My little boy goes to school with some amazing kids. They’re cute, funny, vibrant, and astonishingly joyous little boys and girls. They’re honest and direct. And when they love you, they love you with the whole force of their will and their being.

One of those amazing kids is Jacob. Jacob is 9 years old, he’s on the autism spectrum, and he has a brain tumor.

He’s also part of one of the bravest families I know.

I had a conversation today with a friend who has a special needs child. He was telling me how difficult it is to know that people just don’t get it, and that every moment is a fight for your kids. It’s a fight in your home as you work out the best way to help your kids. It’s a fight in your work place as you struggle to balance the needs of your family with the needs of your career. It’s a fight to pay the bills. It’s a fight in the school system to ensure that the education your kids are receiving isn’t unfair and inappropriate. It’s a fight in your church as you struggle to explain why your child needs to play with an iPhone to distract him from the overwhelming sound of the pipe organ. Or why the stain glass windows really just needs to be licked.

It’s a fight, all the time, for understanding.

I disagreed.

Yes, our lives are filled with struggles. They are filled with people who don’t get it. They are filled with people who want to take away the support that my child needs to acquire his education. They are filled with discrimination, harassment, bullying, and hate.

But that is not all. Thank god, thank us, that is not all

They are also filled with kids like my boy, whose laughter shakes the rafters. They are also filled with children who will hug a complete stranger just because she smiled and was accepted by the people he trusts. They are filled with kids who never lose the joy of discovery and bouncin’.

They are filled with friends, true friends, who even though they are going through similar struggles, are always there with a hug, a knowing smile, a strong shoulder, a beer, a tear-filled eye, and a scream of joy when your son finally says, “I love you, dad” for the first time.

This is what true happiness is. This is what true community is. This is what true church is. This is what true family is.

Accepting others, being accepted by others, and making our way through this life, together.

That’s what I’ve found in the autism community in Huntsville: acceptance, support, and love. In the space that we create for one another, I find that I don’t have to fight for a while.

I’ve found a community right where I already am.

Eighteen years ago this evening, my father passed after a three-year struggle with cancer. He was 54.

In those all too brief years, he and I had many a fight. We were on opposite ends of the spectrum in many ways that did not matter, and we were inseparable in all the ways that did. He was a man who loved others, completely, unashamedly, and with all his strength. He believed in helping others. He believed in quietly sitting beside his friends listening to them work out the shit they found themselves in.

He believed in standing for those who could not stand for themselves.

He built community, church and family everywhere he went.

And I miss him.

But he would hate it if I allowed my loss to isolate me from building those things here. And so I don’t. Even though raising two special kids is hard some days, it has opened up whole new worlds of joy and family for me.

Jacob is a part of that family. And now he and his family need our help.

On Saturday, November 17th Jacob and his family will be walking in the St. Jude Give thanks. Walk. here in Huntsville at the Madison Square Mall. They are walking for Jacob and all the other amazing kids who are fighting against a shitty disease.

If you too would like to be a part of something bigger than yourself, something good, something hope-filled, something joyous, please consider making a donation to the Love for Jacob team. You may do so by visiting this site http://fundraising.stjude.org/site/TR?px=1293423&fr_id=3708&pg=personal and making a donation.

We’re here to carry each other. When we do, our lives are filled with kids like Jacob who can brighten the world with their smile.

The post Love For Jacob appeared first on Geek Palaver.

At Grissom High back in April a JROTC instructor decided it would be a good idea to preach to a student about the evils of homosexuality after that student made a comment about wanting to move to San Francisco after she graduated.

As regular readers know, I do not typically speak publicly about personnel issues, and I almost never speak against teachers. Honestly, there are too many people gunning for our teachers as it is now.

However, when a teacher crosses a line such as attempting to indoctrinate a student with his personal religious beliefs, silence will not suffice.

Back in the early 80s a “preacher” in my denomination infamously once said, “God doesn’t hear the prayers of a Jew.” In response to that, a true prophet and church history professor in my denomination, Dr. E. Glenn Hinson responded, “Such is the stuff of which holocausts are made.” (Shakespeare got it wrong. When the revolution comes, the first thing the victors do is kill all the historians, not the lawyers.)

