More than Thunder in the Skies

A Young hike.

Rest-assured one or more of the following will happen:

1. Flat tire

2. Mom lost

3. Heavy rain

4. Vehicle engine troubles

5. Injury (usually to a foot or leg)

6. Vehicle stuck

7. Something major lost (like a wallet)

8. Etc.

Last Saturday it was #3, though it did not last long. Though Torin was upset during the poor weather, it was not due to the soggy conditions. He actually wanted his own fishing pole. So I found it interesting he seemed untroubled by the showers. (Incidentally, he HATES taking showers.)

In time, the thunders rolled in, and for the next half hour or so I had the following conversation multiple times:

“What’s dat noise?”

“It’s thunder.”

“What’s dat noise?”

“Thunder.”

“What’s dat noise?”

“Torin, that noise is THUNDER.”

“Go dair. Go see it.”

“We can’t. It’s high in the sky—in the clouds.”

“Wanna see it.”

“You can’t see thunder, Torin. You can only hear it.”

“Go up dair. See it.”

“It’s too high in the sky. We can’t get there.”

“Wan-oo go up dair? Wan-oo?”

And this went on and on. He was peculiarly persistent, even beyond his norm. And then it struck me. I sensed a link from the thunder to my Thunder. Were the two somehow syncing? Was Torin feeling a kind of invisible connection to the thunder or perhaps beyond? Oh pish posh! This is not practical thinking; Dad’s seen too much Sci-Fi and other silliness.

But had you only heard the insistence in his voice. Had you felt the circumstance...

Hi, Daddy

When I come home from work, I often hear this song. It's called “Hi Daddy” by TVY and is pretty much every track on my “Feel Good” playlist.

Tackle First

The First of the Torinites has now long understood the principle of consequences for actions, particularly those that involve receiving rewards. When this Torinite Chieftain desires the spaceship movie, he is often asked to first perform a task—often menial, dad-doesn’t-wanna-get-off-the-couch kind of tasks. On other occasions, the duties involve helping a Torinite-in-Training (Decker). Regardless of the task, he will tackle it for the right to receive his desires.

Now, a shrewd reader may interpret the above commentary as simply as:  Landon uses bribery to get Torin to do things. To which I would reply:  please don’t judge.

Teaching a child that positive consequences can be the result of good behavior is far from wrong—it’s good parenting, right? So with this justification, I continue my Torinite-teaching methods, gobbling up every proper moment possible for use as a scenario for schooling.

Requester:  “Sucker? Have it. Hold it. Want some? Yeah.”

Teacher:  “Ok, you can have one if you sit on the potty first.”

Requester:  “Up, up, up. <whimper> Up, up, up. <cry> Daddy, up.”

Teacher:  “Take a deep breath first. I’ll pick you up when you stop whining.”

Requester:  “Check da garden? Wan-noo?”

Teacher:  “Finish eating your meat first and then we’ll go check the garden.”

Requester:  “Motorbike game? Downstairs. Play da motorbike game?”

Teacher:  “Pick up your toys first, then we can go downstairs and play the motorbike game.”

Requester:  “No sleepers. Room, nudder room. Nudder room.”

Teacher:  “Ok, you can stay up a little longer if you sit on the couch in the other room and read a book first.”

Key word:  first. I purposely chuck that word in there somewhere—even when unfitting—and that reliably triggers an agreeable, cooperative response. Dad is sly. How easy it is to teach a simple-minded, (gullible) toddler! Use the right words while giving the necessary promises, and my first Torinite is easily educated (persuaded).

A few days ago, I asked Torin to throw away his toilet paper (the one he was using to “wash the boogas” in his nose). He turned to me, smirked for a moment, angled his head, and commanded, “Freezer-pop first. Wan-noo? Yeah.”

There really aren’t words to describe such a moment. I thought, “Uh… no, no, Torin. You don’t understand… that’s not the proper usage of first. How do I explain this to a 22-month-old?” And then it struck me that he wasn’t misusing first—he was just using it against me! He has learned much more than intended. As previously stated, the basic point was to show this child that rewards come when tasks are completed. The intent was not to teach that rewards can be obtained by withholding good behavior until the award is given—this is different; this would be bribery… Uh, well… er… yeah, bribery. As I said, he has learned much more than intended. So I suppose I couldn’t blame him for bribery since that’s been the spoon-fed mush of choice. Instead, I began to marvel at his ambition and inventiveness:

Daddy’s Approved Reward System:

Reward requested >> task given >> task completed >> reward given

Torin’s Newly-Proposed Reward System:

Task given >> reward requested >> reward given >> task completed

I’m leery of this reward-first and then tackle-the-task mindset. I suppose we’ll play by his rules from time to time. He has been good for his word thus far.

Can't Find the Pause Button

Today’s remote controls are ironically OUT of control. 

