Chubby

Along about April while training for my anticipated second marathon in four months I was looking pretty slim. Slimmer than normal. Slim even for me.

Running 30 miles per week. Doing core work on the big purple ball that is too hard to hide from the kids. Making smarter choices in eating. Expecting six-pack abs to appear soon. Hearkening back to high school days & being as ripped - if you can call it that for a skinny boy - as I'd ever been. Thinking something like, "I won't be another bulgy belly daddy at the pool this summer," in my average-American-unrealistically-imaged vanity.

Then came six days of a stubborn kidney stone & a few other set backs that have had me running much less in the past two months. Still eating the same however. The pounds became sticky. The bulgy belly emerged again.

(Reader time out: Before you bemoan the skinny boy with the little bulgy belly issue, please hang on. We are moving toward a point. Don't get lost in body-type comparisons along the way. Okay? If you are past that, then you can resume reading.)

So, we're at the pool yesterday. Seth in swim lessons. JM & I sitting on the side of the kiddy pool. ME splashing around in front of us. I bend over toward her. She recoils scaredy faced. Transfixed by bulgy belly.

"Daddy, you've got a chubby tummy," floats out with a giggle. Popping my pride with a BANG.

I made some fatherly, "It's not nice to say things like that about other people's bodies even if it is true, Mary Elizabeth," comment. You have to add the "even if it is true" with ME due to the five-year old honesty she'd just exhibited.

Yet, while instructing her I was praying too. "So much for my pride. Thank you, Jesus, for having my innocent little sweetheart bring me back to your reality."

How about you, friend?

Not your body-type.

Your pride.

Is it skinny?

Or chubby?

God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.

1 Peter 5:5

Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.

James 4:10

Familiar

Wrapping presents after midnight. Sleeping a few hours. Waking with the birthday boy's excitement. Challenging conversations at the office. Enjoying a special lunch with family. More challenging conversations. Returning home balloon-laden. Partying superhero style with a dozen kids. Talking with friends into the evening. Bathing the kids after a day's play. Praying good-night with the sleepyheads. A full day.

A day like this one begged for some runtime. Sultry & still it was as I slinked out the door. Uncommon. Feverish feelings in my first running steps. Immediately sweaty & clammy. Like a sickness you don't want. Uncomfortable.

Yet within the passing miles arrived new thoughts. Familiar streets. Familiar turns. Familiar hills. Familiar footsteps. Familiar breathing. Familiar pace. These things are familiar. This is my 5k course. There are other runners in the neighborhood, but no one else would run this route. It's mine.

And in the familiar I find comfort. Safety. Security. Predictability.

Life is change. Life demands choices. Life leads to the unfamiliar.

In my run. On my course. Through the night. With new thoughts of the familiar. I pray something like this...

Father, I thank you that your character is unchanging from everlasting to everlasting, yet your mercies are new every morning. I celebrate that facing unfamiliar I can rely on you as familiar. I rejoice that you will never leave me or forsake me. I embrace that you hold for me a future & a hope. I rest from my burdens & labor under your gentle hand.

Running on. Praying further. The uncommon warmth of tonight somehow becomes comfortable too. As familiar as waking rested, warm & snuggled together with my wife on a cold winter's morning.

Melanie 24-100

Two years ago I wrote this to describe a day-in-the-life of Melanie in 100 words or less for a Mother's Day writing contest.  I publish it here today, however, for a special purpose.  June 7th marks twelve amazing years of treasuring this incredible God-given gift of a woman as my wife.

100 words. One day.  One wonderwoman.

Quiet. Sleeping. Still. One.

Cold. Snuggling. Warm. Two.

Dreaming. Wonder. Tossing. Three.

Crying. Baby. Nursing. Four.

Peaceful. Perfect. Rest. Five.

Sunlight. Footsteps. Children. Six.

Coffee. Husband. Breakfast. Seven.

Clothes. Dressing. Toothpaste. Eight.

Kisses. Daddy. Bye. Nine.

Buzz. Downstairs. Laundry. Ten.

Reading. Daughter. Laugh. Eleven.

Backpack. Son. School. Noon.

Blanket. Searching. Found. One.

Napping. Doorbell. Package. Two.

Stirring. Awake. Snack. Three.

Carpool. Home. Smiling. Four.

Fridge. Cooking. Supper. Five.

Dishes. Running. Backyard. Six.

Bath. Pajamas. Books. Seven.

Bedtime. Prayers. Goodnight. Eight.

Couch. Unwind. Novel. Nine.

Heavy. Eyes. Closing. Ten.

Bleary. Diaper. Changing. Eleven.

Quiet. Sleeping. Still. Midnight.

Melanie. Wife. Mama. Day.

And in case you are wondering: She won the contest.  Go, Melanie!

I love you always, Aaron.

Hungry

Sweet, little Mary Elizabeth has been sick.  Not strep.  Not flu.  Tested for those.  Just a virus that won't let go.  She has had no desire to eat.  Feels yucky.  Little she does eat.  Won't stay too long.  Listless & hollow.  Wish I could make it all better.

Mama was taking ME to the Pediatrician today.  Infected cut on her hand may be complicating her virus recovery.  Weak immune system thing.  So, Mama, ME & John Mark did a little shopping before Doc.  I met them at the Docs office to take JM home just before noon.

Raiding the fridge at home this hungry Daddy says, "I'm gonna fix some lunch."  JM's toddlerspeak, "I wuhn to eee luhn too-ooo, Dah-dee!"  Fix me a sammy.  Fresh lunchmeat.  Sharp cheddar.  Good stuff.  Fix my boy a quesadilla.  Cheese only.  Microwaved.  Easy stuff.

