One of the outcomes of the Covid pandemic has been the explosion of “binge watching” streaming television series. The format of most of these shows evolved from day time “soap operas” combined with the structure of more recently conceived “reality shows” all rolled into themes running from the drug peddling sub-culture of “Breaking Bad” and “El Chapo” to the cringe worthy disfunction of the family in “Ozark” and whacky weirdness of “Tiger King.” For me, one of the most intriguing of these shows has been “Yellowstone.” It takes me back to when I was really young and wanted in the worst way to be a cowboy with my own ranch. Cowboys were my heroes. Guys like Wyatt Earp, The Rifleman (Chuck Connors), Matt Dillon in Gunsmoke (James Arness) , Ben Cartwright (Lorne Green in Bonanza), Dan Blocker with his “10 gallon cowboy hat” (aka Hoss), Gene Autry (known as Hollywoods singing cowboy) and of course the iconic Roy Rodgers. You have probably noticed a pattern here – they are all “TV” cowboys, not the real thing. I had no idea the work, dedication and sacrifice it takes to be a real cowboy or a real rancher. One of the best places to see real cowboys is at the state fair, rodeo or stock show and every time I went it increased that inner desire.

Growing up in Albuquerque, New Mexico was what most would call a “mixed bag” of experiences. I can remember people asking my Dad if he ever considered moving back to the United States. They honestly didn’t know that New Mexico was a state! It became a state on January 6, 1912 but somehow people had missed that. New Mexico had a lot of pluses including being a cultural melting pot. There was a strong Native American influence along with an equally important Hispanic element. Then there was everyone else, all the “immigrants” to New Mexico. The state nickname is “Land of Enchantment” and it is a perfect description for a state that is rich in cultural history and diversity along with an ever-changing landscape as one travels across it from north to south and east to west.

Part of that cultural history revolved around the annual New Mexico State Fair which was held in Albuquerque every September. I loved the fair and anticipating opening day was not unlike the days leading up to Christmas or a birthday. The fair was held on dedicated grounds on the east side of the city. I knew the start of the fair was close when I could see the midway rides going up on the south side of the grounds and the banners started flying on top of the walls surrounding the grounds. It was a large property and included a thoroughbred horse racing track, an enclosed rodeo arena, the livestock pens and streets lined with buildings where competitions of all sorts were displayed. Those competitions included baked goods, intricate bead and needle work, leather work and a wide assortment of arts and crafts. They represented the pastimes and passions of people who lived on ranches and farms throughout the state. The winning entries were adorned with red, white or blue ribbons (I always wondered how a guy could be so lucky as to be a judge of the cookie, cake and pie competitions.) Main Street which ran north to south was lined with small permanent structures that during fair time served as kiosks for vendors of homemade food treats that represented the various cultures that make up New Mexico. You could walk along the four or five blocks and enjoy local treats like Indian fry bread, Frito pie, red or green chile, ice cream made from whole milk straight from a farm, roasted corn on the cob, it went on and on. Chile Ristras (strings and wreaths made from dried chile pods) hung everywhere, emitting their incredible aroma. The fair had a taste, it had a smell and it had a sound that were all distinct and all said it was “fair time.”

The fair was considered so important that schools actually had “fair days” when they would bus classes to the fairgrounds to spend an entire day there. Somehow, I would always figure out a way to get to the fair two or three times during its run. I would go once with my school, try to talk my grandparents into taking me once and then at least one time with my parents. A really good “fair year” included tickets to a rodeo performance at Tingley Colosseum. I could not get enough of the rodeo. From the opening national anthem, usually sung by “The Sons of the Pioneers,” to the final bull ride, I would be on the edge of my seat cheering on the bucking horse and bull riders, ropers, barrel racers, and the brave and funny rodeo clowns who were responsible for facing down the Brahma Bulls after they had thrown their rider. The best year ever was the year the Grand Marshall of the rodeo was Roy Rodgers accompanied by his wife, Dale Evans. He was there with his palomino horse Trigger and his trusty side kick Gabby Hayes who brought his famous jeep, Nellybelle. I will never forget standing on the rail above the arena floor with hundreds of other kids, and shaking Roy Rodgers and Dale Evans hands as they circled the arena on their horses to the sound of the Sons of the Pioneers singing “Ghost Riders in the Sky” and “Tumbling Tumbleweeds.” Roy was decked out in all his western finery including his intricately tooled leather chaps, spurs, yoked shirt, silver belly hat and holstered six shooters on each side. He sat atop Trigger in a beautifully crafted saddle, lined with silver, matching the bridle framing the horses head. Could there be anything more American? A state fair, rodeo and Roy Rodgers! Sadly today, if you named your horse “Trigger” you would be labeled a gangster and ostracized by society. Trust me, Roy Rodgers was as far from being a gangster as Mother Theresa. Roy Rodgers was wholesome, as American as apple pie and best of all, he was a cowboy!

Fast forward a few decades and I am now a retired guy living in the Denver, Colorado area. I have never come close to realizing my dream of being a cowboy and owning a ranch but deep down it is still there. Every January the National Western Stock Show takes place in Denver. It is a huge, two-week event that attracts people from all over the world. It is not a state fair, the Colorado state fair takes place every August in Pueblo, Colorado, but it has the feel of a fair. As the name implies it is all about the live stock, cattle, horses, sheep, hogs and cowboys, lots of cowboys and cowgirls. Knowing my rekindled (by Yellowstone) love of ranching and the idea of being a cowboy, Terrie for my Christmas present bought tickets to the National Western and to the rodeo that is such a big part of it. So on Saturday morning, dressed up in my best western shirt and favorite black Cayman boots off we went for a day at the stock show. When you arrive at the stock show grounds your are immediately impressed by the size of the facility, centered by the old Denver Colosseum. The parking lots are a sea of pickups and the air is filled with the distinct smell of cattle and horses. Cowboy hats of every description sit atop the heads of a majority of the people walking around the property and cowboy boots made of everything from snake skin to plain cowhide are on most of the feet. Horse trailers of various magnitude and opulence are lined up in neat rows. There are displays of new tractors, ranch and farm implements, western themed clothing and if you don’t have boots or a hat you can buy them from dozens of different vendors. We arrived early so we would have time to walk through the various live-stock displays, watching while kids of all ages and adults groomed their animals for competition to see who had the top steer, lamb, horse or hog. There are cattle of virtually every breed including Angus, French Charolais, Brahman, Hereford and the iconic Texas Longhorn. It was amazing to watch the amount of care and detail going into grooming the animals so when their time came they would look perfect for the judges. The competitors included small family operations and large, professional ranch operations. Competitions are ongoing throughout the day so no matter where you are, children and adults are escorting their animals to and from their pens. It is constant motion, constant sound and constant “ranch aroma.”

