Disabled

I've always prided myself on my wrestling abilities. I have the natural build of a professional wrestler. I'm 5 foot 8ish and weigh 135 pounds soaking wet with boots on.
My wife and I have a king size bed. We need it for my large manly frame. It's not just a bed though. It doubles as a wrestling ring. I wrestle my four kids on it. And I'm ruthless. I'm not one of those dads that lets his kids win. They have to earn a victory.
About two years ago we were embroiled in a tag team championship bout. It was me versus four kids. Easy win....
I had them right where I wanted them. Backs against the ropes you could say. My oldest son had jumped out of the ring and fled the room screaming. My second oldest and most wily of the four was wrapped around one of my legs tickling my foot. I hate being tickled. I was face down on the mat and my daughter was sitting on my head giggling hysterically. I had no idea where my youngest son, the human fly, was.
Then I heard the scream. A scream I'll never forget. It was blood curdling. There was terror, pain and hysteria all at once! My God! What could make such a noise?!
Me.
I did.
I screamed like a little girl.
And I'm not ashamed.
Kobe, my youngest son, climbed to the top rope. From the highest turnbuckle he flew. With all of his 45 monster pounds, he landed on my right shoulder. I heard and felt the pop simultaneously.
The kids new instantly that safety resided in a different part of the house. They bailed on me. Not that they weren't concerned about me. They were. Very much. But I think the slew of curse words coming from my mouth let them know that dad needed some alone time.
As any real man would do, after a time, I got up and shook it off. No blood no foul.
Well, after two years of that shoulder pain never going away, I decided I might need to get a professional opinion.
Turns out I had two major tears in my rotator cuff. Dang it.
Two weeks ago I finally had surgery to repair the shoulder. I had my two week post op checkup today. All is going well. Slow but steady. I'll have my arm in a sling for at least three more weeks. Then I start the long road of rehab.
So what did I learn from this ordeal?
Always know where your opponent is. Watch you back.
There will be a rematch.
I'll send you and invitation.
Peace.
- Posted from Erehwon

Location:Sand Flat, TX

Life in the Sandbox 04 March 2004

Hey all my peeps,
  More of the same.  Life stands still.  We are still in Kuwait.  Our lack of qualifications has delayed our departure for the "promised land."  We are not 100% qualified to shoot rifles.  Now we have to get people back out on the gun range to shoot.  Easier said than done.  Hopefully they will be qualified by Monday.  Should be a few days after that and we can go.
   Still no word on what we will do up there though.  I keep volunteering to come home, but no one seems to take me seriously.  Figure that.
  Did I mention the night sky out here?!  You can see every star in the sky at night.  Even the Milky Way is amazing.  But you know what? They are the same stars that we see in Texas, but I'll be darned if they aren't near as pretty as they are back home.
  Nothing else is going on.  We just sit around camp and read or watch movies on laptops.  Who knew that war could be so hard on a guy?
 It's starting to warm up.  I broke a sweat yesterday.  I've gotta make sure not to do that again.  I'll walk slower from now on.  Ooh-rah?
    Anyway, keep praying for us and I'll keep praying for you.
                 In Christ
                     Jon

Life in the Sandbox 17 Feb 2004

Hey all my peeps,
   It's official, there are two flowers and one butterfly in Kuwait.  They are both outside of my tent.  I saw the flowers the other day.  They looked kinda like bluebonnets.  They also looked kinda out of place, so I smashed them.  The next day, I was walking to the bathroom and a butterfly flew past me.  He was so pretty! But he too looked strangely out of place...so I smashed him.
  Not a lot going on in the desert.  We had a good sandstorm on Sunday.  What a fine welcome to all my shipmates that arrived that day.  Welcome to the Sandbox!  All of our guys are doing good.  Morale is there.  Not really bad, not really good.  Training started today.  Of course I wasn't there for it.  I'm always running around doing supply stuff.  Drove to another camp in a Humvee to get some armor plates for bullet proof vests.
  Some of our guys are leaving soon to go to our final destination.  Pray for them.
Not much else going on.  We have an army chaplain going up with us.  He is from Arlington!  He's a teacher at the Assemblies of God University in Waxahachie .  Is that how you spell it?
    Keep praying for us.
     In Christ
        Jon

