Morning

2010 Christmas Letter

Merry Christmas everybody. I know you haven't heard a "thing" from us since I last posted 15 minutes ago on facebook that I just finished clipping my toenails. None the less in this modern world of technology and TMI (too much information) I am forging ahead with an old fashion Christmas newsletter to catch you up on the latest happenings of our family. Before I commence I must admit that I left out a few details about my toenail clipping- so, for those of you who must know, It started well with the little piggy that went to market but by the time I had whittled my way to the little piggy that went wee wee wee all the way home I had drawn blood twice. I think it was because when I had reached the little piggy that had roast beef I was also trying to type the facebook entry on my lap top with my nose.

Want to know whats worse? No? I'm telling you anyway. Whats worse is that if you have a teenager with a keypad type cell phone if you so much as toot, the breaking news (not the actual toot, at least not YET) will be broadcast from Nome to Miami before you can say "Whoopsie!"

Its one thing to know that God is watching you but God is merciful. I know he is merciful because I have written several "Tid Bits" for our church website and he has not stricken me dead. On the contrary. God mostly keeps quiet, at least for now, about your shortcomings, whereas a 14 year old boy will just blab your every indiscretion to the world using his wild west IPhone quick draw and lightning fast texting fingers. Other than that he is your typical teenage boy (Wade, not God) who, if you watch closely when performing tasks around the house - you will rarely detect actual movement. Like when you watch a mushroom grow.

We had a wonderful summer. Please see the "Summer of our content photo album". Wade contracted with one of our many wonderful neighbors to break several ponies, one of which had considerable talent for drawing blood on adults with his teeth.

Business man that he is, Wade subcontracted much of the pony work to Charlie and Gracie who established a tremendous rapport with the ponies. Also, Wade is so tall that his toes almost drag the ground when mounted on one of the small beasts, so the little kids were better fitted for the riding part. But they did fabulous on the groundwork too. Before it was over it was not uncommon to see them out in the dust being followed eagerly by a spotted pony, that, when approached by an adult would scatter like a startled antelope.

We did get in some good pony chasing, pony roping, pony dogging (like bull dogging) and in a few cases I greco roman wrestled one or two of them into submission. We also had lots of neat folks and their big horses out for lessons and training and made many new friends. Charlie and Gracie made the evening news when one of our customers dyed her paint horse pink and fastened a unicorn horn (really) on its head. Talk about breaking news. It was on TV and all over the Internet. I hid out by the manure pile in a scarecrow outfit until the camera man left.

It was fun having the family home at our place working horses, watching Wade develop into a fine hand capable or riding colts for his dad along with his mom who enjoyed the time away from teaching. Charlie and Gracie, the two pee-wee's, wanting to please their dad endured a few buck offs, complete with bumps and scrapes. Charlie held the record for being bucked off four times, but Gracie did a spectacular face plant to even the honors.


With Fall, came school. Linda is homeschooling the little kids with a group of neighbors. They start at 7:30. AM, finish at noon and do homework for about two hours afterwards. Its crazy. They wake up early and often start coloring or practicing their times tables - vigorously. They can whip out more multiplication problems in 90 seconds of "Mad Dog Math" at 6:00 am than I did in my entire school career. Stupid times tables.

Wade goes to High School at Central Christian and plays basketball. We rarely see him but when we do he is either studying or eating or drinking, like, four gallons of milk in one setting.

With winter came Christmas and with Christmas came the Tree. Pookie decided she wanted the same Christmas tree we used last year. I thought I was forever done with that prickly porcupine of a carpet staining monster but she made me cut it down and bring it back in the house. It smells funny too. I thought the cat was using the tree stand water as a latrine or something but its not the cat Pookie informs me. Its that stinking tree. After Chrismtas last year we planted it by the barn in a beautiful patch of wildflowers where I thought it would remain forever. But even Pookie decided it looked stupid and needed to go, but first, it must be employed as a Christmas tree. Because, (Pookie) "New Christmas trees cost twelve dollars per foot!"

(Me)"Cant we just get a one footer?"

Apparently not.

