How to Care for Introverts

When I see photos with quotes or sayings on Facebook I scroll past them. I guess it’s part of my personality. I’d rather hear what the person who is posting the photo has to say. 

But one particular graphic continues to make its way into my newsfeed and I eventually read it. It’s entitled “How to Care for Introverts.” As an introvert, I want to talk about this.

1. Respect their need for privacy.

I don’t think my introversion makes me need anybody to respect my privacy any more than the average person. In fact, once I get to know you, I’m probably more open regarding my privacy than the average person. Maybe those who know me would disagree. If so, I’d be interested in hearing their take.

2. Never embarrass them in public.

Does anybody like to be embarrassed in public?

3. Let them observe first in new situations.

Totally agree. Don’t ask me to participate in something I don’t fully understand.

4. Give them time to think, don’t demand instant answers.

While I have an instant opinion, I don’t always trust it. I need time to process before I can give you a real answer.

5. Don’t interrupt them.

This doesn’t bother me. People interrupt each other in conversation.

6. Give them advance notice of expected changes in their lives.

Seems like a common courtesy.

7. Give them 15 minute warnings to finish whatever they are doing.

This is why I’m an email person, or at least a text before you call person. I charge clients by the hour, which means I track everything I do with a timer. Unexpected phone calls require me to clock out of the job I’m working on so I can pick up the phone. The problem with that is, it’s hard for me to pick up where I left off after the phone call. My flow is gone and I have to try to find it. So yeah, a 15-minute warning is nice.

8. Reprimand them privately.

Does anybody like to be reprimanded publicly?

9. Teach them new skills privately.

Not true for me. I’d rather learn a new skill in a classroom environment. I don’t feel like I’m on the spot as much, and it gives me more time to process what I’m learning.

10. Enable them to find one best friend who has similar interests and abilities.

I don’t understand this one. How does one “enable” someone else to find a best friend? Don’t we naturally gravitate toward people of similar interests? And my best friend doesn’t need to have similar abilities.

11. Don’t push them to make lots of friends.

I don’t understand this one either. If it simply said, “Don’t push them,” I would get it. I hate being pushed. But why would anybody push someone to make lots, or fewer, friends?

12. Respect their introversion, don’t try to remake them into extroverts.

A good rule of thumb for any personality type.

‘Parenthood’ Season Finale Satisfying; Is it the End?

Ray Romano plays Hank
Photo: Tom Caltabiano,
Wikimedia Commons

I wrote an article for Yahoo! Voices about the season four finale of NBC’s Parenthood that aired last night. If you are interested, here’s the beginning of the article, followed by a link.

The season four finale of NBC’s Parenthood felt like a series finale.

Kristina got an all-clear on her cancer, at least for now, and she ended up on a beach in Hawaii with Adam. Drew was accepted into Berkeley, severing ties with Amy, who is bound for Tufts in Boston. Joel and Julia officially adopted Victor. Jasmine tells Crosby she’s pregnant. And Amber and Ryan got back together. Ryan even got his job back.

Sarah’s storyline is a bit of a loose end. She rejected Mark in favor of Hank and then learns Hank is moving to Minnesota to be near his daughter. Even though he asks Sarah to join him there, you get the feeling she won’t. So, maybe her storyline isn’t really a loose end.

The beauty of Parenthood is its humanity. It’s not as much about whether the characters will make the right decisions as it is about how the Braverman family rallies around each other, even when they don’t agree. The overriding theme of the series is that their love for one another conquers their disagreements and heartaches and they find great security in that – so much so that they reach out to others in their own brokenness and pain.

The season finale contained several such moments.

Keep reading

Falling Short

There is no shame in falling short – at least I don’t feel any.

I set a goal in early August to walk 100 miles by December 31. As of this moment, I’ve walked 74.58 miles. But I figure that is 74.58 miles farther than I would have walked without a goal. And I had a lot of fun along the way.

