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parenting, personal growth

3 Lessons Learned from 3 Nights in the Woods

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I recently checked an item off my bucket list that, truth be told, was never actually on my bucket list. For the first time ever, I went to a church camp.

I was assigned a fourteen-year-old junior leader, given an unairconditioned cabin and entrusted with the well-being of four 10-11 year-old boys. I spent three nights in the woods hustling from one activity to the next, eating thoroughly mediocre camp food and hoping that these boys were hearing messages that might change their lives someday.

It wasn’t an easy time. By the end of our stay, I was exhausted. My tolerance for pre-teen boys was sapped, and I used up every bit of extroversion that this introvert could muster.

I needed alone time to recharge my batteries. I needed sleep. And I needed a shower.

Although camp came with some challenges, it was also very rewarding. One of the boys in my cabin was my son Alex. He’s the main reason I signed up to be a leader. I trusted this would be an experience that neither of us would ever forget. I wasn’t disappointed.

As I look back over the days spent at camp, there are a few ideas I want to ensure I remember:

  1. Say ‘YES’ to discomfort. When my wife first mentioned the possibility of being a leader at a church camp, I came up with all kinds of reasons why I shouldn’t do it. Taking off three days of work was at the top of my list. But I’ve learned that the most meaningful experiences in my life have occurred when I stepped outside of my routine and took on a challenge that I didn’t want to take on. Comfort is the enemy of change. The four days spent at this camp were void of the comforts that I cling to in life. It was awesomely uncomfortable!
  2. Be more childlike. Children possess some wonderful qualities that most adults have had wrung out of our lives. It wasn’t so long ago that I was a carefree boy, but seeing the contrast between these kids and myself reminded me of some traits that I’d like recapture. These boys haven’t set in concrete their opinions and prejudices. They were goofy. They made friends almost instantly. When they got upset at something or someone, they forgot about it 10 minutes later. I want to be more like them.
  3. I need more silliness in my life. One of my favorite parts of camp happened each night when we retired to the cabin to wind down. Each kid retired to his bunk with snacks in hand, and pre-lights-out silliness ensued. They goofed on each other. They made up names for each other. They talked about how awesome they were. And we laughed…a lot. It reminded me of when I was a kid. It also reminded me that silliness helps to lighten our load. It is good for the soul.

In the days leading up to this camp, I was dreading my decision to go, but in the days after, I found myself smiling at the memories. It affected me, and I trust that it affected the kids as well. I formed some lifelong memories with my son, and it sure beat sitting in front of a computer at work.

If you’re ever given an opportunity to do something like this, fight against your desire to say no. Step out on a limb.

Get uncomfortable. Get dirty. Get tired. Get blessed!

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Love Is Owning a Snake

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heart snakeUnder my roof reside four humans, a dog and snake. You read that right. There is a snake in my house that I am not allowed to kill…that we feed…that has a name…that we paid money for…and that lives in my son’s room.

By now you’ve probably guessed that owning a snake was not one of the items on my bucket list. The idea of welcoming a creature into our home that could indeed aid one in kicking the bucket is far from logical to me.

But if I’ve learned anything in 15 years of marriage and in 8 years of parenting, it’s that love defies logic.

Love drives people to do crazy things like selling your sports car, spending a week with in-laws, holding your wife’s purse in public and, in extreme cases, becoming a snake owner.

I never thought the term “snake owner” would be attached to my name. That seemed like a title reserved for crazies like Alice Cooper, Brittany Spears or Jake the Snake. But I am the owner (by association) of a 3-foot long, female Ball Python named Pebbles.

Though I am anti-snake, my eight-year-old son (Alex) loves them. He is enthralled by pretty much all creatures, especially those that are potentially lethal.

Where snakes send chills up my spine, they excite Alex. He’s even caught one (non venomous) in the wild with his bare hands!

After months of me saying “NO” to snake ownership, my wife and I eventually reached an agreement with my son in the Great Snake Debate. We told Alex that if he saved half of the money needed to buy a snake and habitat, we would pay for the other half. In my short-sightedness, I forgot that my wife’s family almost always gives Alex a decent chunk of change for every birthday. And now I am a snake owner.

