Mystery Solved

The loud clanging. The butter knife in the middle of the floor. The dream. The theory that I imagined the whole thing. Well, well, well... as you can see, I have been vindicated.

The tide began to turn when Rebecca noticed the droppings appearing on the counter. Hearing those sweet words, "I think you may be right..." At first, a wave of relief spread over me as I realized I was not in fact, losing my ability to distinguish reality from my dreams. Then, an incredible rush of "I told you so's" and wanting to rub it in that my theory of the midnight mouse was indeed true. And then, total disgust as it dawned on us that we have a rodent problem in our apartment. The hunt was on.

The first night of trapping: Mouse 1, Keith 0. The trap was licked clean without ever tripping it. So that's how it's gonna be. He wasn't so crafty the second night (pictured), although he somehow still managed to get all of the peanut butter.  And so began the game of Keith and Mouse. Right now I'm sitting at a 50% success rate. Last night's capture was an ugly scene. He (hey, it could be a she I suppose) was killed alright, but not in the way it's supposed to go down. Two traps in the cupboard, one was released with no mouse and the other trap...   Well, the little bugger got nailed across its body and then dragged itself around the cast iron pan (setting off the other trap in the process??) and then died a slow death, unable to escape back to the outside as it slowly lost the ability to breathe as its organs were crushed. Not exactly the most humane death, and one that I'm not super proud of either. But, his noble run-for-it allowed me to see that there is a break in the cupboard underneath, a large gap in the carpentry, allowing our little uninvited pests to come through every night.

I will admit that I am again, both incredibly giddy, yet appalled with each successful execution. I'm kind of a wuss, no doubt about that. I just have this fear that when releasing the trap, the mouse will awake or resurrect and enact its fierce revenge upon me and my household. It'll simply run off and leave me searching for it, squealing like a little girl in the process. I'll never forget the paralyzing terror I experienced in college when working on a term paper in the basement of our house, when I saw a mouse run within inches of my fully exposed feet under the desk. I was rescued by our spastic yellow Labrador Bailey, who sprung into action and captured it in her mouth and brought it upstairs before dropping it into a shoe - which we promptly tossed outside.

And so, with each kill I am becoming, little by little, a little more manly. Last year on internship, I sought to up my personal macho factor by facing another fear: bats. On one occasion, a bat had infiltrated the church, and swooping around, he sent everyone into a panic. While screaming on the inside, I played it cool on the outside and went after the bat, eager to face it in what I envisioned would be an epic John Candy/Dan Ackroyd re-enactment of their bat battle in "The Great Outdoors." Then the confirmation kids showed up and ruined my moment. Here I was, city boy Keith, creeping up on this freaky, gross and rabies causing little winged creature, ready to catch him in a coat and release him outside. With smart phones out capturing all the action on video, this little thing continued to have its way with his hunters. Then, pausing long enough for me to make my move, this 7th grade farm boy, who's dealt with hundreds of vermin in his young lifespan, just walks over to the bat and slaps it to the ground and steps on it. I was angry on so many levels - mostly at myself and my cowardice. Then, upon learning that killing a bat is actually illegal in Minnesota, I was a tad miffed that he had so callously ended this bat's life without hesitation. 

Well, the winter looks to be long, giving me plenty of chances to man-up to mice and kill with reckless abandon. Perhaps by day seven I will be able to remove the mouse without using a plastic bag as a glove. Part of me wants to set up a hidden, night vision camera to study how they manage to get away half of the time. Another part of me wants to fill in the hole and block their passage altogether. I'm still curious how they ever got up onto the counter. The mystery continues...

The Mystery of the Mind

In need of solving a good mystery?  Well, I've got one for you.

Last night I went to bed a little earlier than usual in hopes of getting up earlier so that I could get cranking on some projects that have been hanging over my head. Tuesdays are my days off, devoted entirely to doing homework, errands and whatever else I need to do in keeping myself sane as a full time seminary student. So, that was the plan set in place. Well, it all went out the window at about 1:30 a.m. when I jumped out of bed and stood frozen in the hallway...listening.  Listening intently. I swore I heard some kind of noise coming from the kitchen. It sounded like dishes or glass bottles - just general racket - not too loud, but definitely not soft either. So here I am, standing in the middle of the hallway, in the dark wondering:  am I awake?  Was that real?

A similar incident happened about a month ago when I awoke in the wee hours of the morning to what sounded like someone typing on our computer in the office, just on the other side of Natalie's room.  If you haven't figured out by now, I am without a doubt, one of the lightest sleepers I know. I hear everything. My mind is constantly moving. After lying awake listening to that, I was somehow able to talk myself out of the possibility because I could tell that the screen was black, and if someone was typing, the screen would be lighter. In the morning, when I had a little more of my senses operating, I realized that I had left a window open in the living room, and the sound I thought was typing was really the blinds rattling in the wind. Man, that was so creepy though.

Anyway, back to the hallway at 1:30 a.m. After waiting for the sound to repeat itself for about two minutes to no avail, I head back to bed.  At 2:00 a.m. I awake to the sound again - this time, much louder and lasting longer. I stay in bed for just a bit longer, listening to A) pinpoint the exact location and B) to make sure I was in fact truly awake. Then, I jolted out of bed and raced to the kitchen, where I throw on the lights and take in the scene. I really don't know what I'm thinking I will find - but I sure wish that sound had continued to at least convince myself that I wasn't dreaming. Alas, no sound once I got out of bed. Nothing. Now, here's where my mind gets totally messed up. Right in the center of the kitchen floor lays a dirty butter knife!  I walk over to it, look at it for a few seconds and pick it up, and place it on the kitchen counter. No way Rebecca or I missed seeing that thing before bed!  Instantly my mind is racing - something is going on in here. I am not dreaming that sound I keep hearing. I walk back to bed and lay wide awake, wrestling with what is going on.

