on.. Finding Inspiration

(A secondary title for this was "It's starting... again")

The most difficult part of writing for me is finding inspiration. Sure, I could just write about anything, a lot of people do. But for me, it has to be something I am emotionally attached too in some way. Otherwise, I feel like it is just trite, or forced.

I spend quite a bit of time thumbing through photos, trying to find something that gives me that brief glimpse of "AH HAH!", or I try to find something that compels me to want to write.

Well, today, that has failed me. I really don't feel like writing, to be truthful. I don't really feel like a whole lot of anything. Some of my anxiety is starting to come back, and I am feeling a lot of the same stress I was a few months ago. That does a lot to really make me unfocused or unable to concentrate. It takes a lot of the desire to write and makes it more of a burden.

I don't like feeling like this. Where the world starts being a burden to bear or a path to slog through. It sucks the joy right out of me, and adds layer upon layer of stress over the top. I mean, food even starts to just be something I eat.

I feel like I am sharing too much, and that I am going to have people start diagnosing me, but as I said a long time ago, this isn't about fixing me, this is about getting it out of me, admitting my flaws and weaknesses, because I think way to often, we hide our imperfections from other's, afraid they may see us for who we really are, instead of the mask that we portray.

Well, I'm not scared. I'm screwed up, I'm imperfect, and I have a whole lot of problems when it comes to my self worth and feelings of acceptance.

Sometimes, the best inspiration to write about is just sharing the battlefield that I live on.

Even if it isn't pretty.

I am the Avenger's: Conclusion

So, last week was an entertaining introspective, taking a look at the Avenger's and seeing myself in all of them. However, in doing that, I noticed two things. One, all these people and there characteristics were just just that, characteristics. Disjointed facets of my life, brief glimpses into the some of the traits that make me who I am. And the very next thought was that there seemed to be missing that one thing that joined them all together, and then I realized what was missing...Coulson.

Phil Coulson.

Arguably, the First Avenger. The one that recruited the team, that brought them together, that gave them a purpose and gave them a reason to band together. Basically, the Heart behind the team.

When I look at my life, I see all those characteristics; the dutiful mindset of Captain America; the protective nature of Thor; the whimsical man-child known as Iron Man; the quiet observation of Hawkeye; the interrogative skills of Black Widow; the raw anger of the Hulk.

And there, in the center of it all is my 'Coulson', threading those things together. Keeping in check my anger with a sense of duty, funneling it into my protector nature, using my observational skills and information gathering abilities to try to help others, and keeping me from slipping into the my gadget laced solitude.

So basically, if I were to sum up the characteristic of Coulson, it would be Attitude.. because, a good attitude can bring all of the other characteristics into play in a positive manner, and a bad attitude just.. well, a bad attitude just doesn't end well for anyone. Because the most powerful weapon anyone has control of is their attitude.

I am the Avenger's: Hulk

WARNING: 

It's about to get real

(this one took me almost 4 days to write, and re-write, and finalize)

Anger. Rage. The unrelenting desire to destroy stuff.

Words that could be used to describe the green beast/hero known as The Hulk.

Truth is, I have a lot in common with that because...

I am angry.

Pure and simple, no beating around the bush,.

Just angry.

All the time.

The things that trigger my anger are things like when someone offends me or says something that is hurtful, I'm suppose to be the bigger person and just let it slide. Someone takes advantage of me and I'm suppose to just get over it,. Someone disrespects me and I am the one who is suppose to act like an adult. Someone fails to communicate with me or places unrealistic expectations and I'm the one who is wrong, so I am the one who has to apologize for my 'shortcomings'? Someone makes me feel rejected and I'm suppose to just stand there and take it?

What about me? Why am I the one who has to overlook the offense?

The part that sucks about it is that I feel wrong for being angry, which actually makes me angrier, because somewhere in my head I have a thought or belief that tells me I shouldn't allow things to get to me, or I should be better then that, or rise above the situation. 

And when I do react, respond or riposte, I am the one who is wrong because 'Two wrongs don't make a right'...

So all I am left with is anger.

Most people who know me have no idea that on a daily basis I have this churning going on inside of me, that I have to fight my desire to react out of my anger. That I have seen what my released anger looks like and, well, I really don't like myself afterwards because my actions, even the justifiable ones, have consequences.