Several people with dogs stopped and chatted with me over the past few months.

One woman had a dog that just wouldn’t leave me alone as we met lap after lap (she was walking clockwise around the track, while I was walking counterclockwise).

“I’m a cat person,” I said. “She probably smells my cat.”

She nodded, but apologized anyway.

An elderly man who was out walking his dog on the trail one day tipped his cap at me as we passed. Not enough people tip their cap anymore. I felt like I was in Mayberry, and I mean that in the best way possible.

Every time I walk, I see something new.

One day I marveled over the energy that kids had as the ran from one end of the field to another, playing soccer. Another day I watched a similarly dressed, similarly talented couple play tennis. I also saw a teenage girl with the arm of Derek Jeter throw out an adult man at first base from the shortstop position. As fall set in, I marveled as the leaves changes colors. And I worshipped as I walked on numerous occasions.

More than once, somebody significantly older passed me on the track. I don’t feel any shame over that either. We’re all walking for different reasons. I’m not in a race with anybody. I’m simply out to improve my health and breathe a little fresh air.

So, in 2013 I’ll set a new goal – maybe 200 miles. We’ll see. But I’m also hoping to interact with more people. And if I do, you’ll probably hear about it.

Renewing a Christmas Tradition

John (left) and I (right) posed with
the 1,735 diapers last year

On Friday night a couple of my friends (Bob and John) and I will be continuing a Christmas tradition in which we pool the money we would ordinarily spend on gifts for each other to buy diapers for our local rescue mission instead.

The tradition has taken on a life of its own. Sometimes, as people we know hear about it, they offer to chip in to help.

One year the rescue mission was low on turkeys, so we bought turkeys instead of diapers. Since so many people we know tossed in a few dollars, we ended up buying every turkey Hy-Vee had in stock. The freezer at the mission was looking pretty thin when we pulled up. Fifteen turkeys certainly didn’t fill it up, but it was a good start.

The last few years, we have gone the diaper route. Last year we were able to pool our money, and the money others donated, and we ended up with enough to buy 1,735 diapers – requiring two shopping carts, which made us pretty happy.

John and Bob (right) posing with the diapers

One year, one of Bob’s co-workers told him she was going to suggest foregoing gifts to her group of friends so they could do something similar. 

The three of us aren’t anything special. We’re just three single dudes who decided it would be better to meet the needs of a couple of people in the community rather than getting another NFL stocking cap or calendar from each other as a gift.

And now I couldn’t imagine doing Christmas with my friends any other way.

From One Generation to the Next

I flipped open a used copy of Mark Levin’s book, Ameritopia, at Half Price Books last night to read the table of contents, and a handwritten note fell out. You can see a picture of it on the right. You may need to click on the photo to make it big enough to read.

The note is from a mother who is writing to her daughter, Holly. Holly’s mother gave her the book because she feels a duty to our ancestors who fought in the American Revolution. She wants Holly to learn about and understand what is going on in the world right now in light of what the founding fathers taught.

You can feel the mother’s passion, but apparently she didn’t get through to Holly with her gift, given that Holly sold the book to a used bookstore, note and all, for a dollar or two. It makes me wonder if Holly even opened the book. If she had, why would she leave her mother’s note inside?

And check out the date on the note: October 29, 2013. Mom got the year wrong. She must have meant to write October 29, 2012 (the book came out in 2012, so it couldn’t have been any other year). If she gave her the book at the end of October – just a little over a month ago, then Holly’s reaction appears to have been a visceral one.

Maybe she is tired of Mom harping on her about why she should care about the founding principles of our nation and she got rid of the book as quickly as she received it. Or tragically, maybe Holly died recently and her possessions, including this book, were dispersed.

I don’t know how the book ended up at Half Price Books, but the note inside makes me feel squeamish. The tone has a hint of condescension and none of us respond well to that. Teaching foundational principles about government, or anything else, has less to do with teaching them, and more to do with showing them.