From that point on of course, I hear nothing. And I'm fully awake at this point. My only conclusion is that there was a mouse that somehow got into our apartment. We received an email a couple weeks ago about mice in the apartment building... and we even saw one right inside the exterior door to the building.... It's definitely a mouse. That would explain everything. A mouse is smart enough to stop moving once it hears commotion. "Ugh - I forgot to take out the garbage and recycling yesterday!" I think to myself. And the knife?  Well, that little intruder must've been knocking around amidst our dirty dishes ("c'mon Keith - you gotta get those done too!") and the knife plummets to the ground, making a loud noise and then, hearing the sleeping bear thundering towards it, the mouse dashes under the sink...and once the sleeping bear returns to his slumber, the mouse gets cracking at the recycling, where there are at least a dozen empty Gerber baby food glass bottles just begging to be investigated by an uninvited midnight mousey. Now I'm wondering if I should go out there and take a look under the sink and get this mouse outta there. And how am I gonna do that?!  No. I will investigate in the morning, when there is sunlight and no chance to somehow push the mouse in the direction of our bedroom, or worse, Natalie's room.

After an hour of thinking about this (and not hearing anymore noise) I decide to put in my ear plugs and attempt to get more sleep. Rebecca of course, hears nothing and sleeps through it all. I told her about my thoughts the second go around, and her reply about my dilemma was too muffled to understand.  And then I have the following dream:  Convinced it was in fact a mouse under the sink, I recruit Rebecca to come with me into the kitchen to investigate. Suddenly, without warning me, she kicks the recycling bag and out runs a mouse in my direction and bites and scratches my foot!  I slap it off of me and proceed to swear up a storm at my wife, angry as can be that she would act so carelessly...  I wake up. Seriously? Ok, I only dreamt that because of the real noise that I heard and the real theory I have about the mouse...right?  Right? The butter knife!  I remember the butter knife and somehow I have it all placed together and assure myself that I am indeed, not going crazy.

So either this all happened just as I have told it to you, or Leonardo DiCaprio and his cronies have compromised the integrity of my dreams and I am the subject of an elaborate Inception like plot. Who have I wronged? And how were they able to manipulate my dreams?

I awoke at 7 a.m. So much for that early start. I put on some clothes, making sure to have closed toe shoes on, and make my way to the kitchen. The knife is just where I left it on the counter at 2 a.m this morning. I open up the kitchen sink cabinet, expecting to see our recycling strewn all over the place... and wouldn't you know it, that little mouse put everything back in order, just as he found it!  Everything was in order. No bite marks, not a drop of mouse poo - nothin' - no evidence of a break-in.


Two monkeys are arguing. The first monkey says, "The tree is moving." The second monkey disagrees and says, "the wind is moving the tree." Lastly, a Zen master comes by and says, "No, you're both wrong. Your mind is moving."

Was this all just a figment of my imagination?  Is my mind that restless that it needs to move all through the night, messing with me when I should be getting sleep?  For all of you CSI, House and other mystery buffs - give this one some attention... I am completely clueless as to what really happened...Suggestions?

In the Trenches of Daddy-dom

She's asleep. I'm usually not this productive when she's asleep. More times than not, I am asleep too. Morning nap time is a glorious thing. Up late the night before? No worries. When it's time for morning nap, you've got yourself a golden opportunity to make up those lost hours. Plus, nothing wrong with a little extra snuggle time.  Is there anything better than your nine month old daughter laying her head on her Daddy's shoulder and taking a little snooze?

So far I've got the laundry done, made some phone calls, wrote some emails and now, even a little time to do some much needed blogging. Sure, I've got homework to do, but it's Daddy Day Care this morning and afternoon. Tough getting my coursework done these days. Just when I get rolling into something, she's into something. Natalie loves anything that is not a toy. Magazines, chairs, paper, books, cords, tupperware, etc.. It's like some kind of alarm goes off in her tiny little brain: New object detected. Must investigate.  And by "investigate" I of course mean, throw, drop and pull into tiny grabbing hands in order to tear apart into tiny pieces... I constantly find myself playing fetch with her by trying to distract with more kid-friendly objects to play with - and successful about 50% of the time. It's never been this fun crawling around on hands and knees. And if I'm ever feeling overwhelmed with the weight of the world on my shoulders, all I need is one of Natalie's squeals and all is well with my soul.  I'm no Mr. Mom but I'm digging my time spent with Natalie during the week while Rebecca saves the world and pays the rent.

Today was a first. I actually grabbed a piece of poop off the ground without hesitation. It was my fault in getting there, as I wasn't quick enough in getting Natalie to the toilet, so there was a nice little treasure awaiting me in her cloth diaper. Fortunately or unfortunately depending how you look at it, when I went to rinse the diaper in the toilet, it just popped out and onto the floor. So I picked it up and dropped it into the water. Another time I realized that I was truly in the trenches of Daddy-dom was the early morning when Rebecca and I responded to Natalie's cries. She was definitely teething at the time and was feeling rather warm. So, there we were - in the dark, Mommy holding a squirmy baby on her lap while Daddy went to work and pried those adorable baby cheeks apart and eased a baby thermometer into her butt.  I remember thinking at that moment: This is the life.  Yes, this is the life of parenthood. Waited long and hard for this adventure, and it was worth the wait.

Well, I just heard a little sigh from the other room. Back to "work" soon enough. If I wait just a little bit, I might hear some Natalie babble and giggles as she entertains herself in her crib. She's becoming a little person by the day. I'm so proud to be her Dad. Can't wait to see her dressed up in her first-ever Halloween costume tonight. Don't want to ruin the surprise just yet, but, not to leave you hangin' - I've included what Mommy and Daddy dressed up as this year. I can already feel Natalie's eyes rolling in twenty years when she looks back to her first Halloween.  Yes, we may be responsible parents now but Mommy and Daddy still know how to rock.

Unglued

Maybe I should stop keeping a Blog Reading List, because seriously, these people are making me look bad. I'm ready to start firing off excuses: I'm a full time student, I'm a first time Daddy, I have nothing interesting to say, etc. The truth of the matter is that I am just a total slacker when it comes to writing. The interesting part of that fact is that I love writing - yet, one would never know it judging from this blog, would they?  The other day I sat down and wrote in my journal. That was awesome. The last time I'd written in it was May 2011. A lot can happen in four months. I was overwhelmed with where to begin. So I just wrote what was on my mind at the moment. Man, that felt great. There is something unique about writing to yourself about yourself. Freeing. Comforting. Inspiring. Weird. Yeah, so it was overdue, long overdue, but I did it. 

