.  Roman rule and oppression.  A young unmarried mother.  Traveling way out of town.  No room at the inn.  It was chaotic, crazy, out of control.  Like today.

Come, Immanuel, Come.  Never have those words meant more to me than now.  I just want Jesus to get here, and get here quick.  To bring that peace and hope we obviously are in such desperate need of.  To give us some good news for a change.

In the meantime, we'll pray for all the families in Connecticut tonight who are having to face the unthinkable.  We'll pray for teachers and schools across the country.  We'll pray for all of us.  We'll just pray.

Our Disney Trip in tweets, 2.0.

When our family took our first trip to Disney World back in May 2010, I honored my wife's request to not post our adventures in the social media world while away from home.  But I took good notes - well, tweets - and shared them en masse upon our return. 

It seemed to work well, so why not try it again?  Here's our most recent family foray into the world of Mickey.  Enjoy.

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DAY 1 - TRAVEL DAY #1, PALM COAST

Just realized I won't open my laptop for a whole week. I'm so okay with that.

Disney, here we come! Driving this time, though. Pricey plane tickets. First stop: Palm Coast, FL. Nine-hour drive. Nearly double our longest family car ride. Prayers appreciated.

"Dad, he tried to bite me!" #eldersonspeaks #arewethereyet

Holy crap, this is a long drive.

Finally arrivee in Palm Coast, FL after ten hours in the car. Dinner at a place on the beach. Two old guys who look like Jethro Tull rejects playing acoustic & flute.

OMG. They actually play Jethro Tull.  Who would've thought...

My ten-year old is asking the Jethro Tull duo to play something from Aqualung. What the heck...?

Tom Petty's "Last Dance With Mary Jane" with a flute. Alrighty then...

Flute guy is now playing sax on The Stones' "Brown Sugar." Should I tell him at break that I've played with the actual Stones sax player? #bragging

Bed. Aaaaaahhhh......

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DAY 2 - TRAVEL DAY #2, ANIMAL KINGDOM

Dear hotel management: your AC works. Very well. Too well. #FrozenChosen

Two-hour drive left to Disney. Hope this isnt a cold I feel coming on. Coffee, stat.

Drove by the Trinity Broadcasting Network campus in Orlando right next to I-4. Fake gold is as plentiful on the outside of building as it is on inside.

On the last leg of the trip: "Hey Dad, can you put in some Peal Jam?" #youngersonspeaks #proudpapa

All checked in at the Disney All Star Music resort. Rock section. Don't tell me you're surprised.

Animal Kingdom - it begins!  Fast Pass for Expedition Everest acquired. Now on to Kali River rapids.

For the record, the Disney mobile app is awesome for checking wait times.

Slightly damp, thanks to River Rapids ride. Heading to Kilomanjaro Safari.  Hungry, but our sit-down lunch isn't until 2:30.

Good lord. 1:49 and SO hungry. I could seriously eat whatever it was they were feeding that gazelle back at the safari.

Lunch, finally! Shrimp pasta. Some huge ice cream thing with brownies called the Volcano.

So I think I have either a cold or a sinus infection. Which, if true, kinda sucks.

Disney has people walking around with iPad devices whose sole job is to gather demographic info from you. Always planning their next move.

Mickey family pic: score!

William H. Macy's doppelgänger just walked by. Now that was weird!

Back at the hotel and out at the pool. Boys are swimming in this awesome Florida September weather. Still don't feel good. Grrrr...

Pool was close suddenly due to "unscheduled maintenance." Which apparently is the Disney way of saying "poo in the pool."

The best part? My eldest was the very last one out. In there for minutes with the lifeguard trying to get his attention. Just laying there. And no, he wasn't "that one"

Okay, enough of this. Heading to the nearest doc-in-a-box. Cue the "Steve gets sick on family trips" jokes...

Great. Apparently the best Mickey has to offer is an urgent care that closes at 8pm or a doc who will visit your room for $350. Will try to sleep it off. #DisneyFail

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DAY 3 - MAGIC KINGDOM

Early start to the day. We've got an 8:30am breakfast at the Crystal Palace in the Magic Kingdom. Upward & onward!

