Tag / Ian

by Greg

2014: The Year of Fun Numbers

happy-birthday-girls

We are rounding out the two weeks on the calendar that we call “Birthday Season” here. All three of our girls were born within two weeks of each other. (Two weeks and a day during leap years.) Strangely, they also fall chronologically in age order: Kirstie’s first, then Julia, then Emma.

It’s a fun, full, frenetic two weeks!

Do you remember as a kid looking forward to “big” birthdays? Every birthday is fun when you’re very young, but certain ones, like, turning ten were fun, because your age took up two places—double digits!—and of course it was fun to reach thirteen, then being able to claim the title “teenager”. Special years followed quickly with sixteen meaning you can drive (fifteen in some places!), seventeen and eighteen, twenty, twenty-one… they’re all fun!

Of course, strangely enough, as the birthdays keep coming, usually, rather than looking forward to and celebrating the “big” birthdays, most tend to begin downplaying (or completely ignoring) them. You know, the ones that end in “oh”.

This year in the Campbell home, five of the eight people will be celebrating “big” birthdays! Somehow, 2014 is a magic year for us. Perhaps it’s because the year ends in four, Jen’s favorite number? 🙂

The first to celebrate was our oldest daughter, Kirsten, who recently joined the double-digit club. Ten years old! She’s quite glad to be the elder statesmen of the female children in the Campbell home.

Next up will be Alex. He will be a teenager this coming October. Teenager?! Crazy. Alex is such a fun person, it’s hard to believe that he’ll be thirteen. He’s much more of a “kid” than his older brother when he entered his teens. But who knows what the next seven months will do to our second son. Deeper voice? Bigger muscles? OR… just the same, fun-loving, fun-making Alex, with a ‘teen’ at the end of his age?

After Alex, the next “big” days belong to Mom & Dad. Both of us being born in a year that ends in four will be celebrating an age that ends in zero this calendar year—40! I think I can recall, perhaps as a teenager myself, looking ahead to the year I would turn forty. It seemed quite distant. Silly, even. Now that time has slowly brought me here, with all that has been part of those decades, I actually embrace the official entry into my fourth decade. (In some ways I already feel like I’m there!) Jen may feel slightly differently, but we’ll both begin checking the 40s demographic boxes by this fall!

Rounding out the “big” year celebrations in 2014 is our oldest son, Ian. Born in 1998, this boy will be giddy on Christmas morning as he’ll wake up a sixteen-year-old! He can’t wait to be a driver, but he’ll have to wait until the 26th, since I’m sure the DMV will not be open on the 25th. 🙂 I’m excited for Ian. He’s a good kid, and we’ll be celebrating this fun milestone marker in his life for that day and probably the week or so after. (AND, we’ll see what it’s like to RIDE in the car that your son is driving. Yikes? Or, Awesome! … we’ll see!)

So, twenty-fourteen has the markings of a banner year for the Campbell family. Who knows what life will bring along the way, but if God gives us breath through all of these days ahead, we’ll be celebrating the passing of time on all these “big” days.

Do you have big days coming up this year? Enjoy! And celebrate the life God gives you. Each day is definitely special, and worth celebration.

Some numbers are just more fun than others. 🙂

by Greg

Winter Olympics

winter-olympics

The Winter Olympics are a big deal in the Campbell home. So much of a big deal that we even called up Time Warner Cable and purchased a television package so that we wouldn’t miss any part of it.1

Each of us has a different favorite, but we do watch pretty much every event. (Even things like biathlon and cross country events, and figure skating! OK, that was a low blow… the girls in the Campbell home love figure skating events the most, and didn’t miss any of them, I don’t think!)

We are a hockey family, so we watched almost every minute of almost every game. (It’s true!) And a good friend of mine is a big fan of curling, so that was regularly on our screens as well, both men’s and women’s curling. (Both US teams had a poor showing, but the others were fun to watch.) I remember watching curling matches weekly on the CBC when I was a lad, living just outside Buffalo (and thus, Canada). It’s big all year round in Canada.2

Speaking of our northern neighbors, they ousted our men’s AND women’s hockey teams. They are on our naughty list for sure… 🙂

I’m not sure if it’s just because I love cold weather, and snow, and ice, or if I enjoy the Winter Olympics more simply because they are the less popular of the two Olympic games,3 but it’s a fact: I love the Winter Olympics! Already looking forward to the next games!

What’s your favorite Winter Olympic sport? Which was most fun to watch this time around, 2014? Are there any you absolutely detest and refuse to watch?

Time to pack up the cable box again till 2018 in Pyeongchang, South Korea! 🙂

  1. The TV package will be removed again this coming week, since the Olympics are done. We will probably sign up again in four years! ↩
  2. Ian wrote a great interview article for our family website this past week. He interviewed the friend mentioned above about his curling experiences. Nice work, Ian! ↩
  3. It really could be this. I’m kinda weird, and I really, really, REALLY don’t like following the crowd. That could be why curling appeals to me, too? ↩
by Greg

Shortage of Time

Shortage of Time

I feel like a broken record sometimes.

No matter how many years (or decades) I have traveled the solar circuit… I feel like I keep learning the same lessons.

One of those is this: we have a limited time here—so make the most of it.

This is not a “rah-rah” post intended to inspire you to some unimagined greatness. But I do hope that, like me, you’ll be reminded that somethings are not worth fretting over.

Some things are.

It’s not so much that fretting, worrying, bothering, troubling ever does any good. All of that originates with fear. Fear of losing, fear of changing, fear of any bad that might come.

Not that it’s bad to concern ourselves with some things. Things like your kids who are growing up, your spouse who misses precious time with you, your parents who are aging, close friends with whom you’ve inadvertently lost contact… at least, you think it was inadvertent.

There may even be some dream, begun way back with your earliest memories, that the relentless rush of life and obligations has pushed aside.

We have a limited time. It is certain that one day—we don’t know when—our time here will be done.

So live.

Dream. Love. Enjoy. Experience. Now is the time.

What got me thinking about this again was not just our friends who are dealing with stage four cancer, nor any news of sudden, unexpected death of anyone close to me. Nor was it the frustrations of financial finagling that we are caught up in again (for what seems like now far too long).

