It Is Done

Forks in the Road

This weekend, my youngest child will walk across the floor of the Leon County Civic Center, climb stairs to a stage and accept a diploma that verifies his matriculation from Lincoln High School. And this day is actually bigger than I ever imagined. My youngest child has had a rather combative relationship with school for most of his Middle and High School years. He is a gifted musician and those gifts were rarely allowed to flourish within the halls of high school education. Far from being unintelligent or lazy, he was basically uninterested and no manner of pleading, cajoling, yelling or prayer seemed to get through his brain that it mattered. It has been a very frustrating six years. But he made it. The particulars are not important, the final G.P.A. is not relevant. The mad scramble of the last few weeks will, hopefully, be a dim memory before too long. What matters is he will graduate on Saturday night.

So here is to my funny, charming, infuriating, talented, sensitive, goofy, independent third child on the weekend of his graduation. Take a deep breath, kid, and prepare to expand. Your world is opening up in front of you and I pray you find your place. Above all else, go with God. I love you...

The Other Jay

Some days I want to stop trying to “do the right thing” and just skate. Some days I want to take the easy route and to hell with the results. Some days I see the weeds popping up in the flower beds and I think it would be best to concrete in the entire yard. Some days, when a recurring, incessant, “how many times have we dealt with this?” problem returns with one of the kids, I want to give that child $5000, a car and wish them well. Some days I sense I’m not sure I can deal with everyone at work in a professional manner and I want to quit, convinced that I can make it on my own. Some days, when “friends and family” suck me dry with inanity and selfish needs, I want to move to the mountains and not contact a soul for a very long time.

But I’ll never follow through with any of those thoughts. Doing the right thing is the right thing to do. Is that a spiritual motivation? Or is that upbringing? Or are those two so intertwined that it is hard to tell them apart? I will continue imagining “the other Jay” but it will stay between my ears. I will play out the scenarios in my head like a Hollywood movie script, one I control and direct, the conclusions both hilarious and satisfying. My history, however, has shown that whenever I follow through on a purely selfish act, it never turns out as I imagined. Satisfaction is limited and the blowback is always one thousand times worse than anticipated (if anticipated at all). Bad, bad, bad. Those memories serve as a governor on future self-centered decisions. “Remember when...?” Yes, I do. And it is never like the movies.

Real life is much more real.

Book Review: Collapse of Distinction by Scott McKain

I have had the privilege and the pain of working for numerous companies of varying size and proficiency. They all had one frustrating thing in common—none reached their promising potential. It was mainly because they (we!) could never differentiate themselves from the similar minded businesses hawking similar wares. After reading Collapse of Distinction, I have a clearer understanding why.

Most business books are long on pontificating and short on practical application. What I found refreshing in this book was the information was easy to digest and the main concept centered around a couple of small businesses in rural Indiana. Their contrasting attempts to overcome personal “David vs. Goliath” moments form the main ideas in the book—how do you stand out and succeed, especially when facing long odds and low capital? The answer makes perfect sense. Since reading the book, I have made a point to observe the businesses I frequent and conduct my own personal field tests. The establishments where the principles laid out by Mr. McKain are being followed (whether they know it or not) are not only busy, they have a better vibe. And that proves that you don’t have to be Starbucks to be successful and cool. Read the book. Then you’ll understand.

Entry One Hundred Twelve: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!

[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is forty-one of who knows how many will be posted. The last entry is here. Enjoy it while it lasts...]

Chapter Twenty
Adam wasn’t sure where he was, but he was glad to be off I-75 and on a side road, prowling the bowels of Atlanta. His emotions had slowly been overtaken by the more basic need of hunger. Although he was not sure how he would eat or where, he was positive that he was not going to find food on the interstate so he decided to exit down a ramp and try his luck in a smaller grid. The traffic was no less a problem and maybe more so since there was less room to maneuver around blocked lanes. He resorted to driving on sidewalks and over medians, doing what he had to do to keep moving. After a couple of blocks of that frustrating game, he saw a sign for a Huddle House. “Perfect. Open 24-hours and smoking is allowed.” After another fifteen minutes he finally pulled the Volvo into the parking lot.