Think about the best teachers you’ve had in your lifetime. Before you allowed them to shape you, they had to earn the right to do so. In high school, I had an English teacher named Mr. Martin who inspired me to write – partially because of his passion for the written word and partially because he wrote (you can read more about my experience with him here).

He didn’t tell us to write, or try to explain the importance of writing. Instead, we traveled to exciting worlds created by authors and he read some of his own writing to us. Eventually, he started a journal called “Fine Lines” and encouraged us to submit to it. By igniting a passion for the written word inside me, he earned the right to teach me how to write.

Ironically, the introduction of the book Holly’s mother gave her includes this quote from Ronald Reagan: “Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on to them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children’s children what it was once like in the United States where men were free.”

My heart aches for Holly’s mother because her note implies that she didn’t hand on the principles of freedom to Holly as Holly was growing up. Or maybe she did, but Holly just was not open to learning them. Maybe Holly’s mother was late to the party, only coming to an understanding later in life and now she feels desperate to pass along what she has learned. I don’t know. But this post isn’t really about Holly and her mother, nor is it intended to be critical of either of them.

Instead, it prompts this question: how do we pass along the type of freedom Reagan spoke about – one that the founders used to refer to as responsible freedom, rather than one that is self-focused – to the next generation? I would love to hear your thoughts.

Practically speaking, I think we do so by talking about the issues of the day over dinner with our kids. We use our freedom to help others in our communities and we involve our children. We look for teaching moments in pop culture, rather than simply consuming or avoiding it. We get involved and stay involved in the political process, without assassinating the character of our political opponents.

What else?

Thankful

I know this is a little late, given that Thanksgiving was last week. But we always need reminders to be thankful. My pastor showed this video during worship a couple of days ago.



Sure puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?

When You Don't Fit In

Photo: Alisha Vargas

On my long drive home from New Mexico a couple of weeks ago, my mind raced – jumping from topic to topic.

As I mentioned in my recent previous posts, I hit the record button on my phone and processed aloud. This will be the final audio post from that trip.

This one takes on a serious tone – taking on the topic of fitting in, and what happens when you don’t. As a big guy, I’ve been in that situation most of my life. Here are my thoughts on the subject.

If you cannot get the audio player below to work, you can listen by clicking this link.

Serving One Another

Photo: John Hritz

In an age in which ignoring strangers, rather than greeting them, is the norm, I had a pleasant experience on my recent road trip in which someone offered me free coffee and a little conversation.

Her name is Laverne. She works (or maybe volunteers) at a rest stop/vistors center in northern Colorado. She and two other elderly people were working on a jigsaw puzzle when I walked in. She got up and welcomed me.

That is what prompted this eight-minute audio post.

If you cannot get the audio player below to work, you can listen by clicking this link.

The Value of Road Trips

Road trips are usually more stressful than we remember. We have schedules to keep, people to get along with and differing agendas with the people we are visiting. But the road trips themselves are memorable for a reason.

They force us to converse with one another. They provide ample downtime to pray or process. And they give us a chance to listen to a book, album or sermon we’ve been wanting to hear, but just hadn’t had time.

During my most recent trip from New Mexico to Nebraska, I recorded my thoughts about my own road trips and how they have shaped me. As you listen (it’s about eight minutes long) to this audio post, I hope it will spark your own road trips memories from days gone by and that maybe you’ll even share a story about one of them in the comments. I would like that.

If you cannot get the audio player below to work, you can listen by clicking this link.

Our Representatives

Photo: Peter Martorano

I know I’m a day late in posting this. I returned home from a writers conference in New Mexico on Monday night, so I took Tuesday off to recharge my batteries.

Since I did not have much time to blog at the conference, I pressed the play button on my cell phone on my drive home and recorded several messages that have been floating around in my mind as possible blog posts. They are raw and you’ll hear some background noise (such as static from my car stereo), but they are also honest.