The rodeo was an afternoon, matinee performance. The activities began with a very respectful, very traditional performance of The Star Spangled Banner. There was no variation of the original tune or grandstanding by the performer – things we have come to expect at the start of major sporting events. Men removed their hats, almost everyone had their hand over their heart, cell phones were put away and conversations were paused during the singing and out of respect for the horse mounted color guard. Then, as should always be the case, a prayer was offered, asking for God’s protection over the athletes and thanksgiving for the great country we live in. The prayer was concluded in the name of Jesus Christ – not something you hear much in today’s world. Then the announcer began talking about the importance of faith and loyalty to country that goes along with the lifestyle displayed at the National Western. He talked about the simplicity of the western way of life, the role of family, the traditions and the multi-generational history of most of the rodeo participants. The crowd listened respectfully – there were no catcalls, whistling or shout outs and the poignant address by the rodeo announcer was followed by sincere applause. Then it was game on as the first event, the bare back bucking horse competition exploded from the stalls at one end of the arena. Throughout the competitions the announcer continued to weave in stories about the families, and the multiple generations of participants in the rodeo events.

My conclusion from all this? First, deep down, I still want to be a cowboy. More importantly the experience of going to the National Western Stock Show helped me realize that the entire world hasn’t gone off its’ axis. There are still people out there who although they have chosen a difficult, challenging way of life, aren’t looking for handouts or someone to blame when things get tough. These are people who have integrity, who know what hard work is, and who love the Lord. They wear dusty Wrangler jeans, w toe boots, pearl snap shirts and Stetsons.

On the “Success the Cowboy Way” website they describe it this way, “The Cowboy Way” has stood the test of time. It’s about being honest, hardworking, dependable, energetic, loving, kind, disciplined, appreciative, durable, exacting, thorough, proud without being arrogant, and committed to doing what works for yourself and others. It is about planning, consistency, being conscious, responsible, and worthy. It’s about being a Promise Keeper. The Cowboy Way asks that the folks working for the brand take pride in earning their paycheck every day and not bad-mouthing the outfit.

Cowboys are respectful of others. They work the land and the livestock as if they own them—accountability. A cowboy goes the extra mile for his pards or for the brand when needed without blame or copping an attitude.”

Wow, this entry has me a little fired up. I’m going to put on my boots, one of my yoked western shirts, and re-watch a few episodes of Yellowstone.

Most of you who know me and read this blog know that I am not a preachy kind of guy. I started this blog to share life experiences, not to impose my expectations on anyone, not to judge anyone and certainly not to imply that I know more than you do. No – it is quite the opposite, hoping that sharing some of my experiences might help my readers avoid the mistakes I have made and learn from the successes and great experiences I have had through the course of my life. Well, today is a little different because I am going to get a little preachy. Please understand it is only because I care about what happens to you.

Part of my daily routine involves reading the morning newspaper. I know it sounds contradictory but I really dislike the newspaper. Back in the day, papers were a legitimate way of getting current news and information – most of it local, non-biased reporting of “news.” I remember when even a small city like Albuquerque, New Mexico had two newspapers, one was published in the morning, the other in the afternoon. The Albuquerque Journal was the morning paper and covered the news from the previous afternoon and evening and the Albuquerque Tribune was delivered in the early evening and continued everything the Journal couldn’t catch in time to write about. Today the “local” paper, if there is one, is filled with syndicated articles written by people who are from news agencies all over the country, maybe all over the world. Unless the news is about a natural disaster or some other event that has resulted in human suffering the “reporting” in todays papers is usually ideologically biased, meaning it really isn’t reporting at all but leans toward comment, not reporting. I am a little off track here but it is important you know how I approach “news.”

A few days ago, in the Denver Post, there was an article titled “Nones Continue to Grow in U.S.” True to form this article came from The Associated Press and was collaborated on by three writers. The foundation of “noneness” is a rejection of Christian faith, rejection of the person God created you to be and creation of one’s own god. Some nones go as far as inventing their own god by taking pieces of the “god” from various religions, pieces that fit their need, and combining them to create their vision of what god should be like. It is estimated by Pew Research Center that 29% of American adults are now “nones.” From what I have read, for the most part, “nones” cite some sort of damage or unbearable restrictions from religion as a reason for rejecting the Christian faith and for going it alone. Those reasons run the gamut from sexual identity to being banged over the knuckles by a nuns ruler, to race. Hey, I catch myself talking cynically about my religious upbringing and how it impacted my relationship with God. I sometimes go out of my way to identify with “damaged Catholics” and “suppressed” Lutherans like myself just to feel like I’m part of their crowd. I believe that too is part of “noneness” – it is popular to set yourself up as different, to be part of the group that rejects anything “normal.” They want to be identified as being “out there.” In my case wanting to be part of the religiously damaged group is another way of giving myself an out if I come across something in my faith walk that does not exactly meet “my” expectations. What a trap! We are exceptionally good at finding scapegoats to justify our self-righteous behaviors. As I continued reading the article, all I could think about was when I was a “none.” I didn’t call myself a “none” like people today do. I was simply a non-believer who like the “nones” was self-reliant, self-righteous and very, very empty spiritually. Like the “nones” of today I attempted to design my own “higher power.” Over the years I came to realize the path I was on had no real end. Every time I thought I had the answer to all the questions I would realize that I had made up more stuff to meet my needs at the moment and all I was doing was hurting myself and my family. Think of it in these terms, I rejected millenniums of human experience with the one true, living God, in favor of me! Because I convinced myself I had been held down by religion I rejected the message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ in favor of me!

So where does the “none” way of life end up? It ends up in frustration, never ending searching and complete loss of identity. Nones might attempt to build community through organizations like the one cited in the Denver Post article, Secular Student Alliance, but what bonds them together? The embracement of none? I know from personal experience how empty and alone it is. In addition, being a “none” is a scary existence. We have all experienced the fear of being alone but I am not sure there can be any fear greater than being separated from the one who created you? Separated from the one who has offered you everlasting life in a paradise He has created for you.

Look, you can reject religion – I totally get that. As I have said many times in this blog religion is a man created thing but far too often our rejection of the man-made rules and bindings of religion translate into a rejection of faith. Don’t let that happen to you. Going back to my experience, when I ran away from the shackles of religion, I didn’t know enough or care enough to search for faith. Instead I embarked on a search for myself that ignored the truth and became silly in its futility. Thankfully, God never gave up on me even though I did my best to ignore that grinding in the pit of my stomach, that ever present yearning to be reconnected to a loving, patient father.