As he surmised, the doors were unlocked and he gained entry easily. The smell was funky, bordering on bad, but it was not anything that was going to keep him from exploring and trying to find something to eat. He stood just inside the entrance and lit a cigarette, drawing on it in quick hits to calm his nerves. He was still not comfortable with trespassing and stealing--albeit the definition of both terms had recently been forever altered. It was ingrained in his DNA to respect the property of others and even though he had grown a little more comfortable in Grayson, this was a whole new ball game on a larger playing field. He could not shake the feeling that he should be seeking permission to enter.

Then a thought crawled into the forefront of his brain, a notion that he used as a salve on his wounded, struggling conscience. “If I am the last man standing on the face of the earth, technically, I am in charge of everything. Minimally, I am the caretaker.” He let that sit there, marinating a few seconds before he continued. “And if I want to hold an election, I can call myself King and Supreme Ruler.” Adam nodded his head and smiled as the gravity of this thought bloomed and blossomed in his brain. Then he made a decision. “All in favor of electing Adam Mahoney to the office of King of the Earth, Supreme Ruler of all that he sees, please indicate by saying ‘aye.’’’ Adam waited a beat before respectfully saying, “Aye.” He continued. “All opposed say, ‘neigh.’” Again, he waited a beat allowing all dissenters to voice their choice. He wanted his rule to be remembered as fair and just. There were no dissenters.

“The votes are in and counted and the choice is unanimous: Adam Mahoney is not only the last man standing on the face of the earth, he is now the King and Ruler of this planet. I will do my best to not disappoint. Thank you for your support and may God bless the United States of Adam Mahoney.” With that he flicked his cigarette on to the linoleum floor, squashed the smoldering butt with his shoe and marched into the kitchen of the Huddle House—his Huddle House—to find himself some breakfast.

Do Me A Favor...

Go read this today:

http://laurajeancolle.blogspot.com/

Good stuff by a special lady.

Rest Stop

There is popular thought that implies we always picture ourselves in our twenties, no matter how old we are. It makes sense; the twenties are our prime. But it’s foolish to imagine ourselves consistently at our best, a point that is proven when we see ourselves captured in a candid photograph and the reality of our age is all too clear. We get depressed, thinking, “Is that what I really look like?” (yes). I think the same can be applied in our spiritual lives. I always picture myself as how I want to be, already there. When the reality of who I really am is revealed, either through a blunt comment or a surprising reaction to an event or other person, it too is depressing. “Is that what I really look like?” (yes). But the cliché that “life is a journey” (aren’t clichés usually based on fact?) factors in heavily in this instance. Why can’t I enjoy the trip? I always seem to be looking forward or backward. What I was or what I am going to be. What is wrong with who I am? Could I just relax in that for a few moments before moving on? I realize there will always be tension between how we see ourselves and how we have ended up but is that tension fair? Maybe, just maybe, how we have ended up is exactly how we are supposed to be. At least at this moment, this place in time. Is that acceptable?

Insight In Time

I wish insight (wisdom or whatever word works for you) could be accessed like water from a spigot. On and flowing when needed, otherwise cut off and silent. But, no, it is elusive and generally only comes around when it is ready. It is in charge and it makes the rules. There is no consistency, just seemingly random visits. Sometimes God drops it on me from the words of others—but that means I have to be listening. Other times it arrives after I have committed to step forward and attempt to explain a situation or action. The words come out making sense, as much a surprise to me as to the person I am having a conversation with. Other times (most times?) I feel its absence. Nothing. No clue. Its truancy can feel as real and cold as a clear thought is warm. The most dangerous times are when I think I am wise when I am not. Unfortunately, that reality is usually dealt with during a sickening bout of hind sight, hoping the mess I made is not too large to clean up. I will continue to pray for more “yes” and less “no.” And wait.

Ready or Not?