Piglet just took my coffee order and I got my picture taken with Tigger. Now I can die happy.

Health update: feeling okay. Sore throat. Stocked with Halls cough drops for the long haul. I know you were just dying to know.

Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger Spin score: 39,600. Feeling pretty good about myself.

Space Mountain. The high-techie-ness of this ride was a pretty big deal when it was built in the 70's. Now it's a retro high-techie-ness.

Every ride exit leads straight to a gift shop with a theme consistent with said ride. I think I'm seeing a pattern here...

Random observation: there are a lot of Italians here. Or at least people speaking fluent Italian.

Holy cow. Ran into one of Eldest's best friends in his class at school & his family. It really is a small world after all.

How is it possible that I'm hungry again? Oh, that's right - it's Disney & you're walking non-stop. Plus the smell of food is everywhere.

Walking around the park, speakers are hidden everywhere playing theme music appropriate for that part of the park. It's the little things that count.

Dear dude walking around with your t-shirt hiked up above your pecs: please, for the love of all that is good and Disney, stop.

There's a guy riding the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad roller coaster with his camera out taking pics. He will officially lose that camera in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.....

In the middle of Its A Small World: "Daddy, they play this song too much." #youngersonspeaks

Is it bad that, on the slow rides that run through indoor air-conditioned spaces, my attention is drawn to crevices off to the side that I could curl up in & take a nap? #tired

Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger Spin again Younger's score: 300,100. Not feeling so good about my score earlier in the day.

The Peoplemover. Alladin's carpets. The riverboat. Ten straight hours & counting.  All the rides are starting to blend together now.

Twelve hours after arriving, Younger & I are heading back. He doesn't like fireworks. I wanna hit the bed. Tonight, at least, we make a good team. Wife & Elder will be troopers & see it through to the end.

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DAY 4 - LAZY DAY, CHEF MICKEY'S, SCI-FI DINE IN THEATER

Temp back home in Mount Airy as kids go to school & parents to work: 45 degrees. Temp in Disney World as Lindsleys ease in to another Disney day: 73 degrees. Yesssssss.

"Man, that was the largest washcloth I'd ever seen!" #eldersonspeaks as he holds up a very damp hotel bathmat. Oh boy....

Family of 4-year old quintuplet girls & one younger brother waiting for brunch at Chef Mickey's. Girls are all made up in Mickey ears & bows. Mom looks pregnant. Dad looks tired.

Well, whadya know - more Mount Airy people! Good to catch up with Joey, Sally, Paxton & Kinley on their way out of Chef Mickey's!

Brunch consumed. Characters now visiting. Cool to see how my boys still get in to this.

The Dad at the table next to us is SO creeping on Minnie. Dude, control yourself.

Goofy just gave me a fist-bump. Dawg.

Realizing something today that I had picked up on when we were here last: there is absolutely no gum for sale anywhere in Disney, at any theme park. None. At all.

We are at Disney World, and what do the boys want to do on our free afternoon? Go to the cheesy hotel arcade. Sheesh.

Picked up some "Happy Anniversary" buttons for the wife & I at the front desk. It's a week away. The guy at the desk said the window was "anytime this year." I'll take that.

Oh my gosh. SO funny. Every Disney employee everywhere is wishing us a Happy Anniversary. Even some regular folks are joining in.

Sci Fi Dine-In Dinner theater at Hollywood Studios, where you sit in 50's cars and eat dinner while watching black & white Sci-Fi movies on the big screen. Awesome.

My favorite Sci-Fi movie title thus far: "Attack Of The 50-Foot Woman." This was an actual Hollywood movie, people. I need to find it.

On the bus ride back to the hotel, Younger falls asleep. At the moment, living vicariously through my boy.

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DAY 5 - EPCOT

I like Epcot, if for no other reason than the foods from all the countries.

Words of wisdom from my wife, who has done her share of Disney research: walk to the left when you enter the park. Most people walk to the right.

