i like healthy food {sort of}

I do not like to eat healthy. I like some healthy foods, but not as much as I like them after they've been corrupted. We take healthy food and pervert it: adding sugar to already sweet strawberries, deep frying all kinds of vegetables, adding bacon to green beans, covering salads with ridiculous amounts of cheese and dressing, etc. I do not fit into Southern culture too well, but this one area I seem to agree with them. I think the prevailing culinary theory in the South is, "If we fry it, it will taste better." Oh, and if you aren't going to fry it, you should at least add bacon to it. I'd never even heard of one of my favorite healthy foods before moving to Florida: corn nuggets. What's a corn nugget? I'm pretty sure it's cream corn, dipped in batter, and deep fried. Add ranch dressing to it, and you not only have a cholesterol bomb on your plate, you'll have a smile on your face, too. But hey, my mom only said to make sure I eat my vegetables; she didn't say how.

Now, I'm not an organic food guy. It's pretty expensive, and I'm pretty sure it's mostly hype. For instance, did you know that you can buy organic milk? Where does the milk I buy come from? I thought it was organic, too, because it came from a cow. I guess those cows aren't good enough. I just can't see spending more money on things like that, but some people can and do. They think that food is contaminated when it is not grown naturally, as they say. I don't tend to agree with them, but I will give those people one thing: they made the coolest propaganda video ever. Check it out:

stupid girl.

You probably don't know this about Sarah, but she's got quite a temper. She suffered from road rage in Florida on a regular basis. Now, I know what you're thinking. "He's doing a post about his wife called stupid girl? He shouldn't call her that." Some of you sprinkled some expletives and other descriptive words in that thought, that's probably the core of your thoughts. Don't worry, though, I'm not calling her stupid girl. We'll get there. We're talking about her temper. It's really odd, because she's normally so quiet, and unless you've seen it, you would never see it coming. If you take her temper and add it to her germ freakiness, you end up with a really scared girl in a laundry room expecting to catch a beating from a little Korean girl.

Our first home was a little studio apartment in Wyoming, MI. We lived downstairs, right across from the laundry room. Sarah would commonly put laundry in, and then come back to our apartment to do dinner. There's no reason to hang out in there when you live right across the hall. Of course, we didn't know laundry room etiquette, which says that if someone is waiting for that washing machine, and you don't take your laundry within thirty seconds of cycle completion, they are within their rights to put your clean laundry on top of the dirty public washing machines. Enter Stupid Girl. Sarah would still refer to this girl as this if she was reminded of her today, and after reading my blog, she will be.

Sarah went across the hall to switch over our laundry within two minutes of it being done, and there was all of our clean laundry on top of the machines. I was in the apartment, and I knew within seconds that something had gone wrong across the hall. I quickly came over, and my seething wife was lacing into the offender that had touched her clean laundry with her dirty hands and put it on the dirty washing machines, and it wasn't your normal neighborly banter. I had to coax her across the hall, promising that I would take care of it. The girl was so scared that she offered $2.50 to let us wash both loads again, and I told Sarah I would take it. I went back across the hall, and the girl is shaking scared. I'm pretty sure she thought Sarah was going to jump her, and I can't say with all certainty that she wouldn't have. I apologized and explained to her why she shouldn't have moved our laundry and how sensitive my wife was about germs, and that the machines weren't remotely clean on the outside. I thought we had settled things well. Everyone was calm...in that room.

I went back to our apartment, and Sarah was pacing the small kitchen. She was not feeling any better. I was pretty sure we agreed, though, that it was over. I thought it was safe to leave her unattended, so I used the restroom. I heard the door open and shut while I was in there, and then I heard my quiet wife being not quiet at all again. I walked back across the hall to a similar scene: rabid Sarah? Check. Shaking girl? Check. Our laundry still sitting on dirty machines? Check. A new variable was added: tears. Stupid Girl was crying almost as violently as Sarah was talking. I had to get my wife out of there again, apologize again, and this time I had to stand awkwardly in the door while the girl settled down. I wouldn't normally comfort a crying woman that wasn't my wife, but since my wife made her cry, I felt obligated. It was tremendously not awesome.

This was a long time ago. Sarah would never do that again. She has her own washer and dryer, so I can say that with all certainty. Plus, we're much older and a little mellower. But this will always be one of my favorite Sarah stories. Basically, here are my favorite stories about her: one, she married me; two, Stupid Girl; three, everything else.

i have to be me.

At the end of my senior year, my graduating class at church was given the opportunity to decorate a tile to be hung in the youth room. They finally took down those tiles a few months ago (nine years later), after none of the other classes did this. Mine wasn't up as long as everyone else's, though. My tile stayed up for one week. I was frustrated by some things back then. I didn't like other people trying to force me into a mold that I did not fit in. I think I still don't. So, since I really liked Christian rock, and I got tired of people telling me that I shouldn't, I made my tile for them. I drew a star and wrote the names of different bands I really liked. I wrote something about following your own star to Christ, and then finished with "You be you, and I'll be me." I started working in junior high a week after the tile was hung, and that was not a good example, so my tile was pulled down. I almost felt triumphant.