I witnessed an interesting situation at the airport. A band was setting up, preparing to play in the concourse. Naturally a crowd gathered, there not being a whole lot else to do while waiting. As the band unpacked and set up the sound system, a young man decided to take advantage of the crowd and took his place between the gathering and the oblivious musicians. He was in his early twenties, long brown hair pulled back in a pony tail, full and ragged beard, his flowing pants and shirt refugees from a sixties bargain bin. In his left hand he held two small, red, rubber balls; in his right was one. He was a juggler. He didn’t speak but it was obvious that he was pleased with his fortune at finding a captive audience and he relished the opportunity to entertain and possibly make a few dollars in tips. He steadied himself, held his arms away from his body and slowly began the preliminary rhythm of juggling, preparing to toss the small rubber balls into the air. After a few seconds of priming, he began. He didn’t make it through one cycle with the balls before one ricocheted off his hand and rolled into the crowd. A man picked it up for him and handed it to him, everyone sympathetic and forgiving, sure that nerves may have interfered with his first attempt. He gathered himself, began his practice rhythm and then tossed a ball in the air which promptly bounced off his arm and rolled into the crowd. He chased after it and started the process for a third time with the exact same results. The dude could not juggle. Not even a little bit. He looked the part, he had the audience and he had the desire but there was one factor he could not control: a lack of giftedness. Sometimes, that is something to factor in before making the plunge. Now break up into small groups and discuss.

Entry One Hundred Eleven: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!

[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is forty of who knows how many will be posted. The last entry is here. Enjoy it while it lasts...]

Chapter Nineteen

Adam correctly judged that he could get around most of the congestion by riding on the shoulder of the interstate but he couldn’t go very fast stuck on the fringe. When the static gridlock cleared he pulled his car on to the main thoroughfare and was able to move faster. He still had to be cautious because there were still cars and trucks liberally scattered across the three lanes forming an eerie obstacle course, the creepiness not helping Adam’s concentration. He also wasn’t sure when the road would get congested again so he kept his speed to a manageable level just in case.

As each mile passed under his tires, Adam gained confidence. Not huge buckets of it, more like teaspoons full, but it was tangible and it almost made him smile. That was something he had not done too much of since the note. It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision, more that there hadn’t been too much to smile about. Survival isn’t normally funny and he had been in strict survival mode. He still was but he was pleasantly surprised how driving seemed to be a mild narcotic, releasing just enough numbness to almost enjoy himself.

As he veered on to the bypass around Macon, he felt something shift inside. Another small release, a loosening of his death grip and it freed him just a little. There were very few cars to dodge, the road mostly clear, so Adam slowly pushed the gas pedal a little closer to the floor and increased his cruising speed. He figured he had close to an hour before the roads got congested again, signaling his approach to the Atlanta city limits, and he may as well get there faster rather than slower.
________________________________________

Nothing he could have done would have prepared him for the amount of immobile traffic that was stacked up on the freeway outside Atlanta. It was impossible to drive through so he reverted to his earlier tactic of driving on the shoulder. It slowed him down considerably but, as was all too obvious to him, it was impossible for him to be late. Time was irrelevant.

Driving on the shoulder may have been slower but it allowed him to keep up a consistent pace. There was an occasional car in his way, pulled to the side of the road because of engine failure or a flat tire, but he was able to maneuver around them all with ease. Gradually, he snaked his way north.

As Adam banked through a sharply curved bend in the road, he stole a glance up and immediately wished he hadn’t. In front of him, filling his view, was Atlanta. Massive, impressive and formidable. And for some reason, without even being fooled for a second, Adam Mahoney knew that it was dead. Void of life regardless of its hulking facade. No one at work, no one at play, no one anywhere. A wave of emotion crashed through him with such force that he had to stop the car and stare. His unblinking gaze belied the strength of paralyzing feelings swirling in his gut. As water began to pool in the corner of his eyes, Adam Mahoney, the last man standing on the face of the earth, felt the magnitude of a complex truth; he was achingly, unshakably lonely.