So, over the last 10 or so years, I have worked very hard to maintain this emotion. I find simple things to laugh about, hence my love for the stupidest of jokes. I find people I can enjoy being around, people who are childlike in personality, who can have fun. (Oddly, its a big reason I love youth ministry, teenagers, for all their problems, are pretty real, and I can deal with real.) I play my video games to give me something to focus my aggression towards and get fully involved in (anyone who has ever played any of those games with me know how vocal I get when I do certain things. Surprise! This is why).

No, I am not always successful, and it get's the better of me, but...

I have learned to keep my quiet, to find my center. Jesus has a lot to do with that. Prayer really does work when it comes to some of this. Helping my maintain my sense of purpose, my sense of duty, my sense of self.

But, just like Bruce Banner, I fight to keep myself in check, because I know what lies just beneath the surface..

because I can see him in the mirror

hidden behind my eyes

waiting for permission

to

SMASH.

p.s. I know someone is going to want to tell me that this anger isn't healthy, that I shouldn't stuff my emotions, or that I should just learn to let it go. Please, resist that urge, I don't stuff my emotions, I do let it go, and for as healthy as not having anger is, well to that I say.. then stop pissing me off.

I'm the Avenger's: Hawkeye and Black Widow

One is a pinpoint accurate with the bow, able to hit a moving target without even looking at it, and the other a deadly infiltrator so capable of getting information out of you that you don't even realize you are doing it.

Hawkeye and Black Widow

An odd pair, to say the least, but an interconnected story (at least in the MMU*) as seen in the Avenger's movie. So, I figured, why not tie them together in my blog, plus, there is that whole 'fitting in everyone in a week' thing too. (Besides, as someone told me today, apparently I'm having identity issues anyway, so... )

Hawkeye, a man with a dark past that has honed his skill with an archaic weapon so much so that he can hold his own with a group of super powered beings, and somehow not get lost in the background.. too much. That's kind of how I feel on a normal basis as I compare myself to the people I am surrounded by.

Each one of them has a gift or talent that just makes me feel small or unworthy. It can definitely make me feel like I am just an extra at times. It's hard to compare yourself to people who have skills so visual, like photography or art, or audible like music or singing. I have the written word, and as we all know.. a picture is worth a thousand words. It's easier to see or hear something then it is to read it.. at least that is the comparison that I tend to use on myself.

And then there is Black Widow, similar dark history, but her talents are more about interrogation and subterfuge. Annoying people by finding out what they don't want others to know. Although I don't know much about martial arts and skin tight outfits (ok, that one shirt was just a joke, can't we just drop it?) I do know something about finding out information. Just ask anyone of the students I have had conversations with how I know what I know and they most often will respond, "He's Todd".

Even though these particular talents tend to run the lines of archaic or annoying, I do try to make the best of what I have. That doesn't always work out for the best, and I end up writing a blog that really is either stretching just to be written, feels contrite, makes me want to hit the delete button and just write something else...

Or, you know...

All of the above.

*Marvel Movie Universe

I am the Avengers's: Iron Man

Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that I have a thing for gadgets and gizmos (a plenty). There is just something about a new shiny toy with bells and whistles (or bleeps and bloops) that just really makes me happy. Add to that my overconfident snarky nature, and well, you got yourself Iron Man.

Ok, so I don't have like a gazillion dollars, a drinking problem, Jarvis, or a really cool suit of armor that flies, but I do have.. um.. hrm.. well, let me get back to you on that one.. maybe.

So.. anywho...

There are days where I just love coming home, entering into the room that has been dubbed anything from "The Office", "NASA's Shuttle Launch Central", "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New Head Quarters", or just simply "The Command Center", and sitting down, hearing the hum of my gadgets as they come to life, the glow of monitors reflecting off my glasses, the welcome screen inviting me to log on. It is a pretty epic room, in my opinion, and although I can not technically take over the real world, in that room I can save it, or rule it, or change it to my whim with any number of video games, or apps, or programs.

It can be quite peaceful, getting lost in the world of technology, where real people are only voices in your head that you choose to listen too, where life and death is negated to nothing more then a respawn or reloading from the last save point. Consequences are easily erased, and victories are made simple. Where achievements mark how much of your life you have invested into something. 

