The hardest thing right now for me, in regards to working out, is just plain lack of time. I've tried getting up early, but then I lose sleep. I don't want to get all sweaty on my lunch hour, and its usually full, anyway. Finally, I've just given in to the fact that I have to do it between dinner and bedtime, around managing the kids. Nothing ideal about it.
But isn't that life?
It usually seems that the most important things in life are also the least convenient. Making the most of a teachable moment, pausing to talk to a stranger...the list is endless. It seems like the convenient things are, well, just tasteless. Like a microwave meal. Yeah, they get the job done, but they don't really satisfy the way sacrifice does.
So I just spent 10 minutes on the AirDyne in our basement, and had a good stretch afterwards. Nothing glamorous, far from ideal, but I feel good. Kiah laughed at me, Zemi was watching Shaun the Sheep, it worked out pretty well.
Now, I want to bring some clarification to a few things. I'm not embarking on this journey of diet and overall health because of a health scare or New Years Resolution or anything. I'm weighing in at 215, which isn't too bad for being 6' 3". I wasn't eating great, but not terrible, either. I'm not in shape, but I could run a couple miles if I wanted to. Strength-wise I'm stronger than I've ever been, thanks to hauling a couple 30lb wiggle-worms around all the time. I'm just kind of all around in the middle.
Dare I say: convenient.
And that's why I'm making some changes, making some sacrifices, making things more inconvenient for myself - because it means something, and because its satisfying. I really only have one true health goal, and that is to lay my hands on my great-great-grandchildren and bless them. Sure I'll set short term goals here and there, but I really just want to be around for a while, and see my family grow.
I have a very poignant childhood memory, regarding a Schwartz (Grandma's maiden name, and yes, it's Amish) family reunion. Like most things, you don't realize the value of the moment until you're older. Shortly after the meal, they would have each family head (my great grandpa) stand up, and his/her family would be around them. The entire family, stemming from my great-great grandparents, filled a pole barn. I remember being amazed at how many people came from just two.
Now, my great grandpa was one of 14 (mom, correct me if I'm wrong), and Amish are a pretty fruitful bunch, so it's easy to see how the barn was filled, but looking back on it now I can't help but think: how cool would it have been for my great-great grandparents to be there? That's my dream. Line everybody up, bless them all, then put me out to pasture.
So that's why I spent 10 minutes on the bike tonight. I'm sowing a small seed into a moment 3/4 of a century from now. It's going to be awesome.
Be blessed,
Phil
Monday, January 7, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
In Review
I love taking time every so often and looking through my old journals. I always come away encouraged. It was the same looking through my old blog posts. It's fun seeing thoughts evolve from ponderings to core values. It's also encouraging to see that, yes, I can survive tough seasons.
So I'm breathing new life into the blog. Gave it a face lift, complete with a young picture of me in a cape! It will continue to be a collecting place for thoughts, and a release for when they build up inside of me. I also want to document my transition to a pescetarian diet (vegetarian + fish). Should be a fun trip, I'll be glad to have you along!
Be blessed,
Phil
So I'm breathing new life into the blog. Gave it a face lift, complete with a young picture of me in a cape! It will continue to be a collecting place for thoughts, and a release for when they build up inside of me. I also want to document my transition to a pescetarian diet (vegetarian + fish). Should be a fun trip, I'll be glad to have you along!
Be blessed,
Phil
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Spring of Sprangs Gone By
Early spring is my absolute favorite time of year. I love the first few warm days that signal a shift in weather patterns. I do enjoy the hidden secrecy of winter (see my last post), but mostly because I know the role it plays in preparation for spring. But this time of year it feels like the entire earth is intoxicated with joy. Everyone you meet seems like they have shaken off the heavy winter daze, and exchanged it for a lighthearted smile. Amusingly, the common thread, though underlying, always seems to be "we made it!" We survived. Like in the Psalms, where the Israelites shook off the weight of their long captivity in a foreign country proclaimed "we were like those who dreamed." People everywhere seem just downright happy.
