Sick and tired?

I was listening to a friend talk about the parenting struggles he faces on a daily basis. He talked about how hard he works to raise his kids. Then he said something that blew me away. I won't get it exactly right, but it was something like this:

I was telling God how tired I was of constantly having to remind my kids of the rules and God said to me, "You don't get to be tired of parenting. You're their dad. You have to parent them or no one will."

I was so glad for that reminder. Parenting can be wearisome for every parent at times. We can, in our hearts, get sick and tired of the rebellion, the attitudes, the defiance. But we don't have any option other than to keep parenting. If I don't parent my kids, no one else will.

Later, after my friend was gone, I too heard God's gentle voice. He spoke to my heart:

"If you're tired of parenting, you're doing it in your own strength instead of in mine."

Another important reminder. Following God's way is not easy when we try it in our own strength. It is only easy if God is doing things his way through us. I need his power. Every parent does. Otherwise we'll often become sick and tired of the task set before us.

Dads, moms, pray for help in raising your kids. You need it. Your kids need you to ask for it so you aren't overbearing or mean-spirited or just plain cranky.

"Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord." (Ephesians 6:4)

Thanks, Mrs. Novotny!

One year ago today, I walked by Mrs. Novotny's room and, on a whim, stopped in to ask her how much she would charge for guitar lessons.

"For you?" she asked.

"Yes." I answered.

Her reply blew me away. She simply and quietly said, "Nothing." She told me later that she knew it would help me in my ministry, so she was glad to help out.

That afternoon around 3:45, Mrs. Novotny sat down with me and taught me how to play an E minor chord and a few notes. She sent me home with a guitar and a beginners book.

I am so thankful for Mrs. Novotny's lesson today. Playing the guitar and singing regularly help me express my heart to God and give me an outlet for the weird thoughts in my head too. I've written more than twenty new songs since I learned the E minor chord on December 5, 2012.

From the bottom of my heart...thanks, Mrs. Novotny!

Craving junk...

I went to the store last night to buy fruits and vegetables. Nice green leafy lettuce, a firm green cucumber, crunchy orange carrots and the like were on my list. Junk food was not. I went to the produce department, picked out a tomato or two, some green peppers, the other things on the list and then I began to roam aimlessly down other aisles. I walked down the drinks row. No problems. I strolled down the crackers and chips row. Big problem.

I love Kroger's Sea Salt and Cracked Pepper kettle chips. A bag of these savory creations "fell" into my cart. I wandered down a few more aisles. Somewhere in the frozen food section, a question popped into my head. "Why am I carrying a bag of greasy potato chips toward the checkout stand?"

Just over a year ago, I finally gave up soda pop. I craved it every day for weeks after I quit. Eventually, though, my desire for fizzy drinks dissipated. I stopped wanting a sip every ten minutes. I turned down offers of Pepsi, my favorite cola, time and time again. Who needs it?

Back to last night's bag of chips. When the "why am I carrying these things" question came to me, I shook my head at my illicit longing for junk. Then I did what I had never done before. I pulled the bag out of  my cart, set it down in the nearby ice cream cone display and walked away.

Can I kick the chip habit? I believe I can. I invite you to hold me accountable. No more chips. And...no more gummy worms. It's time to end the reign of junk in my belly.

I'm a liar...

I've come to that place in my recovery where I am finally ready to start thinking about and dealing with the root of the problem - my character defects. I've got a bunch of them. One of the most egregious is my tendency to not be quite truthful. I am, more often that I'd like to be, dishonest. Just so you understand what I'm saying, here's a personalized definition of dishonesty I ran across on a fellow struggler's blog.

• Dishonesty – Sins of omission and commission. Telling lies, hiding things, telling half truths or pretending something is so that isn't. Withholding important information. Adding untrue details to stories and situations. Stealing, cheating, taking things that aren't ours and that we aren't entitled to. (From Don't Drink and Don't Die)

I've been guilty of everything mentioned here. I'm especially bad when it comes to adding untrue details to stories and situations. I went to the dentist last week and when they asked me if I flossed, I said, "Yes." I don't know why I did it. I have flossed. I flossed regularly after my last exam. I did it for weeks and then I quit. When I said, "Yes," I probably hadn't flossed in over a month. Why did I say, "Yes"?