I guess you could say that my gadgets are my suit. Cutting me off from everyone, making them ethereal, just voices, videos or texts. Where social interaction is purely based off of my desire to reach out to you or to not ignore that call or message you just sent me. Where consequences for my actions are nullified. Where responsibility for what I say or post can be erased simply by putting a tag on it like 'LOL', or a smiley face, or claiming it as nothing more then a rant, or simply de-friending you. Where I can choose just to ignore those people or things that irritate me.

And the best part of all this?

The ability to turn it all off when I get annoyed by it.

So, yeah, I'm Iron Man, in my suit, protected and cut off from everything...

Except...

me.

I am the Avenger's: Thor

Me and Thor have a lot in common. Blonde hair, full beard, good looks, able to call down lightning, wield a a big hammer, his dad is the All-Father and he has a misaligned cocky brother.

Ok, so, other then the good looks, we really don't have a lot in common on the surface. (Yeah, yeah, I know what you are thinking, we both do grow pretty epic beards, but I'm letting that one slide for the sake of humility.) But when you dig deep down into what made Thor.. well.. Thor, it was that he found a purpose in using his abilities and talents to defend people from bullies and those who would take advantage of them. Granted, those bullies were space aliens and super beings, but none the less, he is a protector.

Over the last two decades or so (that hurt a whole lot worse typing then I thought it would), I have stood in the trenches working with youth. In those years, there are times where I have actively stood in defense for them, fighting alongside them as they overcome one obstacle or another. Standing by their side, encouraging them to continue the good fight, to stay in school, to go on to college, to help them plant their feet firmly in their faith, and to become strong men and women of conviction and courage.

And then there are those times I would have to stand quietly in the background of their lives, watching them struggle with the currents situation, watching them choose to dive into bad decisions, knowing it won't end well for them, hoping that they would figure it out before it got too bad, but always there when they needed me to be, and always ready to help fight the battle after the fall.

And there is always a battle after the fall.

The battle of self worth, guilt, shame, unsure-ness. I would step into the fray by sharing my own shortcomings and failings. How I am who I am today because of the battles I lost. I would walk with them through the process of rediscovering that they have value, that they are cared for, that they have a future. I would remind them that they serve a God who has always, will always, and still loves them.

Sometimes, the best defense you can have is knowing who (and who's) you are.

After all, it worked for me.

Besides, when all else fails...

They say a good defense is having a better offense, and that offense for Thor was Mjolnir. Although I may not have that mighty hammer, I do have a sword, her name is Kindness, and I have a bat, his name is Sense. Because every now and then, if you can't kill them with Kindness, you might as well beat some Sense into them. 

I am the Avengers: Cap'n America

Captain America.

An icon for years of what patriotism, service, loyalty and sacrifice look like.

Someone who selflessly gives of himself, not for fame, not for money, not for awards.

He does what he does simply because if not him, then who?

I get that. I get that so very well. I have spent a lot of years giving of myself to other people, serving in one capacity or another to help someone become better, giving hours on end to be a listening ear, or to give advice, or just to be a someone to do something that needed to be done.

Why?

Because...

IF not me, then who?

And then... that one blow comes. The feeling of being taken advantage of, being expected to do something because it's something I enjoy, or being required to give the blessing I would normally give.

It knocks me right off my feet, sending my shield skittering across the floor, just out of reach, leaving me dazed and confused. Pain and frustration quickly setting in. Hurt spreading across my whole body, anxiety yelling at me that I am not good enough, depression telling me what does it all matter for anyway.

It would be so much easier to stay down, to quit, to just give up. It's not like what I do matter's, right? Someone else will step up and stand in my place, right? Someone else will take over for me and take up this battle, right?

Right?

And then it kicks in. My internal Steve Roger's* starts screaming at me:

IF not me, then WHO?

So, I struggle back to my feet, take up my shield, clear my head, grit my teeth and lean in, ready for the next attack that will surely take me off my feet and end this fight.

IF not ME, then WHO?

I brace and push forward. Each step is a struggle. Each step taking more from me then I think I have to give. Each step leaving me amazed that I have gotten this far. Each step tearing me up inside as I mark every small victory.

IF NOT ME, then WHO?