Dr. Hinson only got it half right: it is the silence of people who know better of which holocausts are made, too.

There was a time in college when I stood silently while my gay roommate read a message that had been left on our dorm room door by a hate-filled, anonymous, “Christian.”

I was ashamed of my silence then, and I swore to myself that I would not be silent anymore.

So while my primary focus has been on the discrimination that the school board is enacting against SPED, let me be clear on this matter: if it’s okay to discriminate against one child of one demographic, it’s okay to discriminate against any child of any demographic.

Even mine.

Even yours.

A teacher is certainly free to hold whatever religious beliefs that he or she wishes to hold, but that teacher is not free to force his or her views on a captive audience of students. That crosses a line that should never be crossed in a public school.

Our public schools are wonderful places where people of varied backgrounds, religions, faiths, ideologies, races, genders, and yes, sexual orientations come together to learn from their teachers and from each other. In short, our schools are a cross-section of our society. They represent a safe place for our kids to learn to live on this increasingly small planet together.

I am a Christian. I am a Baptist. I am an ordained minister (although my calling is to the classroom rather than a pulpit). I am a Southerner who was born, raised, educated, and am raising children in the “buckle of the Bible belt.”

I believe that the Bible is the Word of God; however, I am completely convinced of the following: God loves us all regardless of our sexual orientation. God wants us to love each other regardless of our sexual orientation. Our sexual orientation is a gift from God, and being gay or straight is not a sin.

However, hatred and discrimination are. And hatred and discrimination in the name of God are as well.

But the worst, the absolute worst, is to stand by silently while a child of God suffers at the hands of another. As I know first hand, that takes a lifetime to undo. And it’s why I speak out now.

This is what I believe. And I won’t be ashamed to say so, anymore.

While the district claims that this issue has been resolved, they won’t tell anyone, including the parent, what resolution they arrived at. The story by Nick Lough at WAFF-48 states at its conclusion that, “a district spokesperson said they’re not allowed to comment on this story because of confidentiality laws between the school and the parent.”

Do I need to point out that this, once again, makes no logical sense? It instead sounds exactly like many of the non-answers I’ve received in the past. It sounds like a district and a superintendent refusing to do the right thing of protecting all of our students. Sadly, there are some students in our schools who don’t matter nearly as much as others.

It would seem that Dr. Wardynski needs to read his Dr. Seuss a bit more closely.

The post Silent No Longer appeared first on Geek Palaver.

Ed. Note: This first appeared on RocketCityMom. If you’re not following them, you should be.

You know that feeling you get when you kid hits a home run, or makes an A on a really hard test, or is simply kind to someone without having to be reminded to be so?

That’s a feeling that I have nearly every day, and yes, I know how lucky I am.

Being the big sister to a special needs little brother isn’t easy. Especially when you’re only 19 months bigger. I’ve lost count of the number of times that my girl has willingly walked out of a movie that she wanted to see, a restaurant where she wanted to eat, or left the library, a park, the pool or a play area before she was ready because her little brother was having a meltdown from sensory overload.

Suffice it to say, it happens at least on a weekly basis. Only rarely does she complain or whine. (She is only eight years old, after all.) But since about the time she was four, she just gets it. She understands.

In fact, it was when she was about four that she first asked, “When is Matthew going to talk to me?”

She knew that she had been talking since before she turned one, and she was ready to just talk to her little brother.

But he wasn’t. And she didn’t understand. And so we had our first conversation about autism with our little girl. She listened for a moment, and said, “So, we’ll just have to teach him how to talk.”

And she has never given up on him.

She remains his most persistent teacher. She celebrates his every utterance, syllable, attempt, word, and sentence as if it were his first one.

Being on the spectrum requires a lot of a family. A willingness to suffer fools with a smile, knowing that someday that ancient smokestack of a woman outside Publix will realize that her “helpful” suggestion of greater discipline for a boy having a meltdown may have been one of the most hate-filled and evil statements she has ever made.

A willingness to just walk away from the hatred that some feel towards those who are different.

A willingness to walk out of the movie because the music stopped playing at just the wrong time.

A willingness to listen and celebrate what others assume are given because we know that *nothing* is actually a given in this life.