Standing in line for the Nemo ride, the boys are harmonizing on Green Day's "American idiot." Censored version, of course. #proudpapa

Love it in the "Turtle Talk With Crush" show that the sign language person signs "dude" and "righteous."

Had something called a "Spanish coffee" with dessert at lunch. Thought it was just straight-up coffee. Believe me, there was a lot more in it other than jo. Not sure if this will help the rest of my day or hurt it.

Soarin' is so cool, we're gonna do it again. Rockin' the Fast Pass!

Mission: Space. Flight to Mars. The more-intense version. So, lots of spins & G-force. Wife is sitting this one out in the gift shop.

Agent P's World Showcase Adventure, where kids get a phone-like device & have to find clues all over the place. Last time we did this it was Kim Possible. Not a fan. This time it's better, as are most things with a platypus.

Malestrom Norway ride = 30 minutes of my life that ill never get back. Lame.

All the Disney employees in China are Asian, except one - the Mulan Disney character everyone's getting pictures with. #DisneyFail

Overheard in Japan: "Wait, this isn't Germany?" What, was it the chopsticks that gave it away?

Walking through these Epcot countries, one might be led to think that all countries are nothing more than an endless series of thematic gift shops.

Ran into church members in France. Again, a small world!

And now the long line to get pics with the characters. But hey, they're showing cartoons!

Bus ride home was so packed I was standing & nearly fell back into some old lady's lap. That would've been a wild ending to the day!

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DAY 6 - HOLLYWOOD STUDIOS

It is quite obvious from watching TV while getting ready for the day that Florida is a swing state in the upcoming presidential election. #politicalads

"Come on in, Prince Charming!" says the Disney employee lady at the gate when Younger walks through. Big smile follows.

I gotta admit, I'm a little bummed neither of my boys want to do Jedi Training this time. #livingvicarioulsythroughymykids

Boys now playing in "Honey I Shrunk The Kids" playground. Which is cool, except last time we were here it was "Honey, I LOST the kids!"

Great. Honey I lost the kids. Again.

Honestly, I think they made HISTK to make parents look like complete idiots, running around trying to find their children.

Out with a head count of four. Thank God.

Dear dude standing in line: I'm pretty sure repeatedly dropping the "F" bomb is not part of the Disney experience.

Vomit alert in the Star Tours ride. Not from one of my boys, but on one of them. Eeew. Need a bathroom, stat.

Elder says he's not absolutely sure girl threw up on his leg & that it may have just been his sunscreen. Either way, we wash vigorously.

There are a lot of people in Disney sporting very bad tattoos. My fav was dude with a pic of some woman who looked nothing like the girl whose hand he was holding.

Eating lunch at a retro-50's place designed to look like grandma's kitchen. If the green beans taste like hers, we'll be in business.

Aerosmith's Rockin' Roller Coaster. A family affair. Zero to 60 in 2.6 seconds. That was some serious fun, and my favorite Disney picture by far!

My suggestion for Disney's next money-sucking venture: iPhone charging stations. Rates could increase in the afternoon. Would be more lucrative than overpriced food & gift shops.

About fell asleep in the Muppets show. This Dad is zonked. Miles to go before I sleep.

Toy Story Midway Mania. Where I give thanks to the good lord for Fast Passes that prevent a 75-minute wait.

And now, ladies & gents, the hour-long wait in line to get our family picture with Woody & Buzz, whoo-hoo!

This Woody/Buzz line is seriously starting to remind me of the line to see Santa in "A Christmas Story."

Kids in this line are dropping like flies. One little boy right in front of us is sobbing over & over again to his parents, "Take me out, PLEASE!" They're apparently not.

Honestly, Disney could have a beer stand in this line & make a killing. I'd personally shell out $10 for a Mich Ultra right now.

Kid in front of us is getting physical now. Dad is either giving him a drink of water or injecting him with a sedative. Can't quite tell.

Half an hour into things. More kids screaming. I fear a mutiny is upon us.

Okay, I'd pay $20 for that beer.

Getting close. Very close. Kid in front is showing hints of a smile. Maybe we'll get out of this alive!

Woody/Buzz family pic acquired! Now on to Pizza Planet for food and - you guessed it - an ice cold Yuelgling!