I am working on this defect of character. With God's help - he knows I need it - I will be honest in all my dealings with others.

Forgiveness brings healing...

It is with just a little fear and trepidation that I share a bit of my story with you today. I've never shared this part of my life anywhere outside my family and a few close friends. Until recently, I'm sure I would have been terrified by the thought of posting it online. But this part of my story is about God and the healing and freedom he brings, so I can't keep it quiet any longer.

Growing up, my family moved around a lot as my dad changed jobs. I went to five elementary schools, two middle schools and two high schools. I normally found friends quickly at a new school, but when we moved from a small town in Iowa to Sacramento, California, between my seventh and eighth grade years, things were different. I don’t know what it was, but I found new relationships difficult after this move. Maybe I was overwhelmed by the big city atmosphere or maybe it was because middle school is just plain awkward. Whatever the reason, it took longer to find peers to associate with.

Into that void stepped a man who, upon coming to our church, took charge of the youth group. He voluntarily spent time with us, teaching our Sunday School class and organizing fun events. I took to this man and we became friends.  We did lots of stuff together. He came to the school from time to time and took me out to lunch at a nearby fast food restaurant.

After a few months, this man’s mom kicked him out of her house. That’s what he told us anyway. I’m not sure now whether he was telling the truth or not. To make a long story short, my parents allowed him to move into our house.

Shortly after he came under our roof, he began visiting me at night when everyone was a sleep. He would ask if he could do things that I wasn’t sure he should do, but I was afraid of losing his friendship so I went along with his requests. For a little over a year, I was sexually and emotionally abused by this man in my own home. Whenever he sensed I was getting uncomfortable with what he was doing, he would threaten to kill himself if I ever told anyone what he was doing.

Finally, one day after he had asked me if he could do something that I found repulsive, I told my mom what had been taking place. That ended the sexual abuse, but didn’t quite completely end the emotional abuse. The last thing he said to me was, “I’ll come back for you when you turn 18.” That one sentence caused me to live in fear for years.

Less than a year after the end of this relationship, we moved back to Iowa. Just after we arrived, I went to summer camp and there, for some reason, I decided it was time to tell someone outside of my family what had happened. My poor counselor was shocked and not exactly sure what to do with this kid that kept yelling angrily, over and over, “I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!”

For the next two or three years, I lived with seething anger that I kept buried in my heart. Repressing it led to depression. Fear was there too. I was 18 and I was terrified when I thought that this man might reenter my life.

During the summer between my sophomore and junior years at college, I ran across these words of Jesus in Matthew 6:14-15, “But if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.” I realized I was in serious trouble with God. I had not forgiven my abuser. With the Holy Spirit’s help, I chose to do so that day. That choice was the beginning of my healing.

Over the next few years, God brought a series of people into my life, people who counseled with me and prayed with me till I was set free from my anger. I remember the day I knew I had what God wanted for me. I prayed and the burden was lifted. I was no longer angry. The chains of bitterness and hatred that had wrapped themselves around my heart were broken. I was free!

I am grateful to God for all the work he has done in my heart. I want nothing more than for each of you to find the freedom I have found in Jesus. Today, when I think of the man who molested me, I pray for him. I want nothing less than his presence with me in heaven. I pray that God will save him through faith in Jesus and set him free from his sin so that he and I can worship before God’s throne together for eternity.

The cautious return...

The day after I quit Facebook, Twitter and other social networks at God's command, I received notification from the library that a book I'd asked them to purchase had arrived. I went straight to 401 S. Jackson and picked up their freshly acquired copy of @stickyJesus. I laughed at the irony of it all. Here I was holding a copy of a book designed to help Jesus' followers serve him and live out their faith online and I had just left the world of status updates and tweets. Still, I thought it was an interesting topic, so I took it home.