We have all heard or seen the Bible verse, John 3:16 – “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” Verse 17 goes on to speak to the plight of the “nones.” It says, “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” The “nones” want to believe in the condemnation and reject the freely given gift that answers all questions and relieves all uncertainty.

It is Christmas time. I’m not going to bore you with cliches or plead with you to go to the candle light Christmas Eve service. What I will request is that you consider the plight of the “nones.” Consider the load they put themselves under by trying to invent their own God. They are enslaved by the self-created futility of their refusal to believe true freedom can only be achieved by giving their life to Christ. Galatians 5:1 says, For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.

Take time to examine your own heart. By accepting the freely given gift of Jesus, what can you possibly have to lose?

There, I got a little preachy and no one got hurt!

1 Timothy 4:4 – For everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving.

Growing up, Thanksgiving was a trifecta holiday. First, I loved all the food that was traditional to the day. My maternal Grandmother would usually cook a goose – not my favorite. My paternal Grandmother always baked a ham, sometimes made her world famous chicken and spaghetti and there was always the anticipation of her warm, home made cinnamon rolls with the thick, gooey frosting. My Mother was always in charge of the turkey with all the trimmings. True confession, it was usually my father who actually produced the turkey and the gravy. The Thanksgiving table was a smorgasbord of seasonal foods that for the most part came around once per year. Over-consumption was the rule. Tryptophan induced late afternoon naps were expected. Bundles of foil wrapped leftovers were stacked in the frig, waiting to be the target of someone’s midnight snack or next day cold turkey sandwich. Cold pumpkin pie was a perfect substitute for the Cocoa Krispies or Cream of Wheat we usually had for breakfast. Yes, Thanksgiving was all about the food.

The second thing Thanksgiving was for me – it was a gateway of sorts. When I went to school there was no “fall break.” School started the day after Labor Day and went straight through, five days a week, without a break until Thanksgiving weekend. Thanksgiving ushered in the holidays and the holidays meant time off from school. First, Thanksgiving weekend was a four day “holiday.” More importantly, the arrival of Thanksgiving weekend also signaled we only had about 3 weeks before Christmas and New Years break! Twelve glorious days of sleeping in. Of course reality would set in when depending on what day of the week January 1st was on, we were back in school a day or two after. That Christmas break was one of the things I missed most when I graduated college and went to work. What? No extended time off during Christmas and New Years? How was a guy supposed to catch up on his sleep?

The final leg of my Thanksgiving stool was the giving part. There were countless opportunities to give thanks by giving and my parents wanted me to know how important giving was to them. I looked forward to the canned food drives and putting together food baskets for people who needed them. In elementary school we would collect donated canned food, ask everyone to contribute 25 cents so we could buy some turkeys and then draw names of families to deliver the baskets to. Several parents would volunteer to drive us around while we delivered those baskets and the day would usually end with a cup of hot chocolate and a couple cookies. It really was the first time that I understood there were people who didn’t have what my family had and it felt so good to be able to help them. We would do the same thing through our church, through Boy Scouts and through my Dad’s company. I never heard he or my mom say no to participating in those food baskets – they were part of our Thanksgiving tradition. In many ways those simple but significant food baskets shaped how I have looked at sharing and giving. As I have matured in my giving I have also come to understand that giving is not always about economic need. You can give by being a close friend. You can give by sharing your experience and knowledge with someone who needs it. You can give by being a great husband and father, a father who stands up for his family, for his faith, and constantly shows how thankful he is through his giving.

It is interesting that giving is such an important way of saying thanks. We normally associate being thankful with receiving something but being thankful is so much more than “getting.” Giving can fill your heart, satisfy your soul, it can help you rise above the clutter of your daily life. Giving from a grateful, humble, thankful heart is one of the best ways to witness about God’s love and the way He provides for us. Showing our gratitude by giving is how we can thank God for His ultimate gift to us, Jesus.

If you don’t already do it, give giving a try. I have found the more I give, the more I understand if we have a grateful, giving heart God will provide us with endless opportunities to show our thanks through giving. Yes, Thanksgiving Day is a joyful holiday but real joy comes from celebrating “Days of Thanksgiving.” Seven days a week, 365 days a year, all filled with giving and filled with thanks.

Not all of us are privileged to have children. We don’t know why God choses some of us and leaves others wanting the experience.

When I was coming up there was an accepted order of growing up. You graduated high school then either went on to college, you joined the military or you went into the trades – construction, mechanics, equipment operator, culinary school, etc., etc. In your early 20’s thoughts of marriage and building a family came into play. I was 22 when I married Terrie. I was 25 when we our first child was born. I was very immature, frightened of the responsibility I had assumed, totally self-absorbed in my job, didn’t know the Lord and generally, with the exception of every example my father had provided for me, was not prepared to be a father. Fortunately I was married to a woman who was just the opposite, very mature, not frightened of much of anything, willing to give up her career as a teacher, had a deep faith in her creator and was excited at the prospect of being a mother. She understood that the life growing inside her was a gift from God. She accepted the responsibility awarded to her, the responsibility to care for and nurture a living human being that had been entrusted to her.

Getting married and building a family seem much different today and I am sorry to see so many parents who don’t seem to understand what having kids is all about. I attribute much of the problem to what I believe is a change in attitude about marriage. Marriage for so many today is like leasing a property. Start out with a short term then when it comes time for renewal if you don’t like the terms, move out and find a new, in this case, relationship. There is a lack of endurance, an avoidance of commitment and children become pawns in a game where no one wins. Both my sons were in their 30s when they made the lifelong commitment to marriage. They each were patient, waiting for God to present the exact right person to share the rest of their life with. Their patience and faith paid off in spades with spouses who are extraordinary people; smart, loving, faithful, fun, creative and committed to the marriage. They are women who understand the Biblical definition of marriage and the rights and responsibilities that go along with it. And they are women who will be amazing mothers to their children. None of them ever considered their decision to marry a short term trial. They made the commitment for life.

Brandon, our oldest, is experiencing the indescribable joys and trials of being a father. I can tell he is a great dad by the way his daughters adore him. I knew Brandon was going to be a wonderful father because I had observed him with his friends children. He was a natural and all the kids loved him. Watching him today causes me to reflect back on my days as a young father and makes me wonder if my boys adored me or feared me. I always tried to hold them accountable for bad behavior and reward them for good behavior and yes, there were times I wanted them to be scared. Above all, Terrie and I always made sure they knew they were loved, by us and by God. All that said, Brandon understands the fragility of his daughters. He understands that he has been given the privilege of raising them and that they are amazing human lives who need him every minute of every day. His parenting exemplifies his realization of what God has entrusted him with.