"This is freakin expensive," #eldersonspeaks, as he quickly burns through $5 in quarters in the Pizza Planet arcade.

Home. Bed. Another magical day in the books.

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DAY 7 - ONE LAST HURRAH AT MAGIC KINGDOM

Up early & packing. Boooooo

Disney thinks of everything. They even slightly deflate the toy balls in their gift shops so kids can't bounce them around. This truly fascinates me.

Incidentally, I am not fond of gift shops on the last day of Disney. They sap away your remaining time. Just call me Grumpy.

Hunter scored over 900,000 this time on Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger. Sweet Lord, shouldn't that win us an extra night's stay or something?

After much field study, it's a close call, but Aerosmith's Rockin' Roller Coaster > Space Mountain.

There's a big ugly black crane sticking up behind the castle where they're building the next phase of the theme park. Kind of a bummer for classic photo ops.

Let it be known: I will never get tired of the Haunted Mansion. Never. Ever.

Flashback from riding Splash Mountain circa 1976: I couldn't make up my mind if the inside part was supposed to be funny or scary. Loved it anyway. Still do.

Whoa! An egret just snatched Elder's burger right off his plate & flew away. Now that's one very hungry & very brave bird! And one bummed-out boy.

Dang. Time is slipping away. The bewitching hour is fast approaching. Gotta make the most of what's left here.

Not sure I understand my younger son's fascination with the PeopleMover. Maybe it's because there are no loud booming sounds. Whatever the case, here we go again....

Pirates of the Caribbean. Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Something with Mickey. Making every minute count!

The big gift shop on Main Street. This one I like. Searching for the perfect t-shirt before we hit the road.

So long, Disney. You've been great to the Lindsleys once again!

"Hunger Games" and other rites of passage

So our son started reading The Hunger Games a few days ago.  After some pretty heavy lobbying on his part, his Mom and I gave our approval. He'd just finished his fifth or sixth Diary of a Wimpy Kid book.  No signs of injury from the whiplash effect.

There's no manual to let parents know when their kids are ready for stuff like this. For better or for worse, the primary barometer we used was simply what other kids his age were doing.  It's funny how quickly that barometer can change.  Last year I proctored a non-EOG test for a fourth-grade class at my son's school; and when the kids finished nearly all of them, in one fluid motion, put their pencils down and reached into their desk to pull out some permutation of the Suzanne Collins series. Standing at the front of the classroom, it was like looking at a huge mosaic of Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay book covers.  I watched in fascination and thought, wow, how cool they're reading some thought-provoking stuff there.  Some day my son will be ready for that. Some day.

That was April.  This is August.  Four short months.  And suddenly my son is in the fourth grade. 

Sure, it's pretty heavy material, beyond just the violence.  Trying to digest the rudiments of a dystopian society, an unjust world with little redemption, and a ruthless dictator takes a certain level of sophistication.  But I'd rather have my son deal with these issues in the context of a good fictional book; and with me and his mother ready to engage him in conversation and open discussion (which, if you know my son, is certainly forthcoming).

And yeah, I know, it's just the beginning.  The taboo book was merely a launching pad into a slew of pre-adolescent rites of passage. Already he's asked about Facebook and a cell phone.  My wife and I are discussing the parameters for an allowance.  Again, no manual.  Parents are left to their own devices to feel their way through all of this - a parental rite of passage of its own, I'm quickly learning.

It's just so surreal, how fast it's all happening. And the reminders extend beyond my own flesh and blood. Last night we were enjoying a lazy evening at the swimming pool and I went to get a snack.  I rounded the clubhouse and came upon one of my son's classmates; a cool kid with a bubbly personality who always makes me smile.  Except she wasn't standing there in flip-flops sucking on a freeze pop with a Mickey Mouse towel draped over her shoulders, like she was just yesterday.  Or maybe that was three years ago.  No, there she was, driving a golf cart, decked out in spiked shoes and collared shirt. Presumably taking a soda to her father on the back nine, but still.