 

A single remote can manage the many functions of not just a single unit but a multiplicity of devices. Some can even additionally control room lighting. With so many functions and complexities, it can be difficult to actually locate the desired button. Thus, my preference is for the simple remote—the one that can easily be kinesthetically memorized. I can pause my show with remote-feel, similar to the hand as a PB&J is to mouth-feel—unmistakably identifiable. This simplicity affords me a more remarkable viewing experience.

 

I cannot seem to locate the pause button for life. Its remote control has apparently become so absurdly and unfortunately overly-complex that Pause has been lost (and maybe forgotten). The multitudinous functions of life crowd and hamper my control of it, and before long, events are coming and going like an Idahoan raincloud.

 

I now long for a simpler control—one that affords me a more remarkable viewing experience. I see Torin growing so quickly, and there are times that life's pause button ought to be pushed:

 

 

 

If nothing else, I’d like to at least take life off Fast Forward.

Life's Slivers

Have you ever thought or even audibly asked God why He allows you to suffer? In a time of dismay, have you ever asked, “Why are you doing this to me?”

I have.

Why would an all-loving and simultaneously all-powerful god allow any human to suffer heart-wrenching ordeals or misfortune?

After an experience yesterday, I shall never again venture to ask.

Slivers. Irritating. Stubborn. Removal of such is as unpleasant as dumping a clingy girlfriend—it’s rarely a trouble-free task. The worst sliver of my life was removed a couple days ago… from my 19-month old Pooks. With pin in hand and baby on lap, I pinned his left hand while Brooke wrestled his right. The sliver itself removed without too much argument, but the struggle was wildly torturous.

And I can only imagine Torin’s thoughts in his time of dismay:  “Why are you doing this to me?”

There is certainly no probability in Torin fathoming the purpose of the pain. I wonder if he thought it was punishment. And despite his pleading and cries of “ouchy,” (he typically says “ouch,” but as if to add emphasis, he kept saying “ouchy”) the suffering persisted until the sliver was betrayed and betterment achieved. After the raucous had passed, he was in fact a better Torin—whether knowing it or not. And despite the pain his father had apparently caused, my little Pooks turned and embraced me.

I suppose a similar scene may transpire in meeting my Father. In spite of all the incomprehensible slivers experienced during this mortal sojourn, the climatic reckoning could likely be composed of something gloriously simple:  a hug.

We will all one day know the purpose of the pain. Until then, we are left wondering and (hopefully) trusting.

The Gravy Train

In watching the documentary Agenda (again), I'm convinced that one of the most critical moments is found at 1:15:10 when Jim Simpson says (speaking of progressives/socialists):

"One thing we do really have to recognize is this is a domestic enemy. This is not just people with different ideas. These are not just nice folks who have funny, silly ideas that they will eventually figure out or [are] just not very mature. No. These people are dangerous, dangerous enemies, and they are intent on overthrowing this country and imposing a socialist system that will mean extreme hardship for the vast majority for people of this country."

If people didn't have their heads in the sand (thinking all is well and/or being distracted by all the unimportant things of the world), they would have the awareness that there is IN FACT a domestic, agenda-driven enemy. People obtaining this realization would in turn destroy this progressives/socialist agenda. The enemy knows this, though, so it uses the media, entertainment, drugs, immorality, culture, and all other forms of distractions to hide their evil doings. To further protect their identity and purpose, they have convinced the blind that the aware are merely paranoid or are "conspiracy theorists." They have transformed our culture into a culture of tolerance, which has enabled radicals to be more open and bold with their operations. Their beliefs and behavior are no longer bad, wrong, or evil -- they are just "different." And, based on current appropriate social behavior, others must be tolerant and even caring of their "differences." The current unpopularity and abhorrence to absolute values has caused the creation of a multitude of "gray areas" between right/wrong and good/evil.

The locomotive of subversion exists and is quickly picking up steam; at full-throttle, it can be virtually unstoppable. It began rolling down the tracks ages ago, with many warning of its movement(s) and tactics.

Our media and culture tell us that Americans are NOT unintelligent, mechanically-brained sheep -- that we are instead an informed, independent, and unrestrained new-aged brand of sheep. How empowering! And while we swell in our supposed fortune and freedom, members of our own herd (wolves in sheep's clothing; link here, here, and here) load us aboard the crowded gravy locomotive... er ...train into the hands of Lucifer.

Enjoying the ride?

Why Can't You Just Use Your Sword?

I purchased a Gerber machete a short time ago. Being a DIY-er, prepper, and general outdoors enthusiast, this addition was a no-brainer. Add to this the increasing likelihood of a zombie apocalypse, a purchase of this nature nears the naturalness of a child sucking a popsicle. And as this child can so simply consume his cold treat, so too could my cold steel consume the undead.

There’s no brain-tease about it: this no-brainer purchase is a proclamation to the brain-eaters that my brains are off limits.