It was more the words of my daughter, commenting more often lately that “all [you] ever do is work, Dad!” Her heart is longing to connect with mine. (And we do connect, but she wants more.)

It was even thoughts of a life that I have often thought of pursuing, but always turned aside from because of the demands and obligations of life. But I am recently reminded: truly, if you want something to happen… you must simply do it.

And then there’s our son. The first person to transform me from son to father. He’s fifteen, going on twenty-five. We butt heads now and then—a strong Campbell trait—but I admire him more than clash with him. It’s just fun to root him on in his various endeavors: all-star goalie, aspiring novelist, farmer, mechanic, among others.

Sometimes reality knocks loudly enough and I am reminded that this current season is likely ending soon.

Before we blink, our son will be moving on—his adult life is nearer than I can really understand. He’s ready now to do something—anything—with all that he is learning. Then, who knows? Wife… kids… I was only 24 when Ian was born.

But we’re not there yet.

And I’m brought back to where I started. Reminded again of things already learned. Live now, today. Don’t miss it.

Are you missing your life for want of whatever is next, or seems to be missing? Sometimes I focus on those.

This week, I have work to do, and life to balance… but I don’t want to miss my life while I’m doing those things.

Like you, I have a shortage of time. I don’t know when the end will come, but I do know that it will.

Since it has not yet come… Let’s choose to live now, as best as we are able.

by Greg

[ThisDay] Christianity, or Jesus? (Aren’t They the Same?)

January 22nd in GregsHead history was slightly more difficult to whittle down than some of the other days. It was not due to volume, though—only five posts. Four of the five posts are worth reading (the other is worth it if you are using WordPress for blogging…) but of the six options, I selected the article below for today’s re-reading. Please enjoy this little anecdote from a dinner conversation just last January. Good theological discussion!

Christianity, or Jesus? (Aren’t They the Same?)

January 22nd, 2013

Our family is currently making our way through the book of Luke together. We’re taking our time, but I do enjoy reading in larger chunks, so we will often read what might be the subject of an entire series of sermons in one sitting.

Tonight, we read through the fifteenth chapter: the three stories of lost and found.

Though we’d often read more than that, it’s such a good three-part story—with the most famous, the Prodigal Son story at the end—that I thought it would be nice to stop and discuss.

The kids are reading and learning about “unreached people groups” with Mom during the school days, and both of the older boys picked up on the “lost” theme that Jesus’ stories held.

When I asked what everyone heard in Jesus’ stories, Ian replied first, “I think it shows that God cares about every single person: if even one in a thousand is lost, there’s a celebration when he realizes he’s wrong and returns to God.”

“Yep. So right, Ian.” I affirmed.

Alex chimed in next, “Or, like if one person in the 10 million in Japan who are buddhists or other things turn to Christianity. It’s like that, even.”

I smiled and affirmed Alex’s insightful answer, too. But something didn’t sit right with me, the way he had phrased that answer.

Ian and Mom both explained what they had been studying—unreached people groups—and I realized what it was that bothered me: the lost returning home story is not about conversions to Christianity, it’s about the Good News that Jesus is life and nothing else.

I tried to lovingly expand on that thought to Alex, but I guess maybe it didn’t come out quite right. Jen didn’t think I was saying it correctly, and by offering further instruction at that time, kinda squashed Alex.

jesus-christ-in-stained-glassAnd, honestly, she doesn’t really agree with my instruction, that Christianity is not the same as Jesus.

I told Alex that the somewhat subtle distinction between someone “turning to Christianity” and someone meeting Jesus (The One true God and Jesus Christ whom he sent) are often, even usually very different things.

One is a religion. Plain and simple, Christianity is not in the Bible. (Really! It’s true!) In this sense, Christianity is no different than Islam, Buddhism, Hindu, and so on. Jesus never talked about establishing a religion (though he did mention building the Church) and I can’t think of anywhere that the word “Christianity” or “Christendom” can be found on the pages of Scripture. (Though other people called the Church, “Christians”—Acts 11, and Acts 26—the only other occurrence of the word is in 1 Peter 4:16.)

Returning to a loving Father is a different story. Realizing our need to be connected to the Vine; understanding the limitless, boundless love that God has for us, wanting from before the foundation of the world to adopt us as his own children; understanding how the cross restores our friendship with God by destroying sin and death and shame once and for all…

That’s a different story. (And doesn’t “sign you up” for anything.)

Now, I’m certainly painting with too broad a brush right now. Firstly, only a chapter or two before, Jesus addressed his disciples and the crowds following him, making sure they understood the cost of being his disciple. The cost is… everything. He said we need to be willing to give up everything (even family, wealth/possessions, a home), even our own life.

But the key is, nothing else matters outside of his Life. Nothing.

And that’s the point. Converting to a religion often satisfies our own accomplishable goals and benchmarks. There are “measurables” with Christianity. You can check things off like, reading your Bible, or having quiet time, joining a prayer group, or some other “small group”, going to services, volunteering for a ministry… or five ministries. All of those things can become “feathers” in our caps.

Jesus asks us to volunteer to be last, though. To not be noticed. To give up our dreams, turn the other cheek… all of that. And all because there is nothing we need or could ever want more than to know him.

Paul knew that, and wrote:

Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage, so that I could gain Christ. —Phil 3:8

Honestly, I could be convinced that I’m straining out gnats here. OR, I could be convinced that this is the pivotal, most important, fundamental part of the Gospel: Jesus matters.

It’s him. And nothing else. Not a religion (Christianity), not a building or an organization (First Christian Church of Wherever), and not even a set of benchmarks that you set up for yourself to take your spiritual temperature.

Do you trust him? Then you’re in. And your life will never be the same. If you believe that Jesus is Immanuel, God made flesh, the Christ, the Way, the Truth, and the Life… buckle up!

That might be the same to you as “Christianity”, and if that’s the case, I’m really glad. My experience has been different. We people are good at maintaining control, and I think Jesus wants—longs for—us to relinquish that. Most often systems with fancy names—Christianity—don’t allow any room for that to happen, and even worse, they keep us in the “performance” mindset, where we’re always trying to “do better… for God, of course…

But Jesus’ words were always simply, “Follow me.”

I think it might really be that simple.