I’m calling this first one “Our Representatives,” which is fitting given that election day was yesterday. This isn’t about politics though. It’s about the people we choose to represent our neck of the woods to the rest of the world. I hope you enjoy it. [If you subscribe to this blog via email, you won’t be able to listen to the audio post without clicking through to the blog.]

The first couple of words of this audio post were cut off because I started speaking too early, but you will still get the gist of the message. If you cannot get the audio player below to work, you can listen by clicking this link.

A Plea for Political Passion and Humility

One of my neighbors recently put up a yard sign for the Romney-Ryan ticket. Another neighbor put up a yard sign for a Democratic senate candidate. My Facebook and Twitter feeds are filled with passionate people supporting their candidates.

I’m glad people are passionate about politics because the political process matters. If you don’t believe that, consider how much of your earnings go toward property tax, income tax, automobile tax, gasoline tax, sales tax, communications tax, “sin” taxes, and nearly anything that moves tax. And then there are inheritance taxes, capital gains taxes, and the like. Also, consider the regulations your political leaders set: gun regulations, market regulations, banking regulations, insurance regulations, food safety regulations, employment regulations, trade regulations, environmental regulations, rental property regulations, airport regulations, zoning regulations, licenses and permits and there’s no way to include an exhaustive list here, but you get the point.

Taxes and regulations are necessary, and, dare I say good in many cases. We want safe roads, food, and airports and we need tax money to make that happen. But, everyone would agree we have to draw the line on taxes and regulations somewhere. That’s where our political leaders step in. If you choose the wrong ones, they might draw the line somewhere other than where you prefer or somewhere other than where the U.S. or your state constitution allows.

So, yes politics matter.

But for one reason or another, some of us never got involved in the political process. Some of us have become jaded by the political process and checked out. Some of us believe our political party left us, leaving us as political nomads. Some of us only listen to one side of the argument. In fact, too many of us only listen to only one side of the argument. Some of us vote based on sound bites, likability or political advertisements rather than doing the research ourselves. Some of us are new to the political process and have no historical reference points to realize where our political movement came from, so we have no idea if it is heading in the right direction or not. And some of us have never read the U.S. Constitution or our state constitution, so we have no idea what our political leaders are swearing to uphold.

We’re all in different places. I respect passionate, well informed, kind people who are in process, even if I disagree with them politically, but I cringe during the election season when I hear passionate, sometimes informed, sometimes uninformed, vitriolic people who cannot have a dialogue with people on the other side.

It is possible to be confident and firm in your belief without being mean-spirited. Just as a soft answer turns away wrath, a spirit of humility in a political conversation builds bridges and if a bridge exists, both sides have somewhere to meet to continue the conversation.

My First 50 Miles

If you haven’t listened to worship music
outside, then you haven’t experienced
its full power

I’ll hit the halfway mark of my 100-mile walking goal this week. I set the goal on August 7 with the intention of hitting it by the end of the year. As I have walked, a number of truths have solidified themselves in my mind.

The power of an extra tenth. I have an app on my phone called Endomondo (that Arthur Fonzarelli must have designed: correctamundo?) that tracks my walking using GPS. I hit the start button the second my feet hit the ground and hit the stop button when I arrive back at my van. The four laps I walk, plus the five tenths of a mile to and from the track usually total 1.10 miles. That extra tenth adds up. Every ten times I walk, I gain an extra mile. There’s a life lesson in there somewhere.

The power of music. My taste in music has varied over the years. That has led to an eclectic collection of songs on my iPod and it comes in handy when I’m walking. If you haven’t listened to worship music outside, then you haven’t experienced its full power. If you haven’t listened to Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” during a workout, then you’ve probably never fully experienced an adrenaline rush. And if you haven’t listened to Metallica’s six-minute minute version of “Turn the Page” while traveling by vehicle or foot, then you are missing the power of shared experience. There is a time to listen to music passively, but when you listen to it in motion, it becomes a soundtrack for your life.