I will fight this fight, not for awards, not for accolades, not for my fame or my fortune. I will fight this fight, because someone fought it for me, someone stood between me and the oncoming storm and bore the brunt of the battle. I will take the next step.

Because...

IF NOT ME, THEN WHO?

*Steve Roger's is the real name of Captain America

Apparently, I'm the Avengers?!

So, I'm sitting in traffic yesterday, and I just started to have this moment. Let me assure you, it wasn't a good moment. I seem to be having quite a few of those in the last few weeks. I started thinking about the movie "Falling Down" with Kirk Douglas, and how it would be interesting to update that, and maybe I should write an updated script to it. And somehow, I just got this image of the Hulk in my head.

Then I realized, he and I have an awful lot in common. Then I started thinking out of all the Avenger's, why the Hulk? I worked it out again, and realized that some of my issue comes from my Cap'n America sense of duty, or my Thor sized protective nature.

And as I played out this thought in my head, I had an epiphany. "I have a lot in common with each of the Avengers." Sadly, that included Black Widow, and I'm just not so sure how I feel about that, but none the less, it's there.

So, next week, that's my goal in the blog. To just put it out there how....

Apparently, I'm the Avenger's.

(I'm curious, does this make me multi-personalitied or just schizophrenic?)

The Ocean

The Ocean

I've been in love with the ocean since the first time I ever got underway. Granted, it started out more like a hate relationship, because on that day, the ocean was rough, seas about 10 to 12 feet off the bow, we were headed out of Mayport with our first stop 2 weeks away in Spain. My first time ever on the open ocean for more then a few hours, locked inside a tin can, and that's when the seasickness started.

It was bad.

Three days worth of bad. I was pretty much useless, couldn't keep my head up, couldn't keep food down, and the ship just decided that it was going to make things worse by going straight into those waves. Oh, and just in case you were wondering, no, the Navy does not give you sea-sick day's while underway, you are still expected to do your job.

But, by day 3, I was able to hold down something, and I started to feel better. (It's amazing how quickly your body can adapt to a new environmental state).

And that's when it happened. I went out on deck, felt the breeze and sea mist on my face, heard the rushing of the waves down the side of the ship, and watched the sun set over the horizon, a very landless horizon.

I was hooked. No matter how bad I felt, there was something about standing on deck and just gazing out over that white capped blue expanse that just drew me to a place that I have never been able to find anywhere else.

And the nights.

Oh, the nights were even more spectacular. The darkness just swallowed you up whole, and the stars exploded in the sky like I have never experienced. I would sit out there and just get lost in the moments I had, taking in an experience that I would later take for granted.

This last February, I got a chance to go back out on the ocean, and although this pleasure cruise was different then my Navy experience, the sea had not changed. She was still there, calling out to me, asking me to get lost once again in the sight and sounds of being underway.

And lost is what I got.

Even if it was for only 8 days.

Goodbye, Dear Friend

As you can see from the above photo, I've been a cat person pretty much my entire life.

I really can't remember any length of time during my marriage that Heather and I haven't had a cat.

When we first got married, we bought a kitten, a Siberian/Himalayan mix (or something like that) that we named Stormcloud, Storm for short. She looked like a cloud, soft white with bits of grey, a little fluff ball with blue eyes. Sadly, less then 3 months into owning her, she was diagnosed with feline leukemia and we had to put her down.

About 3 years later, we received George from our neighbor's, Frank and Denise. George was a short haired, grey, tiger stripped tabby. He was awesome. We got him when Taylor was about a year old, and he lived with us for the next 14 or so years. Being an outdoor cat, that's a pretty long time. The night he died, I buried him in our backyard, and it was a pretty hard thing to do. So hard in fact, that I got rid of everything cat related in my house and just threw it away and told my wife I was done with animals.

She had other ideas.

About 3 months later, around March, she came home with a kitten. Barely 6 weeks old, infested with fleas, skinny, and able to fit into the palm of my hand. When we took him to the vet, the vet made the comment that we had truly rescued this cat due to the shape that he was in.

We named him Wolverine. (No, I did not name him, Heather did, she has a thing for X-men).

And he grew on me. He grew on Heather. He grew on everyone who came over to the house. And well, he... well.. he just grew.

