The Twelve Tasks of Hercules (if he flew around the world with small children)

(written Dec. 30, 2012)

Well, we made it back to Kenya, thanks to the grueling necessity of air travel with a baby on our laps (okay, okay, mostly Heather’s lap). We found ourselves repeatedly saying, “We made it!” as our journey progressed through various stages.

Which made me realize—it’s not really one big trip but a series of tiny tasks which can each individually sink you along the way. Hercules probably thought he was a tough guy when he took on his twelve tasks, but that softy didn’t sit in close proximity to his own young ones for 36 hours straight.

Task 1. Packing 50 pound bags. Hercules was probably best suited for this heavyweight task, yet could he have simultaneously entertained his children while packing and weighing and repacking and weighing over a dozen pieces of luggage? The task is no easier as you reach the end, as the children’s toys and books are all zippered away for the journey.

Task 2. Loading the vehicles. Again, I wish I had Herculean strength for this one, but it takes more brain than brawn to stack up bags while leaving room for the little ones and making sure the stack doesn’t collapse and crush anyone essential to the trip.

Task 3. From curbside to Check-in. Not losing track of a bag or a wandering child is an equally taxing job. We’ve never lost anything or anyone during this task, but Heather’s mom once had a camera stolen in the chaos in San Diego.

Task 4. Security checkpoints. Valuable electronics and precious breakables all overload our carry-on luggage and backpacks. Each one must be unpacked for scanning. Coats and shoes must be stripped. Strollers must be broken down. If one escapes further scrutiny, simply repacking four carry-ons and redressing multiple human beings are your next tasks. If one arouses terrorist suspicion with scrapbooking items and baby bottles, the task may be lengthened by twenty minutes for extra dissection and reassembly.

Task 5. Plane boarding. The parade of people and possessions is narrowed to the slim aisles of an airplane. Children are corralled into proper rows. Sufficient bin space is sought and—if found—luggage is hoisted high into the overhead space for precise positioning. If space is not found, valuable breakables are chucked underneath the plane by airplane staff, voiding all earlier hopes and efforts.

Task 6. Sleep/awake cycles. You want babies to sleep. But not too much. You want kids to stay awake. But not the entire time. It’s a delicate balance where no one is completely fried to the point of meltdown but no one arrives to the destination on an entirely different sleep cycle than the rest of the family.

Task 7. Layover endurance factor. We’ve had international layovers as short as 4 hours and as long as 12 hours. Exhaustion has fully set in as you now want to sleep but know you should stretch and walk. It feels like purgatory. At least when you’re on a plane you know you’re moving; terminals are terminally hellacious.

Task 8. Layover city routines. Tasks 4 and 5 repeated. Every European stopover we’ve had has required a second trip through security, and of course another re-loading of the airplane. No easier than the first time.

Task 9. Customs and immigration.  They have you fill in these forms declaring what kind of produce and imports you’re bringing with you, and you probably won’t have a clue what exactly to “claim” and what not to. It’s pretty serious business and probably can land you with heavy fines or jail, I guess. Do your best on the forms. And pray for a fast-moving line and cheerful custom inspector once it’s time to de-plane. Otherwise, you and your small children may spend the night in the clink.

Task 10. Luggage retrieval. One day—I dream—this will be a less difficult experience. I’ll have two strapping sons and an eagle-eyed daughter to locate our bags and haul them to our getaway van/truck. Right now, this is a ridiculously impossible task. Even if all the big luggage fits on two carts, you still have carry-ons that needed wheeling. And—if you recall the fact that you’ve just traveled for 36 hours—it’s likely that your small children, neither strapping nor eagle-eyed, are probably crying passionately in a heap in the center island of the baggage carousel. Did I mention this is all “best case” scenario? Some of your luggage may never even arrive.

Task 11. The final leg. One more time packing up a car, and then unpacking. One more time arranging children in car seats, and then carrying them in the house asleep (or carrying them into McDonald’s asleep where they will then precede to sleep under the table with face on the floor). One more time fighting off sleep to entertain groggy or spastic children. If you’re lucky, it’s a short ride. If you’ve angered the gods during the first ten tasks, you’ll get a ticket for going down a one-way leaving the airport, your church’s old van will break down, or you’ll lose a piece of luggage off your roof. Or all three.