Over the next several evenings and a Saturday, I read @stickyJesus from cover to cover. I was encouraged by the authors' call to missionary service in cyberspace. I was confronted by their warnings against pride and self-promotion. That was me. I wasn't online to show Jesus to the world. I was there to draw people to Mike Neifert (or openmikey, my most frequent username). I prayed a lot as I read. I confessed my sin to God.

I finished the book in a few short days. It's message sat there in my heart. I continued to pray. Then something unexpected happened. God released me to return to Facebook and Twitter. I was shocked and just a little suspicious. Was this "me" giving "me" permission or was it really God? I'm really good at rationalization. (We all are, aren't we?) I didn't rejoin the surfing throngs right away. I waited and developed a safety net. I did not want to return to my previous state of obsession. I did not want to become distracted from face-to-face relationships by their pixelated versions.

I went to Google and typed in: parental control software. I found a review of five products on ilovefreesoftware.com and chose Norton Online Family from the list. I set up my account, added a "child" named mikey, then called one of my accountability partners from Celebrate Recovery. I gave him the login information for my Norton account and asked him to monitor my internet usage.

Now, every time I log in, I am warned: "Norton Family is running on this computer and is currently supervising activity associated with this Windows account." Some of you might find that stifling. I have found it to be quite freeing. I have a "watchdog" in place to keep me away from trouble.

I am thankful to God for his leading in my life. His provision of a close friend is awesome. I am accountable to both. And now I'm accountable to you too. Feel free to ask me about my "online" life anytime you see me more frequently than it seems wise. If I'm posting frivolous stuff or self-promoting things, call me on it. I want to serve God and live righteously online. I want to show God-given self-control and wisdom.

A shocker?

The first number one seed falls! Gonzaga just couldn't keep the Shockers down. Enjoyed watching every minute of it! It was a good night to be in yellow! Sweet 16, baby!

Quitting Facebook...

A little over a week ago, I stepped away from all my social media networks. I deleted my account on dailymile, a community of athletes I’d called home since 2010. I disabled my Facebook profile and suspended my Twitter account. )I still have my Google+ account up and running, but that’s kind of a joke. I only use it to repost my blog entries. I’ve never browsed the site or looked at anyone else’s profile.)

Why did I commit cyber hari-kari? God told me to. That’s the short answer. Living for online companionship had become an idol in my life. I was spending way too much time “stalking” people without really connecting with any of them. Facebook and Twitter were distracting me when I needed to spend face-to-face time with my family. dailymile, which has no value at all to my work, would, from time to time, suck me in to its web during work hours. All together, these networks were eating away at real relationship time. I was watching stupid videos and devouring vacuous memes, not conversing with people. That’s why God commanded me to jump ship.

Please understand, I’m not saying everyone needs to leave social media sites. There are many good things about them. You can keep up with far-flung nieces and nephews. You can encourage friends who are struggling in life. You can share things that have been helpful to you with the world. Being on Facebook is for most people a good thing. It is not sinful to have a Twitter account.

For me, however, it was a control issue. I was out of control. God knew it. I knew it. It just took me awhile to admit it and take the steps God was calling me to. He’d given the command once or twice before and, I’m ashamed to confess it, I’d been unwilling to comply.

I was reminded of Paul’s words shortly after I severed ties online. "'I have the right to do anything,' you say—but not everything is beneficial. 'I have the right to do anything'—but I will not be mastered by anything." (1 Corinthians 6:12) Regaining mastery over the permissible is what this “fast” is all about. I will not return to any of these sites until God gives me the green light. That’s not going to happen until all is right in my relationship with him and with others.

If something is mastering you, if something is keeping you from an intimate connection with God and those around you, I urge you: cut the ties! Learn to love God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength. Learn to love  our neighbor as yourself. Those are the things that matter.

Celebrate what?

T-minus six weeks to launch! That was the decision made last night during our Celebrate Recovery (CR) leadership training session. After months and months of preparation - training sessions, 12-step meetings for the leaders, practice sessions for the large group and open share group - the official start date for Pratt's community Celebrate Recovery ministry is set for January 14, 2013.