So I sit not twelve feet away from it again, writing the annual letter in the same chair in which I wrote it 364 days ago. In a few days I will remove that stinky little shrub from the house for good, chop it into little pieces and burn it to a cinder. And if I make a mistake in any one of the steps involved in getting forever rid of it Wade will be sure to publish it via text message and I will most likely get a ticket for burning a Christmas Shrub without a permit. If that happens, I will take his phone away for good. You can read about it on facebook.


Merry Christmas
Tim, Linda, Wade, Gracie, Charlie

Treatise on Marriage

My cousin posted a blog entry about marriage in which she divulged that her marriage went through a few very rough years- and now its better than ever. And she recommended a book that helped them confront their issues head on, humble themselves, and as a result they are experiencing a relationship they never thought possible. I'm assuming with each other. I responded with the following, which I will share, with you the reader. It is from my heart, mostly. I say mostly because I'm trying to watch "The Unit" which is a very cool show. Second only to the office, now that we dont have cable.

Wow Jill- you're brutally honest. I hate that. Our marriage is similar to yours only the spacing is different- where as you had your tough years in a clump, our tough years have been spread out in an every other day fashion: love hate love hate love hate love style and yes there were a few years where it was love hate hate hate, hate,love hate! (to the tune of dong ding ding dong dong, ding ding!) Fortunately the kids have kept us together ha ha. I wonder what people without kids have to argue about. Also, I wonder what keeps people together who don't have kids.

And so in closing we must conclude that everyone has gone through struggles in their marriage, even such stalwart examples as Pop and Maugi. (a much beloved, steady, prudent elderly couple in our family) But very few I think have confronted the yukiness in marriage head on like you have and you should be proud (excuse me, my wife just stuck a newspaper between my computer screen and my face and read a comic to me - not kidding) I'll have to admit that my wife is the sensible one and I can be a real spoiled brat horses fanny with a werewolf style temper. 85% of the time she bites her lip and the storm passes and maybe 10% of the time I bite my lip and go outside, turn into the incredible hulk and curse and break stuff and think "I cant take this anymore!" ROOAARRR! And in an hour or two I honestly cant remember what I was mad about or where all my buttons are. (get it? they blew off when I turned into the incredible raging werewolf hulk creature) I'm sure it was trivial. A practical tip - I only stay insanely mad for one or two hours. Although, at the time I think it will last forever.

There is something, some force that keeps us from totally imploding. Its invisible, from God. I think its Grace although for me its also sex. (Grace is the invisible one.) A sense of humor is also good in marriage though not to be confused with the sex itself, although after age fifty the two must be combined for best results. So, somehow we get by. I should get the book huh?

Being Thankful

Several weeks ago during Sunday service we recieved an admonition from our Pastors on the importance of being thankful. It struck me personaly as a new years proclaimation - and now that we are into March its time to get cracking!

Here is a completly hypothetical situation about being thanful. Pretend you have a fourteen year old boy named Wade who wont feed his chickens without congressional oversight. These are the chickens he couldn't live without.

Only after a barage of constant huranging during which you've threatened his very life (to be stripped of texting privileges) does he finaly feed them, wearing YOUR shoes. Your new Christmas shoes. He doesnt put the shoes on all the way. He shoves into them and crushes the heel of your shoe with his big foot. He thinks its hilarious. Then, after chores are finished and he has shuffled back into the house he plops your mucky shoes in the doorway where you trip over them, injuring yourself, which causes you to sin. THIS is the time to be thankful! Really thankful! Why not scream, weep and tear your garments and shout, Whats wrong with that boy? AARRGGGGHHHHHH! Great question!

Answer: Because all teenagers do this very thing. Just like you did. He's a somewhat normal, happy teenage boy. And thats something to be thankful for because there are parents who have lost their children who struggle just to be thankful for the short time they had together. Thats how they stay sane. Thats why you should be so thankful to God that you have a boy, a happy somewhat normal boy, who wont feed his chickens.

2009 Chirstmas Newsletter

Welcome to the 2009 Rawlins family Christmas newsletter and I’m happy to report I have not had one carbuncle! Just what you were dying to hear I know. Thank God there was less turmoil at home as I reported in the ever popular 2008 newsletter.
This years letter is so authentic I am actually writing it on Christmas day. The kids are playing with their new toys, Linda is napping. I’m in my robe in my chair with the laptop, gazing out the window at the white. (frozen ground fog but still a layer of white) We just finished breakfast (Costco quiche and cinnamon rolls) We are simplifying this year. The Family Christmas dinner was prepared by Costco and will be pre-heated and served at my insistence and to the horror of my eldest, protesting son. We are going stress- free as much as possible.