Now I have the honor and privilege of watching Tyler, our youngest, become a father for the first time. Tyler is 38 – 13 years older than I was when Brandon was born. Like his brother he has grown into a fine man of faith. He is confident, he is strong both mentally and physically, he has an extraordinary wife who supports him in every way and he is so excited about becoming a father. I have absolutely no doubt that he too will be an amazing, loving father. He will revel in the joys of being a father. He will cherish his children, nurture them with his love, his knowledge, his experience and his desires for their lives. He and Chelsea will build their family on a solid, unshakeable foundation of Biblical truth, with the acknowledgement that children are indeed, “a heritage from the Lord.” Being Tyler’s Dad, I have so much to be thankful for.

Much of the way I will measure my life will be dependent on the way my sons handle fatherhood and through observing the way they cradle their infant babies in their arms, hug them intently as they grow from adolescence to adulthood, comfort and support them when needed, encourage them and free them to be who they were created to be. I know that sounds completely one-sided. Parenting is certainly best done in twos, a husband and a wife and without Terrie I would have been completely lost.

I dedicate this blog entry to Brandon and Tyler, sons, husbands, and fathers who I love, admire and respect. For those of you who are blessed to have children, enjoy every moment, from start to finish. Don’t be one of those people who say, “before I knew what happened they were grown and gone. If you do it right, they are never gone. They will always be your children, your prodigy, your legacy. That precious newborn that God put in your hands might be a fully grown adult but they are still your child. May all fathers and mothers live with the knowledge that “Children are a heritage from the Lord

There are not enough words, paper or time to describe what a great father my Dad was to me and my sister. I am quite sure he never read a book about being a father. He certainly didn’t take any classes to learn how to be a father. When he became a father there weren’t counselors he could turn to whenever things weren’t going as well as he hoped. He did however have a few key things going for him. First, he had a great father who provided a positive example to follow. His father was a tough Dutchman, a farmer, an entrepreneur, a no nonsense, no fluff kind of guy but also a man of heart and character. My Father was also a man of heart and character as well. The second thing my Dad had going for him was the never failing support of a wonderful wife. Along with her they became a duo that worked together in an unchoreagraphed waltz, always letting him be the lead, never stepping on each other’s feet, never contradicting one another, always moving in unison to an inaudible soundtrack. Finally, my Dad had faith. He had faith in his ability to do the job of being a father but more importantly he had faith that God was with him every step of the way.

My Dad provided a great example to follow. I wanted to be just like him and so many of the lessons I tried to teach my sons, as they grew into men, were based on the lessons my Dad taught me. Unlike so many young men today, I was blessed with a father who was home, who was involved and who cared enough to discipline me or my sister when needed. That is the kind of father I wanted to be and that is the kind of father I pray my sons will be.

Being a father should be a conscious choice. A choice made in concert with a loving wife. Being a good father takes work, it takes commitment. Being a good father requires the willingness to make gut wrenching decisions and the intestinal fortitude to do the right thing even when love for your child tempts you to override responsible action. Being a good father must include being a really good husband because without a strong, loving, husband wife relationship being a father becomes exponentially more difficult. To be a good father a man must be in control of his emotions because there will be times when anger goes beyond the simmering level, when fear confuses even the strongest man, when pride creates thick cataracts on the eyes, and when heartbreak shakes the foundation of faith. Being a good father also requires a willingness to admit when you don’t know the answer and to place your trust in our one true father, God. If you choose to be a father, be prepared because you will experience all of the above and more. Just know the rewards are so much greater than the trials.

So as Father’s Day comes and goes each year, always remember being a father is a gift, a gift from God, a gift that can be complicated because it carries great responsibility. If you are blessed to be a father, enjoy every minute of it because not everyone gets to be a father. If you are blessed to be a father stand tall, be firm in your love for your children, stay true to your heart and your character. If you are blessed to be a father, always thank your father in heaven and accept with a willing spirit the trust he has placed in you and take special joy each year when it is once again time to say, Happy Father’s Day.

It has been a while since my last post. I told you when I started this blog that I was going to write when God prompted me to write and yesterday He did that very thing. Some of my friends tell me they hear from God daily, sometimes several times a day. Some of them describe their conversations with Him in very graphic terms, actual audible conversations, while others feel a nudge from the holy spirit. My experience yesterday was more like a full body rush, a rush that was tangible, almost alarming. It happened when I was on my way home from a morning workout and I was thinking about my morning conversation with Terrie. God clearly told me I needed to write about it.

Yesterday was Thursday and for me it was a day filled with catch up work but no matter what day it is I always try to start it in a very intentional way. The first thing I do is thank God for another day, then my thoughts turn to Terrie and my family. Terrie and I happen to be in different states right now so instead of getting to spend time with her during breakfast I make it a point to call her. I love to hear her voice in the morning no matter where we are at but yesterday that voice on the other end of the phone was different. It took me a minute to realize why her voice was different yesterday but then it dawned on me, it was Thursday, her hiking day. The smile in her voice told me so.

21 years ago Terrie and a couple of her friends who share her love for hiking decided they would dedicate every Thursday to hiking together. That decision led to the formation of what became, The Kept Womens Hiking Society, an extraordinary group of women. This group of close friends exhibit an uncommon loyalty for each other that is hard to describe. Every Thursday, rain or shine, snow or wind, no matter what the conditions, they find a way to be together. Sometimes it might be two or three of them, other days it is all 16 of them. At least once per year they do a trip together, maybe to a national park or to a resort that offers great hiking opportunities but more importantly a place for them to be together for several days. They have done major hikes, from Crested Butte to Aspen, through fields of spectacular wild flowers and through the stunning rock formations, arches and canyons in Moab, Utah. They have summited several of Colorado’s fourteen-thousand-foot peaks. They have gathered at a winery and blended their own wine, Chateauneuf-du-Kept. They have taken balloon rides, traversed avalanche debris, struggled up trails filled with scree, encountered bears and moose, enjoyed the beauty of high mountain lakes surrounded by rugged cirques, snow shoed, skied, and driven thousands of miles to reach desired hiking locations. They celebrate birthdays together, cheer the births of grandchildren, take care of each other when someone is sick or hurting and they pray for each other. Oh, and once per year they invite the “keepers” to join them for a party. The Kept Women even have their own logo which they proudly display on caps and the shirts they produce every year that list all of their major hikes, just like a rock groups tour shirt.