OTHER POSTS from JANUARY 22nd

  1. I’d really recommend reading this post, too, if you’ve got the time. It was a very close second! ↩
by Greg

Imitation: The Highest Form of Flattery [Memory Lane]

Each Thursday in August we continued the trip down Memory Lane—a feature that began the last week of July. I re-posted some of my all-time favorite stories that I’ve published here as part of celebrating ten years of blogging—August 2003 to August 2013. Some posts were taken from my published books, and others (like today’s) have only been published online thus far. You’ll find stories that are funny, stories that are sad, and several heart-warming moments from the life we’ve lived. If you missed any, you can use the series navigation at the end of this post to read more. I invite you to enjoy these moments from the journey with me, too.

The final installment of the Memory Lane series is a bonus for this Labor Day Monday. In our family, Labor Day weekend is reserved for a family reunion—as many of Jen’s family as are able gather at the home of the patriarch and matriarch of the family. There are plenty of visits to Memory Lane during these reunions, to be sure!

Today’s post features some great moments from the Campbell kids. There are many frustrating moments as a parent, but there are also many melt-your-heart moments. These were a couple of the latter kind. I was humbled when this happened, and it gets to me every time I read it.

This is just beautiful. Enjoy.

Imitation: The Highest Form of Flattery

February 8th, 2012

Tonight at the dinner table, our youngest boy—who bears a good deal of physical resemblance to his Daddy—was particularly tuned in to my every move. He was watching (and mimicking) everything that I did. When I leaned forward onto my elbows to rest my head in my hands and wipe the tired of the recent past from my face, so did Cam. Whichever way I moved, just about any posture I assumed, Cam followed to near perfection.

It didn’t take me long to notice, and when I did, well, I was certainly heartened by his quite evident love for his me, his Dad.

They say imitation is the highest form of flattery, and I guess maybe “they” are right.

Paul also said that the people whom he introduced to Jesus should “imitate [him] as [he] imitate[s] Christ”. That thought came to my mind, and I hope that’s just as easy for them to see and to follow as my physical motions at the table.

The best part was when, once he knew that I knew he was imitating me—though for this moment, I had momentarily forgotten—I moved my dish aside, being done with my food. Moments later, Cameron moved his dish in front of me. Typically, when this happens it means he’s refusing to eat more (even though he probably still should). However, once I saw where he had placed it, it was exactly the same amount to his right as I had placed my dish! 🙂

Still makes my face and heart smile as I recall and type the story here. Such a sweet boy.

In truth, it happens quite often, the imitating. More than I’d like. Often I’m quite glad for it, and I hope that it continues. But other times it’s too revealing. It can be unpleasant to hear the way your tone returns to your ears through the mouth of your biggest 2-year-old fan. But, a mirror can also be your best friend. I am thankful for the mirror that my kids can be for me.

Firstborn son, Ian, is more like me than I admit at times. He is creative, talented, gregarious, frequently charming, and also stubborn, confident to the point of arrogance, and often unteachable. At times, I am like all of that, too—the good and the bad.

During a recent clash of our similar personalities, where I felt (maybe incorrectly) that I needed to press Ian on his apparently unteachable/rebellious position or attitude toward me at that moment, I asked, “Ian, what is going on? Why are you being like this right now? Why do you have no humility at all?” He quickly responded, “I really have a hard time being humble!”

Slightly taken aback by his astute observation and open admission, I paused, but only slightly.

Though there was only a slight moment in which Ian’s words were allowed to resonate, his sister, Kirsten—more than five years his younger—managed to slip in the kindest, and perhaps most profound words of encouragement recently spoken in our home.

“That was humble, Ian.”

The kindness and pure, caring heart revealed both by her choice of words and her delivery of them, as well as the depth of understanding of the concept of humility that was evidenced by her quick assessment is overwhelming to me. In the midst of what had been a very draining, tense, frustrating series of moments for me (and everyone else, I think) she spoke such words of life that I had to encourage her, “Kirstie, I think those were the wisest, kindest words I’ve heard spoken here today. Thank you.”

There is beauty in our brokenness. In the moments where we are weak we can be lifted up. Either by someone else who is somehow less weak for that moment, or by God himself whose grace makes us strong, even—especially?—when we are weak. Sometimes the truth of that is revealed in the words, from the heart, of a seven year old girl, or by the actions of a two year old boy.

I hope that I am mostly characterized by a love and grace—toward my kids (and wife) directly, as well as toward every person that I might interact with—that overflows from the Life I have in me in Jesus. I am not him, and I can not be perfect. I will choose poorly, I will fail. But even in my brokenness, I hope that my kids will get to follow my example as I follow Jesus. Even in the way that I handle the images I see in the mirror: be they glass, or flesh.

Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Perhaps children are the highest form of imitation.

This day, I am so thankful for the mirrors God has given me.

Bible references above are from 1 Corinthians 11, and 2 Corinthians 12.

by Greg

Special Moments [Memory Lane]

Each Thursday in August we’ll be taking a trip down Memory Lane! I will be posting some of my favorite stories ever published here, part of celebrating ten years of blogging—August 2003 to August 2013. Some posts are taken from books, and others (like today’s) have only been published online thus far. You’ll read stories that are funny, stories that are sad, and several heart-warming moments from the life we’ve lived. If you missed any, you can use the series navigation at the end of this post to read more. I invite you to enjoy these moments from the journey with me, too.

This recent stop on Memory Lane is a reminder that life is so much more in the moments along the way than most of the other stuff we spend ourselves on, day after day, running into years. And just like last week’s post, Loss, I’m also reminded that the moments don’t even have to be “good”—or, what we’d usually call “good”—to be a special moment; a moment worth enjoying and remembering.

One of the greatest things about parenting is how much your own kids can teach (or remind) you about life.

Special Moments

November 2nd, 2012

Some days just have those moments.

Today has had plenty. (And not all good ones, mind you.)

Jen had a super-frustrating day with (she said) every one of the kids, who just wouldn’t listen to her at all. They only wanted what they wanted when they wanted it. Eventually, she just couldn’t take it anymore and walked away from what she was trying to do, attempting to clear her head.