Still, a smattering of presents and wrapping cover the floor and the lights glow on the tree that stands before me: The stupidest looking tree in the world.

The tree was Pookies idea. It’s a live tree and I absolutely hate it. Here’s why. Always one to stretch a dollar, Pookie found it in town and made the command decision to buy it, totally unauthorized by myself and the children. “When we’re done with Christmas we can plant it by the barn for shade.” Also, its deer proof, meaning if you touch the needles they draw blood. She brought it home and it took three of us to unload it and drag it into the garage taking special care to not touch it with our faces. Since it was “dormant” it couldn’t come in the house until 4 days before Christmas which was great because my lumbar muscles had plenty of time to heal before I would have to lift it again. On that magical day when we would ceremoniously skid it from the garage to the front door I discovered the root ball was jammed askew in the plastic pot causing the tree to list aft at forty five degrees. Me and Charlie and Wade skidded the monster into the living room without much bodily injury but when I tried to straighten it- with the aid of the entire, gloved family, water poured forth from the crinkled plastic pot and left a big coffee stain type water mark on the carpet. Twice. Soon Pookie was on her knees scrubbing with both hands and demanding more, towels, hotter water, pronto. I could sense she was beginning to hate the tree. Shrub, we call it. Fortunately, in the interest of being a good sport I had bitten my tongue for the most part because I did not want to ruin Christmas time festivities. I went to the barn and brought in a big water tub and with herculean effort deposited the root ball into the tub. The girls covered the tub in red velvet, adjusted the tree so the fat side points east, the bald side to the west, offset at a mere ten degrees to look like a pregnant gorilla, arching her back with hands on hips. They decorated it with enough lights and bulbs to make it official, and wala’! Soon she declaired She wants the thing out of here on Christmas day, when my strong tall nephew Cole is here to help, well within the dormancy window. So I need to get this letter done, so we can wrap Christmas up early, and get the tree back into the garage. So much for simplifying.
Other than the tree episode it has been a wonderful year here at the Chicken ranch. This year’s letter will not contain much about the chickens, or rather what’s left of the chickens, as they have been kind of dying off and disappearing and molting and producing about one to three eggs a day, when we manage to locate the eggs. I built them a for real chicken coop complete with an honest to goodness chicken run. They rarely get out although they are out right now, at the writing of the Christmas letter. No doubt they made a special attempt to be out on Christmas day so they can make some timely deposits before our guests arrive.

One of the reasons they get out often is because they are managed by Wade, 13 who prefers a loose management style, opposite of his mother, whose management style is, by and large that of wanting to ring Wade’s neck most of the time. Often times his mother will turn to me and say, “ Its almost dark and The chickens haven’t been fed yet.” When I hear this I’m hoping she is speaking code and meaning something entirely different but she never is, no matter how much I wiggle my eyebrows. So we gang up on Wade and often times due to our constant admonishing he will feed the chickens well before ten o’clock at night.

We homeschooled Wade the first half of this year. He did public school on the web for half days and in the afternoons he’d hop on the four wheeler and ride over to work for the neighboring rancher who operates a pumpkin patch and petting zoo. It was a cool gig while it lasted. When the pumpkin patch job ended basketball started and he had much interaction with his friends playing point guard at Central Christian where he spent the first 7 years of his schooling career. We all decided it was best if Wade had a more social atmosphere for his schooling so we enrolled him at the Lone Pine school where his mother works part time and is very involved in all the kids schooling. I discovered that perhaps Wade was spending too much time in the world of technology when I caught him one day with a laptop computer on his lap, TV on, texting on his cell phone, and, literally, I’m not machining this up, he was using his big toe to operate the mouse on another laptop, which was on the floor. That’s when I knew he’d hit rock bottom. That, and the chickens were running roughshod throughout the village. He is tall, strong, smart, respectful. As his coach and dad I was very proud of the way he played basketball this fall and proud of his work ethic and reputation in the community. We spent some good time together hunting and fishing, without much catching an killing involved, but if you buy him some soda pop and food he’ll suffer any road trip with a happy attitude. We had fun together this year.