Celebrate Recovery is a Christ-centered program similar to other recovery groups in many ways. CR has weekly open share meetings. It uses sponsors to help individuals in their recovery. The 12-steps are worked in CR. There are differences, however.

The main difference is that CR is open to and helps more than just alcoholics and other chemically-dependent individuals. It is a recovery ministry for people struggling with any kind of hurt, habit or hang up. Those helped by the program in other locales include the physically, emotionally and sexually abused; those struggling to overcome anorexia and bulimia  those addicted to pornography; those who fly into uncontrolled rages; and many others with issues that damage their relationships and destroy the joy in their lives.

Another difference between Celebrate Recovery and other groups is the clarity of who the higher power is that individuals can turn to for help. CR is a Christ-centered group for people who know that Jesus is the one who can help them overcome. He is worshiped during large group meetings, prayed to at small group meetings, and honored in every communication. The one who died to set us free from sin and from sin's power is the focus of Celebrate Recovery wherever it is found.

Pratt's Celebrate Recovery ministry will begin with a weekly large group meeting and open share groups. These meetings, to be held at Pratt Friends Church (824 Maple, Pratt, KS), will begin at 7:00 every Monday evening. The first hour will be dedicated to the large group meeting which will include music, lessons, testimonies from those in recovery, a reading of the 12-steps or CR's 8 principles and the praying of the Serenity Prayer. The second hour is for open share groups. At first these groups will not be issue-specific, but divided only by gender. As new leaders arise from within the ministry, new groups will begin.

(Pratt's Celebrate Recovery ministry is a cooperative effort of several churches in the community. For more information call 620-450-6120.)

Trusting...

I'm kind of a solution guy. I like to fix problems. Give me a puzzle to work out and I'll come back with multiple options. It's the gift God gave this guy along with his ADHD. Thinking at a million thoughts per second has a few advantages.

Everyone once in awhile, however, I come up against a bit of trouble that has no easy solution. It's usually a relational issue that stops me dead in my tracks. I can't figure a way out of the mess. How do I deal with people who won't do what seems to be reasonable.

I'm learning to trust God in these situations. I can't do anything about what other people do. (You can't either.) So I just tell the Maker of people about the struggles my friends and I are having and ask him to do his best.

Thanks for asking...

I attempted to run 100 miles a little over a week ago. My friend and running partner, Adam, made it. I didn't. After running for 11 and a half hours, I was dehydrated and my kidneys were messed up. I was peeing blood. My right foot hurt with every step. I didn't want to, but I called it quits at 50 miles. I was terribly disappointed.

Over the past seven or eight days, the same question has come up time and time again: "Are you going to try again?" I've mostly answered "I don't know" or "I'm not ready to make that decision yet" or something else noncommittal.

Today, I'm ready to say something different. I want to try again. I do not like leaving something that I aimed to do undone. It may be a few days before I start running in earnest again, but the training will start soon.

Half done...

Adam giving instructions at the Ministry Center

I woke up Friday morning at 4:00 to the screeching of my friend Marc's cell phone alarm. It was a good thing he was staying in the same house I was, because I didn't wake up for my watch's puny alarm. It had gone off three or four minutes earlier. I got out of bed. My legs felt great! I felt nothing but excitement. The day for which I'd prepared had finally arrived!

I dressed and got everything organized, stopped in the bathroom a couple of times, then headed up the stairs just as we got a text from Greg that our ride was waiting at the curb. Marc and I stepped outside and were met by pleasantly cool air. It was 61 degrees. We loaded our stuff into the car and hopped in. Greg and Issac, our support crew, greeted us. As we drove up Seneca, I made a quick peanut butter, banana and honey sandwich. I finished eating it about the time we pulled into the parking lot at the Friends Ministry Center on Maple.

Greg parked the car and we all disembarked. That was the last time I would sit in a car seat for hours. It was 4:45 and we were the only ones there for a few minutes. About ten till the rest of the support vehicles and Adam, my running partner, showed up. We talked and prepared for what was ahead. At just before 5:00, we gathered in a circle and prayed. With the final "Amen!" we were off on our adventure.