I'd like to say my slacker-ness is due to being a senior at Seminary. Graduation is just a few months away (May 20th, 2012.) My first two years in the classroom at Sem were far different than this year. I'm still an eager learner, just a much less worried one. I'm still getting stuff done on time and all, but I have a much more laid back mentality about it. Part of this is because of all of the other requirements I need to get done on top of my homework. Blah, blah, blah - you don't want to hear about those and frankly, I really don't want to write about them.

But I really don't want to make this just another "I suck at writing consistently" blog entry. I know I've done this before. We all go through peaks and valleys after all. The truth is that all my above mentioned excuses are certainly taking their toll on the frequency of my writing. I have gotten up at least 11 times (and counting) to check on Natalie during this post. She's becoming more and more mobile by the day. Loves to be on her feet now. I watched her yesterday try to go solo as she kept one hand on her exersaucer and reached the other hand out for the chair I was sitting in. I watched as she realized that for a few split seconds she was unglued entirely. I don't know what that feels like in an 8 month old's mind, but for her 32 year old Daddy, it was invigorating!  Then she fell down and cried. I picked her up, reassured her and thirty seconds later, "she's okay!" and back to testing her physical limitations. Just that little observation of human development in the life of a child makes me jealous. I want to experience the world like that, you know? To be tested and challenged, to become even a little unglued once in awhile. Falling isn't the end of the world - in my experience, hurt and failure have often led to the most meaningful growth and opportunities to receive the compassionate, reassuring love of God. I can't explain how, but I'm just saying this has been true for me.

I'm not counting down the days until graduation like I did in high school and college. I love doing what I'm doing here at Luther Seminary. I love having the opportunity to try new things in preaching class (no manuscript - woohoo!!), learning how to be a better compassionate communicator, studying the Psalms and the letters of the Apostle Paul. Does the classroom get tedious and the assignments overwhelming? Absolutely. But I know that learning in this kind of environment and opportunities for this kind of interaction with my classmates will be fewer and far between once May 20th rolls around. So I'm trying to just take the student thing in stride. As Martin Luther says, "it is what it is."

As for interesting things to say, well, some days YES and some days NO. Mostly I notice stuff that irks me, like the girl in one of my classes who is constantly clicking away on her computer mouse during the most inappropriate times - like when the professor leads us in meditative prayer exercises or is having a deep conversation with of of my classmates. It's a classic "someone is talking in the movie theater" type of disturbance and conundrum - do I say something or do I try to ignore it?? So I'm ready for a little adventure to stir the imagination again. Going to Israel and Palestine this January ought to help. Until then, I suppose I'll keep my eye in the ordinary for moments of insight and do my best to notice what God is up to in my life and the lives around me.  Oh, and maybe seek out more ways to get a little unglued.

May you go and do likewise.

The Write Way to Begin Again

We have moved again (that makes it 8 times in 9 years of marriage) and I am back on campus at Luther Seminary after one year out in Dawson, Minnesota for internship. It really was a fantastic year. I am sure the effects of being a part of such an experience will continue to linger long into the final year of my degree.  Hopefully I can summarize for you in person what I learned, how a changed and how much fun I had, for writing it here would not do the people of Dawson nor myself any justice. Basically, Dawson is awesome and I am blessed to have been a part of their lives for 350 some days.


Following the conclusion of internship, my wife, daughter (still weird to write that) and I were blessed to join each of our families for one week of vacation in Northern Minnesota. We were able to get some much needed R & R as we skipped rocks off of Lake Superior, played Farkel and Password and watched Natalie and Jonah interact and make us all melt with their cuteness.  It was a great week of enjoying the company of one another after many months apart. One of the highlights of the week was taking in a little adventure with my bro - to our new secret swimming hole at Temperance River State Park.  Later that night we all got to "appear" on his radio show Corn Talk - a great way to end the week in Minneeeesohhhhta together.

Next we traveled to Dreamers Resort off of Big Lake in northern Minnesota. There I spent the week with my second family (Rebecca's side). Fishing, playing Jokers, and of course, watching Natalie some more. While the Muskee proved to be elusive (not even a single sighting!) it was still a thrill to be on the water again, casting for the big one (but mostly catching the little ones.)  Highlights included netting a couple of big ones for John and Christine and of course, winning at Jokers. All in all, I consider myself incredibly blessed to share such love and support amidst two wonderful families - what a tremendous joy it is to spend time laughing and playing together.

Now, back on our own again, we embark on the final leg of the seminary journey that we began three years ago.  It's exciting but also daunting. I am eager to learn, but anxious about getting it all done. I am hopeful about the future, but also gripped with doubts. I feel capable of this calling but also fearful.  There are many questions that rattle around in this inquisitive mind and curious heart of mine, and I wonder just how long this emotional haze I'm plodding through presently will be fogging up my vision and slowing my movements.  But, I'll keep trudging, it's all any of us can really do.

As I reflect upon this current funk I'm in, I have come to realize that a key component to my own personal sense of wholeness is the gift of writing.  I am grateful for any opportunity to write. Preaching offers this, and I miss being able to do that on a more frequent basis as I did throughout internship.  Writing helps me to feel anchored in this wave-filled world - so, I offer a word of thanks. Thanks Life-in-Tents readers. Thanks for giving me reason and motivation to write (apart from my coursework.) Even if there's just one of you, it's worth it. Blessings on our new year together. January 1st is just a formality. It's September that always feels like the beginning, right?   

I dislike... (Part 2)

I would encourage you to read the beginning of my list of dislikes all the way back in August of 2007. It's been 4 years since that post, and much has happened in my life since then. While I still endorse the list from 2007, there are so many more things that have come to my attention that I dislike. If you know me well enough, nothing on the following list should surprise you that much. And I certainly don't intend to offend anyone, but as we are all so different, each with our own set of likes and dislikes, I realize that there may be dislikes on this list that are likes for you, and vice versa - so, approach with an open mind!