Charlie is in the first grade at Lone Pine school. He is an athlete, specializing in basketball, although as of late and due to the influence of country friends at school he has shown some interest in becoming a mountan man and cowboy, often wearing a coon skin cap to school, or sometimes a cowboy hat and boots. Let it never be said that Charlie Rawlins is all hat and no ranch. He’s a heck of a good little rider and he always picks his horses feet clean before he rides. Also, he is a willing fisherman and goes with dad, and his friends on fishing trips and the men don’t mind at all that he comes along because he is a fine boy to be around, although he doesn’t understand its bad manners to catch more fish than dad.

Gracie is in the third grade at Lone Pine school. She likes to go catch her mare in the pasture and ride, sometimes by herself. She has been known to ask Charlie or me for assistance and Charlie is willing to bring along a mop handle to smack any unruly horse who might show signs of attacking. She is a determined little rider and won some ribbons (as did Charley) at a local horse show recently. She is very conscientious and reliable and organized. I know I can count on her to do anything for me with a happy expedient attitude. She takes after her mom and both her grandmas.

The thing I’m most proud of my kids is that they are willing to hug the elderly, lonely people who live in the nursing home. What a delight to see Charlie and his friend Faith disappear around a corner pushing a sweet, half deaf, elderly man named Bill in his wheelchair, returning 10 minutes later, kids riding double in the wheelchair, Bill pushing them. Sometimes its scary for teeny Gracie to reach out and hug the people because some of them look threatening, but she puts her fears aside and hugs away and smiles and those people are genuinely touched and fed. And so am I. Most recently Charlie administered a hug to Grandma Opal while another, very elderly and somewhat distressed appearing lady in a wheelchair looked on. I asked Charlie to give her a hug. He did so without hesitation and when he returned, he said, as only a child could get away with, simply and without malice, “she stinks.” Ministering to the elderly is not for the feint hearted. The people who work there are saints.

There is so much to be thankful for especially healthy happy kids. So many people are going through hard times. Linda mentioned that several times last night, during the Christmas eve festivities around here. A few old friends and some relatives took the time to call and she was on cloud nine. She kept saying, “I’m so thankful for all my friends.” And so am I. So if you get a chance, please, write, text, call or better yet, stop by and see us- hopefully you can make it this afternoon, and help us get rid of this damned tree.

Timmy and the Rawlins family.

The horse show

Today we loaded up the kids and horses and went to a horse show. It was a little horse show, a casual affair, a bunch of common horses, most all were haired up for winter and pretty shaggy. Participants were mostly po-dunk riders- hayseeds, also fitting nicely in the fairly shaggy category. These were not your slick, hip, and cool quarter horse type people with thirty thousand dollar horses and silver adorned saddles and pressed, starched jeans. We fit right in.

It was for all practical purposes Gracie and Charlie?s first crack out of the box in their show careers. We chose the show because it is low pressure, low stress, relaxed and mostly because it featured a costume class in due to Halloween season. We are not Halloween people but costumes are a great way for the kids to be excited about riding their horses and keeping the emphasis off winning and losing, or so we thought. Early in the week, when Gracie got wind of the costume class she started planning right away. She chose her Indian maiden outfit, which is a fake buckskin Indian dress with a headband. She would paint a white circle around her little mare?s eye. She can?t take all the credit for her outfit because I'm the one who came up with the suggestion that she should also paint a white hand print on the horse?s bottom. She looked cute as a button in her little outfit with her blond pig tails. (8 inchers) She rode the little mare that her mom and I bought as a two year old, trained and sold to friends for their little girl. We recently bought her back and she is as gentle and quiet as a fawn. She is a bombproof babysitter for our kids. Her name is Misty. The kids sometimes call her Pony Gal because of her small size.