(It was during this time that Jen decided to make soup, which is something she wouldn’t usually do, and without a recipe, which is something she definitely wouldn’t do! The best part? It turned out great! Was a nice “moment” for Jen to enjoy a great (tasty) bit of success in an otherwise hard day.)

At dinner, we came to another moment where I erupted into a very intense monologue full of very direct, clear reminders of things we’ve taught the kids since they came into this world. Very direct. Pretty loud. And I meant every word of it.

That was a moment.

Then Mom went out for the evening to do some shopping, but mainly to “clear her head”. Much needed, and hopefully she is being refreshed. (I’ll find out when she gets home!)

As the clean-up team took care of the kitchen (and the other two took care of the other rooms) I bathed the youngest two. They really needed it.

(Note: I am quite sick. Nasty head cold, stuffy, bad cough, just keep saying, “My head feels weird…” So… that makes for a more interesting bath time. Oh, and Cam is just as sick as me!)

That was a moment. (But not too bad, actually.)

The girls got their baths, and I got everyone dressed for bed and hair brushed and all that must be done. Then Alex got his quick shower and we were ready for the evening activity.

Tonight, it was singing.

I got my guitar, and a box of chord charts for worship songs, and we just started playing through them. Some the kids knew, most they didn’t. But that didn’t stop them from singing. And dancing. And smiling. And really LOUD singing!

That was a moment. A different sort of moment. (A heart-smile kind of moment.)

I encouraged Ian to get his bass guitar out, and Alex converted a plastic pumpkin trick-or-treat bucket into a percussive instrument, and suddenly we had a band. And even though we didn’t know the song to begin with, by the end of one song Julia had a huge smile on her face… and tears on her cheeks.

“I’m crying!” says little Julia Gayle. “Why are you crying, Julia?” I asked gently. “It’s just because of the singing!” She almost couldn’t believe that music could do that to you, but at the same time, she knew deep within her that it did do that to her.

That was a moment.

Then came bedtime. We usually play with a Dad-animated stuffed friend at some point. Tonight it was the stuffed friend, Baboo. (Cam’s name for his little red-white-and-blue doggie.) We laughed, we had fun, we hugged (Cam wanted two hugs..) and we prayed together for our family.

That was another moment. (After which Cam wanted another hug…)

Days are full of moments. Some are good, some are “eh”, and some are pretty bad (or really bad). I feel like today kinda had all of those for us. Maybe most days do. Sometimes we get tricked into focusing on the bad moments though and we miss the little good ones that are still there, or can be there if and when we look for them.

They’re there. They were for us tonight.

Keep your heart and mind and eyes fixed on Jesus, and he’ll show you the moments. He’s in the moments, actually. All of them.

And if we know that—and live that—that is what makes them special.

by Greg

The Monday Night Flag Football League

ROCHESTER, NY – The MNFFL is a flag football league comprised mostly of home-schooled children (though not exclusively so) that plays its six-game season on Monday nights under the approaching-autumn skies of western New York State.

Begun by the enterprising youngster, Alex Campbell (then aged ten), it is entering its second season, and boasting nearly fifty percent more players.

MNFFL 2013 Season Begins

“We’re so excited for this season,” says the now eleven-year-old Campbell. “We have a new team, some new logos, and plenty of new players. I think we learned a lot from that first season, too, so we’re much more prepared for all the details that need to be taken care of as we start this year.”

The details include securing a field big enough for two flag football fields, which are a little smaller than a full-sized football field, and this year, room for the younger siblings to play their own game on the side during game nights. The fields are measured out at thirty-five yards wide, by seventy yards long. (Twenty of those yards being the two ten-yard end zones.) The “Youngers” field (as it is being called) will be a bit smaller, using whatever space is available.

Flag football is a bit tougher than you might think. In tackle football, the object is simple: get the man with the ball down on the ground. In touch, it’s in some ways easier, but there are all sorts of qualms and squabbles over whether or not the player was touched, and/or if it was one hand or two. It can get ugly.

The difficult part of flag football is that, in order to end the play and get the player “down”, you have to grab the flag. If you have not done this before for yourself, you might find it is much more difficult—that the flag is much more elusive—than you might think!

MNFFL Inaugural Season, 2012

The players range in age from ten to seventeen, both boys and girls, and many levels of skill—but one level of competition: competitive! The six-game season culminates with a Championship Day—the first Saturday in October—with the teams playing as they are seeded: 1 vs 4 and 2 vs 3, based on the regular season records.

The champions take home individual trophies with their name, their team name, and the 2013 MNFFL Champions inscribed on their plaque.

Last year the Heat Lightning were the champions in a fiercely-fought championship game. Tempers flared during the contest, but there were genuine congratulatory remarks and high fives after the game was over. True sportsmanship.

With a fairly small roster of players, this league is still in its infancy, but there is much promise for the future. The league plans to expand to at least six teams next year, anticipating another fifty percent growth in membership. If the growth is larger, there is room for four more teams, which would necessitate two conferences.

“It’s really exciting,” Campbell admits, “This league was just something I sort of dreamed up in my head. I started creating the logos, and thinking of who I’d put on what team. My Dad helped me out a bit, and here we are, playing our second season. It’s really almost unbelievable!”

Indeed it is. Amazing what you can do when you aren’t limited by thinking about what you can’t do.

This little flag football league in Upstate New York is one more proof of that.

MNFFL - Good, competitive flag football

by Greg

Natural Consequences

handsParenting is not for the faint of heart.

It starts out with no sleep, lots of messes to clean up (including many dirty bottoms per day), fussy meal times, and plenty of time just trying to figure out what makes this new person tick!

Then you reach the mobile stage and it become exponentially harder. Naps—a parent’s best friend in the early years—become less frequent, until they cease altogether. Here, the very early stages of exerting one’s autonomy begin with practice and mastery of the word, “No!”

And then, Mom & Dad are tired.

But the persistent, caring parent will see it through. Being consistent with expectations and consequences will help the young child understand what is required, and with proper instruction, learn what is good and what is bad. It certainly takes effort and ridiculous amounts of repetition, but in the end, the goal is establishing a foundation of respect (even love) for what is good and a healthy fear of what is wrong.

Then come the teen years.