Being on the spectrum requires love. Unconditional, undying love, as the love of a sister for her little brother. That’s what my girl’s film captures: her open, willing embrace of diversity, of finding a way to play, of finding hope to continue listening, watching, and celebrating each incremental gain.

And constantly fighting to find another.

This is who my daughter is; not because of anything that I have done, she simply came to us this way. And we cannot believe how lucky we are.

Emma’s PTA Reflections video on Diversity has won First Place in her age division (Primary) for Film Production at the State level.

Thank you to everyone involved in the Reflections program at Mt. Gap Elementary PTA (especially Tammy Klueger and Amy Harbour) for all their encouragement and support.

As such, her video has been submitted at the national level competition as well.

You know that feeling that you get when your kid is kind without being reminded to be so?

Yeah, I know that feeling too. I have it everyday from *both* my kids.

The post Lessons From A Big Sister appeared first on Geek Palaver.

You are all Children of God

–Galatians 3:26

And so it is Christmas Eve, a time when everyone is waiting. Waiting for Santa. Waiting for presents. Waiting to see the looks on the kids’ faces to make sure they’re happy with the toys they get. We’re waiting, always waiting

But that’s the problem with Christmas Eve and Advent; they suggest that we should be waiting for something, some miracle from above, some thing to happen to us.

But there just isn’t time.

There isn’t time to wait when children are being abused.

There isn’t time to wait when women are being dismissed as second-class (or even third-class if they’re pregnant) citizens.

There isn’t time to wait while hatred because of skin color grows.

There isn’t time to wait while whole nationalities are being kicked around for not being rich enough to buy their way into the country.

There isn’t time to wait while our city becomes convinced that only those who can count do count.

There isn’t time to wait while homosexual teens are being beaten, mocked and spat upon for being born different. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re all born different.

We’re all freaks and weirdos. We’re all illegals, second, third and last-class citizens.

We’re all the 99%. And we’re the 1% too–when we open our eyes enough to see the suffering that our getting is causing.

We’re all special-needs. We’re all black, white, women, men and children.

We’re all Children of God.

The miracle of Christmas eve isn’t that God came once. The miracle isn’t something we have to wait fro from the heavens. The miracle is that faith calls us all God’s sons and daughters. The miracle has already happened. So what exactly are we waiting for?

As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.

–Galatians 3:27-28

Advent and Christmas Eve aren’t about waiting for miracles. They’re about creating them. Our friends, our enemies, our sisters, our brothers, our parents, our neighbors, our strangers, and especially our Children, bless them every one, our Children can’t wait any longer.

It’s time for us to be the miracle that our would needs. Just in time for Christmas.

The post The Waiting appeared first on Geek Palaver.

Stephen King wrote once that God punishes us for what we can’t imagine. There is truth there. Yet the opposite is also, always a possibility. This is why life is so interesting.

God also amazes us with what we can’t imagine.

At 5:43pm eight years ago today, this happened to me when into my life came the girl.

Birthdays are hard on me. Not mine. I couldn’t care less about those. But the kids’ birthdays always kick me in the heart. There, as Croce sang, never seems to be enough time.

Life is a constant sprint. Running to the kitchen making sure that the strange smell coming out of the toaster isn’t dangerous. Racing to school. Speeding past the cop to get to ballet. Screaming down the hallway as I hear water splashing on the floor next to the tub. Our lives together are together. I think I’m getting at least that much right, but our lives are fast. And that breaks my heart.

I’m terrified, especially on birthdays, that I’m losing her a little more every day.

She’s flying past me as I try to grab hold of a moment. A moment where I can make the world better with just a raspberry on a belly. Just one moment where I can stop and hold my baby girl in my arms. Just a few more moments where she’s playing dress-up rather than actually getting dressed up.

[to go out and away]

But again, my imagination fails and God steps in to amaze. For every moment I spend wishing for her to remain my baby, I’m amazed by the beautiful, loving, funny girl that she has become. I’m stunned by her intelligence, shocked by her wisdom, surprised by her beauty.

I’m amazed, constantly amazed, that I get to spend my life watching her grow, helping her grow, pushing her to grow even though I don’t want her to, into such a caring young woman who is starting to seek out her own path in this world.

And for that, there might just be world enough, and time.