• Facebook - Still not a friend. Even on my loneliest days, I still feel it's just not worth the time to upkeep - especially when there is an adorable little girl around that I could be spending time with.
• Television - Let me explain.  For me, there are very few shows that I actually enjoy. Compare this small number of quality television with the amount of garbage that's on these days, and I guess I just have to lump all of TV into the "dislike" pile.
• Mosquitoes - I can't believe I didn't include them on my first list. I have "bugs and insects" listed, but mosquitoes deserve to be named outright.
• Poor Exercise/Fitness Center Etiquette - I don't understand how people can be so oblivious to using proper exercise etiquette. Take for example today: I'm working out between two stations - and this woman, who has been in the fitness center with me the entire time, just walks over and starts using one of my stations. She changes the weight, sits down and just starts using it. And using it. And using it. She gives no indication when she's going to be done. Seriously - all you need to do is ask me, "Are you done using this?" To which I would reply, "No, I have one set left." To which she might wait the thirty seconds it takes me to finish up. Instead, I have to wait for a pause in her workout and ask if I can finish up. This is the second time she's done this. Now, had I wiped the machine off, I would thereby indicate that I have completed my use of the equipment - but no, she just budges right in and starts using it. I really dislike that.
• Bottled water overuse - It's getting a little out of hand. Once I learned how many of those bottles can't be recycled and how bad plastic is for the earth, my tune about bottled water went significantly sour. Then I watched this video and well, there's no turning back: http://storyofstuff.org/bottledwater/
• Disposable razors that are incompatible with one another. If you buy a Gillette Mach 3, you'd think you'd be able to interchange those razor heads with any other Gillette product. Nope. My Fusion Razor and Mach 3 Razor are totally incompatible, so I have to buy two new razors to accommodate one tiny little razor head. Ridiculous.
• I dislike when I put something in a different place thinking that I will remember I put it there because it's so out of the ordinary. I rarely remember...
• I dislike that most stuff is designed for the dump - if I can get five years out of a product I am ecstatic - compare this with a generation or two ago whose products were designed to last for fifty years. This video will rock your world: www.storyofstuff.com
• Country Western Music
• Cheese Whiz 
• Mayo overload - The last couple times I've been to Subway, when I ask for Mayonnaise on my sandwich, they must be taught that more is better than less - because they've absolutely smothered my sandwich, which I dislike. Now I make sure to ask for "just a little squirt" which seems to do the trick.
• The crazy amount of junk mail that my hotmail account accumulates - and how it seems more and more peoples' accounts are getting hijacked
• Falling asleep only to be startled awake minutes later... and then not being able to fall back asleep again.

I'm sure the list will continue, but this is enough for now. Plus,.I haven't written for awhile - which I also dislike. Enjoy, critique, and of course, your comments are welcome!

Well Flop 4 Change

 

This video just goes to show that a little creativity & incentive can still goes a long way...  Drawing on youthful enthusiasm and child-like faith, the kids of Vacation Bible School showed why it's unwise to look down upon their ability to bring positive and lasting change to the world.  As for me, well, I am still willing to do just about anything whenever there is a video camera involved. Throw in a good cause and hey, I'm hard-pressed to pass it up, even if it results in bruising, embarrassment or some other disfigurement or shaming.

So here's the deal:  Last week the children and youth of Grace Lutheran Church, Dawson MN gathered from June 6 - June 9 for Vacation Bible School. Along with singing songs and learning about God in fun and new ways, the youth showed why it can be fun to give their money too!  Over just 4 days, youth were encouraged to gather and donate their loose change in hopes to purchase a well that would ultimately provide clean and safe drinking water for 1 family in need. The goal: $300. As added incentive, I, as Grace Lutheran's Intern Pastor, agreed to do 1 belly flop for every $25 they donated. Needless to say, we accomplished our goal - and then some! Total amount raised: $466!!  Here are all 12 flops - a total of $300 worth...(the remaining 6 flops will be spread out over the rest of the summer - after all, I am still recovering from doing 12 plus belly flops back-to-back in a 30 minute time span!)

It's okay to laugh at my painful expense... I always do! Enjoy!

Trained Spotters Reported...

These three words have always mystified me during the season of severe weather that we Minnesotans have now entered. "Trained Spotters have reported a funnel cloud 7 miles west of..." Who are these spotters? What kind of training have they received? Have I been living among a plethora of meteorologists this whole time, without knowing it?  I've wondered about this awhile. You see, I come from the Long family line that loves to follow the weather. I'm not the slightest bit gifted in matters of science, but when it comes to studying the weather, storms and all things Doplar- I'm drawn to them like tornadoes to trailer parks.

So a few years ago, when my brother Dave and I worked at Bible Camp together, we met this guy who said he was an aforementioned "Trained Spotter." Dave and I were fascinated by his stories. And when we were hit by storms that week, we happily trusted his expertise and tried to soak up as much storm knowledge as possible. This guy became somewhat of an idol.  I was jealous that my brother got to spend more time with him than I could, and when the two seemed to become buddies, well, I looked for ways for my brother to take advantage of his friendship with him so that I would benefit, too.  That summer was awesome for many reasons, but I'll never forget the bonding Dave and I shared because of our shared passion for all things weather. Many a night was spent listening to the weather radio and talking excitedly about our dream to own and operate a camp together and, more importantly, to one day become a trained spotters.

I am proud to announce that that "one day" has arrived. Last night I completed a two-hour Severe Weather Spotter training session. I will receive my "spotter identification number" in a few weeks. Seriously, I am kind of giddy about this. I did all I could to keep myself from calling my brother and having him listen in. So I did the next best thing: I recorded it with a digital tape recorder. Anywho, let me fill you in on a few cool things that I learned about spotting storms...

The first thing the instructor talked about was the importance of a trained spotters' report. He said that radar can only determine so much from a storm's activity, so having trained eyewitnesses is always the preferred method of gathering evidence needed to issue warnings and updates. How true, how true. It's always better to see it with your own eyes - to be there - and to tell of your own experience to someone when engaged in storytelling and matters of persuasion. Technological advances are wonderful but also very limited, and his point about the significance of trained spotters was warmly appreciated from a man who works in an such an interpersonal profession as ministry. After all, Jesus didn't appear on Doplar radar, he appeared to real life people - with two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth with which to proclaim and testify about him to others.