We have a great teenager. Honestly, though we butt heads so much with our confident, brash, gregarious young man, he is heads and shoulders above many of his peers in many ways. (Don’t worry, I also frequently address humility and pride with our young protégé…) 🙂

However…

The biggest problem is this: when one is approaching adulthood, one begins to fancy himself as already sufficiently learned, thus shunning sage advice from elders. (Also, notably, one leans generally towards haste when of the male gender.)

And so, when I draw upon my nearly fifteen years of parenting experience, I often want to revert to previous parenting techniques—restrict! It’s very easy for me to observe and understand all the variables, and then establish the rules. “Don’t do that in response to this” or “Do this when …”

That’s easy, but is it really helpful?

The simple answer is, of course it’s not. The best way for anyone to learn is through experience, and even better, through failure. The natural consequences of our choices and actions (or inactions) will often teach us more than any lesson, speech, class, book, video, seminar… anything intended to train by instruction. Real life is nearly always superior.

Why then is it so difficult to allow natural consequences to instruct our older children? Not only would that be easier, in a way, it would also seemingly have better results, no? Is it maybe just me who struggles to allow poor choices to be the best teachers my son can have? Probably not.

Now, I’m certainly not advocating a complete relaxing of all rules. Surely there are some standards of behavior toward others in our home that must be upheld. But in regards to personal care, time management, taking care of personal possessions, work ethic, even money management, there may be more leeway. And, of course, aside from the general life skills—above all—we hope to instill in our children a good understanding of who Jesus is, and that they can trust Father with their whole lives. We won’t stop instruction, or offering advice, but might all be better off if Natural Consequences for choices and actions against that advice are allowed to teach rather than structured consequences, or stricter “rules”?

I really think that’s true. Difficult to put into action, but true.

Isn’t this a bit like grace? We are accepted—no, we were accepted before we even understood what grace is, and who Jesus is. We are sought out. Bought at an unfathomable price. The choice of the One who made all, owns and commands all … he pursues us. AND, he allows us full, unfettered freedom to choose to walk alongside him. We are not forced. So why do we persist in “forcing” our children?

I’m really not sure.

Honestly, this goes beyond parenting, doesn’t it? Why would we not want to allow more freedom—read: less judgment—toward others, if natural consequences are the best way to learn and grow? Rather than manipulative expectations of the others around us, perhaps grace and reasonable latitude are better for all—everyone; every time? At least, nearly every.

I intend to look for more ways to employ this philosophy. So look out—it might get a bit messy!

Somehow, though, experience has shown, the best things in life are often the messiest.

by Greg

The Water Shoe [Memory Lane]

Continuing the series from the last week of July, we’ll been taking a trip down Memory Lane each Thursday in August! I will be posting some of my favorite stories ever published here. Some were taken from books (like today’s) and others have only been published online thus far. There are some funny, some sad, and some heart-warming moments from the life we’ve lived. If you missed any, you can use the series navigation at the end of this post to read more. I invite you to enjoy them (all) with me, too.

This was one of the most fun lessons in trusting God that we’ve ever seen actually worked out before our own eyes. It was truly incredible to be part of, and, all for only a tiny shoe.

The Water Shoe

October 29th & 30th, 2003

This collection of articles was written “real-time”, not after the fact (until the fact had actually happened) and so we wanted to present them that way, but we have put them together in one chapter calling it The Water Shoe. We still have the water shoe. It only cost us a few dollars at a Wal-Mart somewhere along the way, but it is now priceless for what—for Who—it represents. So, sit back and read the story of the day we found The Water Shoe…

Flowery Prayers

October 29th, 2003

I was humbled again. By my son Ian. I love it when he does that. Really.

We were praying, and sometimes Ian is a bit embarrassed to talk with God in front of people, even Mom and Dad. Tonight he was again, but He decided to.

A bit of background…

We went to the beach tonight after sunset (yes, the water was still quite warm!) and Ian and I were having a bunch of fun jumping waves. On one jump, over a large wave, Ian returned to the ground quite upset, and finally got out of him that he lost his water shoe!!! I spent 10 minutes feeling around for it, and looking around in the moonlit water. No luck. And all I could think about was the trust of Ian for his Dad to find his shoe (that seemed to me to be quite precious to him) and how I could not do it. So I kept thinking that God is in control of oceans. And I kept asking him to help me find it, wash it up on shore, or put it in my hand. Whatever he wanted to do for my son Ian who completely trusts both of his Dads. Well, no shoe, but I kept thinking that we should just come back tomorrow morning… so, I went back to Ian and told him that. And we are going to go back and look for it tomorrow morning.

So, fast forward to tonight, praying before Ian goes to bed. And Ian decides he can pray without getting embarrassed. He simply asked God to “please put the shoe on the beach so we can find it tomorrow. Thanks.” That was so cool.

The part that humbled me was not that. We continued to pray, and this time I was praying for our friend Kayla who is sick in the hospital with pneumonia. I thanked God for being big and powerful and asked him to help in many ways to heal Kayla, and to help Kayla’s Mom have peace as she trusts Him.

Simple. Plain English. That’s how I would talk to my dad, so that’s how I talk to my Dad.

But Ian wanted to pray for Kayla, too. So he did.

“God, we know that you are mighty, and powerful… and we ask you to… get the… to… uh…. (many words) … help the doctors get medicine to help Kayla’s body to get better. So she doesn’t die.”

Notice a difference? I did. Ian was getting all flowery (in his best four-year-old way… because I guess I do. I try hard to just be real with God. Guess I can try even more. I don’t want Ian thinking God is a distant, unapproachable God who only listens if we use the right words.

Thanks Ian for a fresh perspective.

Thanks Dad for Ian.

You are both awesome. (In different ways of course…)

Ian’s Shoe

October 30th, 2003

The Water ShoeJust a quick update on Ian’s shoe…

We got up this morning at 7am, which is like 3 hours before Ian usually gets up! We walked right out the door (Dad and Ian) and headed to the beach. We asked God as we walked to show us where He put the shoe… and we started looking. We probably looked for 30 min or so, up and down the beach where we had lost it. No luck. I finally told Ian, “Why don’t we go home and we’ll come back and see if God wants to give it to us later. Sometimes God likes us to learn to trust Him by waiting.”