Happy Birthday, my sweet little girl. I love you.

The post To Be Enough Time appeared first on Geek Palaver.

When the pediatrician, at the boy’s two-year check-up, said to us, you’ll probably need to have him checked for autism, I wasn’t thankful.

Since this is a family blog, I’ll refrain from being frank with my language. Suffice it to say there was a rageful fear that stole over me in those moments. Followed rapidly by a little over two-million, one-hundred and two-thousand, four hundred other moments that were, to a varying degree, just like those first.

Fear of the future.

Rage for the disconnected now.

Fear of the hobbled hopes.

Rage at the ceaseless struggle to understand.

Fear at the thought that I never would.

rageful fear

There was little time for other as we rushed to find a way to help him. Knowing that every day he waits for a breakthrough is like three for another kid, we were rushing, raging against the fog of autism.

But there are clearings and breakthroughs. There is connection. There are times when the boy looks me in the eye and says, “I love you.” And the rageful fear fades.

For that and for so much else, I’m thankful.

I’m thankful that I’m learning to listen, really truly listen. My ears seek out the smallest syllable, the quietest question whispered in the middle of the night. And when it comes, I’m screaming for joy in my heart waiting for the next.

I’m thankful that I’m learning to live in the moment. To play when we’re playing. To climb when we’re climbing. To laugh when we’re laughing, and we laugh–he and I–often and loudly. To cry when we’re crying because we can’t connect. To lock eyes before we lock hands as we run to play.

I’m thankful for the community we’ve found and the friends, old and new, who just get it. There was a time when my off the scale introversion didn’t worry about losing a friend; I was foolish in my youth. As the boy’s friends have taught me, true friendship opens whole new worlds to explore and to love.

But mostly I’m thankful for this beautiful boy who bounces without reservation, who shouts with joy without concern, and who loves without shame. Despite the fog and the rage and the fear, I’m thankful for who my boy is.

I’m a blessed dad.

The post Thankful for Autism? appeared first on Geek Palaver.

I know that there are many who are waiting to hear more about some of the decisions made this past Thursday night. (The hiring of yet another person from Aurora, CO as Deputy Superintendent is just one. It’s a good time to have friends in high places.) There were a ton of them; I’m working through them right now.

But I’ve been busy these past couple of days with far more enjoyable stuff. For example, I heard yesterday that the boy has a beautiful little kindergarten girl who “like-likes” him! Being a typical boy, he remains unswayed by her charms.

What I wanted to write about this morning as the boy is curled up next to me (the “girls” are on a Girl Scout trip and we had a late boy’s night watching movies!), is the amazing dedication that I saw last night at the Challenger Elementary PTA’s Family Fun Night.

Picture this: it’s finally Friday, and you’re exhausted. It’s been a ridiculously long week of trying to put out fires, responding to staffing vacancies for jobs that no one seems to want, making sure that kids are safe and not, say, trying to flush themselves down a toilet for the fun of it, and on top of it all, trying to teach those students math, science, reading and writing so that a federal bureaucrat doesn’t cut your funding from zero to a fee that you have to pay.

What exactly would you want to do on a Friday night at six o’clock? Go home? Relax? Read or just forget about work for a while?

For me it would certainly be all of the above.

But last night, through the hard work of the Challenger Elementary PTA, many of our teachers, instructional assistants, and staff including Mrs. Carol Costello, Challenger’s principal, decided to put aside their own exhaustion and join the kids, families and friends on the field at Challenger for a family fun night of pizza, playing, and a movie under the stars.

There was pizza. There were Icees. There was music (Black Eyed Peas, “I’ve Got a Feeling“). There was sliding, swinging, running, jumping, and talking birds from Rio.

It was indeed a good night.

A good night for our entire community, coming together to talk and play. Kids, Parents, Teachers, Aides, Staff and Principal.

This is why I fight for our schools: Because they fight for us, all of us regardless of ability, every day and every night. And so I say thank you to our school, the administration, staff, teachers, aides, parents and kids.

Because of your commitment to educating every child, my son has a girl who is sweet on him. My son has a place where he is safe and welcomed. My son has a place where he and his dad can have a great night.

Thank you.