Task 12. Sleeping through for two straight nights. After 36 hours with little to no sleep, you’ll want to sleep for 16 hours the first night. And you will. And after sleeping for 16 hours the previous night, you’ll only want to sleep about 4 hours the second night. And you will. But if you can manage to not oversleep the first night too much and not under-sleep the second night too much, the third night should be a decent night.

And sincere rest is all you’ll beg for after completing your twelve tasks.

Solutions from Sandy Hook Sadness (Sensible Media Limitations)

After catching a few minutes of President Obama’s eulogy from Connecticut Monday night, I’ve seen the narrative of last Friday’s tragedy turn fully onto solving the problem of public shootings. I have two small observations to offer. My first was here. Now I offer my second.

With school shootings and such, society is trying its darnedest to figure out how to stop them. More school security? More gun control laws? More mental illness treatment? Although the real problems are the sinfulness of mankind’s nature and the control over earth that the devil has, we still search for ways our society can keep these tragedies from happening.

I have one idea, but I need to give some background first.

When we arrived back in America in summer of this year, Heather and I found ourselves gravitating to the San Diego news channels before bedtime. Somehow, every story on each and every night was practically local tabloids and nothing more. The “headlines” were sex and violence, but not reported in a factual, informational way (which I suppose could be argued is “better” delivery of such news). It was told in a very detailed and opinionated way. The “news” felt more like the old investigative news shows of twenty years ago.

Besides the news being told in a lurid way was the fact that the stories weren’t really newsworthy at all.

I fully understand that the “news” has a long history of being “bad news” about our world. That’s not new. But I was shocked at the focus.

Fast forward to this past weekend. 24/7 on every channel is the reporting of the Sandy Hook shooting. I worked out at the local gym for 75 minutes on Monday, and the entire time the topic was Newton, Connecticut.

Now, imagine you’re a lonely and disturbed individual sitting in front of your television all weekend. You see a criminal young man’s picture everywhere--hailed and upheld as a hideous monster. You see the deceased shooter’s power over the entire world, the negative attention and infamy. The “evil” is put in front of your eyes hour after hour after hour after hour.

Is it so hard to wonder why these shootings are such a trend in Western society?

My “solution”--since everyone is so desperate for answers--is for the media to put a restriction on itself. Only 10 minutes of every hour can be spent on one shooting. Only 20% of any newspaper’s news section or of any website’s front page can be spent on one shooting.

Let’s reduce the celebrity factor for criminals. Let’s stop telling ourselves that our mass mourning in any way helps the individual and affected communities with THEIR grieving process.

I’m not opposed to free media. I’ve seen firsthand in Kenya how harmful that can be to democracy.

But a “tragedy limitation” mandate will not destroy America. Instead, it might help curb the trend of mass shootings.

Solutions from Sandy Hook Sadness (Best Christian Music)

After catching a few minutes of President Obama’s eulogy from Connecticut Monday night, I’ve seen the narrative of last Friday’s tragedy turn fully onto solving the problem of public shootings. I have two small observations to offer.

As Christians, we need to reach out to troubled teens with voracity. They may dress differently and seem to be a foreign culture to us, but that can’t deter us. We must keep going after them, even if their parents are spiritually devoid and bankrupt. Young people are a particularly “narrow-sighted” lot. They can’t’ see past tomorrow sometimes. Balanced adults--or even better yet, “heaven-focused” Christian adults--can perhaps offer help for the hurting and maybe even curb a tragedy like Sandy Hook from happening.

One small idea, especially during a season like Christmas is giving the gift of Christian music. While there are hundreds of artists out there of all different styles, I can suggest a few that are considered some of the very best of the best. Many of these have over a decade of credibility not just of making quality music but also lyrically-sound entertainment. Perhaps you could consider buying a CD of these bands for a teenager you know. Or even a stranger whom you think might need an infusion of hope and perspective.