No matter where I am at, or what I am doing, without looking at my phone, without looking at a calendar, giving no conscious thought to what day it is, I can tell from talking to Terrie it is Thursday. On Thursday, when she is with her hiking friends, Terrie’s voice smiles and it is something all of us men should wish for our wives or girlfriends. For me, hearing Terrie’s voice smile is a wonderful gift, a gift that tells me she is alright, and we are alright. It is a gift you cannot buy with diamonds or trips or flowers. It is a gift that comes from love, from calmness, from freedom, from a joyful heart.

Too many men keep their wife from experiencing “the smile.” The idea of it scares them. As with most things in my journey as a man it took me a while to figure this out but now, I am neither threatened or challenged by the idea that Terrie has this close group of friends and cherishes her time with them. It doesn’t mean that spending time with me cannot make her smile. No, this is something completely different. This is something I need to encourage her in because it nourishes her. The smile I speak of is rooted in joy, it is filled with emotion, it is sustained by understanding.

The smile I am talking about is something you need to listen for and learn to recognize. That is not easy for men. We don’t listen well and we learn what we want to learn. If you are married and have not heard the voice I speak of, start asking yourself why. Take time to read Ephesians 5:25 – 33. Paul gives us a really good analogy for how we should love our wives. If you aren’t married, you are lucky because you have time to practice. Learn what triggers her voice to smile. Pay attention to the sometimes little signs that will signal to you she has found something special, something that ministers to her soul, something that blesses her heart, something that makes her voice smile. Then do everything you can to encourage her to do or experience that something often. I am not suggesting you have a duty or a responsibility to do this. Instead, it should be something men should desire, something we encourage, something that ministers to us as much as to her. So, the next time you pick up the phone to call her, sit across a table from her, listen to her conversation with a friend or hear her say good morning to you, ask yourself, does her voice smile?

I don’t know about you but I am so tired of hearing phrases like, “in these extraordinary times” or “given current circumstances” or “when we get back to normal.” Man, talking about throwing you on a drag. We need to have some FUN!

I try to take long walks every couple of days and I have been listening to various podcasts while I am getting in my 3 miles. I have been intentional in searching out sites that have podcasts dealing with subjects clearly oriented toward men and our everyday lives. I found one produced by Brian Tome, the founder and Pastor at Cross Roads Church in Cincinnati, Ohio. The title of his Podcast is, “The Aggressive Life.” That intrigued me, a church Pastor talking about living aggressively? Based on what I have always been taught in church, aggressive and faith aren’t synonymous. Even more interesting is the subject of Episode 54 which is “having fun.” Huh? An aggressive Pastor who wants us to have fun?

When I was growing up, fun was dramatically different than what most kids consider fun today. We weren’t subjected to all the rules and oversight kids deal with today. Nor did we have all the organized sports and activities kids participate in today. I know, the term “subjected” implies involvement isn’t by choice and sadly we all know Dads who are living vicariously through their kids. Please, please, don’t do that, it isn’t fun. In a lot of ways I feel fortunate that my pre-high school years were spent in a place that didn’t have a lot of organized sports. Sure, I played little league baseball but that was about it. For the most part we made our own fun. We didn’t need to practice to have fun. We didn’t have rules for having fun. We didn’t need special coaches or trainers or psychologists. We didn’t have a date on our phone calendars to tell us what day we could have fun. We didn’t need expensive game consoles, laptops, an Internet connection or anything else. We made up our own ways for having fun.

From the time I was a 4th or 5th grader and all the way up until I became a “stud” ninth grader it was common for me to leave the house early on a Saturday morning meet up with some buddies and not show up at our house again until I got hungry which was usually after dinner time. We played army out in the fields with toy guns. We caught blue tailed lizards and horny toads which we took home and kept in our garages until they died. We rode homemade skate boards that we made using the metal wheels from our sister’s clip-on roller skates (not always a good move) and any wood board we could find to attach them to. We took the Briggs and Stratton motor off an old lawn mower, figured out how to attach it to a mini bike frame the brother of one of the guys welded together in metal shop at school and then rode the thing all over until the old engine quit running. We “chose up” teams and played football and baseball for untold hours at the local park. We also fought like we were auditioning for Brad Pitt’s Fight Club. The whole time our parents never really knew where we were at. They did know we would come home eventually, sometimes with bloody noses, a black eye or some road rash from crashing on the mini bike or falling off a skateboard. Mom would patch us up with some Mercurochrome and a couple bandaids and we would get right back out there again the next day. We were boys, we played like boys and boy did we have fun.

So what happened to us? Where did our fun go? We grew up – that’s what happened to us, we became men. Most of us got a job, got married, started a family, took out a mortgage and a car loan and allowed society to put us into a grinder filled with other peoples rules and expectations of who we should be and how we should act. Worse yet, in the last 20 or so years we have been emasculated and convinced we should not live the life God created us to live as men. Jim Burgen, Pastor of Flatirons Church in Lafayette, Colorado once said, “The original sin was Adams passivity.” Well, guess what guys? We are being molded into passive, uncommitted beings who have allowed society to beat us into thinking we should not act like men, we should not fulfill our God given role as men, and we shouldn’t have any fun. Even more concerning, most of us don’t encourage our kids to have real fun!

Now, before you go off the rails, I am not advocating you become an irresponsible, narcissistic, misogynistic, anarchist. What I am saying is we need to stop letting society convince us we shouldn’t act like what God created us to be, MEN. And in addition to being leaders, the heads of our households, bread winners, responsible husbands and fathers, and faithful followers of Jesus, we need to have some fun!

So how do we turn the ship around? First of all, quit listening to all the criticism aimed at you exercising your natural instincts – you were born a man and God gave you unique qualities because of it. We are hunters. We are providers. We are protectors. We are leaders. We should be like a bull elk, stomping around in the forest, marking our territory. Now that guy is having some fun! Now before you show this to your wife, girlfriend or any other female which will result in them hurling all sorts of accusations at me and then telling you to delete my blog from any memory you might have – calm down. Do you see anything here about males being the superior gender? No you do not. That is because despite what you might have been taught God created man and woman to compliment each other. Each gender has specific gifts, none of which are better than the others. I am simply identifying God given male characteristics that will ultimately shape what type of fun we have. I will however challenge anyone, male or female, who attempts to correct or confuse Gods intent for us as men. Let’s have guy fun!

I should mention what guy fun isn’t. It isn’t vulgar, it isn’t deceitful, it isn’t prideful, it isn’t destructive toward people or property, it isn’t irresponsible, it isn’t mean or ill intentioned, and while it isn’t always safe it should never be at the expense of your wife or family. On the flip side it is honest, it is clean, it is creative, it is productive, it is considerate of others, it is steeped in tradition and history and it results in a satisfying confirmation that we are who God created us to be – men! Certainly you need to carve out time to have fun with your spouse or children but guy fun needs to be with other guys. Real fun should put a smile on your face, a smile that cannot be wiped off, a smile that your wife or girlfriend, sons or daughters will love, not resent.