The post A Good Night at Challenger Elementary appeared first on Geek Palaver.

On Sunday, September 16, 2001, I had the responsibility of coming up with words to fill the void that was very much alive and screaming from five days earlier. Those words were inadequate to the task.

Yes, poets, priest and politicians all have words to thank for their position. And I have played, at some level, all three.

But today requires something more than words can capture.

It requires an acknowledgement that sometimes, we just need to hush and listen. Even if there’s nothing to hear.

The post September 11, 2011: Silence appeared first on Geek Palaver.

Dog, but I’m tired.

The beginning of the semester is a funny time. I love it, but it flat wears me out.

I’m not really sure just how to put into words how much I love my job. I’ve often said that I can’t believe I get paid for this. I’ve said that I would do it even if I didn’t get paid (but please don’t tell the president). I’ve said it’s my calling, my passion, and just about better than a Stuffed Pork Chop with a side of cheese grits, purple-hulled peas and bread pudding from Tim’s Cajun Kitchen.

I love teaching. Having the opportunity to help people learn to love writing or to think critically about something they’ve never considered before is, easily, the greatest job I can possibly imagine.

I’m not kidding.

And the beginning of the semester is the best. All these long faces walk dejectedly into the room, dreading the next 16 weeks cause they didn’t know they would have to take a writing class! Then I’m just on looking for a way to resurrect the love of language in my students. (Being on is really hard for an off-the-scale introvert like me. That’s why I’m so tired right now.)

Cause you see, I love writing. Finding a way to put these disparate thoughts down on the page (or web, in this case) beats away the exhaustion that being on causes.

It’s like that feeling of the first cool breeze of fall when you’re out cutting the grass for what you hope is the final time of the summer.

It’s like waking in the middle of the night feeling like you’ve slept for years, and you notice you still have five hours before you have to get up.

It’s like hearing your boy say, “I love yooooooou” for the first time.

Writing brings clarity to love, to life, to light.

And it’s a light that must, absolutely must, be shared.

As Bill Wheeler says, “Good writing is clear thinking made visible.” And dear god if there’s one thing we need more of in this world it is the light of clear thinking that’s right out there in the open for all to see.

It’s a good day when I can share that with just one other person. It’s a great one when I can share it with a hundred.

The post It’s A Good Day When . . . appeared first on Geek Palaver.

I knew I was in trouble from the moment I saw her face.

Just in case you ever wondered, kids hear everything. They seem to hear better when you are trying to speak in code.

So Laurel and I were having one of those hard talks one evening about the boy. Most of the time, both of us are convinced that he’s making sufficient progress that he’s going to be fine. But sometimes our worries overwhelm us.

A few days ago, we were having one of those days. So we were talking about it, and what we might be facing 15 years from now.

Thinking that Sponge Bob was holding the girl’s attention (typically we have to call her 9 times to override the joy that is the Squarepants), but, of course, speaking in code had the effect of riveting the girl’s attention.

After we talked, the girl came to see me. And I knew I was in trouble.

There she stood all seven years and eight months of her. Arms crossed. Eyebrows touching. Hip cocked (in so far as a seven year old has a hip, anyway). Foot tapping.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

It really is a good thing that I hadn’t looked directly into the stare and that my hearing is bad from too many years of listening to The Eagles on my Walkman. Otherwise I would have been stumbling around lost in the silent darkness for years to come.

Charlie, the demon dog, went running for cover.

The girl was furious.

Forget a woman scorned, it’s the big sister standing up for her little brother than you need to look out for.

She’s seven, so the anger quickly bled into tears.

After consoling her for the next hour, I finally pieced together the source of her fury. “You and mommy are going to make him live in an orphanage.”

She was convinced that we were segregating her little brother to an orphanage, and SHE. WAS. NOT. HAVING. IT.

She doesn’t put up with strangers hurting her brother, and she certainly doesn’t put up with her parents doing it.

After the tears dried and the explanations offered (we were talking about a group home setting for when he’s older), I took her in my arms and held her, held her, held her.

I have never been so proud of my little girl.

I get my tenacity honestly.

The post I Get It Honest appeared first on Geek Palaver.