We ran a few feet down the sidewalk to the first street and headed north toward McLean. Adam and I were joined by our friends Marc, Taylor and Jeff. We joked and laughed a lot as we ran through the darkness. Everything felt good. There was no thought of not finishing. Our lights cut through the darkness. Greg and Isaac drove by and took pictures.

Bright lights along Central

When we hit McLean, we turned left and headed toward Central. The atmosphere among us was still light and jovial. No one was under stress at all. We took another left on to Central, ran a few blocks to Zoo Boulevard and turned onto the wide sidewalk. We ran northwest along Zoo meeting up with our support vehicles here and there. Jeff's Garmin kept our pace honest. We didn't want to go out too fast and burn out. A run of 100 miles is not a sprint.

At the I-235 bypass, we crossed Zoo and crossed the flood control ditch on the bike path bridge. At the next intersection, we left the bike path and ran along the shoulder of 21st passed the zoo and Sedgwick County Park. Just before Ridge, we crossed over to the north side of the street where we picked up the sidewalk. We ran right past Greg and Isaac who had stopped at the QT.

I don't remember exactly when we made our first visit to our support vehicles, but it was somewhere along the next stretch of pavement. All I really remember is getting more water. We were taking electrolyte pills every half hour and drinking a bottle of water each hour.

Somewhere along 21st we lost Taylor. I didn't see it happen. I looked around and he was gone. The same thing happened with Marc a little while later. Jeff, Adam and I ran on till we hit nine miles. Jeff called it a day. Adam and I were on our own.

Greg keeping close in the support vehicle.

As we were leaving the city, the sun was just beginning to rise. We wove our way through road construction and ran past the Northwest YMCA and St. Teresa's. At daybreak we were in the country. Neither of us had on a Garmin at this time, so we ran by feel. Even though I was pretty sure we were running faster than we had when Jeff was there reminding us to slow down, my legs were happy so I just ran alongside Adam.

Shortly after we left town, a nine-year-old from Adam's church was dropped off with his bike. He rode along with us for a few miles. Adam and I ran one in front of the other while Ky rode his bike on the shoulder. We certainly didn't want him out in traffic. He kept up pretty well for awhile, then started to get tired. I don't know for sure how long or far we enjoyed his company, but eventually he stopped and Greg and Isaac loaded him and his bike in their vehicle.

To be honest, the next 10 or 15 miles are kind of a blur. I felt good as Adam and I knocked off mile after mile. There was no doubt in my mind that I would finish. Life was good and I was running with a good friend who had a ton of ultra experience. I did everything he did and everything he instructed me to do. I took gels every half hour and electrolytes about the same time. We munched on homemade monster cookies prepared for us by a woman in my church. They were the best cookies ever! We drank water mostly, but I added a Powerade every two or three bottles. After the first Powerade, I had Greg and Isaac pour the blue liquid into the lighter water bottles. I didn't need the extra weight in my hands.

Our youngest supporter

I matched Adam stride for stride for a little over 25 miles, then backed off just a bit. I was still confident in my success, I just wasn't sure I could keep up with Adam. I didn't even feel bad really, I just knew it was time to slow down for a few minutes at least. After hours and hours of running, I've learned to pay attention to such things. When I ignore them, I end up dead tired or worse.

I asked for my Zen Mosaic at some point. I let Petra blast away as I ran on, my feet matching the rhythm. I couldn't read the display in the bright sunlight, so every once in awhile I'd had the device back to Isaac and have him change groups. I listened to Sanctus Real and sonicflood among other groups.

As I ran on, the temperature and the wind increased. I was sweating like mad! I increased my intake of water and Powerade to two to three bottles an hour. Adam had told me that I should be peeing every hour throughout the run. I remembered that and tried several times along the roadside without success. Finally, I got something to come out. The stream was weak and did not last long. I was concerned. I drank more. A while later, I peed again. Same result. Not much.