He would sit with us at the dinner table, just watching us eat, or he would sit on the back of the couch and flip you with his tail while you watched a movie, or he would let you pet him a few times, just to lull you into a false sense so he could bite you.

He was a cool cat.

Last night, for no reason, he walked out of Taylor's room, laid on the living room floor and passed away. 15 minutes earlier he was fine, sitting in Taylor's room, just chilling. Then he was gone.

When I saw him, I knew immediately, something was wrong. I knew he was gone. I knew without knowing. I really didn't want him to go. I was so hoping that he was somehow playing, or something. But I knew he was gone.

So late last night, I went back out into my backyard, and laid Wolverine to rest, just a few feet away from our other cat George, and said goodbye to another good friend.

Needless to say...

It sucked.

Wolverine

Count Your Blessing on Mother's Day

Mother's Day

Sunday, we have the opportunity to celebrate our mom's. A day where we get to let them know exactly how special they are to us. A day where we cook them breakfast in bed, buy them flowers, and treat them to lunch. A day where.. 

Well...

Let's just be real.

A day they totally deserve.

My mom has been gone for a few years now, and although I don't get to celebrate it with her, I still take the time to remember and honor her. It is still hard to celebrate that day and not be able to give her a hug, or to sit down to a meal together and talk about whatever. 

So, take the time this weekend and honor your mom's. They are special women, and while I may not be able to express everything as eloquently as some, at least I never made this video.. (although, seriously, I think I would have, cause, you know.. Mr. T.!)

By the way, you are totally welcome for that.

Now go...

Treat your mother right.

Cause Mr. T. said so...

Count Your Blessings, Day 15

Potholes

I am thankful for potholes.

Ok, maybe not something you were thinking you could be thankful for, but let me explain...

(No, no. That will take to long, let me summarize)

One thing in life I can assure you of is this:

You will fail.

And those failures...

Those failures will become potholes in the road you travel called life.

As for me, I have failed countless times. I have attempted many things that I have not accomplished. I have gone in a direction to only find out that it was the wrong direction well into the journey. I have reached the peak of a mountain, only to realize I was on the wrong summit. Worse yet, I let a pothole become a grave, a place where I stayed way too long, and it almost killed me.

And yet, those potholes, although they are a part of me and help define me as I am today, in no way make me or reflect the fact that I am a failure, even though that's sometimes how I look at myself.

You see, the problem isn't in the pothole, but what I do with that pothole.

Will I ignore it? Will I wallow in it? Will I try to cover it up so no one knows where I failed?

Or will I learn from them? Will I try again a different way? Will I share it with people so they don't make the same mistakes?

It's been a hard lesson to learn, in a way, it is the biggest pothole I have ever had. Learning that, even though my potholes may help define me, they do not make me a failure. Instead, I have learned to make them the markers of where I've made mistakes, they have become the milestones of where I learned hard lessons, and they have become the moments I share with others to help them avoid the same problems.

So, today, I am thankful for my failures, my potholes.

Because...

I am who I am today, not in spite of my potholes, but because of them.

And I kind of like me the way I am.

Count Your Blessings, Day 14

Family

Relationships are pretty much at the core of who I am as a person. My ministry to the youth and to others really involves building relationships and adding value to other people through those connections. So, it should come as no surprise to anyone that family is pretty important to me.

I have been blessed with a pretty great family. Married in 1990 to the woman that I call my best friend. I have often said that I wouldn't want anyone else in my foxhole, a reference to both the struggle and war that is life and the reliability and tenacity of my wife.

In 1992, we had a son, and then we were three. Ben, (BJ as he was called til he was about 5) was a spirited kid. He and I have almost always been at odds. His mother says it's because we are too much alike. I think it's more the case of a son wanting to spread his wings and a father too proud to admit he doesn't want to let go too quickly.

In 1994, Taylor became the baby of the family. Admittedly, I have always gotten along with her much easier then with Ben. It's not because I love her more, (Ben often in the past has claimed that to be the case) it's just that.. well, with a daughter, a dad get's to be the hero, the protector, the big bear. I got all that with Taylor, and then some. (I am proud to say, her boyfriend is totally scared of me.. Hoo YAH!)