I can’t tell you how to have guy fun – you have to figure that out on your own. Yours might be calling up a bunch of buddies, meeting at a local park and wearing yourself out playing basketball or touch football. For others it could be spending an hour at the local shooting range trying to refine your aim prior to your next hunting trip. Still others might define their fun as throwing a couple sleeping bags, a tent and their fishing gear in the back of a pickup, along with a couple cans of Campbells Pork and Beans, some beer, and a bag of Cheetos (for breakfast of course) and heading out to a new location to slay some unsuspecting trout. The key is, men need to have man fun. So get out there. Quit listening to those who want to convince you that we can’t have fun because we are in extraordinary times or that our current circumstances mean it is deviant to even think about having fun or heaven forbid, there will be new normal that will change our whole perspective on fun. You didn’t sign up for a life of drudgery, enslaved to a career and all the expectations our society wants to strap to your shoulders. Be the man God wants you to be and have some fun while doing it. You will find your life will be so much more fulfilling, exciting and interesting and you will become a better husband, father, friend and person. Go have some fun!

Beatle John Lennon sang, “And so this is Christmas and what have we done? Another year over and a new one just begun.”

I have been searching my photo files for a good Christmas photo to use for this installment of defreshtalk but I have so many I finally gave up and decided to continue without posting a photo. All of the searching for that perfect photo did accomplish one thing though. It reminded me that a huge part of Christmas is the memories its’ celebration creates. Celebrating Christmas is about traditions, traditions that run deep in families.

I remember how fun and exciting everything was leading up to Christmas Day. That excitement was driven by memories of past Christmas’ and the things our family did every year as part of our celebration. Thanksgiving came and went and the first lighting of the Advent Wreath at church signaled it was time to get ready for Christmas. Church was a big part of our annual Christmas celebration. We were Lutherans but because my Dads best friend was an Episcopalian his church also played a part in our annual celebration – more on that later.

In those days public schools celebrated Christmas in a big way. There were orchestrated Christmas recitals and plays, the halls were decorated with Christmas stuff we made in class, they would even put up a Christmas tree in every classroom. The day before school let out for Christmas break there would be a school-wide Christmas party complete with homemade treats to eat, gifts for the teachers and singing of Christmas carols (yes, Christian carols). Of course we were also excited about getting the next week off from school – we always went back to school on the first weekday after New Years. Celebrating Christmas in school helped rev up the excitement of the season.

The days off from school were filled with time honored activities. My dad would give me and my sister a stipend for Christmas shopping out of which we had to buy gifts for him, my mother and in my case, my sister. There would be one day set aside with my mom for baking cookies, making fudge and a special concoction my sister loved named “Divinity.” There were also days designated for us to spend time baking and decorating cookies with each of our grandmothers. Decorating involved cookie cutters to form figures like Santa Claus, snowmen, angels, canes and sleighs. Once baked the cookies would then be painted with various colors of sugary frosting, multi-colored sprinkles, cinnamon balls and sometimes, little silver balls. I always wondered who the person was that came up with those silver balls because biting into one of them was like trying to bite through a miniature bowling ball. I suspect it might have been a Dentist because those things could break teeth! You could always tell which cookies had been decorated by my sister and which were mine. Hers could have gone into a bakery display case. Mine on the other hand were thick with that yummy frosting and showed a disregard for making the cookie look anything like the figure it was. By the end of the baking and decorating session the kitchens would look like a flour bomb had gone off and having done a lot of sampling of our work we would be on a sugar high that would last for days.

My Dad loved celebrating Christmas. From the day Christmas season ended, my father was already looking forward to the next one. So what were some of our families traditions? Dad’s birthday was on December 16 so that was the date the Christmas tree went up. Any time before that and the tree would dry out before New Years Day which was the traditional day for taking the tree down. The tree was always purchased at a pop up Christmas tree lot where Dad would look through the various trees until he found just the right one. He would then enter into the negotiation phase of the purchase, using all of his bargaining skills to get that last 25 cent concession from the lot owner – an expensive tree in those days was around $7.00. We would then tie the tree on top of his Plymouth station wagon and head home to show Mom what a great purchase we had made. And just like that our family Christmas had begun again. We would get out the boxes of lights and foil garland and when Dad had finally mastered getting the tree to stand upright in his old, wobbly Christmas tree stand, we would start decorating what would surely be our best ever Christmas tree. He would moan and groan about the number of light bulbs that had burned out since last year. He would have one too many Hot Buttered Rum drinks causing my Mom to get a little “displeased” with him. He would play the Al Martino Christmas album on his console stereo, taking a break from the decorating activities every 20 minutes or so to flip the record over to side two. And as a last act of bravado he would climb his old rickety wood ladder to place the tree topper star ornament on the very top branch sticking straight up toward the ceiling. Of course there were always a few challenges along the way such as that string of lights that worked fine before they were wrapped around the branches of the tree at which time they quit working completely. There was the year we left for Christmas Eve church service and returned home to find out the dog had decided to pull on some of the ornaments and had pulled the entire Christmas tree over – that old wobbly tree stand Dad wouldn’t give up on provided little resistance to a determined Poodle. And then there was the year Mom announced she kind of liked those new, modern aluminum trees with the rotating light that turned the tree different colors. Holy cow, I thought Dad was going to burst an artery but then he calmed down and simply said, “Now Virginia, those aren’t very traditional.” The whole thing was always a bit of an ordeal but the result was always a mesmerizing, twinkling, colorful masterpiece that would be plugged in early every morning and would remain plugged in until everyone had said goodnight.

My Dad also loved decorating the outside of our house. The only problem was a large part of the outside decorations involved something called “Luminarias.” Luminarias are a traditional southwest decoration and were said to be used to light the way for The Christ Child. You have probably seen modern Luminarias, rigid, upright plastic bags with a small light bulb in them that are used to line walkways. Well, the “real” Luminarias that were a huge part of outdoor decorations in an area like Albuquerque were a little more involved than simply setting out a set of light bulb lit decorations. Many times Luminarias became a neighborhood project with everyone in a several block area encouraged to set them out on Christmas Eve and Christmas night. There were vendors that would go door to door selling small paper bags, sand and the small flat candles that were needed to make the decorations. Some people would simply line their sidewalk and driveway with them while some would also line the concrete block walls that divided most of the house lots. Dad would usually order around 150 set ups and you know who got the job of putting the Luminarias together. It was a tedious job that involved rolling down the top of the paper bag, uniformly of course, filling the bag with just enough sand to keep it in place in case the wind blew – also making sure each bag had the same level of sand so the final touch, the candle, would line up with the one next to it. The bags were then placed along the sidewalk, driveway and the top of the wall, equidistant from each other. Finally, before leaving for Christmas Eve church service my job was to go from bag to bag, using a long candle, lighting the candles in each of the bags – keep in mind there were usually around 150 of them. It was a lot of work. Unless you have seen an entire neighborhood bathed in the golden light from these simple decorations you cannot understand how beautiful and spiritual the experience could be. The local newspapers would even publish stories reporting on specific neighborhoods that would have exceptional Luminaria displays and families would reserve some time, usually after church, to drive through those areas just like families today drive through well decorated neighborhoods.