Life in the Sandbox 12 Feb 2004

Hey all my peeps,
  Life continues in this infinite sandbox we call home.  All is well. The food is still bad.  What it lacks in quality, they make up for in quantity. They do give us a lot of food.  I went to the air force base yesterday and ate dinner.  I joined the wrong dang service.  Those guys have gooood food!  Oh well. We are still waiting on the main group to get here.  They should be here Sunday sometime.  Once they get here, we can start training.  Ooh-Rah!
  I've taken several trips into Doha and Arifjan.  It's a long drive, but it's better than sitting around here.  We see Bedouins when we go.  Those are nomads, people who travel from place to place. They raise sheep or goats.  They live in tents.  It's weird, the tents will have satellite dishes outside and mostly they drive nice cars.  Usually Chevy suburbans or Mercedes.  Not too shabby.  We also pass a tank graveyard.  During the first gulf war some of you will remember the "highway of death."  All of the tanks and vehicles that were destroyed then are all piled at this "graveyard" not far down the road.  There are thousands of them in there.
  We had a real bad sand storm yesterday.  I was down in Doha, but they said it was so bad here at camp that you couldn't see 100 yards.  I'm glad I missed it.
  Well, not too much else going on.  Keep praying for us over here.  Some of our guys are getting a little down. They don't get to leave base everyday like I do and they don't have anything to do.  I can keep busy because I work with the army supply.  Also, keep praying for Amber.  She is due in a couple of weeks and it doesn't look like I will get to come home for the baby.
   Love all you guys,
    in Christ
        Jon


Note: Our baby daughter, Gabrielle, was born the same day this email was written.

Life in the Sandbox 03 Feb 2004

Greetings from the Sandbox,
  We are still in Kuwait at Camp Wolf.  It's a temp holding camp for transients.  We've been here for 2 days.  We should move out today to Camp Virginia.  Should be there for one or two weeks for more combat training.  From there we fly up north.  Facilities are not bad here.  We live in a big 50 man tent on cots.  The pretty blonde army girl that sleeps in the cot next to me makes it feel more like home.  The showers are in a trailer about 100 yards away. Nice hot water.  The toilets are just regular port-a-potties.
  The dining facilities are in a big tent too.  Food is not bad.  Don't eat the beef.  If Cyprus was hell, this is heaven.  Twelve packs of Mountain Dew? ONE DOLLAR!!! ONE DOLLAR!!!! Did you read that? Mountain Dew for like 8 cents a stinking can! I may never come home.
  It took us about 48 hours or so to get here.  Our plane was delayed in Virginia for 2 days, the broke down in Spain.  Was supposed to be a couple hour layover, turned into 24 hours.  We finally got here and are just lounging around till we can role out.
   The superbowl was shown live at like 4am.  They have a giant plywood screen about 10 feet tall that they showed it on.  You could hear guys cheering during the game.  Then you REALLY heard them cheer during Janet Jackson's show.  Whatever.
   We got our guns last night. We are just waiting for bullets so we can leave here.  We get to go everywhere with our guns. Eat, sleep, everything.  I need to name my gun.  If you have any suggestions, let me know.
  Well, I'm gonna go get a haircut.  Ain't got nothing else to do.
    Love you all,
       Jon

I'm not sure why I continue to blog. Everyone blogs but very few are read. Whatever. I blog anyway. 

  I was in the U.S. Navy for sixteen years. In January of 2004 I was sent to Iraq. The war was just under a year old. While in Kuwait and Iraq, I composed emails to some friends and loved ones. The emails were titled Life in the Sandbox.  I recently found those emails. I'll be posting them on here over the next several weeks. I found them mildly entertaining. If you're reading this, I hope you do too.

   peace.

   Jon

Meant to Live

The band Switchfoot has a song titled Meant to Live. In the chorus they say, "We were meant to live for so much more." In the song, the Protagonist is lamenting a wasted life. A life he feels should have more meaning, doesn't. He's moving along in life and isn't satisfied. There should be more than this.
I watched a movie yesterday. Freedom Writers. It's based on a true story of a first time teacher in South Central Los Angeles after the riots. The teacher, Erin Gruwell, is an idealist. She really believes she can make a difference in the lives of a bunch of gangbangers.
By the end of these kids freshman year, Erin is making a difference. These kids are living in a war zone. Drug deals, drive by shootings and gang violence are a part of their everyday lives. At one point, Andre, one of her student had missed quite a few days of class and his grade was dropping. When Andre returns to class, Erin speaks to him in the hall before class. After talking to him sternly, she gets close to him, pokes him in his chest and says, "I see you. Andre, I - SEE - YOU." That statement made all the difference to Andre. Isn't that what so many hurting people in our world really want? To be seen by another human being? To be acknowledged? Isn't that somewhere on Maslow's hierarchy of need? Love. Acceptance.
I think everyone believes they are here for a reason. No matter their philosophical or theological beliefs, I think deep down, all people know they have a purpose. But finding and realizing that purpose is a whole other story.
I hate that so many never realize their purpose.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Sober thoughts