JM is my linebacker toddler.  The boy can eat.  3/4s of his quesadilla.  A dozen cherries.  Dad knows we need fruit.  And a few bites of Dad's sammy too.  Did I tell you the boy can eat?

About then his Mama calls.  Doctor went well.  Going to get Rx.  What are we doing?

"Just ate lunch," I said.

"John Mark ate again?"  Is the not-too-surprised Mama question.

"I didn't know he ate the first time," I reply looking to see if my boy's belly is bursting.

"Yes, he had SEVEN McNuggets at Walmart.  What'd he eat this time?"  Comes the not-surprised-at-all-now Mama question.

And I told her the story I just told you.

My boy was hungry.

My boy ate.

My boy didn't tell me he'd already had lunch!

My boy.

Had to ask myself.  Am I hungry?  Like Mary Elizabeth with a sickness that keeps me from wanting to eat?  Or like John Mark who can't get enough?

And, what am I hungry for?  What do I come back to the table for?  When I've already eaten?  Can't get enough of?  As the Daddy, the adult, what drives my life?

Blessed are those who hunger & thirst for righteousness,

for they will be filled.  Matthew 5:6

Summer of '89

Nineteen years old.  Idea brimming.  Enthusiasm crazed.  Anything ready. Flying in.  Full of faith.

First vocational ministry position.  Summer Youth Intern.  Faith Baptist Church.  Anchorage, Alaska.  Land of the Midnight Sun.  Views as above from Lake Hood with Chugach Range were out my office window.  Float planes constant.  Mountain splendor ever present.

Serving under my former Youth Pastor & dear friend Sam.  Living with Sam, his wife Cheryl, & one-year-old Samuel.  Eating Cheryl's amazing Alabama cooking with a bread for every meal & deserts too except brekafast.  Driving the Green Machine.  BIG green GMC 4x4 stepside pickup.  Meeting a moose face to grill on my first drive in the Green Machine.  Suffering from "Midnight Fever" as I hardly slept for the first two weeks with latenight sunsets & gorgeous weather.  Experiencing God coming through on choir tour getting us a new church & big crowd in hours time.  Sharing the Cootie Awards as later on choir tour we had a lice outbreak & made the best of the long drive home by giving each other silly awards.  Paying my phone bill in apple juice.  Samuel drank lots of it.  I owed $22.  Drugstore had .99 cents sale on apple juice.  I bought 22 bottles.  Packed for me in liquor boxes.  I carried out with a pair of seventh grade boys.  It was the summer of '89. Learning about life, ministry, & myself all at the same time.

The lessons hold true twenty years later: love Jesus; pray hard; love people; preach the Word; ask questions; laugh out loud; cry when needed; sing for joy; try new things; take life as it comes; give yourself; walk in grace.

Great lessons.

Great place.

Great times.

Great friends.

Great experience.

Greatest God.

What a privilege to serve.

I John Mark

That title is not a typo. And don't worry: The pastor hasn't gone heretical preparing to cite previously unknown scripture from "First" John Mark.

That, readers, is how my two-year old, toddler son refers to himself.

Sweet kid. Rough as a corncob.  Even when he loves you. Big for his age. Genes from Mama's side. Blue-eyed, dimple-cheeked bandit. He'll steal your heart. Tough on the outside, but soft on the inside.  So his perceptive sister says. Got big vocabulary. Yet still learning. How to be himself. Not easy being number three. How to use his words. Can't always communicate what he'd like. Yet with unwavering certainty he asserts himself.

If you were to say to John Mark, "You are so cute!" He'd respond, "No, I John Mark."

If I were to ask him, quoting Mary Elizabeth, "Are you tough on the outside & soft on the inside?" He'd respond, "No, I John Mark."

Most any question. Most any statement.

He responds, "I John Mark."

He doesn't understand that we're just describing a characteristic of who he is. All he knows is that he is. He is "John Mark" period.

If this is still around. If he cares to read it. For the record. Let me state: Yes, my son, you are the one, the only John Mark Householder. Unique. Absolute treasure of your father. Given by God. Made in His image. Filled with His Spirit.

If only when life asked of me, I could respond every time with such unwavering certainty. I am Paul Aaron. Unique. Absolute treasure of my Father. Given to the world by Him. Made in His image. Filled with His Spirit.

Attractive

Got the kids all ready for bed. PJs on. Looking cute. Hair still a bit damp from bathtime. Smelling sweet. I think the Johnson's people must have done lots of research to know that making their shampoo smell like Flintstone vitamins would be pleasing to Daddys.  Sorry, the sweet smell of clean kids got me off story...

So, all five of us are in Seth's room.  Prayer time.  John Mark, two, is usually in bed before his siblings.  He's still awake tonight.  Overly energetic.  I'm kneeling down beside Mary Elizabeth. Trying to bring calm.  Melanie is about to sit on Seth's bed when he announces contrary plans, "I want John Mark to come up here on my bed with me.  Daddy, you come up here."

Me & John Mark together on Seth's bed doesn't compute in my Daddy brain.  Maybe I blew that fuse during my morning sermon prep.  Maybe I tripped that breaker running around with the kids before suppertime. So I ask, "Why do I need to come up there, Buddy?"

In second-grader simple logic Seth states, "John Mark's attracted to you, Daddy.  If you come up here.  He will too."

There you have it, friends.  I am attractive to my two year old son...

At least in the eyes of his almost eight year old brother I am.  That's something, right?  I may have thinning hair, an average face, & a less than stunning physique, but I can attract the toddlers.  Watch out, world!

I have to ask, however, as a Christ-follower: Who am I attractive to? What might make me attractive?

Jesus says he will draw all men to himself if I will lift him up.

He is attractive.

Lift him up.