The good feelings were pretty much history as I ran past 35 miles or so. I'm not sure how hot it was, but it got up to 84 sometime during the day. I was putting ice on my neck in a bandana to cool my body as much as possible. I was still dripping with sweat. I was running most of the time, but pain in my right foot was slowing me down. I walked off and on.

My emotions started going crazy somewhere along the way. When Greg and Isaac drove up ahead and disappeared over the crest of a hill more than a mile away, I freaked out. I actually cried. When they came back, I said, "Don't do that again! Don't disappear unless you tell me what you're doing!" I didn't mean for it to, but I think that made Greg feel bad. He and Isaac really were great. They served my every whim quickly and efficiently. I couldn't have asked for a better support crew.

Still feeling good as the sunrises behind us

When we got to the road that went into Kingman, Greg asked permission to go to town to buy more sports cream. I'd been using it off and on throughout the day to keep my injured shoulder from aching. He was afraid we would run out and wanted to get some while we were near a town. I told him to go ahead. I ran on all alone. The other support crew was up with Adam, out of sight over the horizon. Rather than freak out, I turned up my music and had one of the most personal and intimate worship times I've had in years. I raised my hands and praised Jesus as I ran along singing. I felt God's closeness and love. It was wow!

Before Greg and Isaac got back from their errand, Frank and Marc came back in the other support vehicle. They wanted to check on me. I suspect that Greg had sent them. I asked them to help me tape a bag of ice to my right foot to see if I could numb the pain there a bit. Marc contrived a way to do what I asked and I was soon walking along. I'm sure it looked silly, but the ice helped a bit. I wish I had pictures. Maybe someone does, but I haven't seen them.

I was past 40 or 45 miles and my foot was bothering me more and more. I was mostly walking with short runs here and there. The next time I peed it was red and still little more than a trickle. When I met up with Greg and Isaac again, I mentioned my concern about this to them. Greg texted the other vehicle and soon Adam's mom, a nurse, was back talking with me. She asked about the color. I said it was really light red. She told me that my kidneys were stressed, but that since I was young and in shape I didn't need to worry too much. She assured me everything would go back to normal in a day or two. She went back up to Adam.

Adam gave lots of good advice while we ran together

A short time later, Frank and Marc showed up in their van. They had a cup. Adam's mom wanted to see my urine. I didn't need to go at that moment, but I promised them that the next time I went, it would be in the cup. I was slamming water and Powerade as fast as I could, but my body felt horrible. I was dehydrating.

I was near fifty miles when I asked Greg to let me talk with Adam. I was ready to quit. Greg dialed the number and put me on when Adam answered. I told Adam about the pain in my foot that was keeping me from running and mentioned my bloody pee and told him how I was feeling. He told me to stop at fifty miles and rest for a half hour. After the rest, he told me I should try to walk another half hour before making my final decision. I agreed to give it a try.

I made it to the 50-mile mark, peed in the cup, handed the ice tea colored liquid to Marc and stepped into the van. I'm pretty sure Marc didn't expect to be transporting medical samples when he signed on to help. Makes me laugh now to think about it. In the van, I cooled off and drank more water. I downed two bottles in the thirty minutes. The most entertaining part of the rest time was watching my foot and leg muscles dance. They were moving constantly and then the cramping started. That was not funny at all. Most of the time it was one foot or one leg at a time, but once or two both legs seized at the same time and I yelled loudly.

As my half hour rest was coming to a close, Marc and Frank showed up again. I tried putting my socks and shoes on by myself, but I couldn't manage it. The cramps kept grabbing my foot or my leg every time I bent to do the job. Once again Marc got the fun job. I swung legs to the side and he pulled on my socks and placed each shoe in place. I somehow managed to tie them and step out of the vehicle.

My poor cramping leg

As I was walking away, Nate showed up. He was going to run with me, but ended up walking instead. I tried running, but my right foot was stabbing me with every step. I kept moving for forty minutes and covered only about a mile and a half. Realistically, there was no way I was going to finish. I walked up to Greg's car and sat down. Denise pulled up just about that time. She was there to witness my decision to pull out. I sobbed for a bit. I was so disappointed. I had wanted so badly to finish the 100 miles. A dream was dying.