All words and images ©2009/J. Colle

Entry One Hundred Ten: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!

[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is forty of who knows how many will be posted. The last entry is here. Enjoy it while it lasts...]

Chapter Eighteen
The alarm starting beeping at 7 a.m. but Adam had been awake for nearly an hour, lying in bed, waiting for the alarm to sound and wondering why he had set it in the first place. It wasn’t like he had anyone to meet or a specific schedule to keep. Old habits die hard, at least that was what he was figuring out.

He lifted himself out of the bed and forced himself through the routines of the morning—shower, shave, cigarette or two. He was fighting the next step, hosting a mental war between the knowledge that he should leave, needed to leave, and the desire to stay put. But it was wasted energy; he knew he was leaving and he was leaving today.

He packed the car, slowly, which was not just a stall tactic but also a result of not knowing what he would find “out there.” Would supplies be easy to restock? He had developed a routine in Grayson and didn’t think twice about most of his needs but venturing past his comfortable borders was full of doubt. With the last bag stored away in the trunk, he slid behind the wheel into the front seat and turned the key to start the car. Then he pulled it back, killing the ignition process before it could fully kick in. He opened the car door and walked around to the rear and surveyed the houses lining his street. After a hesitation he began walking toward the house next door, on the right. He went inside and began searching. He knew it was here, in this house, but he couldn’t remember exactly where it was displayed. He finally found it on the second floor, under a lamp in the master bedroom. He grabbed the model and returned to his car. “The M113 Armored Cavalry Assault Vehicle. I now dub you the Patron Saint of Tanks.” He placed the model on the dashboard, centered, it’s machine gun turret pointing the way. “Guide me, protect me and help me forge a path, wherever that may be.” Adam started the car and pulled out of the driveway, moving forward, into what he was not sure.

Since he had gassed up the day before there was nothing left for Adam to do but drive out of Grayson and make his way to Atlanta. His planned route was to take some back roads to Tifton and then get on Interstate 75, heading north. The roads were fairly clear which made sense. This was farming country and most people in these parts were not up and driving at four in the morning when the Squatters pulled the switch. There was an occasional truck in the road but that was not enough to slow him down so he made good time to Tifton. He maneuvered the curving tangle of an on ramp and cautiously made his way to the big road, I-75. It became immediately clear that his progress was in for some delays.

As sleepy and serene as his small town became at four a.m., the interstate was the opposite. Cars and trucks of every color and size formed a mechanical maze as far as he could see, north and south bound lanes equally congested. The 18-wheeled tractor-trailers added formidable height, towering above all else, intimidating and obnoxious. He stopped his car, shoved it into park, stepped out and then started to climb on the hood to get a better view. As his weight caused the metal to swag he backed off and decided to try a different tack. “No sense in screwing up my car. It’s not like anybody else is going to care if I dent their roof.” He glanced around and started walking toward a large four-wheeled drive pickup, climbed in the bed and made his way to the top of the cab. The view from his new perch was a little more encouraging; the “traffic” appeared to thin out further north. “But, damn, this is freaky.” Adam took a deep, cleansing breath, lit a cigarette and sat on the roof, feet dangling over the bed of the truck. “What the hell am I doing…” The thought trailed off but it hung in the air around Adam’s head, hovering, daring him to answer. But there was no response, from him or anyone else because Adam Mahoney was the last man standing on the face of the earth. And he had yet to feel it as deeply as he did sitting on a non-existent strangers’ truck on an empty freeway in the silence of nothing.

All words and images ©2009/J. Colle

Prom, 2009

Tonight my youngest child attended his senior prom. It is the first of two for him; next week he will attend the prom at another high school in town. But this week he is dining and dancing with friends from his high school, the one he is supposed to graduate from in late May (continue to pray...). His date for prom (well, one of them) is Taylor Brafford, a young lady he first met in kindergarten. They became fast friends, attended each others birthdays and, until we had to put a halt to it in fifth grade, Jordan was a frequent "spend the night" guest at Taylor's house on weekends. They stayed good friends and tonight, they end their twelve year educational journey and say goodbye to high school. We think it is appropriate they say goodbye together.