So we did. We made it back to the beach around 1:30pm or so with the whole family, and started to look again. We were just having fun, too… but Ian really wanted to find his shoe. He said, “Ask God again, Dad!” I told him, “Yeah, I can’t do anything about this Ian. If God wants to give you your shoe, He will, if not, then we’ll just have to get another one.”

Within one minute I think, Ian had gone up to be with Mom (out of the water) and they started walking down the beach, and there were shouts of excitement… THEY FOUND IT!!! It was just sitting right in the beach wash (which Ian and I had checked at least 4 times earlier today).

Wow. Thanks God. You are the Wave Maker. The Oceans (and the Gulfs) obey your commands. And you love your children so much. We are amazed at God’s abilities and his love for us.

Hope you know that too.

From My Perspective

October 30th, 2003

I just wanted to add some more on the fantastic faith story of Ian’s water shoe. Just some thoughts from my head throughout the whole thing.

Can God Really Do It?

That thought obviously kept going through my head. In a way. You know, I really had no problem believing that God could bring Ian’s shoe out of the water and neatly onto the shore for us… but where my mind betrays me or gets me into trouble is on the “does he want to” side of things. I mean, what does God care about a shoe?

But He Cares About Ian…

But I kept coming back to the fact that it’s not about the shoe. It’s about how much God loves Ian—and even me—in this. He loves it when we come to him believing that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him. (Hebrews 11:6)

Faith Like A Child.

You know, I actually saw Ian’s simple faith waiver a bit. But it wasn’t as insecure as my wavering. I wonder if God would ever do something big and God-like for me… but Ian didn’t worry about that. He just wondered when it would happen. He knew God would do it. That was so cool. I did too actually. It was honestly some of the most confident I have been in a while, and I just smiled every time I was talking to God cause I really knew He was going to do it.

Moments of Doubt.

There were plenty of moments when I had looked and asked and found nothing where I wanted to just give up. And I would talk to God again and ask Him what should I do… lead me to the shoe. (That rhymed…) I knew that even if God did not come through with the shoe, there would be some awesome story of His provision. I was confident in that.

Celebration!

You know, I honestly thought I would celebrate more. But all I wanted to do was smile and worship God. We sang some, we shouted out “GOD IS AWESOME!” and just had fun. But in the end, we were really expecting Him to do it! We knew he could, and we thought he would. Amazing.

I think that is how God wants us to live. Completely trusting Him, even when it doesn’t make sense, or seem possible. There are so many chances we have in life to trust that God is bigger. Sickness being one of them. Our friend’s daughter is really, really sick. And they love Jesus. A lot. They are in a crisis of belief. Can God fix this? Will he? Does he love us? They know all the answers, but now they have to trust him.

God gave Ian his shoe back today so he will have a reason to trust Him in the future with bigger stuff. Our friends are dealing with a very tough situation right now, where they have to trust God. God has given them plenty of shoes. That is what they are holding on to, and taking comfort in right now—the shoes God has given them.

What are your shoes? Can you think of one? Or several? God gives us little markers along the way where we see Him very clearly working or leading in our lives. And it’s when we look back at those that we can look forward in trust. Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him. Words of wisdom from the book of Hebrews.

Faith requires action. God gives us reasons to trust him (shoes) and then something happens where we have to trust him. That’s when we remember the shoes, and trust that He has another one for us.

Tonight, celebrate Ian’s shoe, and remember yours. And thank God for his amazing love and faithfulness. And trust him. Really trust him.

Life in the Rearview Mirror: Reflections on Life Lived by Greg CampbellThis post is a chapter in the book A Journey Shared: Selected Thoughts on Life from Greg’s Head from GregsHead.net by Greg Campbell, available through Amazon.com. If you’d like to purchase the book, please click the book title in the previous sentence. Thanks for reading, sharing, and feel free to add to the discussion in the comments below, or wherever else you can reach me.
by Greg

Stopped On A Dime [Memory Lane]

This week we’ve been taking a trip down Memory Lane! Each day this week I’ve posted one of five of my favorite stories ever published here. Some were taken from books (like today’s) and others have only been published online thus far. These are some funny, some sad, some heart-warming moments from the life we’ve lived. If you missed any, you can use the series navigation at the end of this post. I invite you to enjoy them with me, too.

This last post is one of our favorite stories ever! It features our oldest son and one of his first visits to the emergency room.

But I don’t want to give too much away, so…

Stopped On A Dime

May 3rd, 2005

DimeSaturday had gone pretty much as planned. We were just finishing up a long day of serving at our church. With sound checks and two complete run-throughs of the service, coupled with a half-hour commute each way, those Saturdays are long and tiresome. Especially for small children.

On our way home, Ian (our six-year old) complained of pain in his nose. We were curious, as it was not a normal complaint, but chalked it up to a strange case of sinus pressure and continued on our drive home.

I was putting away some things that had been left out in our rush to leave the house that afternoon, and getting ready for a bed-time snack and perhaps a little Star Trek with my wife, when I heard a commotion in the boys room. Jen was putting the boys in bed and Ian was loudly complaining about his nose. When the situation had my attention, I heard him say frantically, “There’s something in there!“

This piqued my curiosity of course, and I peered around the corner to see what in the world he was talking about. He was standing on his bed holding the left side of his nose with a very concerned look on his face. Still asserting that there was something in his nose. Then a look of resolution washed over his face. The light went on, and everything was ok. That’s when Ian revealed to us what had happened.

“Ohhh…. It’s probably the coin.”

Those were NOT the words I wanted to hear. Just by the way he said them, and the look on his face, his previously hidden childish mistake had been quickly and very certainly brought into the light. I left the room as my blood pressure went through the roof. The next morning was coming early enough… a hospital visit was NOT in my agenda for the evening!!

Ian continued to explain a bit to Jen what had happened. Those moments, truthfully, were a blur, as I was trying to just get a handle on my anger. Once I had a bit of control back, I picked Ian up out of bed, and laid him on the floor of the bathroom. I looked for the tweezers Jen had recently gotten from a garage sale, and began to perform exploratory surgery. Ian was crying, and blood started to appear at the base of his nose. I had not felt anything like a coin, and was not willing to pursue any farther this on my own.