The power of encouragement. Many people have sent me encouraging messages since I set this goal. Most of those people are more confident than I am that I’ll reach my goal, but that type of encouragement fuels the fire. I was sick last week and just didn’t feel like walking, so I’m behind schedule now. And next week I’ll be on the road, so I’m not sure how much walking will happen then. But I have this week, and I can hear people cheering me on.

The power of community. The neighborhood I live in is racially diverse, which means the park I walk in is too. I’m enjoying seeing so many people with different skin colors interacting. Once in a while a group will bring a grill and cook out next to the basketball court. They also bring coolers of pop, condiments, and chips and they make an event out of it. And they invite others to join them. There’s nothing like food to bring people together.

Grand Gestures

Clanc-meister turns six today

My mom’s cat, Clanci (whom I affectionately call Clanc-meister), turns six today. I plan to make a big deal out of it, complete with a little cake and a birthday card.

Why do I even know when Clanci’s birthday is and why go to so much trouble for an animal that won’t have a clue why we are singing “Happy Birthday”?

Because making a grand gesture toward Clanci – the cat who keeps my mom company during her routines – will make Mom smile, and laugh.

She will say we are both nuts, and that Clanci is spoiled. And I’ll agree. We’ll enjoy some cake, take a few photos, talk about our favorite Clanci moments and cement another shared memory.

We’ve gone through this routine in the past, but I never really saw it as a grand gesture until I watched the movie Due Date (see the previous post). Peter, who wasn’t all that fond of Ethan early in the storyline, convinces Ethan to toss his father’s ashes into the Grand Canyon by saying, “He deserves a grand gesture.”

Peter didn’t mean Ethan’s father had done anything special to merit a grand gesture, even though he probably had. Instead, he was saying Ethan’s father deserved a grand gesture simply because he was Ethan’s father.

Grand gestures are rooted in love, in the verb sense of the word. It is easy to use the word “love” as a noun – a strong emotional feeling toward someone or something. But using the word as a verb is much more powerful because it shows us what that strong emotional feeling looks like.

Romans 12:10 is a great example.The writer says, “Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor.” In context, the writer is referring to fellow believers in Rome, but the principle still applies – one way of loving one another with brotherly affection is to outdo one another in showing honor.

We can honor one another in hundred different ways – birthday celebrations, anniversary celebrations, cards and letters, a phone call on the anniversary of the death of a loved one, flowers, gifts, plaques, certificates, toasts, an invitation to meet for coffee to celebrate an accomplishment and yes, sometimes even buying someone’s cat a birthday cake.

Most grand gestures are simple to pull off. Sometimes though, I get so caught up in my own life that I forget to do the little thing for someone else. Maybe you do too. But God’s mercies are new every morning.

Naming Inanimate Objects

“Gigi told me to tell you she forgives you for setting her down a little roughly last week,” I told a friend in my bowling league last night. “She wanted to text you to tell you that, but she doesn’t have thumbs.”

“Umm Lee, if you are wondering why you are still single …” my friend’s wife said without finishing her thought. It was all in good fun.

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It’s just kind of creepy that you name your pen.”

I bring a G-2 pen to bowling each week, and really, everywhere I go because you never know when inspiration is going to strike and you might need to jot down something. I’m a little particular about my Pilot G-2 pens and my friends kid me about it, probably justifiably so.

The Gigi idea is new and it just came to me last week after bowling, thinking that G-2 is like saying the letter “G” twice. So G-2 becomes G-G and that becomes Gigi. Maybe you just had to be there, but I thought it was funny.

“How is naming a pen creepy?” I said. “I think it’s endearing.”

She wasn’t buying it.

I’ve never been one to name my car or other possessions. But a few years ago I bought a GPS and during a trip with a friend, he began calling her Garmina (which is just a take on the Garmin brand name). I liked it, so it stuck.