We then studied the anatomy of a tornado. I had grown up hearing about "wall clouds" and have wondered just exactly what these looked like and how they were connected to tornadoes. You see, every tornado comes out of a wall cloud. It doesn't really look like a wall - it looks more like a wart. It's just this sub-section of a massive cloud that drops down a little (pictured left). Every tornado consists of updrafts and downdrafts. The updraft creates a huge tower of billowy, puffy cauliflower like clouds. The taller the tower, the stronger the updraft. If the tower extends beyond what they call an "Anvil" cloud, well, that is gonna be one nasty storm. When you're looking at one of these clouds and the wind is at your back, rushing towards the cloud - that is a telltale sign that the storm is gathering strength and collecting updraft. Tornadoes almost always follow precipitation - aka "downdraft." The wall cloud originates directly underneath the tallest cloud tower and usually points towards the downdraft - rain, hail, etc. The green tint that often accompanies severe weather and tornadoes is because of the hail - which refracts light, it's some kind of prism effect.

We watched lots of videos and viewed pictures of what to look for in cloud formations. First and foremost, you're always watching for rotation. Since tornadoes are invisible most of the time, the only way to really tell whether or not a tornado's circular rotation has touched down, is if you can see debris and dust kick up on the ground. Most tornados we see on the news have been active long enough to gather debris - and that is what gives them the murky gray appearance they have. But usually, they start out with a missing middle - the funnel is noticeable out of the wall cloud and the ground debris pops out too, but everything else is unseen.

A few terms that stood out to me of which will definitely make me stand out as someone who knows what they're talking about:  1) RFD - Rear Flank Downdraft.  RFD follows a storm and often kicks up dust on the ground but is not in fact, a tornado. Basically they are left-over wind gusts that form in the wake of powerful storms. "Whoa, look Keith - a tornado!" "Actually, that looks more like RFD to me. I better call it in."  2) SCUD - Scud is cloud scraps bundled together, looking rather ominous but posing no real threat. This usually happens when clouds come together close to the ground and begin to appear as funnels - but they are in fact just SCUD. The key way to differentiate is again to look for circular rotation. "That is a huge tornado - look at the size of it!"  "Hmmm. I don't see any rotation. Must be a bad case of SCUD going on there. I better call it in." 3) EF-1 - This is the fujita scale for classifying tornados. It was formerly just "F" and was a scale based on wind speeds alone. They are now basing a tornado's strength on both wind speed AND damage caused. So if at any point a tornado inflicts EF-5 damage on an area, then even if the tornado was a EF-1 for the majority of its duration, that tornado goes down in the record books as an EF-5. 4) Multiple Vortex Tornado - This is the worst kind of tornado - it's basically a two-headed monster. This kind of tornado has the capability of splitting or consolidating. Both outcomes would be very, very bad. 5) The Southwest - Standing south and west of a storm is both the safest vantage point and most informative perspective for a trained spotter. Most storm chasers chase twisters from the west and are able to get so close because Tornadoes usually move from the west to the east and north. The exception is when a multiple vortex tornado spawns and splits. In other words, "Multiple Vortex Tornado" = The Tornadic Supervillain. All this talk about tornadoes and I haven't even gotten to "Shelf Clouds" yet!  Oh well, you'll just have to attend your own Spotter Training course and find out for yourself.

I hope you have found this informative. I recognize that I have written about all of this with humorous tones and twists (pun intended), but obviously, tornadoes are not exactly a laughing matter.  It's really a very serious matter given the recent deaths and horrendous damage inflicted upon the Southern portions of our country. The truth is that I hope I never have to call in about a funnel cloud formation or report on anything resembling a wall cloud or even RFD. But, in the event that I am able to properly identify what is going on, I hope that my preparedness will be helpful in keeping people safe and saving lives.

But hey, I'm not gonna lie... it's still a pretty cool feeling to add "Trained Spotter" to my credentials. So, if you're reading this bro, I did it - now it's your turn!

Celebrating Death?

So they finally found him. And they put a bullet through his eye. The news of Osama Bin Laden's death yesterday and the ensuing mass celebrations is truly peculiar isn't it? I don't know if 'peculiar' is even close to the right description, but Bin Laden's death has been anything but joyous for me. Maybe this makes me unpatriotic - but I find it all very odd, that's all. Times Square in New York City looked like New Year's Eve - it made me stop to remind myself WHY: A man - a vile, and wicked man, no doubt - was hunted down for over ten years and assassinated in cold blood - and the world rejoiced. Don't get me wrong, I know what Bin Laden stood for and I know all the terrible things for which he was responsible, but I just don't think I can smile and raise a toast about his death like the people in Times Square.

I just find myself reflecting on the timing of it all. As a man who serves the church for a living, my internal calendar instinctively pointed me to a week prior, when we celebrated another man's death. And I found myself wishing there had been a similar public outcry of jubilation when we observed the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Can you imagine how cool it'd be to turn on the news to see people crammed shoulder to shoulder in the streets united in their celebrating of Easter?!  Jesus, like Bin Laden after all, experienced death via assassination. The comparison of course, ends there - but, nevertheless, if there was ever a death to be celebrated (click here to read an excellent blog post about this) - a death to be exalted and shared with others, it was Jesus' not Bin Laden's. Maybe that's just me.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that I find it unsettling the way the world is exalting Bin Laden's demise from this life. I understand that their joy is more about how his death will undoubtedly help to minimize future tragedies from terrorist acts. I understand that people feel he got what he deserved and that with a Bin Laden-free world, people feel a tad more safe.  I get it. I may not necessarily agree with those same sentiments or the ridiculous amount of time, money, human lives and resources spent to accomplish this mission, but I understand why they felt his death was important. But, I just can't get past the part where we as a culture are patting ourselves on the back and glorifying murder - the very same thing Bin Laden and his cronies did when the Towers fell ten years ago. How, in the eyes of the watching world, does killing Osama Bin Laden make us any better than him?  Instead, as a Jesus follower, I think this calls for some serious reflection and a somber attitude, not a giddy - 'ding-dong the wicked witch is dead' one.  I think I'll strive towards a present and future in which we are rejoicing while truly living out Jesus' love for one another and courageously bringing justice throughout all the world, alleviating those suffering in hunger or achieving reconciliation and peace amidst the wars and fighting. 