“Get your shoes on, Ian, we’re going to the hospital!”

I was not happy.

On the ride to the hospital (which we made in record time… adrenaline is a marvelous thing…) I was trying to process everything, and scolding Ian for his insanity. What is it that makes kids stick things up their noses?!? In utter disbelief, and still quite fiery anger due to the late night visit to the ER, I continued my steaming. Finally, God got a thought in there I believe. I realized that it was really a great thing that Ian felt the coin before he laid down to sleep. Who knows what might have happened if he had gone to sleep with a coin in his nose? So, I quietly thanked God for that, while still making a few incredulous comments in Ian’s direction.

We arrived at the somewhat desolate hospital roughly 10 minutes after leaving home, and proceeded through what looked like the most obvious entrance. We found ourselves in the treatment rooms hallway, with a few nurses looking on. I figured that was not the right place, so we continued to look for a registration area. Finally made our way through some automatic doors and into a lobby/lounge area. There was an older gentlemen sitting with a teenage boy across from a tough-looking lady with glasses who appeared to be in charge. There was no sign saying “Registration” or “Sign In Here”, just a sign saying “Do Not Disturb”. Not being one to always follow signs, I peeked around the corner and quietly asked, “Is this where we register?” The lady at the desk fired the quick retort, “I’m with a patient, have a seat!” I sheepishly admitted I had not been to this hospital before, and was just looking to sign in. She reminded me to have a seat.

So we sat. And we waited. The bespectacled woman was lecturing the young man about his sexual practices as we waited quietly for our turn to face the tongue lashing. It was quite sometime, and perhaps a good chance for Ian to think about what he had done. He was growing visibly concerned. I tried to assure him, and we did pray together that God would make good out of this bad situation.

After 15 minutes or more, a much nicer looking lady came out from the back. She spoke with the two men in the registration room, and the other lady behind the desk, and offered advice and information in a decidedly softer tone. They seemed to resolve something after a couple minutes, and the gentler, taller woman with the stethoscope retreated from the office and seeming to almost debate in her head whether or not to approach us, she stepped our way.

“So how can we help you, young man?” she asked, directing her words to Ian.

“I stuck a dime in my nose.” he said matter-of-factly.

“You did? That’s not the best place to keep your money…” she said with a smile. She continued to figure out the situation a bit, and kept the mood light and reassuring for a now scared little boy. After a brief moment, she had a plan, and we were taken into another room.

We waited, and then were greeted by another nurse. She took down some information, quizzing Ian for any details he could recall. We laughed with her about the things she had seen other kids put in their noses. It was quite a list! After about 10 minutes there, we were directed to the office where the previously rough-looking lady greeted us with a smile.

I knew that she was not going to be as gruff as we were now supposed to be there. At least, I hoped she wasn’t! I was right. She laughed a bit – just to lighten the mood – at Ian’s predicament, shared some similar stories, and reminded him that it’s better to keep your money in the bank instead of in your nose. Ian agreed.

By the end of our little information interrogation, she plopped a little stuffed Fozzie Bear down in front of Ian. A little treat for a tired and still slightly concerned boy… with a dime in his nose.

We were ushered to the last room on the right – room number 8 – past several nurses and other hospital staff, and the occasional occupied room. There is no shortage of hurting people in the world. Not even in Wayne County. When we got to our room, we were told the doctor would see us shortly. I looked at the clock, it was 11:15 already! This was not good. I was just hoping that they would be able to dig out the dime fast so we could go home and get a little sleep!

The clock continued to approach midnight, and we were not getting any help. I kept wanting to call Jen to give her a progress report, but signs continued to warn me that cell phones were a no-no in the emergency room. So, we waited, and we talked. I kept trying to reassure Ian that they probably wouldn’t have to cut off his head this time. Not this time.

Finally, a tall, dark-skinned man came into our room, and began asking Ian about the dime that had found its way into his nose. After a few questions, the doc dove right in! He had a nurse bring him what he called the “nose tray” and once she had, he grabbed the tools and started diggin’!

First, he took a look with that lighted pointy thing they always stick in your facial orifices. He looked up, moved it around, looked down. Ian looked a bit uncomfortable, and the doc looked perplexed.

“I don’t see it in there yet. Did you feel it fall down in your throat?” he asked Ian.

“Nope. I felt it in my nose,” Ian stated matter-of-factly. He’s good at that.

“Oh.” To the point, but not reassuring words from the kind doctor.

He began digging in Ian’s nose with some interesting looking forceps. They could stretch open the nostril whilst the light continued to illuminate the nasal cavity. He dug for a while, then repositioned the light, the dug for a while more. All making Ian squirm a bit. Still, no luck.

“I think it may have fallen back down into his throat and he may have swallowed it.” The doctor was fairly certain that this was our explanation. At this point, I believed him, but had a nagging and really annoying feeling that perhaps Ian had made this whole thing UP!?!? I didn’t really think so, but that was certainly creeping into my mind…

“I am going to send him over for some x-rays to see if he swallowed it. Stay here, and someone will come to get him for the x-rays.” And with that, he was gone. I checked the clock, and we were right at about midnight. Two hours… no coin.

After a bit more waiting (there seems to be a lot of that in a hospital) an x-ray dude came and took us to the room where they would take a look inside my son. A rather strange phenomenon, but I hoped it would get our heads to our pillows a bit more quickly.

We followed him into the room, and he began to set up the machine to take its photos. I found it curious that he appeared to be setting it up to capture Ian’s chest. That was what the doctor had relayed to him – check to see if he swallowed it – but still, I thought surely they would have to check in his nose, since that’s where he put it. The technician flawlessly captured two images of Ian’s innards. He and another x-ray dudette took a gander at them on that little LightBrite thing they use and surprise! No dime! It was then that the other tech offered the brilliant idea (with a hint of sarcasm) that we scan Ian’s head, to see if it’s still in there!

So, we did.