I don’t pretend to love having a snake in our home. But I do support my son’s interests. I am happy to read books or watch shows about snakes with him. I have taken him to see a herpetologist (reptile scientist) speak. And over the last few summers we have gone repeatedly to a local creek where snakes hang out so we can hunt them.

Love is a powerful motivator. It drives us to put other’s needs and wants above our own. In this case, love overrode my good horse sense and my instincts for self-preservation to the delight of my son. My sacrifice has been his joy.

I have overheard him in conversations with his peers speaking with pride about his reptile. He even works it into conversations with people he’s just met. Being a snake owner is a proud part of his identity, a scaly green badge of courage.

Alex talks about becoming a herpetologist himself someday.   I don’t know if that passion will persist in him. Perhaps he will fall off the snake bandwagon one day. But what I do know is that he will be taking his python with him when he moves out of our house. These things live 20-30 years!

I also know that I’ve helped to feed an interest in my son that has developed into a passion. I could have easily snuffed that passion before it ignited. But a little self-sacrifice has kindled his interest and is serving to shape his identity. He is a snake owner and proud of it!

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My Days Are Numbered

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horseshoe

I recently took my son, Alex, to his first Ohio State Football game. It wasn’t really much of a game as OSU dished out a 66-0 whooping to a painfully outmatched Kent State.   But the truth is I didn’t care as much about what was happening on the gridiron as I did about what was happening in the stands.

In section 11A – row 17 – seats 27 & 28, my son and I bonded. We high fived, recapped plays to each other, ate hot dogs, spelled O-H-I-O with our arms and formed memories that will last a lifetime.

Our day in Columbus came at a cost. Tickets to OSU games are not cheap and typically resold well above their face value. Then you have to pay for parking and stadium food. A bottle of “smart water” cost $7, which is about as oxymoronic as anything I can imagine.

Beyond dollars, this game required an investment of time. For us to go to this game, I had to invest an entire Saturday. And with an ever-growing list of to-do items, my weekend time is precious and fleeting.

Even though I enjoy watching football, the thought of spending a whole Saturday accomplishing nothing defies my task-master mentality. But through this investment of time, I did accomplish something; I had a fun day with my son that the two of us will likely remember the rest of our lives.

Time is our most precious commodity – a gift that isn’t promised to us in any set amount. The only guarantee in life is that sooner or later this gift will run out. So how one invests this treasured commodity reveals a great deal about what matters most to them.

There is a Bible verse about time that is one of the guiding tenets in my life – “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” This Psalm reminds me that my life will be short therefore I should use it wisely. For me, the wisest way I can spend my time is with my wife and children.

In order to protect my time so I can invest it where it matters, I have to establish boundaries. One time thief that continuously threatens to encroach upon the sacred hours spent with my family is my work. I strive every day to protect my family time from my work life, doing all I can to leave at my designated quitting time and to not take work home with me.

This isn’t always easy. Not taking work home means I have to be extremely regimented about how I approach my daily work load. I try to minimize my time spent in meetings where my attendance isn’t required. And when necessary, I work through my lunch. I do everything possible to ensure that I leave at my scheduled end time.

I also have to set boundaries with my own selfish desires. I can be obsessive about cleaning my car, spending hours washing, clay barring, waxing and polishing if I go unchecked. I have more bottles of cleaning products and microfiber towels than any sane man should own.

Beyond car care, I have many other interests that could eat up my time if I allowed. I have a mountain bike quietly collecting dust in my basement, resting next to my bass guitar. And I own more books than I will ever find the time to read. But I choose not to pursue any hobbies or interests that will take me away from my family.

I’ve heard a hundred times that no one ever lies upon their death bed wishing they had spent more time at work or perfecting their golf game. Having the cleanest car on the block is not the legacy I want to leave behind. Clarity comes too late for some, and although I wish I’d come to this realization sooner in my life, I have learned to number my days.

By protecting my time and treating it like the precious commodity that it is, I am able to give it to those who matter the most to me. In 10 years, I won’t remember that my car was dirty when I drove to Columbus, but I will cling tightly to the memories of the day spent with my son.