And if we simply must rejoice about something - after all, it has been a long winter and bad news keeps piling up these days, may we rejoice in the good news of Easter and in the hope and the promise of the empty tomb; that Jesus died and rose again for all of us - even the likes of Osama Bin Laden.

Sidelined

Almost two months to the day after injuring my thumb in a freak basketball incident, I am back on the Disabled List with an ankle injury. Not just any ol' sprained ankle I might add, but an (get ready to Google) "avulsion fracture' of the fibula. And so, after 32 years, my streak of not breaking a bone has come to an end. Now, it's technically just a chip - really can't even call it a fracture - but, it still counts as one in my book. Man, I feel so old and accident prone. It's sad and comical at the same time: I am the youngest guy out there by 10 or so years, so its not as though I've been playing out of my league as so many of the health professionals assumed while I was getting examined.

The swelling has yet to recede ten days after but at least I can walk on it - the affected area is a non-weight bearing bone. But walking is the extent to the activity prescribed - so I will be forgoing my running and of course, basketball playing for at least three more weeks - probably more. But, I can lift weights. Which brings me to the interaction I had this morning at the gym.

The small town of Dawson affords its inhabitants to know practically everyone by sight. In other words, we know a new face when we see one. Most of the time that new face has been yours truly - everywhere I'd go in town I was sure to turn a few heads and inevitably, be asked who I was. This is a good thing - it's nice to see that the friendliness the Midwest is often known for still exists, at least out in the country. So when I entered the gym this morning for a routine workout, you can imagine my surprise at seeing a new face - a young, African American man bench pressing 250 pounds. Dawson doesn't have too many young African American males bench pressing 250 pounds, so I asked him what his name was. "Matt."  I introduced myself and told him that I was a Pastor at the church across the street. For those of you reading this that are not Pastors, please know that you are really missing out. I would say that when I introduce myself as a Pastor or seminarian, 95 percent of the time people feel the need to either confess something to me, or to tell me their life story. It really is quite fascinating. This fact alone is evidence enough that God has a sense of humor.

So, I braced myself for what Matt would inevitably share with the exercising Pastor in his midst. Sure enough, he first observes that I am NOT a Catholic priest, because I am married (noticing my ring). Then he asks me what my thoughts are regarding sex before marriage. I tell him my thoughts on the matter and he tells me his before casually dropping the following question on me (please, no one under 18 years old beyond this point.) "Would you call it rape if you had sex with someone who was asleep?" I just met the man - seriously people, if you aren't considering becoming a Pastor now, I don't know how else to convince you. So, after briefly pausing to collect my thoughts, I respond: "Yes, I think I'd consider that rape - non-consensual sex at the very least."  Matt smiles and says, "Yeah, so that's what my girlfriend at the time did to me - I was passed out drunk - and she had sex with me. And two weeks later she told me she was pregnant. That was six years ago, and now I have a daughter. Do you want to see a picture?"  Sure Matt, I'd love to.

By this time I have started to lift weights. I can feel him watching my every move. The next thing I know he's giving me tips and new ideas. Before you know it, we're work out buddies. He's walking me through some new lifting exercises and sharing all of his insight and knowledge. It's a little weird, but I am actually enjoying my little personal training session, I'm always looking for new exercises - and he certainly has credibility given his stature alone. The personal information continues to come out too, "When I was in high school, I got tired of being made fun of because I'm black - you can only walk away so many times before you need to start standing up for yourself - so I started lifting weights and knocking people out. I got into over 200 fights..." To which I reply, "Wow, sounds like you had a lot of anger, huh?" He proceeds to tell me how fighting was the only way. I realize how tough growing up African American in rural Minnesota must have been, but by the looks of this guy, I am suspicious that ANY kid, white or black, would ever intentionally ridicule him and get onto his bad side.

He mentions that he has been considering becoming a personal trainer. I encourage him to go for it. He explains that he doesn't read very well, but I still offer my encouragement to look into it. He seems to really enjoy working out and sharing how strong he is with me. "I used to lift 500 pounds - I can do this, I can do that - I'm chiseled and cut - on and on and on he goes, telling me how awesome he is. I just nod and smile and say, "so what do you use all that muscle for?" He pauses and doesn't respond at first.  I clarify, "I mean, you are obviously a strong guy, God gave you lots of strength, you should do something with what you've got." To which he says, "Nah, it's for the ladies..." I scoff and tell him that he should do something more useful like be a fireman, etc. It just seems like a waste of time to go through all of that physical transformation for hooking up with women... but maybe that's just me.

Anyway, long story short - the man puts me through 90 minutes of arm, ab and back lifting exercises. Don't get me wrong, now that my ankle is injured and I can't run or do much cardio, I am appreciative of learning a few more weight lifting routines, but I am beginning to wonder if I made a mistake by being friendly this morning. I start to wonder how he'd do at personal training - in fact, he even asked me flat out to evaluate him. I do think he'd do pretty well, but I just don't know if I'm ready to sign on just yet. I guess we'll see how my body feels tomorrow.

Yard Sale Guy

For the first time in my adult life I went downhill skiing. I had gone once as a ten year old on a school outing, and never left the bunny hill. In fact, I not only never passed the bunny hill (nor did I really want to for that matter) but I also managed to hit a fence and come within feet of a parked car. So, my history with skiing wasn't great. But, an opportunity to go with my church presented itself, and I figured I was due another attempt. I figured if nothing else, I would have a good story to tell.


While sitting in the chalet awaiting our group to get our gear, I remember watching people walk by who looked considerably more experienced than I was. My first thoughts were: "I am out of my league." And I was - I came with zero experience, unless you want to count that blip on the screen fifth grade ski trip as 'experience.' As out of my league that I was, I was determined to get past the bunny hill and see what I could do as a man versus what a terrified, husky 10 year old boy did all those years ago.

