Transition

I've been in this place more than I would like.  It seems like every time I turn around I'm in transition.  Within the past year I've moved, reconnected with my family after deployment, lost a job, hunted for a job, watched my marriage transform, watched my kids transform, lost a dog, gained a car, gained some weight...the list goes on.

But that's every year.  Every year is chaotic and confusing and difficult and complex and make the ride stop I want off.  Why?  Why does it have to be this way?  Why does the carousel get faster?  What is it that I need to do to make a change, to take the time to smell the roses, to not worry so much about working so hard for morsels more of bread?

Margin.  No, not the butter substitute, margin.  I don't factor margin into my life.  In my interest to be everything for all people, I forget to be something for myself.  And that means scheduling downtime.  I've worked on enough machinery to know that downtime is a critical need for repairs, rest, and evaluation.  By refusing to manage margin into my schedule, I'm forcing transition to continue.  And that needs to change.

Bread & Wine

No, it's not time for me to wax poetic about French cuisine.  Today was that time of the month when our church celebrates the Last Supper by passing out bread & wine.  Now our church does it right, we don't have little tablets, nor do we have little perfect wafers of matzah, instead it's a large loaf of bread.  White, not sourdough, but that's ok.  We do the little cups of Welch's, which I'm not a huge fan of, but I understand.  Interesting story about Welch's, but that may be for the TV.

So as I sit there staring at the bread and juice, some thoughts hit me.  It's been a rough day, a rough week, hell, it's been a pretty crappy month.  And as I sit there staring at the bread, I start to think of how I am the breadwinner of my home.  I work, Nikki maintains the house.  So I'm staring at the bread thinking of how hard I've been working in the past few weeks to earn tiny pieces of bread.  And I see the loaves taken away after everyone grabbed a piece, I see how much there was left.  Truly a sea of plenty.  So maybe if I work a little easier, I'll still have plenty of bread for my family.

Then I look at the juice.  And I think on how Jesus offered wine to the Disciples, not grape juice.  He wasn't afraid of wine, in fact several of his parables (wineskins, vine and branches, etc.) were about wine.  So if He had no issues with drinking wine, why do some Christians have such an issue with it.  Now, you wonder, why would I have that thought?  I was nursing a hangover, chewing on a small piece of white bread, and thinking of the guilt I felt.  I felt guilty to enjoy a single beer, let alone some nice Moscatto.  Don't even get me started on the guilt associated with Kamikaze night...

And then it hits me.  Jesus wants us to enjoy the nice and wonderful and beautiful things in life.  To let go of guilt and focus instead on the beautiful life on Earth we're given.  To stop worrying about the bread.  To not only focus on the wine.  But to enjoy both in harmony.  An interesting thought.  That life is to be enjoyed, like the taste of a beautiful wine, while working in harmony with the chance to better ourselves, and break bread with others.  An interesting thought...

180. My how pounds fly.

180.  There was no denying it, that big old weight was locked on the 150, and the little slide was right there on 30.  the nurse noted it in the record, not giving it a second thought.  but I sure did.

When I left for Afghanistan in May, I was at 192.  I ended up in Bagram with American chow halls, no exercise program, and a sedentary desk job.  I was 200 in June.  Then I moved down to a NATO base with a British chow hall run by Indians.  Dot not feather.  And why the heck does NATO have the BRITISH run their chow hall?  Seriously, we had French, Germans, and Swedes.  We pick the British?  But I digress into Bob TV territory...

After three months of eating cold green beans and corn from the salad bar (sans salad) I lost a bit of weight.  When I got home two months ago I weighed 170.  And was in amazing shape...28 inch waist, 44 inch chest.  I was working out once or twice every day, and loving every minute of it.

Now I'm home with a wife and two kids.  Life is busy.  Fast food is palatable again.  Busyness makes meal planning difficult, and the pace of life does not lend time for me to work out every day, or even every week.  And I've been eating well.

On the one hand, 180 is awesome.  I've only gained a pound a week with no exercise and a terrible diet.  But on the other hand, it shows I'm slipping.  I wish I could have maintained the 170, maybe even drop to 165.  I guess it's something to shoot for...another goal to have during all of my free time.

180.  Last time I'm up there.  Time to get my head back in the game and focus my efforts.  And I'll see you at 170.

My how time crawls

It's quite interesting when you do a Google search and find stuff like this.  I started a blog three years ago.  It was primarily aimed towards my experiences working in a church.  Well I no longer live in Florida or work in a church, but I still have thoughts (go figure).  So I will continue sitting here on the couch thinking of junk, and I hope you can hang out a bit and share your thoughts.  After all, it's a couch, not a recliner.