To be honest, I have not changed that much. I still have the same position on this, but I have learned how to say it in a more acceptable way. I am me, and I cannot be anyone else. I have to be who God made me to be, or I will end up frustrated like I have in the past. I am keeping this in mind while looking for a church to serve in. I refuse to get so desperate that I will end up in a church that expects me to be anyone other than me. It was bad for me, it was bad for my marriage, and it was probably bad for the teenagers I was serving the last time. I make a lot of mistakes, but I'm not going to make that one twice.

So who am I? We don't really have time for that, but you're welcome to go back and read all the blog posts I've written in the past. By the end, you'll be sick of me, but you'll also know me quite well.

advice I didn't take

I've been given a lot of good advice over the years. The funny thing about good advice is that it is rarely unsolicited. People like to give advice freely, especially when you are not at all interested in what they have to say. My dad does not call me and start throwing advice at me, hoping something will stick. I call him, he listens, and then he offers advice. It's interesting how listening to a situation can give you an inside track on offering advice worth taking. I don't want to talk about advice I felt was worth taking, though. I want to talk about advice I didn't take, and what happened as a result.

1. Don't get married so young. You'll be divorced within five years.
Now, I'm not the best with numbers, but I'm pretty sure eight is greater than five, and the fact that Sarah and I are best friends and still quite in love means there will be even more years added.

2. Don't jump on the bed. You'll get hurt.
Well, I have a scar in the middle of my forehead that proves that this was, in fact, sound advice.

3. Don't transfer from out of our school. You'll have a hard time getting a job with that other school on your resume.
So far, two churches seemed to disagree.

4. (from the doctor at the rehab hospital Sarah was in) You shouldn't help your wife with everything when she gets home. You'll view her as a patient and won't be able to love her the same ever again.
He was kind of right. I love her more now. We grew even closer during that time of our marriage.

5. Be careful not to drink too much pop. You'll gain weight.
Well...

What's some advice you didn't take?

it's been a year

So we've been in Ohio for just over a year now. We actually showed up on Sunday, June 1, in our lame matching West Virginia t-shirts. A lot has changed, but a lot has stayed the same over the last year. Let's review, shall we? We shall.

Big Changes:

• Sarah's pregnant. Since she is not an elephant, we can safely say that she got pregnant after moving here.
• We like church more now.
• We both have tattoos. Those are permanent, so I consider them pretty big changes.
• I like people more now and am less judgmental (I think). Sarah still doesn't like people, including you. She wishes you'd stop reading this and go punch yourself in the face.
  
• We play cornhole now and like it. I'm pretty good, but Sarah is not. And we know what cornhole means.
• We have a lot less money, but more of God, so we're pretty good here.
• I've gone from never wanting to be a lead pastor to knowing that I will be one at some point. That's a weird one for me.
  

Not everything changes, though. Here are some things that have not and probably will never change:

• We still love each other a good deal.
• We still hang out with teenagers. We miss our kids from Florida, and we make up for it by hanging out with other teenagers. Only now, it's not our job. We volunteer.
• We have maintained good hygiene.
  
• Our animals are obnoxious.
• I'm still chubby, and despite being pregnant, Sarah still is not.
• We love Michigan and all Detroit sports, and of course, we still hate the Gators, Seminoles, and Jaguars.
  
• And, of course, we love God. He's pretty much awesome.
  

who likes bad music?

Either a lot of Christians do, or a lot of pastors think their people do. I have a lot of bad southern gospel group related memories. I don't like southern gospel to begin with, mostly because I don't like country music. I don't care if it's in a shiny new Bible cover. It's still country to me, and I don't like it. So imagine how I feel when an untalented southern gospel group would show up to the church I was attending?

Of course, not all bad memories are bad memories. Some groups were so awful that they became iconic to me and probably to other people in the church. I remember one group of very obese men from when I was in high school. Their keyboard player reminded me of the GORILLA from Show Biz Pizza. It was not enjoyable until my youth pastor asked if anyone knew who what a joint heir was, and my friend answered, "yeah, it's a fat guy in a suit that doesn't sing really well." I now relish the memory. You might have guessed they were called the Joint Heirs. Good deduction skills!

The pinnacle of bad music is the guy that gets up there and sings all the part himself. He's laid down some hot tracks of himself singing the different parts, and he sings along with himself. If you've never experienced this, you probably doubt this mythical beast exists, but I promise you, he does. One of these guys came to my last church, in Florida, and it was bad. I was sitting there on the 2nd row, thoroughly not enjoying myself, when he decided it was time to ask who wanted him back at their church. I think a few hands went up. I don't remember. What I do remember was him saying, "Come on, show your pastor you want me to come back by raising your hands." Perhaps a few more hands went up, but mine didn't. I had both arms outstretched on the back of the pew. He made eye contact me, and his eyes seemed to beg me to raise my hand. Surely you're enjoying this, right? I kept my arms where the were and my eyes locked on his eyes. After a couple of seconds of eye contact, I shook my head no. No sir, I don't ever want to hear your music again. If fact, if you could pack up now and not finish out your set, I would be greatly indebted to you.

Had he not made pleading eye contact with me, giving me the opportunity to tell him no, this would have just gone down as another bad memory. Instead, this is a great memory for me. I was proud of standing up for my ears and everyone else's for that matter.