With the decision made, I climbed into the car and we were off toward Pratt. I felt awful and got worse. I talked on the phone with a few people who had been planning to come out and run with me or help with support. I tried reaching my wife, but she wasn't available. I cried every time someone said something nice to me. Marc helped by telling me I was a wimp. That made me laugh.

Less than a mile from Pratt, I felt really sick. "Get me a bag!" I yelled. I was handed a big plastic trash bag. I filled it as I vomited three or four times. I felt better after that, but yuck! We made it home and I dumped my bag out on the grass, then walked into the house. Greg and Isaac followed me in with a few things, then Greg left Isaac with me and took Marc up to his house. Isaac helped me get a few things and then went with his dad when he got back.

For the next few hours, I sat alone at home. I took in fluids, but didn't eat anything. I wasn't sure what my stomach would tolerate. I sat at the computer and responded to some of the encouraging words that had been posted on Facebook, Twitter and dailymile. I let people know that I'd had to drop out and new encouragement started pouring in. I am grateful to have so many friends who care about my well-being. If you posted something, I saw it and my heart was moved.

I talked with my parents and a few others on the phone and then my wife got home from the play. I talked with her for awhile. My eldest daughter came home. I talked with her for a bit, then just before I went to bed around 10:30 I called Frank and asked him to call me when Adam got near Pratt. I wanted to go out and cheer for him.

I slept for a few hours before the phone rang. It was nearly 1:00 in the morning Saturday. Marc was back to his place in the support vehicle with Frank and the runners were a mile from Pratt. My wife and I got dressed quickly and drove out to meet them. The headlamps that Adam and those who were running in support of him came into view about the time we got to Pratt Community College, so we pulled off into one of the driveways, got out and yelled loud encouragement! Adam gave me a quick hug. That meant the world to me. I greeted Ellen, David, Andy and Gabe. Adam asked if I had a key to the church. I did, so we drove back to get things ready for the lot of them.

As the group crested the hill just east of the church, I let out another whoop and holler. When I realized I was in the city, I stopped. No need to wake the neighbors. I talked with the runners as they rested a bit. Adam ran in for a pit stop. I was feeling pretty good after my sleep, so I decided to go with Frank and Marc in the support vehicle.

For the next few hours, I rode around and made sure the runners had what they needed. Frank and I took Marc back to his house after a McDonald's run. I got Ellen's car and drove it in short spurts back to Haviland. I got out when the runners approached and cheered. I met whatever needs they had to the best of my ability.

When Adam and this posse passed us with a mile and a half to go, he asked me to please run the last tenth of a mile with them. I wasn't sure I could do it, but I agreed. So when they got to the corner of Main and Elm, I pushed my legs up to a slow jog with them. It hurt, but I made it to the orange paint mark that was the finish. A few minutes later, I was in the car with Ellen headed home to Pratt. (Read Adam's report)

Though I'm disappointed that I didn't reach my goal by completing this 100-miler, I am not discouraged. I did what I could for a cause I care deeply about. Young men and women called to serve God as missionaries will be helped by the scholarship fund that Adam and I and all our friends ran to support. That matters more than whether I ran 100 miles or not. Way more!

Front page?! Seriously?!

It must have been a slow news day. An article about me running in the Run for Missions 100-miler made the front page of the Pratt Tribune. Big headline, full-color photo, the works! I don't believe I've ever been in that spot before. It was a great article too! Really well-written and all the facts were straight! (Read the article)

Follow my run...

Have you joined my Facebook group for those who want to follow my 100-miler training? It's the only way to get updates during the run on November 9 and 10.

Cataloging injuries...

Ugly scrapes and bruises cover my body right now. The black and blue has slowly been appearing over the past two days. The "left knee" discoloration wasn't even visible on Saturday. It showed up Sunday afternoon. The blunt force of the sidewalk pushed the injuries deep. Ugh! Can't wait till I'm not stiff and sore any more.