Charlie had to ride old Henry for the costume class. Henry is older than God, about 27 to be exact, and he is bit of a handful. The kids can handle him if they wear spurs and show him who is boss. ?Leadership? is the term now used my natural horsemen because ?show him who is boss? went out the window because of political correctness and also because many people thought ?show him who is boss? meant to hit him in the head with a two by four. Mostly, it is Henry who provides the leadership and they do pretty much whatever he wants which is mostly the right thing. So he?s a good old boy who doesn?t owe us anything. He knocked around Grant County in eastern Oregon for twenty four years before we bought him. He?s drug calves to the branding fire and packed elk. Been hunted off and cowboyed off so now whatever Charlie throws at him is easy money.

When we arrived at the show grounds we tied the horses to the trailer and the kids proceeded to spray their horses tails with this stuff that untangles mains and tails. Then they rip their brushes through the tails like they are killing snakes. When they are finished the horses are missing a few tail hairs. This would just not do at the thirty thousand dollar horse type horse shows. But I think it?s neat that the kids mimic what they have seen their mom do, which is brush out tail, only she can do the thirty thousand dollar thing if need be. Soon they are picking out the feet, being all conscientious and thorough and I'm glad they are not sitting in front of the TV watching cartoons.

Gracie rides Misty around the pasture/ parking lot and Henry stands next to the trailer and whinnies and farts, those crackly farts that make me wonder if they don?t sound like dynamite fuses burning down to an explosion. Henry has never bucked hard with the kids. He bogs his head a little and his lope gets kind of hoppy, like he's plowing through ocean swells, but that?s the most he ever does. He really is a trustworthy old guy but he's a little work for the kids to ride. I've roped colts -big, old colts off his back and snubbed them up and drug them around and Henry has no trouble dragging a big colt around the pen despite his age. But it kind of takes a man or strong riding women to get much out of Henry. So it?s not all joy when Charlie somehow gets the short straw and opts to ride old Henry.

When Charlie was four he had way less fear of Henry. That first fall we had him we'd put the saddle on him. While I rode and gave lessons down at the arena Charlie would ride with me, loping right behind me and hang out with me . The other kids were at school and Linda substituted often so it was just Charlie and me and it was a neat, neat fall. As long as there was someone around for which Charlie could show he had no qualms at all about riding Henry and no trouble galloping around the huge arena with his feet stuck out to the sides like he was doing the splits because Henry was so round. It was cute but I think the time I got after Charlie for following me too close on my horse kind of hurt his feelings and he wasn?t so interested in riding after that and he gradually lost some of his nerve. Charlie's seven now and still rides Henry but mostly at a jog and mostly when he can?t ride Misty.

Charlie climbed on the old horse and rode him around but Henry was a little snorty and spooky so I made the command decision that Linda should warm him up for Charlie. Linda is in her tight jeans and tennis shoes and she bends her knee all Lady-like for me to give her a leg up. I take her tenny in my hand and soon discover its going to take both hands and soon she's squirming and struggling to get on this teeny saddle on this big old fuzzy gelding who, for all his supposed faults, stands still as a statue while the old hick couple gets ma mounted.

We took the horses down to the warm up arena and Linda decides to go for the warm up lope and goes to kicking with her white tennis shoes and finally gets the old boy into a hand gallop. He makes it a lap or two and nearing the top of the arena stumbles and almost falls down. Literally stuck his nose in the dirt. The saddle flipped up and the misses almost went over the top. So Henry was warmed up but Linda almost needs surgery to get that little teen kid saddle horn our of her belly button. The children and I are entertain with accounts of the incident throughout the morning.

Charlie climbs on wearing his complete Seattle Seahawks uniform, sans the helmet which he would wait to put on for the actual competition. The kids traded horses back and forth and they rode fairly aggressive, Gracie because her confidence was up and she is becoming a good little hand with the horses. Charlie is too, but he was in show off mode, which he thrives on. He?s chewing gum acting all cocky because he knew people were watching him and were impressed with him and his sister, these two tiny people, a professional quarterback and a mini-squaw who rode with abandon. Charlie dismounted once to stretch his legs and chew his gum and pull his uniform pants out of his bottom.

Gracie tied for first in this huge costume class with six other people. Unless you?ve seen it you probably wouldn?t believe the amount of people who would dress themselves and their horses in costumes. Charlie and about 20otheres didn?t make the cut but they were complimented on their outfits by the announcer. I'm talking grownups and teenagers and grandmas and all manner of frightened children here. Charlie was probably the littlest in the class. But Gracie came away with the blue ribbon.