I got "fitted" with my ski boots. They didn't have my size so they gave me the next biggest boot available. These things felt HUGE on my feet. I could barely bend my knees because the ankle support went up so high. Then, I was "fitted" with some skis. I had to go back twice because my left foot kept coming unclipped. I tried not to take that as a negative omen.

There was no one on the bunny hill. Not a soul. So, I decided I was going to take my training to the "Easy" hills and go from there. I convinced myself I would learn better going faster - similar to my guitar hero preferences. I was warned ahead of time not to underestimate the chair lift. This advice proved comforting only in the sense that when I did in fact fall flat on my face while disembarking, that I felt slightly more justified in my clumsiness. I mean, face-planting is never an enjoyable experience, nor is face-planting with an audience. It's also not an enjoyable feeling when, flat on my side and struggling to get out of the way (so the chair lift can resume after stopping for me) when everyone just carries about their skiing, with no thought of lending me a hand. Jerks. I was totally helpless. I had to beg someone for their assistance. They sort of stopped, but I wouldn't say that they helped. I had to laugh to myself because I still had to figure out a way to get down the hill.

Much to my delight, I received a very quick response to my prayer for help. After I managed to get to my feet (which was exhausting and humiliating), my supervisor and his daughter arrived, followed by (Saint) Nick.  Recognizing a lost cause, Nick offered his instructional services to me, which I promptly accepted.  With Nick's help I managed to get down the hill. Notice that the word "successfully" was intentionally omitted from that last sentence. No, I got down the hill alright, but it was anything but successful. I had at least five "yard sales" as the skiing world calls them - total wipe-outs, crashes, face-plants, etc. You don't just fall, you fall hard and everything goes everywhere. That was me - the Yard Sale guy.  I'd get going and unable to slow down, I'd freak out and fall in order to stop. Being told to "turn" was probably the most ridiculous thing a person could say to a rookie like me. Thankfully, Nick told me how to turn and showed me what it looked like and offered specifics when I asked for them. He was encouraging and understanding. We shared a lot of good laughs at my expense, too - which was helpful because instead of frustration mounting, I stayed relaxed and patient as my knowledge and experience went through its natural growing and learning phase.

Eventually I started to get the feel of being on those skis and was able to experiment with turning from side to side. Unfortunately, once I was so focused on the side to side turning that I took my eyes off where I was going and ended up turning onto a steeper medium level run. That was not a good self-esteem builder to say the least. More Yard Sales.  I managed a few nice recoveries here and there and had enough self-awareness to give myself a dinner break after reaching the bottom.

Perhaps the most aggravating and annoying moments of my ski adventure came from the dozens upon dozens of people (mostly the kids from my confirmation class) asking me: "Hey Pastor Keith - how many times have you fallen?" Little jerks... Kick a man while he's down. Ugh, I hated this question. Talk about bringing me to my bad place. The reality was that I hadn't fallen as much as I thought I would, but being a first-time skiier apparently sticks out like a white guy with an afro. What is it with people loving to celebrate another person's misery anyway?  For instance, Rebecca and I have found ourselves pretty lucky with Natalie. But we are finding it difficult to give honest responses to people who ask, "so, is she sleeping through the night?" Their tone usually implies that they are eager to hear us whimper and whine about our lack of sleep... so when we say "yes - most nights" - they give us a dirty look and somehow we end up feeling guilty for having a good baby. Fact is, we would be much better off lying and telling them how awful our nights have been and how stressed out we are. "Misery Loves Company" - so, so true. So, long story short, I loathed their lack of encouragement and negative questioning regarding my skiing ability. But, it definitely served as ample motivation.

When I came out after eating my over-priced chicken tenders and guzzling a Powerade, I was ready to prove myself. Well, almost. I kind of wanted to call it quits. I was drenched from head to toe, my fingers were frigid and I was on my own for the remainder of the night. But, I went up the lift anyway (which I had mastered by the way thanks to advice from Saint Nick.)  And, wouldn't you know it, I mastered "Hawaiian Cruise" (the easiest run) by descending five consecutive times without falling. I was turning and burning - it was awesome. And even better, my first successful time down the hill was witnessed by some church members who celebrated by giving me high fives and congratulations. It's great to share success and celebrate with others - that was a big boost for me. I continued my mastery the remainder of the night. I even conquered a medium level hill by the end of the night.

I realized that if I could just stay on my ski's I would be okay. It's like that scene in Happy Gilmore when he hits a hole in one and is like, "Oh, man. That was so much easier than putting. I should just try to get the ball in one shot every time."  Falling down and figuring out how to stand up again was awkward and exhausting and it wore me out. This was motivation enough to fight through the urges to hit the eject button every time I hit a rough patch or got scared. When I was really cruising, I just felt like yelling, "I'm Skiing!!!" similar to when in Bob yells "I'm Sailing!" in What About Bob? Not falling seems like a simple goal, but I honestly felt safer falling down at first rather than trying to work through it to stay upright. Obviously, it turns out that skiing is much easier and more enjoyable when you're not doing Yard Sales all the time.

All in all it was a good time. It's too bad it took me 22 years to go skiing again, I really enjoyed it, yard sales and all - just as long as no one asks me how many times I fell. (About 12 good solid wipe-outs and 3 Mega Yard Sales if you really must know!)

She Births!

The last five days have been a blur. I get home from work last Wednesday after writing in my blog and proceed to watch the last five episodes of "Lost" season 6, back to back, with my wife Rebecca. We finished this epic television series at 11:20 pm, well past our usual bedtime. Ten minutes later, at 11:30pm, her water breaks and she goes into labor!

Unbelievable. Talk about ending one chapter of our lives in dramatic fashion!  I didn't even have any time to process the finale before we were packing the hospital bag and preparing the house for our soon-to-be-born baby!  Yes, less than 18 hours after "The End" came "The Beginning" of sweet little Natalie Grace Long's life.

I thought I was prepared. I read books, we talked things through. We watched graphic videos depicting exactly what childbirth would look like. Oh how wrong I was. Nothing prepares you for that moment. And I am so glad for it!  While it is often delivery that gets most of the attention in a father's retelling of the blessed event, it was the 15 or so hours leading up to 'the main event' that still have me reeling.