Once in a while, I’ll tell Garmina that I want to go to Starbucks. She’ll lead me to a building that used to be a Starbucks but is now a Hardees. When Garmina leads me astray like that, I get a little upset with her and her call her out by name. It’s more fun that way.

The used van I bought last year is beginning to have some mechanical problems. As I was thinking about those problems a few days ago, a name for her popped into my head: Samantha.

I don’t know where it came from, but it seemed to suit her. When I looked up the meaning of the name for this post, it made even more sense. According to this website, Samantha is Aramaic and it means “listener.” What car doesn’t know a lot about its owner – from the music we like to the conversations we have?

Yeah, it’s all a bit silly. But it is one of the ways I let my hair down around friends. Does that make me creepy? I hope not. What do you think? Do you name inanimate objects? I’d love to hear a good story from you about names you’ve given your cars or some other possession so I don’t feel like I’m off my rocker.

On 9/11 and Filling in the Gaps

Photo: Kenji Ross

The boy, who looked to be about four, tugged on his Chicago Cubs cap and took several practice swings. A man moved in close and tossed him an underhanded pitch. The boy swung and missed.

He missed the next four pitches as well, but did not appear the least bit fazed.

While this appeared to be a competitive game of softball, showcasing talents of people of all ages, exceptions were made for little ones – no strikeouts allowed.

On the sixth pitch, the boy made contact – a dribbler toward the shortstop.

The girl who was playing short, who looked to be maybe 13, was thin as a rail, but she has the arm of Derek Jeter. She threw out grown men on several occasions. So, the play looked to be routine for her.

All of this took place as I walked around the park and I was screened from the play, so I didn’t see what happened next, but the girl with the cannon arm didn’t field the ball cleanly or the ball found a hole. Either way, the boy slid headfirst toward the first base bag, barely beating the throw.

People cheered from the stands as the cloud of dirt settled. The boy stood up, tugged on his cap again, and got ready to advance to second as the next better stepped into the box.

I’m just guessing, but I got the feeling that this was a church group out enjoying a Sunday afternoon at a local park. People of all ages, races, shapes and sizes played. It was beautiful to see. There was something so innocent about it. And then it struck me.

The little boy has no recollection of the events of September 11, 2001. He wasn’t even born yet. And the girl with the cannon arm would have just been two. So, she probably doesn’t have any recollection either. That’s good and bad at the same time.

When they reach an appropriate age though, the people around them will need to fill in the gaps about what happened that day. Otherwise, the events that changed our country will not seem real to them.

My grandmother used to keep a photo of her husband on a stand by her front door. He died 17 years before she did, but she always kept his memory front and center. One of my nieces was born five years after my grandfather died, but she will tell you that she feels like she knew him. The pictures and the stories we shared made her feel that way.

Filling in the gaps for the generation behind us our is responsibility. If we don’t do it, the stories, dreams, beliefs, struggles and triumphs of all the previous generations will die with us.

Two Beautiful Acts of Mercy

Photo: Alex Proimos

The woman shuffled her feet, allowing the cane in her left hand and the Village Inn employee on her right side to help her get from the lobby of the restaurant to her car.

“You got a great spot today,” the male employee said to her. He looked to be 24 or 25. “Right up front.”

She spoke in such a hushed tone that I couldn’t hear anything she said.

Once she got outside, the employee stayed with her, helping her into her car that was parked at a 45-degree angle. I slid into my van, which was parked close by. I couldn’t help but watch.

They chatted for a couple of minutes and then he placed one of his hands on her shoulder as they said goodbye. It made me want to go shake his hand, or go tell his manager about this tender act of mercy. But I got the feeling that this was a common occurrence. Apparently she is a regular. And why wouldn’t she be with service like that?

My mind raced to fill in the gaps of her story.

Is she a widow whose only regular contact with people is at Village Inn? Is she stressed out, thinking about the day she will no longer be able to drive to the restaurant, church or the grocery store? Who will be there for her when that day comes? Are her days of independent living coming to an end, causing her to savor Saturdays like this one in which she can still drive to her favorite restaurant to enjoy her favorite meal that always ends with a nice chat with the employee who goes the extra mile with her?