Below is the two of them at the beginning and then, again, tonight. (More pictures are at our Flikr site, here.

Random Ramblings

Coach Eric Taylor and his wife Tami (from the television show Friday Night Lights) are the best married couple on T.V. Maybe ever (sorry, Huxtables!). Their conversation using only their eyes in the season finale last week (at the wedding, after the booster meeting) was absolutely spot on. If you are not watching that show I encourage you to catch up online. The show just got picked up for two more seasons. It is quality entertainment and a worthy investment of your time.

In the midst of all the new technology and the latest social media wave it is so easy to be seduced by “big.” To reach a wider audience, to impact a large group of people with a pithy quote or a link to a Web site that will change someone’s life. The tools are out there and all it takes is determination and time. But are we losing site of “small” when we concentrate on “big?” The people I pass in the hall at work deserve a smile and a greeting. The person in the cubicle next to me deserves a genuine expression (verbal or otherwise) that shows I care. The clerk at the store deserves my patience when things are not going smoothly. The waitress deserves my attention and pleasantness even if it isn’t returned. There are so many areas in my life that I can influence that do not require a smart phone, computer or high speed internet access. When the “big” replaces the “small” I have a problem and we all suffer.

Why does it always rain on my bike riding days? Maybe I need to get tougher and ride in the elements. It just seems so much more dangerous...

Life is pretty interesting these days—and I refer to the big picture. I can only guess where all of the economic turbulence will land us (and I would probably be wrong). I sense a restlessness in a lot of folks, especially those that are being hit personally during this financial storm. I have to remind myself that victory in situations like this can take on many different forms. If we do not lose faith, do not get lost under the circumstances and, most importantly, do not lose our joy during these times, then we have won. Regardless of the cold, calculated outcome, we can overcome every option by digging in deeper to what we believe and know is true—God is in control. Our victory can be a full heart and unexplained joy that drives us to accept and rest in Him. "I do believe, Lord; help my unbelief."

Faith, Hope and Jay

The first time I saw her was, appropriately enough, when she was singing as the entertainment at a Sunday morning breakfast for our college class at church. I leaned over to the guy next to me and asked who the brunette was on the left. I had never seen her before. He told me her name was Hope Davis. I made sure that I finagled a way to meet her before the morning was over and, after that introduction, I did not see her for another year.

We met again during another church event. She was performing with a small group for a church fundraiser and I was waiting tables. I rode in her car with some others to meet a larger group at a restaurant for a post event dinner. I was unaware that she was trying to hook me up with a mutual friend but that didn’t happen. Instead, by the end of the evening, Hope Davis and I were in our own world, dancing, laughing and ignoring the rest of our group.

One week later we had our first date.

Three months later we were engaged.

Eleven months after our first date we were married.

27 years ago today.

I could say that I never would have imagined after that first night out with friends that this day would be here—celebrating an anniversary, three kids, house, cars, approaching 50 with her next to me—but that would not be telling the truth. I imagined all of that and more during that first night because I fell in love with her right after the enchiladas but right before “Celebrate” by Kool and the Gang. And I thank her for eventually returning the favor. It’s been incredible and will continue to be so. Sometimes you just know...

My Daughter's Journey

Below is a picture of my daughter's new tattoo. I find it really strange that she is the one who made the first ink move, but I would bet the boys sense an opening. Her tattoo is in Hebrew and it is Isaiah 52:7:

How lovely on the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, who announces peace and brings good news of happiness, who announces salvation, {And} says to Zion, "Your God reigns!"

So it's a concept tattoo. I love me a good concept. I have taught her well...

Random Thoughts

Every day is a challenge.
Every situation is unique.
Every conversation is fragile.
Every opportunity can be missed.

This is neither positive nor negative.
Just truth. Our approach tilts it to either extreme.