Christmas Eve was also all about church, relatives and friends. We would go to the 5:00 church service because it was the candle light service and because we had a full evening ahead of us. The first stop after church would be my Paternal Grandparents house. My aunt and cousins would be there and maybe a couple other relatives depending on who decided to stop by. My Grandmother was a great cook and made all the traditional Christmas meal items, turkey, baked ham, candied yams, and always, oyster stew. She was also known for her Cinnamon rolls which were a highly anticipated treat, slathered in a delicious, creamy, sugary frosting. After the meal we would gather in their living room to unwrap presents. Around 8:30 it was on to the next traditional Christmas event – time at my parents best “couples friends”, Mary Evelyn and “Shockey.” I can still smell the piñon pine wood burning in Shockey’s fireplace, I can still hear the voice of Italian tenor Mario Lanza singing classical Christmas songs coming from the record player and I can still remember the aroma of Mary Evelyn’s stewed pork and pinto beans coming from her kitchen. My Dad and Shockey would park themselves in a couple of chairs, near the Christmas tree, with a straw wrapped bottle between them. That bottle contained their Christmas Eve beverage of choice, Bacardi Anejo rum. They would sip their rum, listen to classical Christmas music and then around 10:00 PM we would all gather around the dining room table for a bowl of those wonderful stewed pinto beans. Man, I can still taste them. That wasn’t the end of the evening though. Shockey was the Episcopalian I mentioned and the final Christmas Eve tradition was to get in the car and drive to the Episcopalian cathedral in downtown Albuquerque for midnight mass. So we started the evening with a traditional Lutheran Christmas Eve service and ended the evening with a traditional Episcopalian Christmas Eve mass. Wow, it was a long but fun evening.

Christmas morning came and we were up early to gather around the tree to see what great things were in those wrapped packages that had mysteriously appeared after we climbed into bed after the long Christmas Eve celebration. Sure, we knew what a few of the presents contained because we had each put some of them there, but there were always a few that weren’t there the last time I had checked. My dad played “Santa Claus” and handed out the presents to me and my sister. Traditional Christmas morning music usually involved a Christmas album from someone like Rosemary Clooney or one of my mothers favorite Italian tenors. The gift unwrapping frenzy was followed by a breakfast of leftovers from the night before – grandma’s cinnamon rolls, oyster stew and possibly another bowl of Mary Evelyn’s beans and always there were always scrambled eggs with “Pace Picante” salsa lathered all over them. We were then off to the 11:00 AM Christmas church service followed by a short drive to my other grandparents house. My Mother’s parents were Swedish so there were always a few traditional Swedish foods involved in the Christmas dinner grandma would prepare. Potato sausage was one or those items and I can still taste it. She would also prepare a turkey or a goose along with all the “trimmins.” Desert was something called “mincemeat pie.” Mincemeat pie was actually a traditional English Christmas food but I guess the Swedes must have adopted it too because it was a tradition at Grandma Sellberg’s house. I remember it had a chewy, almost raisin like texture and I don’t think I liked it very much. This was the final meal of Christmas for us and by the time it was over everyone in our family was ready to go home and collapse into bed. What made our Christmas? Following traditions – traditions built on previous traditions, traditions that created memories.

After relocating to Lakewood, Colorado in 1968 it was time to start new Christmas traditions. Those traditions still involved attending a candle light Christmas Eve church service. It also included an annual Christmas party hosted by my father at our house.

The traditional Christmas meal changed a little but still included Dads favorite, oyster stew. Along with the stew we had tamales, green chile, refried beans and pizza. A true international smorgasbord! He had started a new tradition. A tradition that will create memories for Brandon and Tyler, the same type memories I have of our family Christmas celebrations.

I find it interesting that I have trouble remembering the names of the three guys I played golf with yesterday but I can remember small details emanating from family Christmas traditions from 60 years ago. Traditions create memories, memories like the ones I have had fun rediscovering as I write this blog entry, memories that bind us together as a family. Traditions are generational and each generation should put their own spin on family traditions. I am not saying you should completely ignore old family traditions. Old traditions are important pieces or your unique family history. Honoring long held family traditions is important and speaks about your life and the role family played in it. When Terrie and I got married we blended the way her family celebrated Christmas with the traditions of my family and then began to build or own traditions. Our Christmas tree evolved into an artificial one but we continued to put it up around the time of my dads birthday. We still went to the candle light Christmas Eve church service, Brandon insisted on it. Just like my dad did, we went to my parents on Christmas Eve and yes, the meal was oyster stew, tamales, green chile, beans, pizza and thanks to my sister, Posole. On Christmas Day we hosted Terries family but no, the meal was not Goose, potato sausage and if Terrie could help it – Turkey. Actually, I can’t remember a lot of those meals because, hmm, they weren’t traditional. We still gathered around the tree early on Christmas morning to open the beautifully wrapped gifts from the pile that had grown over the previous days. Now Brandon and Tyler are married and have started creating their own family traditions. It is fun for Terrie and I to watch and it is gratifying to see them blend older traditions from each side of their families into their own versions.

I have one final comment on how you handle Christmas traditions. Above all, those traditions must include one common, critical element. That element is what Christmas has always been all about. That element is the birth of the most important man in human history, Jesus. If your past Christmas celebrations have not included Him, I respectfully ask you to consider what you are really celebrating. I also urge you to give him a chance this year, a chance to fill your soul with a joy that is without boundaries. A joy that overrides all of the other “joys” of the season. He will be the addition to your tradition that will never leave you feeling empty. He is the gift you will never want to return. In James 1:17 the Bible says, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” You have the opportunity to experience first hand that perfect gift and to use that perfect gift as the centerpiece of your own family traditions and memories.

Thank you for indulging me in my little walk down memory lane. I hope you enjoyed hearing about some of my family’s Christmas traditions and I wish you great memories of your family traditions. I also wish you joy in creating new family traditions, traditions that will in turn create memories for your children and grandchildren, all anchored in the comfort and knowledge that those memories and traditions spring from our greatest gift of all, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Merry Christmas!