In my last post, I described the woods in winter like C.S. Lewis's frozen world of Charn. Spring is like the dawning world of Narnia. The very air seems pregnant with potential. The things we dreamed up over the winter, the plans we laid out on a piece of paper, get put into motion. Today, I planted my first round of seeds for my garden this year. I'll soon be buying materials for more updates. I saw a robin. I've killed two spiders. Things are moving and changing. New beginnings are everywhere. One of the things I love the most is the surge of energy I get this time of year. I'm up early and late, planting seeds, taking notes, and just putting things in motion. Everything in me says "go time."
Also, soon I will be brewing what will hopefully become a trademark early-spring tradition: Maple Wheat. It's my first shot at an original recipe, rather than buying a pre-put-together kit.
Aside from all that, though, I really believe that the shift to spring really touches something deep in me. To me, this is what heaven on earth looks like. Winter is like the "deep darkness covering the earth," and spring is the "arise and shine." The world inoculated with the creative potential of God. Calling things that aren't as though they are, and watching the things that seemed dead begin to bud. Shedding heavy winter garments and heavy winter hearts. Life is everywhere!
May this season be an encouragement to you,
PB
In my last post, I described the woods in winter like C.S. Lewis's frozen world of Charn. Spring is like the dawning world of Narnia. The very air seems pregnant with potential. The things we dreamed up over the winter, the plans we laid out on a piece of paper, get put into motion. Today, I planted my first round of seeds for my garden this year. I'll soon be buying materials for more updates. I saw a robin. I've killed two spiders. Things are moving and changing. New beginnings are everywhere. One of the things I love the most is the surge of energy I get this time of year. I'm up early and late, planting seeds, taking notes, and just putting things in motion. Everything in me says "go time."
Also, soon I will be brewing what will hopefully become a trademark early-spring tradition: Maple Wheat. It's my first shot at an original recipe, rather than buying a pre-put-together kit.
Aside from all that, though, I really believe that the shift to spring really touches something deep in me. To me, this is what heaven on earth looks like. Winter is like the "deep darkness covering the earth," and spring is the "arise and shine." The world inoculated with the creative potential of God. Calling things that aren't as though they are, and watching the things that seemed dead begin to bud. Shedding heavy winter garments and heavy winter hearts. Life is everywhere!
May this season be an encouragement to you,
PB
Saturday, January 21, 2012
The Woods in Winter
I wrote this on one of my lunchtime walks along the Dead River:
I love the pulse of the woods in winter. It's slow, subtle, hidden. There is a sacred quiet, that forbids you to speak or even to think. It pulls you into it's stillness, it's dormancy. It's not a defeated stillness, it's one of utter rest, seemingly frozen in time. Life is there, but it seems encased inside living sculptures. The only sounds of life are those of a handful of winter birds, and maybe some squirrels. Even these behave as if they are stowaways wandering about a forbidden museum.
There is something mysterious about the frozen forest. With the undergrowth dormant or locked in seeds awaiting spring, the landscape opens up and reveals it's secrets. There are paths and routes that were before hidden from you. The landscape itself changes every day as snow accumulates, drifts, and settles. One day there is evidence that there were other strangers wandering the alien terrain, the next day their traces are gone. The wind is devoid of the wet slapping of leaves in the summer, or the dry crackling of autumn, nor does it carry the sweet scent of promise in the spring. It sounds ethereal, distant, with it's hollow whooshing, deterred only by empty branches and conifer needles. Wind in it's pure and ancient form, able to blow through your very bones.
There is something exhilarating about wandering through the woods in this season. You are in a hostile environment, trusting in your ability to return to the safety of the warmer indoor climate. You feel, on a deep level, "I shouldn't be here," much like Digory and Polly as they explored the frozen and fading world of Charn. But it is only in this season that, once the risk is accepted, the forest shares her deepest secrets.
I love the pulse of the woods in winter. It's slow, subtle, hidden. There is a sacred quiet, that forbids you to speak or even to think. It pulls you into it's stillness, it's dormancy. It's not a defeated stillness, it's one of utter rest, seemingly frozen in time. Life is there, but it seems encased inside living sculptures. The only sounds of life are those of a handful of winter birds, and maybe some squirrels. Even these behave as if they are stowaways wandering about a forbidden museum.