Entry One Hundred Nine: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!

[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty-nine of who knows how many will be posted. The last entry is here. Enjoy it while it lasts...]

Chapter Seventeen
Once in his house, Adam pulled an atlas from a bookshelf and found the two page spread that presented a map of the entire United States, all 50 of them. He found the general area of his hometown in the southern part of Georgia and placed his index finger on that spot. “North or West? That’s about the only two options, I suppose.” He traced his finger to the left, following Interstate 10 across Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas and ended on the west coast of California. It was a long way from home and, even though the prospect of driving through states he had never visited before intrigued him, the unfamiliarity of it also caused him to rule it out. His situation was weird enough. To layer the unknown on top of it was too much to deal with. At least initially. “The first trip should be familiar.”

He returned his finger to south Georgia and dragged it up the page, briefly stopping on the word “Atlanta,” the state capitol. “I’ve been there before. I can possibly deal with that.” He left the book open on his desk and turned his attention to his computer. He hoped that MapQuest was still functioning because he wanted some directions to keep him on track during his trip. There was a significant amount of comfort in having a plan and comfort had been in such short supply since the note that he grabbed it whenever it presented itself.

To Adam’s delight, and relief, MapQuest functioned perfectly. After submitting his address and his destination, the step-by-step instructions filled his screen and he printed them. With the directions in hand, his attention turned toward supplies for his trip. He was only going to be gone for a couple of days so packing would be light. He brought a suitcase in from the garage and filled it with three outfits and an extra pair of underwear. Since he was driving north and the weather had started to cool, he added an extra sweatshirt as well.

Adam stopped preparations for a cigarette break and he decided to enjoy it sitting on the steps of the front porch. As he exhaled his first draw he thought about what it meant to leave, even if only for a day or two. He had not traveled much before, always comfortable in his small town existence, never feeling a need to get away and explore. The few forays to Atlanta to catch a Braves baseball game had given him all the taste of a big city he needed. Too much and too many, too fast. It was okay for an occasional weekend, but not fit for constant consumption, at least for him.

But this trip would be different. “Hell, what’s not different.” He wasn’t traveling to a city teeming with people, traffic and noise. He knew it would be empty but what that would look and feel like he couldn’t comprehend. Why waste time mentally churning on it; he’d experience it soon enough. He was not looking forward to the next few days but Adam knew the trip was inevitable, especially if he was interested in survival. As he stood and stretched he decided to leave the next morning.

All words and images ©2009/J. Colle

Today, Elsewhere

I launched a new project today on the World Wide Web. By finally establishing a digital home for Christian Man and Dogma, I have completed a long held desire to introduce them to the public. They lept out of my brain and on to the page many years ago and have gone through several iterations since their "birth." They popped up sporadically after a fast start (like most endeavors) but they have always been my favorite dudes in the arsenal.

And now they have a new home. Go visit them at www.ChristianManAndDogma.com. The initial plan is to update the site with a new panel every week day. How long that lasts will depend a lot on my energy level and God's desire to give me ideas to write/draw. I will try to continue to add to this site as well but it may be less consistent than before (which was already inconsistent). We shall see. I am excited and I ask you to join in my joy.

P.S.: If you are a Twitter person, follow the boys @_cmd and you'll get a free gift! Do it. Do it now. Seriously. Go...

Coming Soon...

Coming Monday, actually. (Is that soon enough?) Stand by...

Weekend Thought From Flannery O'Connor

From Flannery O'Connor's letter to Alfred Corn on May 30, 1962:

Even in the life of a Christian, faith rises and falls like the tides of an invisible sea. It's there, even when he can't see it or feel it, if he wants it to be there. You realize, I think, that it is more valuable, more mysterious, altogether more immense than anything you can learn or decide upon in college. Learn what you can, but cultivate Christian scepticism. It will keep you free — not free to do anything you please, but free to be formed by something larger than your intellect or the intellects of those around you.

(scep·ti·cism: A doubting or questioning attitude or state of mind)