Family was so important to me, I made career choices to make sure I stayed near my extended family. My side and Heather's side. I gave up a career in the Navy because I didn't want to miss out on my kids lives, I wanted to be there for them as they grew up. That was a choice that was more difficult then many will ever know. So, in 1997, I hung up my uniform and came home.

It was just us four for a while, with our parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers and sisters nearby.

Then, in the course of 12 years, that list started to shorten. First, Heather's grandmother, then my step-father. My brother, my cousin, my mom, Heather's mom, Heather's best friend, Heather's dad, my uncle (those are just the highlights, I really don't want to delve to deep into that list, as it tends to engulf me.)

Then in 2013, we got the chance to add someone new to our family. Ben married Krista. It was nice having an addition. It was nice we got a chance to rejoice instead of remorse. It was nice.

So, today, we are at 5. I'm still waiting on number 6. Still looking forward to the day I get to meet my granddaughter (yep, still holding on to that one) or grandson. The day I get to scare to death the young man brave enough to ask me for my daughter's hand in marriage. (Seriously, that is going to so much fun).

I am looking forward to more family. To more hello's.

And to spoiling my grandchildren at every opportunity. 

Cause, that's what you have grandkids for, right?

The Story of Us, Part 1

The Peacock and the Tigress

I know, weird title, but, trust me, it makes sense. Or at least it will.

It started over 25 years ago. It was the day I meet Heather. She was sitting on a desk in the foyer of our church. I can't remember what she was wearing, but I remember that I was messing around with one of the pastor's daughter's, Mel, who had decided she had had enough of my bugging and very unceremoniously, dug her nails into my forearm. I just watched her do it, pretending like it didn't hurt. (It really didn't, I felt it but just dealt with it.)

That's when I saw her. The foyer was empty, she was waiting for a ride or something. Just sitting there, swinging her feet, looking all cute and what not. I found my new target to impress. So, while I noticed her watching me deal with the pain, I walked over to her and boldly said, "It doesn't hurt." and held out my arm so she could see the red marks from the previous aggressor.

She just looked at me.

So I fluffed my feathers and made sure they stood tall and proud. I was going to impress this girl, for no other reason then the fact that, well, I just had too. I wanted her to see that I was tough, and strong, and.. um.. other guy stuff that I am sure every 16 year old boy does to get the attention of a female.

So I held out my arm and looked at her. "Go ahead, it doesn't hurt." I strutted in my tough talk. My arm out in front of her like a sacrificial offering. My peacock strut coming through with my stance and my tone. I goaded again. "It's ok, go ahead."

That's when I saw interest in her eyes. (Ok, to be fair, I found out later it wasn't interest, but annoyance, a look I have gotten quite familiar with, I might add). She reached her right hand out, took her nails, placed them onto my forearm. I smiled, preparing for her to dig her claws into me, ready to impress her with my resilience.

Then, she did it. She dug her nails into my skin. I held steady and strong, this was going to impress her immensely, I just knew it. I would walk away, a victor again. She would watch after me, wondering who that guy was. She would be impressed by my plumage of feathers and I would then have a peahen that would follow me. It was all so perfect in my mind.

Yeah...

That's not even close to what happened.

That's when I realized that what I thought was a peahen was actually a tigress. Those claws she had, yeah, the dug deep. But they didn't just dig deep, she then proceeded to rake them across my skin, tearing into my flesh and leaving a very noticeable scratch mark with several layers of skin missing. And blood.

I felt pain.

It hurt.

It hurt a lot.

And I am sure my face didn't hide the fact, even though I did everything I could to muster up the willpower not to cry out and pull away.

This tigress just stared at me. Satisfied that she had successfully beaten me, (or just annoyed and done with everything, I still can't tell the difference) she let her claws retract out of my skin and let me scamper away to mend my wounds.

So I walked out the door and got into my friends car. I wanted so badly to rub my arm when I walked away, but I did not want her to see that she caused me any pain. After all, a peacock has to strut, right? Even when walking away from a tigress.

But the damage was done.

I feel in love that very first moment. I know, sappy and what not, but, it's true. I turned to my friend and told him, "I'm in love." That red head tiger had smitten me through and through, her claw marks on my arm a reminder of my defeat, and yet, somehow, I knew, the beginning of a really cool story.