My wife is amazing. She'd never brag about herself in a hundred years, unless of course it's about beating me at Guitar Hero, so I take it upon myself to talk her up instead. We went into our pregnancy with high hopes and plans to provide our baby the best possible environment for her well-being and health. As most of you know by now, Rebecca and I are very environmentally conscious and seek ways to live simply, i.e. organic foods, reducing our carbon footprint, care of creation, etc. So, in addition to a continual vigilance towards nutrition (read those food labels!) and keeping our waste and resources in check, we decided that there were a few things that would be priorities for our pregnancy, labor and parenting. One of those priorities, especially after doing our reading and viewing of "The Business of Being Born" was to attempt to labor and deliver without medicinal intervention. We were never completely opposed to an epidural or pain medications, for we realized that circumstances do change quickly and such intervention can ease suffering and save lives. And yet, the more we talked and listened to the research and stories of other women, the more we (and by 'we' I mean 'she') realized that natural childbirth was still possible, even in the 21st century.  So we created a birth plan which indicated our preferences for managing the pain without first trying our go at it naturally and set out to bring baby Long into the world.

We met with a member of Grace Lutheran (she happened to be a nurse who taught pregnancy/parenting classes), who gave us a few tips for breathing through the contractions, breastfeeding techniques, etc. and instilled in us confidence and encouragement that we could do this. We considered enlisting a Doula's services, but it just didn't seem to work out. In the end, I don't know if I would've been able to leave her side! As labor quickly approached, nervousness set in, but we remained hopeful all would go well and whatever happened along the way, this baby would be born safely.

Labor was long, but we took each contraction one at a time and breathed them each away. As they intensified, Rebecca stayed in a zone like I'd never seen before. She was unflappable. Man, I could not believe how strong this woman was! She was a warrior. The nurses checked in from time to time with her, seeing if she needed any meds to alleviate the pain, and each time she looked them square in the eye and said, "No. I'm managing." She wasn't invincible, but she was managing them. I did my best to breathe with her and massage, accompany, encourage, be water boy and DJ whenever necessary - it was such a blessing to watch this woman operate through such a challenging life event.

As I stood by and watched her push our child closer and closer to what seemed a laughably small opening, I swelled with pride and love. Although not exactly sure what is 'normal' in delivery, our baby's head was crowning for at least 40 minutes. I caught myself saying "almost there" around 100 times before I made myself think of something else to say. But, she was patient. She listened to our doctor's coaching without complaint. She sweated it out, she even made a joke or two. And then, just when I thought she'd had enough, she kept going....and going....and going.  I cannot imagine how painful this must have felt with drugs or without. But in my wife's case, she was without them and man, did I ever want to break out the biggest, rowdiest, pump-you-up, chest thumping boasts I could think of: "THIS IS MY WIFE!!"  Talk about courage!

When our baby's head finally did emerge from her vagina, my mouth about hit the floor. I was totally speechless. I was expecting something the size of a Nerf football - but out came a little PERSON! Are you kidding me????  I instantaneously broke into tears and the rest is just a blur. I remember hearing "it's a girl!" and "Put her on Mom's chest" - but that is about it. I cut the cord and stood in awe of what had just happened. It was a powerful moment I will never forget. I regained my wits long enough to pose for a picture or two, kiss my wife and give God thanks over and over again for this little miracle. We confirmed to one another our name choice and shared "Natalie Grace" with the room.

And so, here I am, four days into parenthood with our precious gift from God.  Natalie is nothing short of beautiful and I cannot stop gazing at her. I love her little kitty like squeaks and sounds and even her cries bring a smile to my face as I bask in the afterglow of becoming a Daddy. I never thought I would ever take this many sleeping baby photos nor did I imagine I'd actually enjoy waking in the middle of the night to change a diaper, but I am loving every minute of this.

The journey to parenthood was not easy for us. Our faith and hope were tested many times.  We do not take for granted one minute of this little miracle named Natalie, and I still do not think it has completely set in that I am now a Dad. I didn't realize just how much my heart would expand with joy and peace now that she is here. And along with the joy that Natalie has given me, so has my wife and the many friends and family who generously offered their prayers and support throughout it all.  But I am especially grateful for Jesus Christ, the Light on my path when the road was dark, the hand outstretched when I couldn't go on and my Friend and my God, whose promises embraced me in the hope that, "in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28

Life is good. Life is so, so good.

The Lost Days

Still waiting. The baby could come any day now, but until then, we continue to wait. And wait. And wait. Rebecca's waiting is far more agonizing than my own for obvious reasons, but it doesn't negate the difficulty of my own waiting. Over the last few weeks I have been noticing a steady decline in my concentration and thought life.  Very little free space in my mind is occupied by anything other than baby stuff, I can tell you that. All the waiting has allowed ample opportunities to utilize full brain power to get some planning, writing and other things off my work "to do" list before Baby arrives and throws my life into a tailspin... So am I taking advantage of these final days pre-baby?  Not exactly.

I picked a heck of a time to watch the last season of "Lost." Ever a closet Lost fan, I saw season six on the shelf at the library a few days ago and couldn't resist. I want to see how it ends - I want some closure before it is inevitably spoiled for me down the line. And so, watching every night, we've been totally hooked, racing against the clock to finish it before Rebecca's labor hits. Of all the shows on television, I pick the one that scrambles your brain the MOST just before the arrival of our first child, who will no doubt have his/her own way with the scrambling of our thoughts!

I really wish I had more insight to share before I become a father, but I really don't. Unless of course you want to discuss relaxation techniques, breastfeeding or cloth diaper folding methods, the only other topic I could elaborate at length upon at this moment are my theories of this incredibly complex and intense TV series. Wow - this season so far has not disappointed this fan as he savors his number one TV 'guilty pleasure.'

As excited as I am to reach "The End" of Lost, it totally pales in comparison with how excited I am for "The Beginning" of Fatherhood... And so, I figure this is the week I conclude being Lost, complete with it's complexities and plot-twists and intensity, only to become Lost in a completely different, complex and intense way - Bring it on!