I warned the kids, sternly on the way to the show about not getting caught up in winning and losing and ribbons. I stressed the importance of having a good attitude. They agreed they would just have fun. Of course all that went out the window during the first class when Charlie didn?t get a ribbon. Charlie?s horse also got attacked by a horse that was being ridden by a masked eleven year old girl in a Zoro disguise. Apparently he didn't like the way Henry looked at him and lashed out biting him on the butt. I thought Linda was going to jump over the fence and slug the horse in the face but she just commented about some people and the horses they put their kids on. Some of the horses our parents put us on would have eaten any horse out there for lunch and won a bucking contest afterwards.

So Gracie, in her little pink cowboy hat, showed Misty in the walk, trot class, navigating gingerly in a sea of horse-back humanity. I'm talking kids and grannies and teenagers and grown men here, some aboard ill mannered knot heads in need of a little ?leadership.?
Then there?s little Gracie trotting around on her tame fawn, who keeps her out of trouble. Gracie placed fifth in a class of about thirty.

Charlie told Gracie to make sure she stuck around for his class in case he came in "first place" he said, while performing a little cocky pre-victory dance. Finally, or so he thought, he would get his turn on Misty. His Class was a little smaller. But it was an equitation class and since he doesn?t know a thing about what the judge looks for in such a class, the rider is judged, not the horse; Charlie didn?t know what was really going on because we haven?t gotten that far yet. So even though Misty jogged around cute and behaved well, Charlie didn?t get a ribbon, so when he left the arena there were tears and the lower lip stuck out and we felt bad for our kid because he didn?t understand. Charlie stuck his lip out also.

Linda decided to let them both take a turn on Misty and enter the trail class. They each had their chance, riding through a little obstacle course and over a tarp that was supposed to be all scary. Misty didn?t bat an eye although the tarp got hooked around her leg once which is not supposed to happen because it is supposed to be fastened down. Neither she nor Charlie seemed to notice they were dragging this floppy loud thing around. A tarp around a hoof would cause many a bug eyed Cayuse to leave the planet passing through fences and barns and trees, but Misty was unfazed. Charlie and pony gal cruised through the course so quick he caught up with the horse ahead of him who was so freighted by the obstacle he locked his brakes and required fervent coaxing the entire way.

I saw both the kids? runs. Charlie by far had the better ride in the trail class. So I figured he would win the class and get a ribbon and it would take his mind off the fact that Gracie had won several. We waited until the very end of the show because the trail class was the last class for which the all important standings were to be announced. By the time they announced the results Charlie had long forgotten about any ribbon issues and was enjoying the game of tickle Charlie?s armpits I was playing with him. The kids wanted to go home but I told them just to be patient. I thought Charlie had won the class and I wanted him to get a ribbon- he didn?t care anymore but I made a big deal out of it: Mr. just have fun and don?t worry about the ribbons. Sure enough the last announcement for the day was for the trail class (ages ten and under) And Charlie came in about fourth and finally received his long awaited ribbon. The announcer made a big deal about it. I got the monkey off my back. Charlie was satisfied and I was satisfied for a split second until the announcer lady declared that Gracie Rawlins won first place.

What you need

What you need is someone who constantly reminds you of your strong points. You need to be around someone like that. At least that's what I need. Maybe your the type of person who is not constantly fighting your head, but I am. I think I'm being honest with myself but close scrutiny of my thoughts combined with occasionally feedback from friends and acquaintances who have witnessed my actions and heard my words have caused me to realize that I have a tendency to naturally default into a glass half empty kind of guy. I'm too hard on myself. They say that I always accentuate the negative and disregard the positive. Alright already.

Ray Hunt, an old horseman who made his livelihood helping people understand their horses said, "Don’t find fault with your horse. Try to find the good things he does and then the bad will get less and less." It's so true and not only with horses but wives and kids and people in general, including my own, personal self. So if your one of us guys who is constantly critical of yourself you need to be around someone who will continually remind you of your good points.

If your conscientious you'll find an irresistible urge to take inventory of your good and bad faults and you'll most likely error on the side of being too critical. Maybe everyone does that, I don't know. Its like when you hear your voice on the answering machine. Your own voice always sounds stupid when you hear it played back. But nobody else thinks that about you. They don't think about your voice much at all. Because they are thinking of their own voice, which to you sounds normal, Besides even if their voice is a little weird sounding to you, it doesn't matter, its just THEM after all.