There is something mysterious about the frozen forest. With the undergrowth dormant or locked in seeds awaiting spring, the landscape opens up and reveals it's secrets. There are paths and routes that were before hidden from you. The landscape itself changes every day as snow accumulates, drifts, and settles. One day there is evidence that there were other strangers wandering the alien terrain, the next day their traces are gone. The wind is devoid of the wet slapping of leaves in the summer, or the dry crackling of autumn, nor does it carry the sweet scent of promise in the spring. It sounds ethereal, distant, with it's hollow whooshing, deterred only by empty branches and conifer needles. Wind in it's pure and ancient form, able to blow through your very bones.
There is something exhilarating about wandering through the woods in this season. You are in a hostile environment, trusting in your ability to return to the safety of the warmer indoor climate. You feel, on a deep level, "I shouldn't be here," much like Digory and Polly as they explored the frozen and fading world of Charn. But it is only in this season that, once the risk is accepted, the forest shares her deepest secrets.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
My Food has a Face
*blows dust off blog*
Phew! What a busy summer. It's been so incredibly awesome, though! Watching my family grow, watching my garden grow, having some great times with close friends. My heart feels so full. It's been a summer of transitions. New house, new baby, and I'm also transitioning out of media ministry. It's been a great 5 1/2 years, and I'm really excited as to where it's heading next. It's in the hands of some great, passionate people. I'm also excited about having some down time with my family, and investing more in our community, now that we have put roots down here. New season, new adventures, little scary but here we go!
Speaking of investing in the community, today made me smile. Every Tuesday, I pick up a gallon of fresh raw milk from Hidden Acres Farm at the Marquette Baking Company. The same lady is always working there, and to show my appreciation of their participation in the program, I usually buy a few cookies. And because they are really, really good (especially the chocolate/cayenne ones). Today she gave me a free coconut macaroon, and as I walked back to the car, fresh milk in one hand, fresh cookies in the other (coconut one in my mouth), I thought to myself "This is the beauty of eating locally." My food comes with a face. I know the people that produce it. We get our beef from Seeds N Spores, not just because it's good, but because we're building a relationship with them. Leanne Hatfield gives Zemi strawberries at the Farmer's Market, and we chat and give her a big hug at the fair. We tell William Aho at Hidden Acres about how one of the jars broke and spilled a half gallon of milk in our car (no crying allowed), and he laughs and says "don't worry about it."
That's why we eat local and organic. I smile at the shocked faces when I tell them I pay $7.25 a gallon for milk, but it's worth it. I'm not just paying for the end product. We view our money as seeds, as an investment, and we're choosing to sow into local, sustainable, high-quality agriculture. Not just the fruits of it, but into the lives that produce the fruits of it.
As fall wanes into winter, I'll have (hopefully) more time to blog and expand on these thoughts some. I also am planning on diving into some nutrition stuff, too. Stay tuned!
Phew! What a busy summer. It's been so incredibly awesome, though! Watching my family grow, watching my garden grow, having some great times with close friends. My heart feels so full. It's been a summer of transitions. New house, new baby, and I'm also transitioning out of media ministry. It's been a great 5 1/2 years, and I'm really excited as to where it's heading next. It's in the hands of some great, passionate people. I'm also excited about having some down time with my family, and investing more in our community, now that we have put roots down here. New season, new adventures, little scary but here we go!
Speaking of investing in the community, today made me smile. Every Tuesday, I pick up a gallon of fresh raw milk from Hidden Acres Farm at the Marquette Baking Company. The same lady is always working there, and to show my appreciation of their participation in the program, I usually buy a few cookies. And because they are really, really good (especially the chocolate/cayenne ones). Today she gave me a free coconut macaroon, and as I walked back to the car, fresh milk in one hand, fresh cookies in the other (coconut one in my mouth), I thought to myself "This is the beauty of eating locally." My food comes with a face. I know the people that produce it. We get our beef from Seeds N Spores, not just because it's good, but because we're building a relationship with them. Leanne Hatfield gives Zemi strawberries at the Farmer's Market, and we chat and give her a big hug at the fair. We tell William Aho at Hidden Acres about how one of the jars broke and spilled a half gallon of milk in our car (no crying allowed), and he laughs and says "don't worry about it."