Every now and then I have this recurring daydream.  It's one where my sons and I sit around the TV on a Sunday afternoon and digest the Panthers pass protection and talk about how many years Cam Newton has left.  Or we check out the latest super hero movie - Avengers 6, we'll call it - and laugh at how it was just like all the others.  Or the four of us feel the collective surge of adrenaline in the arena at a U2 or Green Day or Switchfoot concert.  Or my wife and I suffer through six agonizing summer days without as much as a text or phone call from the boys as they relish in their newfound independence with the youth group at a week-long Montreat Youth Conference.  Or brochures for institutions of higher education start showing up in our mailbox, and they're not addressed to me.

It all seems so incredibly far off, until I realize: it's so much closer than I could possibly imagine. 

Sweet Jesus, what I'd give for that manual.

Kickin' back at the Wild Goose

Here's the first thing you need to know about the Wild Goose Festival: it's hot. As in temperature-hot. This is to be expected when you host an event in the heart of North Carolina at the end of June. It's going to be steamy.

Here's the second thing you need to know about the Wild Goose festival: it's a Christian festival, but not that kind of Christian festival. Taking its name from a Celtic symbol for unpredictability, beauty and grace, the Wild Goose Festival describes itself on its website as "a community creating a festival at the intersection of justice, spirituality and art."   Think Woodstock for Christian hippies without the drug use and with clothing.

And here's the third thing you need to know about the Wild Goose Festival, as stated by one of the organizer in their welcome Thursday (and I'm paraphrasing here): "If you are here because you know the truth and you want to make sure everyone else knows the same truth you do, then we want to encourage you to use this festival as your own personal retreat of solitude and silence." This was met, incidentally, with wild applause.  At the Wild Goose Festval, you learn quickly that personal agendas and soapboxes are left at the Shakori Hills entrance, and open dialogue and mutual respect and love take their place.

I had heard about the Wild Goose Festival from some family friends who went last year and absolutely loved it.  A few months ago I was asked to play music for one of the noon "Sacred Space" worship services at the festival, and the family decided to tag along.  We camped out one night and enjoyed a solid 24+ hours of the Wild Goose experience - more than enough to whet our appetite for next year.

So, what goes on at the Wild Goose?  A number of things.  Great music, everywhere, all the time.  On stage (David Lamotte and Derek Webb were two that I saw) and all around Shakori Hills under the shade of trees, people jamming away.  Wonderful speakers; folks whose books I'd been reading for years.  Brian McLaren, Phyllis Tickle, Shane Claiborne, Jim Wallis - just to name a very few. Booths all over the grounds for everything from seminaries and colleges and book publishers to the group against torture, the organization promoting clean water (very appropriate given our state's current flirtation with fracking), racial equality, world missions - you pretty much name it, it was there.  All while camping with the family under the shade of a cluster of trees, and with some former Mount Airy friends we hadn't hung out with in years.

The cool thing about the Wild Goose Festival is that everyone just kind of hangs out with each other, including the speakers and musicians.  There are no walls separating the "names" from the masses, and that's exactly the point.  So it was nothing to see Brian McLaren "emerge" from his tent just a few campspots away from yours, or Phyllis Tickle chatting it up over a cup of cool lemonade with a young couple holding their two-year old daughter, or Derek Webb discussing favorite bands with the guy at the seminary booth.  It's what community should be about.

You never know what might happen when you throw a bunch of free-thinking spiritual types together in a confined space for five scorching days (did I mention it was hot?), but everyone behaved and was kind and courteous.  Just in the small taste my family and I got of it, there was an air of excitement and engagement over what God was doing there - a sense that Christianity does not have to be so narrowly defined by a certain segment of society that wants to describe it in negative terms and make it about a single set of issues.  I think that's what attracted me to it the most - a freedom to embrace a more comprehensive and complete view of the faith.  It's the kind of Christianity I wish others could see more often.

Here's a few pictures I took of the event, just to give you a taste of what my family's experience was like.  The video that follows will cast the net a little wider.  You should make plans to go next year.  I'm pretty sure we'll be there again.

Wildgoose West August 31-September 2, 2012 from Wild Goose on Vimeo.