Ian stood by the face x-ray machine. They prepared him for the photo, and snapped a shot from the back of his head. After processing the film, and placing it on the LightBrite panel… THERE IT WAS!!!!! We have first contact! There was very clearly a white slash in the middle of Ian’s head that was not supposed to be there! The second tech said we should take a profile shot to verify where it was located. They proceeded to set Ian up one more time, and after processing the film, this is what we saw…

A dime in a boy's headRight in the very middle of my 6-yr-old’s bony little head was stashed exactly 10 cents. Not the first place you might look for loose change. Perhaps under the couch cushions, or in his pockets – or even better, in the washer after forgetting to check his pockets. But usually not the CENTER OF HIS HEAD.

At this point, after the hour of 12:00am, we are all a bit amused by the whole thing, and happy to have located the wandering currency. We return to room number eight, and await the official removal procedure from the doctor.

It was at this point, about 12:15am that I was able to finally call Mom and let her know that we found the coin. Unfortunately, Mom had long since fallen asleep. But, the message was left, and with great anticipation of returning home shortly following the call. Little did I know what was about to happen next!

The doctor told me that the coin was lodged at the back of the nose, just above the throat. He could approach the coin through the nostril, or from underneath through the mouth. He preferred the nostril, and looked at me as though asking, “Do you concur?” To which, if it had not been 12:15am following a painfully long day, I might have responded without a verbal cue, “I concur.” Alas, I was only able to mutter, “Uh, yeah. Sounds good.” Leaving me mumbling to myself afterward, “I should’ve said concur! I should have said, “I CONCUR!!!”

(See Catch Me If You Can to fully appreciate the above paragraph.)

So we found ourselves back where we started, in room number eight in Newark-Wayne Hospital, with Dr. Nwokonko sticking very long metal instruments down Ian’s left nostril. This was not a pleasant experience for Ian. He was definitely learning the cost of putting a ten cent piece up your nose. It was clearly a painful experience, so the doctor used some numbing gel on the end of a 10″ swab and after what seemed like a token swab of Ian’s nostril to numb the pain, he proceeded down, and down further, and then even further down inside Ian’s nose. He was attempting to dislodge the coin, and hoping it would fall into Ian’s mouth, and we could get it from there. No luck. That coin would not budge. He couldn’t see it, he couldn’t grab it, and he couldn’t push it out.

A bit stumped, he said, “I think we should go back to x-ray.”

I thought, “Oh boy! Are we going to keep taking pictures after every attempt? Just to see where it is now?” Thankfully, Dr. Nwokonko let me in on his plan, by explaining it to the x-ray technician.

“I’d like to do a [insert big fancy medical word here] on him so we can see where the coin is and be able to reach it that way.”

Cool! An x-ray video!!! Awesome, Ian!!! They’re going to shoot a video of your skull!!!

(Sorry… I was tired. And easily amused.)

So, as they prepped that machine we got to talk a bit with Dr. Nwokonko. (By the way, exactly how much do all of these fancy procedures cost, anyway? I know in Star Trek they are free… but this ain’t no Star Trek…) We found out his name, Dr. Nwokonko. Found out that he is from Nigeria. And that he occasionally works the night shift, but does not prefer it. He is a gentle, kind man. I am glad he was on that night.

After a few moments, we were ready to proceed. We went into the room, and got suited up with lead aprons. I thought it was amusing that the doctors and technicians wear full body armor while they shoot laser beam x-rays through Ian’s naked head. Doesn’t that seem a bit strange to you? Oh well…

They turned it on, and there was Ian’s head, and the dime. The procedure began. Having his target in visual range, Dr. N probed deeper than before, and Ian could feel it. My poor little boy was definitely tired by now, shortly after 12:30am, and had less tolerance for this much more aggressive treatment. My previous anger had definitely subsided, and though I may appear at times to be tough-skinned, that was a moment I would rather not relive. There was some pain in his cry, but perhaps more fear, and just desperation. It was definitely hard to remain behind the screen. I just wanted to come hug him, hold him. I offered words of encouragement best I could.

Despite what seemed like endless probing, and screaming, and Dr. Nwokonko repeatedly saying in his thick accent, “Sorry…” we were unsuccessful. The coin was just out of reach. He stopped his attempts to reach it, and just started talking with the tech about what they might try next.

This is my favorite part of the night…

Ian's self portrait of the dime in his head

Ian’s self portrait of the dime in his skull. 🙂

It was at this point that my amazing 6-yr-old son began offering his expert medical opinions. The doctor was saying that perhaps he would try the smaller forceps (thinking that perhaps the larger ones were too wide to reach far enough in.) To that Ian quipped, “I was thinking that bigger ones would work better…” It was sooo funny! The tech looked at him and she said, “You are quite a character!” He is too cool.

Well, despite Ian’s advice, Dr. N left to get the smaller forceps. Ian continued to offer some opinions and a little color analysis of the previous attempts to remove his nasal-stashed coinage. It was late, but the mood was still a bit light. We all hoped that this would be our last attempt.

Dr. Nwokonko returned, with the smaller forceps, and we turned the machine back on for one more try. Not appearing to be as patient this time, the doc dove straight in and Ian screamed again. In between cries, he did manage to get out, “Can you reach it fast, pleeease???” Even in extreme discomfort, Ian is polite to his elders. The idea seemed to be working, and Dr. N was very close to grabbing the coin. He reached and Ian squirmed, and he reached some more.

Then with one quick motion, the coin in the image moved, and was pulled completely out of Ian’s tired little head!

We were all quite relieved, and happy – especially the little boy who started us on this adventure in the first place. As he would later explain, he was “just trying to get a booger.”

We went back to room eight, awaiting discharge. Ian talking most of the time about his experience that night, and how he would never, ever stick anything in his nose again! I bet not! The female x-ray tech got us a copy of the x-ray they had taken with the clearly visible Eisenhower lodged in the center of Ian’s head. Ian also got a little care package from the hospital folk. And, lots of smiles as we walked out.

We drove home quickly, and at nearly 1:00am, Ian hit his pillow, ten cents lighter.

What a night! What a day! One we will not soon forget.

And all for only a dime.

Life in the Rearview Mirror: Reflections on Life Lived by Greg CampbellThis post is a chapter in the book Life In The Rearview Mirror: Reflections on Life Lived by Greg Campbell, available through Amazon.com. If you’d like to purchase the book, please click the book title in the previous sentence. Thanks for reading, sharing, and feel free to add to the discussion in the comments below, or wherever else you can reach me.