That's why we eat local and organic. I smile at the shocked faces when I tell them I pay $7.25 a gallon for milk, but it's worth it. I'm not just paying for the end product. We view our money as seeds, as an investment, and we're choosing to sow into local, sustainable, high-quality agriculture. Not just the fruits of it, but into the lives that produce the fruits of it.
As fall wanes into winter, I'll have (hopefully) more time to blog and expand on these thoughts some. I also am planning on diving into some nutrition stuff, too. Stay tuned!
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
A Month? Really?
Wow, a month since the last post! I'm still blown away by how fast time goes. I've been told by those older than I that it doesn't slow down at all, either. Melinda and I were just talking about that the other day, about how you just want to hold onto each day but they just seem to rush past so fast (kind of like flipping through music in album view in iTunes). When I was a kid, time seemed so much slower. Summers seemed endless. So did school days. It seems backwards that now, when I have so much that I care about, it is just zipping by. So, in thinking about this, I came to the conclusion that I can't be slow-minded when thinking about life. The picture that comes to mind are those crazy rock climbers who basically throw themselves from handhold to handhold. There's no time to sit and weigh the options, it's just going for it. It takes knowing exactly where you're going, and having a set of core principles that determine your actions. As much as I want to hold on to every moment with my family, I can't. So rather than lament my lack of time-travel abilities, what can I do? It really takes dreaming with God and seeing what He has 20-30 years down the road, and then locking in on that. Letting these core values and future dreams and goals be the constellations that continually orient this ship screaming along at a breakneck pace.
Anyway, enough of the philosophical, slightly abstract stuff. I read a quote today "nostalgia ain't what it used to be."
So here's the last month:
Kiah is doing great. Such a strong child. He almost rolled over tonight! In a half hour he'll be a month old. Zemi is transitioning into big sisterhood really well. This Sunday she will turn two (not going to drift back into paragraph one). We've been pursuing (for the most part) healthy, sustainable food. This week we sent in a check to purchase a cow share, which means we will soon be drinking organic, grass-fed raw milk! Pretty excited about it. Our goal is for our diet to be well-rounded, organic, whole foods. As unprocessed as practical. I'd love to get to the place where most of it is produced locally, too. Another star in the constellation.
Most of our life has been a blur. We've had friends and family come and visit and stay with us. We've had a lot of laughs and great times these past few weeks. Brewing beer, pouring concrete, watching thunderstorms, mowing the lawn, having my heart filled at "papa lola's" as Zemi puts it, laughing, and getting a little bit of precious sleep when I can. Bringing back a phrase from an earlier post: man I didn't know it could be this good.
I'm still doing my best to study the end-times teachings, too. I just finished doing word studies on "Last Day," "Last Days," "Latter Days," "Day of the Lord," and "Day of Judgement." I wrote notes on each of the verses I found, but I'm mainly going to use them as reference points, and then take it book by book. I'll post my notes from the book studies, probably starting with Daniel. I've been learning about, or rather learning that I need to learn about, the apocalyptic phraseology that the prophets used. Also things like how ancient Hebrew poetry is structured, etc. Totally different perspectives for me, but I have to remember, I'm a 21st Century Westerner, and this was written in the ancient Middle East. They didn't write like we do. I've been listening to people like David Pawson and Dr. Kelly Birks, too. Opposite ends of the spectrum, but I want to make sure I have a well-rounded diet in this, too, because it is really, really easy to read my biases into the text, and not let the text determine my biases. Kind of like walking a tightrope at times, but it's good!
So there's the past month. Scattered, fun, incredible. Now I'm off to try to catch the elusive wonder we call "sleep."
PB
Anyway, enough of the philosophical, slightly abstract stuff. I read a quote today "nostalgia ain't what it used to be."