Vacation – a time when we’re supposed to remove ourselves from our daily responsibilities and live it up, let our hair down (well for some of you), relax, and set aside the cares of this world. Even better, a vacation on a cruise ship provides further isolation from the world around us with no email, no phones…no contact. I though it also meant that I’d be able to take a break from the weekly responsibilities of a Bible teacher (or “discussion leader” as I’d prefer to call it). For this month our studies have focused on the life of Jeremiah, and we’ve learned much from his experiences. However, the preparation for these Old Testament texts is tedious and time consuming especially for me. I’m much more comfortable with New Testament scripture. Nevertheless, I’ve always benefited from the preparation likely more than the fellow learners in my class, even if it costs me a little rest. So, a vacation seemed like a good time to catch up on some rest since I wouldn’t have to prepare for one week of lesson.

Lesson #1: God doesn’t take vacations.

Sometimes God has to hit you on the head:

One of our excursions was a trip to the Mayan ruins at Uxmal (oosh-MAHL), a fascinating place complete with iguanas on every rock, a Mayan game field, temple grounds, and a grand pyramid. The pyramid was 150ft high and my son and I climbed to the top to experience a breathtaking view. You could see for miles over the tree line in every direction from our vantage point. The trip up the hundreds of steps was fairly easy…the trip down for me was not. I made it down to a large platform about 5ft off the rocky ground around the pyramid and took my last step. As I planted my foot on the ground I somehow lost my balance and wound up falling face first onto a nearby rock. What was a fun experience now turned into what seemed like a life-threatening one as I realized that blood was leaving my head and nose at an alarming rate.

As I sat there, a couple of people from my tour group, despite not knowing me, came to my aid offering a towel and water. A Mexican man who happened to be a doctor was nearby visiting with his family and attended to me, making sure I hadn’t suffered a concussion. Our tour guides Carlos and Louise came to my side and watched over my belongings. A Mexican paramedic arrived to patch me up and conversed with the doctor in a language I didn’t understand about my condition and whether or not I should go to the hospital. As he was able, the doctor translated for me. It occurred to me that not once during the experience was I asked to show papers of my citizenship or proof that I was able to pay for costs, or any form of ID. The people surrounding me were concerned about only one thing, my well-being.

After the experience I also realized another thing. My lesson that I was skipping for the week included Jeremiah 22, where God instructs the leaders of Judah to exhibit compassion and kindness to foreigners, orphans, and widows and not to be harsh but to be just and righteous. In fact, in speaking about good king Josiah, God says that in taking up the case of the poor and needy, Josiah demonstrated what it means to know God (Jeremiah 22:16). The kind acts of the nameless people who attended to me in my time of need were examples of God’s character present in each and every one of us. We have the capability of knowing God and exhibiting this character if we choose. Although I’m a supporter of strong immigration laws and protection of our borders, lesson #2 taught to me on that day was that I need to remember first to think of all individuals, whether they appear to be here legally or not, as people worthy of respect, kindness and compassion.
The Love of God comes from unexpected places:

A few days after returning to the ship, on one of the last evenings aboard, the cruise director threw a “deck party” for everyone. The party kicked off with a bit of line dancing to songs like “Cupid shuffle”, “Cha Cha Slide”, “Macarena”, and “YMCA”, songs that everyone younger than me know dance moves to. Since my special-needs daughter, Katie (she has Down Syndrome), loves to dance and apparently knows all the moves plus some of her own, she joined in with the help of her “O2” group director, Kate. Even though Katie is a little slower than others at the dance moves, I was quite surprised that she kept up with the group. At breaks people were walking up to Katie to tell her how much they enjoyed watching her and how good her dancing was. Eventually, all the people on the deck gathered around in a circle as some uninhibited individuals showed off their moves in the circle. Again to my surprise (why am I surprised by anything now?), Katie made her way to the middle and strutted her stuff to everyone’s delight. The support people showed and the inclusion of Katie in their event is something that would have been unthinkable 30 years ago, but on this night Katie was having a ball.