Lecrae--hard core rap

Switchfoot--hard pop rock

Relient K--light punk rock

Third Day--rock

TobyMac--pop/hip hop

Owl City--electronic/pop

Needtobreathe--Southern rock

Mat Kearney--folk pop

Again, these aren’t the only great Christian bands, but they cover a variety of styles that are popular among youth. If I had to start off someone’s musical collection with high-caliber Christian music, these are the best ten artists I’d begin with.

Insult-iment

I invented a word this week, and sadly, I found myself using it twice as much as I should have.

The word is insulti-ment. It’s a combination of an insult and a compliment. It may seem paradoxical, but it’s not. I first came across the concept of insulti-ment when I told people that I wrote a book. People would initially say something like, “Wow!” or “No way!” or “That’s great!” A bit more small talk would ensue, but all the while I could see their wheels spinning.

The next words out of their mouths: “I should write a book. I always wanted to write one about ________.” An insulti-ment. On the one hand, they are impressed that you were published. On the other, they are thinking that if you can write a book, anyone can write a book.

Even them.

I’d need more than two hands to tell you how many insulti-ments I’ve received in the five years since my first book was published (and I’ve written three now total, while most of those people are still sitting firmly at zero…so take that).

Unfortunately, I dished out two insulti-ments of my own this past weekend. First off, a good friend of mine told me how he ran a half-marathon last year. I’m a little younger than this guy and consider myself to be in almost as good of shape as he is. So, what thought came into my mind?

“If Dave can run a half-marathon, I can run a half-marathon.”

This weekend, I hung out with Dave and told him my intentions for next month, that I was currently training about 18 miles a week. I also admitted to him that my running a half-marathon was an insulti-ment to him. He was a bit amused and a bit ready to go home and cry into his pillow.

And then today, I stumbled into another one much more innocently. At lunch with our pastor and his wife, I told them that one of my favorite things about his preaching was when his wife would laugh boisterously at one of his jokes. Sometimes, she’d be the only one or the loudest one laughing.

My intention was to share with them how this habit reflected their wonderful marriage and their enjoyment of each other’s quirks and mannerisms. He does have a great sense of humor, and the fact that she still appreciates it after decades of marriage says a lot.

What came out? No one laughs at pastor’s jokes, and his wife laughs too loud. 

Ouch. Insulti-ment.

Watch yourself. Insensitive adoration is contagious.

Welcome back to San Diego!

Fresh(men) Feeling

As the RVA seniors from last season morph into college freshmen, they've been on our hearts a lot. Probably even more so since we're here in the US, where over 90% of RVA seniors head for post-high school matriculation.

The lyrics to this song got me choked up on the drive home tonight. These are the words I would say to each of them.

Senses of Freedom

While our friends and family celebrate a holiday today in America, it’s business as usual overseas. July 4^th is no different than the 3^rd or 5^th. In fact, I gave my final exam today, oblivious to the vacation and celebration that our forefathers gained for us in 1776. (I might as well be under the tyranny of King George again; John Hancock would not be pleased.) Oh well. Sitting over a stack of stale, cold papers is far better than grilling tantalizing meats by some refreshing pool.

However, as the pile in front of me dwindles slowly, I have had my own tangible tastes of a different kind of freedom. Rather than feeling depressed and enslaved by the task before me, I’m fully realizing and embracing the fact that once these grades are done I’ll be just moments away from home assignment. The monotony of red slashes across a page has been superimposed by sensory exclamations that have been two years in the making.

The cold, pine-scented air of the California mountains.

My niece-whom-I’ve-never-met’s chubby cheeks against my whiskers.

The sight of a neon fast-food-chain sign lighting up the night.

The mustard and ketchup of a Petco Park hot dog.

The taste of sweat and sunscreen on my upper lip at a Delaware beach.

Lightning bugs rising from the steamy, green Pennsylvania grass at dusk.

Wrestling my nephews on plush and squishy American carpet.

The strong and warm arms of our parents wrapped around us.

These are the senses that have flooded me in the last hour. No exaggeration. Tastes of freedom. Happy independence day.