So here's the last month:
Kiah is doing great. Such a strong child. He almost rolled over tonight! In a half hour he'll be a month old. Zemi is transitioning into big sisterhood really well. This Sunday she will turn two (not going to drift back into paragraph one). We've been pursuing (for the most part) healthy, sustainable food. This week we sent in a check to purchase a cow share, which means we will soon be drinking organic, grass-fed raw milk! Pretty excited about it. Our goal is for our diet to be well-rounded, organic, whole foods. As unprocessed as practical. I'd love to get to the place where most of it is produced locally, too. Another star in the constellation.
Most of our life has been a blur. We've had friends and family come and visit and stay with us. We've had a lot of laughs and great times these past few weeks. Brewing beer, pouring concrete, watching thunderstorms, mowing the lawn, having my heart filled at "papa lola's" as Zemi puts it, laughing, and getting a little bit of precious sleep when I can. Bringing back a phrase from an earlier post: man I didn't know it could be this good.
I'm still doing my best to study the end-times teachings, too. I just finished doing word studies on "Last Day," "Last Days," "Latter Days," "Day of the Lord," and "Day of Judgement." I wrote notes on each of the verses I found, but I'm mainly going to use them as reference points, and then take it book by book. I'll post my notes from the book studies, probably starting with Daniel. I've been learning about, or rather learning that I need to learn about, the apocalyptic phraseology that the prophets used. Also things like how ancient Hebrew poetry is structured, etc. Totally different perspectives for me, but I have to remember, I'm a 21st Century Westerner, and this was written in the ancient Middle East. They didn't write like we do. I've been listening to people like David Pawson and Dr. Kelly Birks, too. Opposite ends of the spectrum, but I want to make sure I have a well-rounded diet in this, too, because it is really, really easy to read my biases into the text, and not let the text determine my biases. Kind of like walking a tightrope at times, but it's good!
So there's the past month. Scattered, fun, incredible. Now I'm off to try to catch the elusive wonder we call "sleep."
PB
Thursday, June 30, 2011
No Looking Back
I love it when I have to live up to my own words. OK not always. A couple posts ago I was pondering on how life isn't about being comfortable in seasons, but about learning how to navigate through them and transition between them well. I thought it was a pretty good statement, it even got a mention on a good friend's facebook page.
Now I get to live it.
Yesterday morning (12:57am) our son, Hezekiah Reign, was born. He had an incredible birth. He was born at home, in our bedroom, about as natural as you can get. My wife will be blogging the birth story on her blog at sometime in the near future, so keep checking. I just want to say how absolutely awesome home birth is. It was us, our wonderful midwife Sandy (who thankfully made it in time!), and our dear friend Liz. It was intimate, peaceful, joyful, loving, and dare i say fun. There was intensity, for sure, but a good kind of intensity. There was nothing scary about it. There was nothing invasive about it. The atmosphere was full of honor and respect and praise. When Melinda was holding back on pushing while the last half a centimeter opened up Sandy matched the intensity of the moment with her prayer. She prayed over the baby as soon as it was out. Words can't describe how amazing it was. After an herbal bath I got to cuddle up with Melinda and the baby in our own bed, in our own house. Despite the kid pumping out meconium like there's no tomorrow, it was super peaceful and cozy. Barring any complications, all of our kids will be born at home. There really is nothing like it.
Now the season change. Like most, even if you know it's coming you really can't see it coming. To put it bluntly, being a father of two is hard. I grew up an only child. I was thirteen when my sister was born, so I was already pretty independent and it wasn't a huge transition for me. Zemirah, on the other hand, is just under two. While she loves Kiah and is great with him, I can tell that even at that young there's a transition she's going through. So far she's doing great, but my father radar is going off saying "sensitive time, sensitive time!" While not necessarily a make-or-break situation, I'm acutely aware that I could easily hurt her heart by prioritizing the baby over her. Which is tough because Kiah's in a sensitive spot, too, and I really want to bond with him in his first few days of life. So far it's been good. I feel I've been balancing well, and I've tried to not separate it so much into "Zemi time" and "Kiah time," but more spend time with them together. But, as Jason Upton puts it, "it ain't easy, learning to love like You."