My friend and I video ourselves announcing our church announcements prior to the actual service so during service we are shown on a quick video segment to save time. Also, I look, and sound exactly like an idiot. On camera I've even got this huge space between my teeth. I always pretend I have to go to the bathroom when they play the video before the congregation. Then I watch from the hall which I refer to as the "foyer" in the announcements and I sound like a hillbilly when I say it. Anyway I'm so embarrassed that I watch from the hall. Because I am self conscious of the fact that I sound like Barney Phife on helium and look somewhat Chinese.

But the reality is that the pastors chose me because they saw something they liked. That's the theory I'm going with. So I choose to dwell on that positive idea when I do think of the announcements and try to imagine how they might see it from a pastors point of view as opposed to my point of view; the gaped toothed, Oriental, Barney Phife point of view. That's another thing that gets me in trouble. Self Deprecation. It really is the best kind of humor but sometimes people dont understand it and they think your hard on yourself. Which may be true although my favorite people have always been able to laugh at themselves and tell funny stories on themselves. But you have to be care full when you go this route because if all you do is self deprecate, you could be too full of yourself. In which case you become self centered, full of pride, and negetive. If you don't watch it you'll get bitter and cynical and crabby. Not that I would know.

So you need this cool person nearby to blow some smoke up your trousers. Its a good smoke, like cherry scented pipe smoke. Its a sweet smelling savor and it reminds you of what you do good. So you take in a compliment and savor the compliment and roll in the compliment like a dog rolls in something that stinks for whatever reason then runs around like his butts on fire. Like the dog you are infused with life because you are concentrating on what you do good and your chest sticks out a little further and you step a little lighter and the happy thoughts come and you imagine yourself doing great things. Sometimes you allow cool music to play in the background while you are doing these cool things and through some cosmic Dallas Cowboy stadium of the universe, people watch.

I had a friend do just such a thing for me. I wrote to him asking if I could get a quote about my abilities for a business website I am building. He wrote back with a wonderful account about this great person he knows who is vested with all types of talents and wisdom. I almost had to write back and make sure he wasn't talking about someone else. It was so encouraging. It was a "Hey, honey, come look at this" moment. I wanted wallpaper my room with it and read it every day and inscribe it on my toilet paper. I wanted to rub up against it like a cat rubs on catnip. I wanted to mail it out, to memorize it, memorialize it. I wanted to eat it. It inspirited me. It was true, even truer than the writer meant it to be, I know this in my own heart. I never really say this but it was one of those times when you want to say, "Damn Strait" and walk out and conquer the world (after a short pause to google "Damn Strait")

But anyway, it encouraged me, it made me want to be accountable to it. I wanted to live up to such lofty ideals and knew I could if someone besides my own doubting self believed in me and thought highly of my skills and talents. On one hand I am so confident and on the other I'm so critical and nit picky and set goals that are ridiculously high or low. I get so focused on what I do wrong and what needs to be fixed and what could be better. Soon, I'm frustrated; pounding on the negative, focused on driving it out, attacking it. But the more I chew on it the bigger it gets like a big piece of gristly bull moose jerky.

So when this angel shows up and breaths life into the atrophied part of your brain that sometimes thinks positive things but mostly suffocates, when this event happens everything takes on fresh meaning and you wonder how you got so messed up.

This new life will lead you to find someone and encourage them. You'll want to tell them how they really are because you can see it plainly while they have probably lost sight of it. If they'd just believe you for a few minutes they could see the future for them that you do. They would see themselves setting higher goals, or allowing lesser goals. That little part in them that wants to do more and better but is overshadowed by that little fearful bug that tells them, Nah, your ok like you are, you probably couldn't do it anyway, that's for lucky, better people, you might make a mistake in front of everyone and that could be catastrophic and possibly embarrassing- a fate worse than death!

But I would tell you, you know that thing? That thing you've dreamed about, or thought about, That thing that wouldn't require much more energy than your using now, wouldn't take much time, would just take a little more focus, a little more risk, a little more life. Yeah, that thing. You can do it.