An abrupt end...

I have had so few crashes on my bike over my lifetime that I can remember all of them.

My first was a great one. I jumped off a driveway ramp on my brother's BMX bike to impress a girl. My feet left the pedals mid-flight and I came down hard, stomach first, on the seat. Knocked the wind out of me and taught me a lesson. Don't try to impress girls!

My second and third wrecks involved loose asphalt at high speed and locked up front brakes in that order.  I left skin on the road, but no serious injuries from either of them.

I had my fourth memorable accident this afternoon. I had ridden back to my office after lunch and was trying to enter my office when the key broke off in the lock. I called a friend who had a spare key to make sure he was around and then rode to his office to pick it up.

With the extra key in my pocket, I headed back to work. I was approaching approaching a traffic light and had moved my hands out to my brakes when I heard a friend shout a greeting. I waved, then decided to ride over and chat for a second. I looked over my shoulder. No cars were coming, so I shot across the street and rode to the curb. As I jerked up on my handlebars, I had one of those Aha! moments. My hands were still on the brake levers. The lifting motion pulled them tight locking up my wheels just as I hit the curb. I was slammed hard to the sidewalk.

I was in immediate and severe pain. My left shoulder, my neck and my left cheek were screaming. I looked around, saw my friend and said, "I think I'm alright." He said, "No, you're not." A few seconds later, when I tried to stand, his opinion proved to be the better of the two.

I stepped into his office with some help and sat down in a chair. I held my arm to my body and tried hard not to move while my friend pulled my bike inside. When he came back to look at me all he could say was, "I think you should get that checked out." I wasn't convinced. I was pretty sure I could ride if I had just a few minutes to rest. I'd shake it off. Then the pain got worse. I changed my mind again and let my friend take me to the ER. My commute had come to an abrupt halt.

I spent a few hours on a hospital bed. My elbow and hand were cleaned up. I hadn't even noticed those injuries for the first few minutes. My shoulder and collarbone were x-rayed. Thankfully, they showed no breaks or dislocations. After what seemed like an eternity, I was told it was likely a major contusion or a minor tear in a ligament and released.

My plan for the next few days revolves around ice, ibuprofen and lots of sitting around. I won't be running to my girls' volleyball tournament as I had planned. Hopefully, I'll be well enough by Monday or Tuesday to resume training for my 100-miler.

The truth about EMS families...

I had to laugh when I saw this meme on Facebook. It is so true of EMS personnel. We don't go to the doctor for anything. We wouldn't call an ambulance either.

Lunch duty laughs...

I love supervising fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth graders at my daughters' school over my lunch hour. The students are a laugh a minute!

Today, one of them, I'll call him Trogdor, comes up to me and tattles on a friend. "He smacked me up side my head," Trogdor complained. I looked at him and responded. "Did you do something to him that you knew would get you smacked in the head?" Silence is golden!

A few minutes later this girl, I'll call her Dora, walks up behind me and grabs my right leg. "What are you doing?" I ask. Dora responds, "I'm feeling your calf." I'm the silent one this time.

Wonder what tomorrow will bring?

Plus...

I was on Google+ for awhile a few months ago. No one I knew was there and so I gave up on it. I stepped away from it. Why bother with it? I thought.

I reconnected to Google+ today. Still not sure about it, but I know more people who are using it and I can send blog content to it directly. We'll see how long this round lasts.

A quarter century of bliss...

On August 1, 1987, I married the most beautiful woman on planet earth. After courting Susan for nearly three years, I was sure she was the one God had for me. Today, I’m even surer of that than I was then. Through all the ups and downs of the past two decades plus, my wife has been my greatest help, my best friend, my most loyal supporter. She tells me the truth when I’m out of line. She laughs when I’m mildly funny. She cries when I’m wounded. She rolls her eyes when I’m more than a little bit wacky. She offers suggestions when I’m at my wit’s end. She growls when I’m misunderstood by others.

God did a good thing when he brought Susan into my life a quarter century ago. I’m thankful to him for giving me a godly wife. He gives few gifts greater than that.