I'm back. It's been a while. I've never wrote on here while possessing all my faculties. I'm not really sure what to say. Feeling a bit cautious. Funny how that happens when you're in your "right mind".
Social media is going crazy. Facebook, instagram, Kik. Now it's Path. You get hooked on them. They're kind of cool I guess. You meet interesting people. That's for sure. You can present yourself however you want too. Guess that's good and bad. You only show people what you want them to see. The good stuff. The things that make YOU interesting. Or you can make people like you by feeling sorry for you. Make your life sound worse than it really is.
But what if it goes further? What if these people you've befriended want to know you in real life? Oh, crap! Now you gotta start back peddling. Or move to Russia. Except on social media, you've got friends there too!
So, what to do when your two worlds collide? How do you respond when your fantasy life and real life become entwined and get in each others way?
I guess just avoid that scenario all together. Don't take that chance. Be real. Be you. Be authentic from the start. Be who you are from day one. People are gonna like you for you or they aren't. An online social media friend said today: it is what it is. Just be you.
Peace.


- mad ramblings of a drunk union worker.

Location:Cummings Dr,North Richland Hills,United States

Ugly on the inside

I recently got into a Facebook argument with some ladies I don't know. You ever do that? You get in a fight with strangers over a mutual friends post? My cousin was bitchin about basically having a dress code at church. She said at her church you were expected to dress a certain way. She was lamenting that the church had lost sight of it's purpose which is to worship and glorify God. It bothered her a lot. It bothered me too. In the 33 or so years I've known my cousin, she's always dressed modestly. So I'm not sure if her church had issues with her dress or someone else's and she was simply defending that other person. Either way, when these self-righteous ladies started going off about how you gotta look good in church, I lost my mind. Their argument was that your outward appearance was a direct reflection of how you look on the inside. Basically if you dress nice (according to their standards) then you are spiritually right with God. Amen! Preach it, sisters! When I asked them to back up their claim with the Bible, they wouldn't and couldn't. One of them even said it wasn't in the bible. You don't say?!
I just got back from the Bahamas a couple weeks ago. Stayed in Nassau. Wonderful people. Loved how laid back they are. Something I noticed while riding the bus: the outside ring of the island where the beaches are, where all the tourists are, is kept clean and pretty. There are litter crews working early every morning to make it look good for all the visitors. But if you head inland where the tourists don't go, it's a whole different world. It's dirty and ugly. The streets are bad and lined with filth. The buildings and houses are poorly kept. You see what I'm getting at? They keep the part of the island that people see all pretty and clean so we think it's a tropical paradise. But the inside is still ugly. I think the ladies at my cousins church are a lot like Nassau. They primp and prep and make themselves all pretty on the outside, hoping we won't take notice of how they look on the inside. Unfortunately for them, God doesn't look at our outward beauty. He looks inside at our hearts.

Sanctuary

A pastors wife once told me, "fat looks better with a tan on it." That's what plays over and over in my head. I'm beginning to understand why Quasimodo would cry "sanctuary!" from the bell tower as the giant cathedral bells would ring and drown out all other noise from his mind. As I sit tonight on my dad's front porch I find sanctuary in the giant wind chimes gonging in the breeze. They help to stifle the repetitious phrases in my head. Fat looks better with a tan on it. Do insane people know they are insane? Maybe sometimes. There are those brief moments of lucidity when they know things aren't as they should be. Those moments are few and far between. And what to do with that time? There's so much to think about in such a short span of time. In the beginning, you cry out to God for help. Help me stay here in this moment for just a while longer. Eventually you just use that time to untie the knots. Because it is in those short snippets of time that your jaw is slack and you're not grinding your teeth. It's in that time that you relax your hands and your fingernails are not digging into your palms. You can breath, even if it's just for a minute or two. Eventually you may begin to wonder if you should take the advice of Job's wife and friends: curse God and die. Fat looks better with a tan on it. Why do depressed people drink alcohol? It's a depressant....hello? Wouldn't caffeine or speed be a more logical choice? Sanctuary! I wanted to name one of my kids Quasimodo. But I decided I didn't want him to fall in love with a gypsy. Do they have tanning salons in Scotland? I know they have fat people. Then you start to hurt yourself but after a while you forget why. Was I punishing myself for something? Was I doing it so I could feel? Maybe the pain helps to keep one foot in this world. God knows you don't want to get stuck over in the other side. I don't remember why fat looks better with a tan on it. If I ever get to Scotland I'll ask. White noise is bad. It doesn't really drown out the bad people. Have you ever read a book by some obnoxious author and you think, 'if I ever meet this guy, I'm gonna rub jalapeños in his eyes.'? Then you download their podcast and realize people with lisps shouldn't be preachers. But at least they have a good tan. Must be from Scotland. Good night, Quasimodo.