At some point in our youth we have all heard that command. We might have got a tongue lashing with it because we had disrespected an elder through “back talk” but most likely because we had the nerve or at the time, what we believed was the moxie, to utter some profanity or to swear. When I finally grew up enough to realize I wasn’t the big shot I thought I was I came to the realization that the language I used was a direct reflection of my character. The word “character” is one of those unique English language words that can be a noun, a verb or an adjective. For today’s discussion we are going to work with it as a noun and I like the Merriam Webster definition of character which is “one of the attributes or features that make up and distinguish an individual.” Your character makes you different and unique from every other person.

My first real recollection of using foul language was when I was probably 5 or 6 years old. My Dad had an uncle who constantly used the phrase, “son of a ***”. Maybe not profanity but it was, at least at the time, considered foul language. It didn’t make any difference who or what this man was talking about, it was a son of ***.” Like a lot of people who swear non-stop I think this phrase just became part of his language – he didn’t even realize how many times he said it. Well, I happened to like my dad’s uncle and figured if it was good enough for him then I should be able to use that phrase whenever I wanted so I tried it out privately a few times and then decided to have a public revealing of my newly acquired expletive. Oh boy was that a huge miscalculation. Most of you are too young to remember the days when it was OK to wash out a foul mouthed, or back talking kids’ mouth with soap. I happened to be at my grandparents house when this all happened, specifically my grandfather who was the diesel mechanic. Because he was always trying to get the grease and oil off his hands he used a particularly strong bar soap called “Lava.” It was so strong you could smell it when you walked into Grandpas bathroom and on top of everything else it contained little bits of pumice, thus the name “Lava.” I can still taste it and feel the pumice grit grinding between my teeth. As my dad scrubbed my teeth and made sure I got a mouth full of soap I quickly came to the realization that maybe my dads uncle wasn’t such a cool guy and I wasn’t grown up enough to use bad language. Please remember I said “grown up enough” because it is a hint that I didn’t learn my lesson very well.

Looking back on my adolescent, teen and early adult years I did remember the Lava soap lesson but I still let my self-importance and what is now called a “fear of missing out” get in the way of what I knew was “good behavior.” The timely deployment of an “f bomb” or the calculated placement of the Lord’s name used in vain, throwing a little caution to the wind by stringing together a few choice profane adjectives or an under the breath utterance of the “s” word – now that showed machismo, maturity and power. I didn’t want to be viewed as a “prude.” Hey, I was one of the boys. Wrong again! All it really showed was a lack of respect for whoever I was interacting with, a total disregard for God and a huge gash in my character. On top of all those negatives, believe it or not, girls payed attention to those sorts of things and our indiscriminate cussing was viewed as crude, rude and boorish. Besides, had my dad ever heard me disrespect a woman through my use of foul language I am quite sure he would have found a bar of Lava somewhere and regardless of the time, location or my age he would have shoved that thing in my mouth.

So where am I going with all of this? The general widespread use of profane or vulgar language and swearing in todays culture is just one of the new dynamics that give me pause to be concerned about where we are headed. There seem to be few if any barriers anymore. The demise of those barriers parallel the loss of moral and ethical behavior we see in today’s society. Not many years ago dropping an f bomb on TV would have been a national calamity – not so much any more. Oh sure, it will get some notice by the media but will mostly be laughed off as a little slip – no big deal. If a politician used profanity as a tool during a campaign he or she was frowned on as uncivilized and unelectable – again not so much any more. I have had a twitter account for several years but very rarely tweet because quite frankly I think it is a waste of time and due to a lack of “followers” (for good reason) my tweeting would be nothing more than a few words that would disappear into thin air, never to be recalled again. You know, the old thing about if a tree falls in the forest with no one around to hear, did it make a sound? None-the-less, a couple of weeks ago a Twitter notice popped up in my email about a comment made by a member of the Colorado legislature. Commenting to her “followers” her tweet was, “if you were on the fence about voting this year I am going to need you to get the “f***” off.” It lit a flame in me and I decided to reply. All I said was, “Representative X”, language is a true reflection of character and your use of profanity in your tweet has exposed yours. Thank you for revealing who you truly are.” Ya I know, maybe a little harsh and judgmental but it was how I was feeling at the time. Well, to my great surprise there were other people listening in on the conversation because I was suddenly lambasted with criticism. I was labeled as an “old white man” (which I am), a misogynist, which I certainly am not, and a bunch of other things that don’t deserve mention. Wow, I didn’t know I was so important! All in defense of an elected officials right to use an “F bomb” and cancelling my right to comment about it. Again – please see the definition of character.

I told you from the beginning of this blog I would attempt to scrub my thoughts with Biblical truths. The truth is, in the research I have done, nowhere in The Bible is the use of profanity explicitly banned. There are several places in The Bible that do talk about the importance of the words you use. In Ephesians 4:29 (NLT) it says, “Don’t use foul or abusive language. Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them.” Focus on the Family asks us to consider several questions about the use of profanity. They were speaking specifically about the use of the f-word but three of the questions really apply to vulgarity or profanity in general. 1. How does it feel when someone says it to you? 2. Is there any way the f-word can build others up? 3. Does it ever benefit those who hear it? In Colossians 4:6 (ESV) the apostle Paul says, “Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person.” Finally, the most well known instruction regarding what we would call swearing comes from the fourth of God’s commandments, “You shall not take the name of the Lord, your God, in vain.”

So circling back to that bar of Lava, why can I still taste it? Well, probably because I still haven’t learned my lesson. A bad golf shot might be followed by an under the breath s***. Disagreement with a politician might cause the proclamation the he or she is just a dumb a**. And yes, I will admit to dropping the f word from time to time. It is usually followed by a rush of guilt and a “sorry Lord, I failed again, please forgive me.”

Guys, it’s not OK. We need to be men of integrity, men of faith, men of conviction, men of character. We are called to be leaders of men, leaders of our family, leaders in whatever work we do, leaders in our community. No matter what we might think, accepting the role of a leader means people are watching us and listening to us. I will guarantee you the absence of profanity, vulgarity and swearing in your language will draw much more attention than the use of it ever will.

One final suggestion, go out and buy yourself a bar of Lava. Sit it on your bathroom counter or your desk. You can also simply clip a photo of it off the Internet and keep it on your phone. Every time you catch yourself slipping and using questionable language, take a good look at the soap and remember old Doug E Fresh’s description of what it was like to get a mouth full of it. More importantly may it be a reminder that your tongue is the strongest organ in your body and how you use it will always give others a lasting impression of your character.