It was then that the evening turned uneasy for me, but wound up teaching me another lesson. The DJ kicked off a sequence of slow dance music and most of the people left the deck to just a few who paired up to dance. Sure enough, Katie was there dancing as she often does with her imaginary date. For a few awkward moments she stuck out from everyone and I debated whether it was worse for her to dance with her imaginary friend or to have to dance with her father. As I was about to make my way to the floor to join her, a young man stepped away from his date and joined Katie for a little while. This young man was not someone you’d typically think about letting your daughter date. Like most of the other people on the deck, he was drinking and like many, smoking. But, he did something that most of us never do…he had compassion for my daughter. He and his date decided that they’d put their evening aside for a moment, and create a highlight for Katie’s evening. After he danced with her for a while, another young man danced with her. Two young men who based on appearances alone I’d never let near my daughter demonstrated God’s love by showing compassion to Katie. This shouldn’t surprise me. Lesson #3: We all are made in God’s image and possess the ability to love. In fact, Jesus commanded us to love one another (John 13:34) and He won’t command us to do something we’re not capable of doing. Despite their outward appearances, these two men demonstrated the truth that we all bear God’s image by putting Katie’s needs ahead of their own.
The choice is ours:

So there you have it: God’s lessons for me during my vacation. I share them with you because they are the most fundamental aspects of relating to God. We all can choose the path we take. We can ignore the makeup of our being, the fingerprint of God on us and choose the path that is quarrelsome, uncaring, and devoid of love. Or, we can choose the path He intended for us where we love one another, not just those close to us but even those foreign to us. I’m glad those nameless individuals I encountered during my vacation choose the latter path.

The post Lessons Learned while on Vacation–David S. appeared first on Geek Palaver.

Fifteen years ago today, on what would have been my dad’s 56th birthday (Happy Birthday, dad, I miss you), under a window-rattling thunder clap, the most beautiful woman in the city said “I do” when asked if she would marry me.

The thunder was a nice touch. Even the gods were celebrating the union of soul-mates. Or maybe they were just warning this amazing woman away from the guy with the Flock of Seagulls haircut. (Jeez, dude it was THE NINETIES already! What were you thinking? At least the tie was real . . .)

Our First Family

Ah Huntsville, know how to welcome a guy to town. Despite the storm that made getting to the Weeden House for the reception a little soggy, the day was the best of my life because she decided to spend the rest of her life with me.

I suppose the blessing we received from Jeebus and the EggBeaters musta worked.

__________

I am a lucky man.

Nearly every day of the past fifteen years I’ve been allowed to laugh, hold, cook, build, cry, and fall in love with all over again with my best friend.

I am a lucky man.

When I’m worried, she brings me comfort.

When I’m melancholy, she brings me laughter.

When I am totally batshit crazy, she grounds me and loves me back to reality.

When I’m off chasing an obsession (I’m looking at you HCS), she gives me boldness and reminds me to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all (Re-WHAT-alous?)

When I’m so focused on the inner monologue (that often has a thousand voices), she sings to me, piercing the cacophony, and draws me back out of myself.

I owe her everything.

I am a loved man, and for that, I am amazed.

I love you, sweetie. Thank you for being my partner in this crazy, wonderful life.

r

The post Maybe I’m Amazed appeared first on Geek Palaver.

Six years ago tomorrow, everything changed, as I got to hold my little boy for the first time ever.

For the longest time, I was completely convinced that I could never love anyone as much as I loved his big sister. It’s true what they say about little girls and their daddies: Dads are lost forever when their daughters are born.

And I was.

And I still am.

But there’s not a day gone by since in the last six years when I haven’t fallen in love all over again with this little guy.

I am amazed by the simple joy he finds in life: sliding, bouncing, holding extended conversations with the pine straw bunny rabbit, or seeing the blue sky as if for the first time.

I am in awe of his strength when he tears off the fridge door and bounces among the spilled milk and pickle juice, or when he squeezes my mouth into an O to get me to help him say, “O-Pen.”

I am broken by his grace when he walks among the eggs on the couch without a single misstep or crack.

I am in love with the boy when through his tears and stimming he manages to find a way through the noise, the confusion, and the fog to reach out and take my hand asking for big hugs to help soothe the raging within.

And when he looks me in the eye . . . everything changes–again.

Happy Birthday little guy. I love/hate that you’re growing up, but I can’t wait to see the man you become. I know you’re gonna change everything.

The post The Day Everything Changed–Again appeared first on Geek Palaver.