Two nights later, I was in a different Village Inn with my mom. When we walked in, a woman was seated in the lobby with a walker in front of her. She was waiting for a ride.

“Your cab is here,” said a female employee who has worked at the restaurant for 10 years.

The woman began the laborious process of gathering her things.

“Take your time,” the employee said. “I’ll go tell the driver that you are on your way.”

She came back in and the rustling behind me said she was helping the woman gather her things.

Two beautiful acts of mercy in two restaurants in the same chain across town from one another. Who says chain restaurants can’t have a homey, personal touch?

Three Single Dudes and a Diaper Drive

Years ago, two of my friends – Bob and John – and I stopped giving each other Christmas presents. Instead, we pool the money we would have spent on gifts for each other and we pick up items for a local homeless shelter.

A couple of years ago, we picked up diapers for the shelter's diaper drive. Last year, with the help of a bunch of other people, we were able to buy 15 turkeys and quite a few non-perishable items for the shelter. This year, the shelter sent out an email saying they had an urgent need for larger sized diapers, so that made our decision for us.

We were more experienced this time. Two years ago, a woman saw us struggling to figure out the numbering system on the diaper packaging and she came to our rescue, explaining how it works. That knowledge came in handy. We knew to buy diapers with larger numbers on them since the shelter needed larger sized diapers. But we also picked up a few packages for smaller babies too.

John (left) and Bob (right) pose with the cart full of diapers

Me (left) and Bob (right) pose with the diapers

Two other people donated some money for the cause and we ended up spending $108.00 for 596 diapers. That prompted me to do some math in my head. If the average baby goes through 10 diapers per day – and that's what several websites say – then our 596 diapers would be enough to get two babies through a month or so, or eight babies through one week. Not staggering numbers, but collectively, it all adds up.

Loading the diapers into Bob's vehicle

We dropped the diapers off in a craft store parking lot, where a local radio station that was sponsoring the drive had a small semi-truck waiting to take all the diapers to the shelter. We were met there by an on-air radio personality and several other people who work at the station. We stopped for a couple of photos and then they asked us to go on the air for a minute, which we did.

Me, John and Bob

A view of the 300,000 diapers in the truck

As we chatted with one of the radio station workers, he told us they collected about 300,000 diapers so far. You can see from the truck above, they still had plenty of room for more. A slow, steady stream of people dropped off diapers while we were there. There was one more day remaining in the diaper drive and I'm hoping they were able to fill the truck completely. A full truck of diapers for families in need won't solve all the problems in the world, or even in the city, but it'll make a difference. And that means something.

Chasing Moe

Maybe Moe just wanted to say hi.
(Photo: Ludovic Bertron)

The mouse must have felt brave. And why wouldn't he? He could probably sense I have no mouse catching experience.

He sat there on my friend Kathy's kitchen throw rug, nose twitching, surveying the area to figure out his next heist while Kathy and I sat in the living room. I could see clearly into the kitchen from my vantage point. Kathy could not.

"Did you know you have a mouse in the house?"

"Yes, but I haven't seen him," she said.

"He's sitting right there on your throw rug in the kitchen."

"Are you serious?"

We got up and the mouse scurried across the kitchen floor and up the baseboard leading to the cupboards on ground level. Apparently the baseboard isn't completely enclosed, giving our new friend access to everything inside the cupboards.

"He's been in everything," Kathy said. "He even chewed the wrappers off the cough drops in the top drawer."

The mouse's little tail hung out of the baseboard. I couldn't help but think about the mouse story Rush Limbaugh tells about the time he captured a mouse in a trash can, and not knowing what to do with it, he reached for cooking spray, thinking he could kill the mouse with it. The mouse loved the buttery spray so much he rolled around in it. So, rather than killing the mouse, Rush made the mouse feel like he was in mouse heaven – a place where buttery spray falls from the sky.