Now, this machete is by no means the survivalist’s panacea—in a box of crayons, there are many colors needed to produce a fully fridge-worthy work. And so my quest turned to hunting knives—swell for skinning and cutting meat, but also fatal to flesh-eaters during the final global walkabout. You can’t tell me that Dundee won’t be one of the last men standing.

I mentioned in passing to the wife about this next purchase. Her innocent reply: “Can’t you just use your sword?” By “sword” she meant the machete. I chuckled inside. How funny! I need a giant hunting knife for skinning and cutting game. Swords aren't for this! And they certainly aren't the same as a machetes. Swords are better for distant dueling and thrusting, and I definitely don’t have anything like that. She just doesn’t under... wait a second... I don’t have anything like that!

And the prepping goes on.

Good thinking, honey. ;-)

Moses

Assertive? Affirmative.

Courageous? Of Course.

Preachy? Probably.

Bold? By all means.

Chosen? You choose.

I often can’t help but to think that Torin is some kind of Moses clone. He exudes the above traits (and then some) in common with that man. But it goes beyond that.

I have heard stories from parents (of many faiths) claiming to observe a young child speaking with “angels” or some other type of heavenly persons. The parents’ explanation of this phenomenon is usually either 1) the child’s freshness from the world beyond means communication lines are still open or 2) the child’s purity renders him worthy of such visitations.

Whether or not this indeed happens, I do not doubt. And although I have not candidly caught Torin in such a situation, he has displayed some unworldly connectivity. For example, he becomes most vocal and preachy when he has courageously perched himself high aloft a ledge, stone, bucket, couch, chair, or other scalable object. These elevated lectures consist of wild, yet orchestrated hand gestures accompanied by assertive absolutisms. Where has this come from? How did he learn this? Does he feel his voice projects more effectively from above? Why, oh why, doth he speak from on high? Whatever the reason, this soap-box boldness captures me. What does he know that I don’t (or have forgotten)?

“Ouch,” says Torin when viewing a picture of Jesus. He knows the meaning of this word yet persists to use it in connection with Him. I was initially baffled by this, assuming that Torin was referring possibly to His shepherd crook. Maybe he thinks it is a sharp (ouchy) stick or tool. Or perhaps it's the corners of the picture frame that look sharp enough to qualify as ouch? But these theories were busted when Torin saw other images sans any sort of “ouchy” object or frame. And so again and again I insisted that there is nothing “ouch” about Jesus or His pictures, and he insisted otherwise.

And then one day as we bantered about this, there was that indescribable, revelatory moment. Torin pronounced his stance once more and peered into my eyes, into my soul, as if to literally say, “Dad, you’re not thinking on my level. Jesus isn’t ouch; Jesus feels ouch inside.” The implications of this statement rained on my brain like a hundred E. Honda body slams. War. Adultery. Deceit. Rape. Violence. Lust. Drugs. Murder. Envy. Molestation. Crudeness. Injustice. Theft. False idols. Addiction. Greed. Pride. Love of money. This monsoon of thought brought to mind the incredible wickedness of this world. So of course Jesus is ouch! It’s no wonder. He watches mankind and deeply aches inside.

So now when Torin sees Jesus and unmistakably proclaims the usual, we meet eyes and nod in sullen affirmation of this awful truth: our poor decisions can cause Him to feel ouchy inside.

If for no other reason, I feel that my Moses was indeed chosen—chosen to teach me such wonderful things.

Stop and Smell the French Fries

Desk jobs are primarily humdrum. Busy or not, monotony reigns. This, I suppose, is a deeply-rooted explanation for office (or non-office for that matter) gossip. Our fast-paced, multi-tasking world cannot cope with a stimulus-free moment. Humans are obsessed by all cases of drama—whether directly affected or not. This addiction has become so viral and pervasive that even something like this exists.

So for deskies who actually avoid such pettiness, what can slay the boredom? Music? Water coolering? Walks? Lunch? Surfing? But these all have limited effectiveness; fulfillment fades and the lull returns. In time though, one adapts to survive and eventually learns to find great pleasure with the otherwise completely ordinary and inconsequential. To illustrate...

One of last week's lunch coupons: two Single Stackers and two small fries for $2.99. I ordered to-go and ate the yum-yums at my desk. I pwned the meal, tidied up, and went back to “work.” A short time later, I noticed my grease-spotted BK bag had not yet found the rubbish bin. As I customarily rummaged through it for contents of redeeming value—napkins, utensils, or sauce packets to be properly catalogued in the extra-supplies-scavenged-from-eating-out drawer—I came upon three stray French fries…

And oh, how glorious they were! There they lay in a magnificent posture with light refracting from throngs of sodium chloride, blasting arrays of sweet savory and gratification. This luster, in addition to the awesome aroma, warmed my bosom. Oh, the jubilee! My heart grew much more than three sizes that day. But was this miracle a vision or some Escherian illusion? NO. Boredom had just received a beat-down by a bona fide French fry bonus.

These are in fact the types of small, yet great, pleasures found only by stopping to smell the French fries.