So I've found myself encouraging myself with my own words. I keep singing the line from Hallelujah by Jake Hamilton that goes "to live Your dream is quite the cost, just don't look back, and don't get lost." I spend some time in Philippians 3, one of my anchor-verses. Pressing on, forgetting what's behind and straining toward what's ahead. Striving to lay hold of that for which Christ laid hold of me. Because if, when I'm rocking Zemi to sleep at night, I stay in the place of trying to hold onto the time when she was my only child, I'll stay rooted in the past. I'll become the 40 year-old high school football star. And because, as a father, I determine the culture of our household, we'll all stay rooted in the past, viewing those days as the golden days. I can't do that. Though the transition feels, at times, like I'm just hanging on for dear life, I know we can shift from being a family of three to a family of four in a way where everyone is honored, no one loses out or gets pushed aside, and our love for each other grows and deepens. The future just keeps getting brighter.
So that's where I'm at tonight. Working on giving my son the best start to life possible, walking with my daughter through her first major season change, and encouraging my wife as her body shifts seasons, too. Though it's hard, I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Good night,
PB
Now I get to live it.
Yesterday morning (12:57am) our son, Hezekiah Reign, was born. He had an incredible birth. He was born at home, in our bedroom, about as natural as you can get. My wife will be blogging the birth story on her blog at sometime in the near future, so keep checking. I just want to say how absolutely awesome home birth is. It was us, our wonderful midwife Sandy (who thankfully made it in time!), and our dear friend Liz. It was intimate, peaceful, joyful, loving, and dare i say fun. There was intensity, for sure, but a good kind of intensity. There was nothing scary about it. There was nothing invasive about it. The atmosphere was full of honor and respect and praise. When Melinda was holding back on pushing while the last half a centimeter opened up Sandy matched the intensity of the moment with her prayer. She prayed over the baby as soon as it was out. Words can't describe how amazing it was. After an herbal bath I got to cuddle up with Melinda and the baby in our own bed, in our own house. Despite the kid pumping out meconium like there's no tomorrow, it was super peaceful and cozy. Barring any complications, all of our kids will be born at home. There really is nothing like it.
Now the season change. Like most, even if you know it's coming you really can't see it coming. To put it bluntly, being a father of two is hard. I grew up an only child. I was thirteen when my sister was born, so I was already pretty independent and it wasn't a huge transition for me. Zemirah, on the other hand, is just under two. While she loves Kiah and is great with him, I can tell that even at that young there's a transition she's going through. So far she's doing great, but my father radar is going off saying "sensitive time, sensitive time!" While not necessarily a make-or-break situation, I'm acutely aware that I could easily hurt her heart by prioritizing the baby over her. Which is tough because Kiah's in a sensitive spot, too, and I really want to bond with him in his first few days of life. So far it's been good. I feel I've been balancing well, and I've tried to not separate it so much into "Zemi time" and "Kiah time," but more spend time with them together. But, as Jason Upton puts it, "it ain't easy, learning to love like You."
So I've found myself encouraging myself with my own words. I keep singing the line from Hallelujah by Jake Hamilton that goes "to live Your dream is quite the cost, just don't look back, and don't get lost." I spend some time in Philippians 3, one of my anchor-verses. Pressing on, forgetting what's behind and straining toward what's ahead. Striving to lay hold of that for which Christ laid hold of me. Because if, when I'm rocking Zemi to sleep at night, I stay in the place of trying to hold onto the time when she was my only child, I'll stay rooted in the past. I'll become the 40 year-old high school football star. And because, as a father, I determine the culture of our household, we'll all stay rooted in the past, viewing those days as the golden days. I can't do that. Though the transition feels, at times, like I'm just hanging on for dear life, I know we can shift from being a family of three to a family of four in a way where everyone is honored, no one loses out or gets pushed aside, and our love for each other grows and deepens. The future just keeps getting brighter.
So that's where I'm at tonight. Working on giving my son the best start to life possible, walking with my daughter through her first major season change, and encouraging my wife as her body shifts seasons, too. Though it's hard, I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Good night,
PB
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