I felt about as helpless as Rush did.

"What do you want me to do?" I said.

We decided to grab a bowl to see if I could capture him in it. How hard could it be? When Kathy shut the cupboard door I took the bowl from, the mouse shot out of the other cupboard, crashed into the nearby wall and dashed into the living room.

Kathy screamed and danced a little jig. I laughed.

The mouse, who has since been named Moe, got away. I looked under and behind furniture in the living room, but Moe was long gone. So, I still haven't caught a mouse.

Kathy is blogging about the incident over on her Caring Bridge journal (check out the entries for December 3, 4 and 6). Since I left, Moe reappeared and Kathy found a way to place a large bowl over him. She left him there for two days before her son-in-law finally came over and got rid of Moe, who was dead.

Kathy lost her husband just before Thanksgiving 2009. She has also been fighting cancer. On her Caring Bridge journal she said someone asked her if all the excitement caused by Moe lessened her physical pain. She said she wasn't sure, but the diversion did take her mind off the cancer.

If that's true, then Moe had a purpose. And I'm glad he found it.

A Feel Good Christmas Story

A couple of my friends and I continued one of our Christmas traditions last weekend. Four or five years ago, we stopped exchanging gifts and decided to pool the money we used to spend on those gifts to pick up supplies for our local homeless shelter. The past couple of years, the shelter's website said they needed diapers, so three single guys who don't have any children ventured into diaper world to try to figure out which ones to buy. I wrote about that last year.

This year the shelter's website said they needed turkey and everything that goes with it. One of the guys in our group, Bob, sent out an email to his co-workers to ask if they wanted to chip in. Then he started calling various supermarkets asking if they'd give us a discount. By the time we headed to the grocery story, we had $225.00 and a 5% discount, thanks to the generosity of people who wanted to help.

We were able to purchase 15 turkeys:

And a whole lot more (that's my friend John in the foreground and me in the background):

The store clerk who rang us up said he'd never seen anybody buy so many turkeys at once.

We drove to the shelter and somebody pointed us to a cart we could use to bring the food inside (here's a shot of my friend Bob after all the turkeys were loaded):

Somebody from the mission came out and helped us box up everything:

We took the food inside, met the chef, and talked briefly with a man who is going through the new life recovery program. No doubt about it, it was a feel good moment, but when you look around, there is still so much need. There's more to the story though. Bob heard from a group of his co-workers who plan to duplicate what we've been doing. They are going to stop exchanging gifts at Christmas, pool the money they would have spent on those gifts, and use it to help others.

Now that is cool.

Brandilyn Collins Helps Homeless Woman and Daughter

How about a positive story to start the new year off right? You’ve heard a lot of stories about technology being used for the wrong reasons. Here’s a story about technology being used to help people in need.

Brandilyn Collins is a Christian suspense novelist. A woman named Liz Hughes from the San Jose, California area has been reading Brandilyn’s books for the past four years. Liz is a widow with a 16-year-old daughter named Katy. Liz hasn’t been able to find work for the past couple of years so they have been struggling financially. Recently, they became homeless and were living in a car. Katy began to blog about her experience using the internet connections at restaurants and cafes. Here’s a link to Katy’s blog called Anywhere But Here.

When Collins found out about Liz and Katy, she wrote about them on her blog Forensics & Faith. She also began to write about their plight on Twitter. People wanted to know how they could help. Collins began accepting donations for them and then she went to see them. She took $971 in donations with her and they were able to get into a hotel. You can read more about all of this on Collins’ blog. A local ABC affiliate heard about the situation and went out and did a story about Liz and Katy. You can watch the video by clicking here.

Liz and Katy are far from being out of the woods, but thanks to Collins and the people who rallied around her words, things are far better than they were just a few days ago. You can get involved by going to either Katy’s blog or Brandilyn’s blog.