Roosevelt, My Dog

I have decided that it is time to write a little bit about my dog, Roosevelt. From the years of 1994 to 2005, Roosevelt was a highlight of my life. In 1994 my oldest brother Jim brought home a little furball from one of his many adventures. My mother said that it absolutely was NOT staying and that the 'thing' had to be gone the next day. The furball slept in Jim’s room that night before being taken away in the morning. Jim put him in a small kennel in his room until his eviction the next morning. Jim is a heavy sleeper. Heavy enough that he apparently didn’t hear the yelping of the furball that was audible throughout the 701 area code (The entire state of North Dakota). My mother could not sleep with this racket so she grabbed said furball to quiet it down. Needless to say, love was forged, the furball stayed, and the name Roosevelt was bestowed upon him in honor of Teddy Roosevelt, a famous former resident of North Dakota.

Floods of memories, very good memories, come pouring over my heart when I think back to the experiences Roosevelt and I had together. Jim bought him, but moved away to college a year later. My dad trained him, so he was Roosevelt's ‘master’. I think the family can agree that he was my dog, and I was his boy.

Roosevelt grew very large very quickly. I remember when he scared himself with his first deep bark. He never did find the big dog that barked at him. I remember when I dropped to my knees in the backyard and this 'puppy' jumped on me with such velocity that he pinned me on my back with my knees stuck under me. We also discovered Roosevelt's inherent love for little spheres that he could hold in his mouth. Baseballs, softballs, tennis balls, he'd try to chase them all, even if it was during a little league game of mine and he wasn't supposed to come on the field.

On road trips in our old family van I would sit in the back seat and Roosevelt would sit with his head next to my shoulder, sniffing the wind through the crack of the window, smearing slobber all over the glass. Or, if my mom had given me some pickled three-bean salad concoction to eat, Roosevelt was the gracious recipient of all of the kidney beans, and the van was the not-so-gracious recipient of, well.. you know. But seriously, why would you try to pickle kidney beans? It cannot be done.
My brother AT and I would sometimes throw pieces of angel food cake to Roosevelt. After conditioning him to catch the tasty treat, we would toss a crumpled napkin (looking deceptively like a piece of cake) his way. He never should have trusted me.

I have never seen a living thing more terrified of the doctor than Roosevelt. The vet wasn’t even in sight and his entire body would be trembling in the back of the van. I have also never seen a living thing display more love and affection that when I would pick him up from the vet or groomers, which were cruelly placed in the same building.

When Roosevelt was 7-8 years old some lumps were found on his leg. After removing some of the tumors, it was discovered that they were cancerous, and radiation therapy would need to be performed to stop the spread. For us, there was no question of what needed to be done, although this was not a time of great financial wealth in my family. Every couple weeks we would make the three-hour drive to Pontiac, MI to take Roosevelt for radiation treatments. The staff naturally fell in love with this gentle giant, and he was dearly missed when he returned home for the last time with no traces of cancer.

On May 21, 2005, I left my parents’ home to begin my journey to bootcamp in San Diego. My family prayed together and were hugging each other goodbye. I was headed off to become a lean, mean fighting machine (or so I thought), so crying was out of the question. Until I saw my dog. In a scene I will forever have etched in my memories, my family parted and I saw Roosevelt sitting at the base of the stairs, looking at me with the saddest, most faithfully loving eyes I may ever see. I cried. I kissed him on the the nose and said, “Goodbye, puppy. I love you.”

Bootcamp was a bustle of activity that now mostly remains in my memories as a very long, bad dream. In the final weeks we were granted one of our two phone calls of the three months. My parents were my call. My dad answered, and after realizing that it was me he said, “You must have received the letter.” I hadn’t received the letter he was referring to, and to this day I do not know how or why, but I immediately knew that Roosevelt had died. His cancer had returned aggressively, and with his age, little could be done. My dad brought him home from the vet and prayed that he wouldn’t have to take him in to put him to sleep. The next morning my dad found Roosevelt in one of his favorite spots in the house; he had died in his sleep. I found out in the phone call a few days later. I was initially devastated that I was not able to see Roosevelt to say goodbye, but I quickly realized that I was blessed to have the goodbye with him that I did, and that I was spared from some devastating final days with him.

Roosevelt’s death coincided with the beginning of a new chapter in my life; one that is now about to close. The innocence of a boy and his dog was about to depart, and I would be exposed to more harsh realities of a fallen world than I ever expected to witness in a lifetime.

Roosevelt was an excellent example of love. Unconditional love. There were the rare occasions when I would be furious with him, but even in my visible, sometimes unjustified anger, he would show me love. He never held a grudge. He never showed partiality (well.. there was that one salesman). He never lashed out in anger. He would lay prostrate on the garage floor sticking his nose under a crack we left for him in the garage door, waiting for his family to return. His whole body would wag when I would come home from school. On my first day to school in Michigan, Roosevelt rode with us to school. When my mom opened the back gate of the van after returning home, he didn't move. He stayed in the van all day until we came home. He would stay in the snow to play with me until his paws bled.

Roosevelt also taught me about persistence, faithfulness, and sincerity. He definitely couldn't tell a lie. His tail between his legs was his tell. He brought my family closer together, helping us to grow in our love for each other. In some challenging years for my family, he remained a stalwart beacon of fun and levity for our home life. I praise and thank God for the blessing and lessons and memories that I was able to draw from one of my closest friends.

Have I mentioned that Roosevelt was a Golden Retriever? That should explain a lot.

Grandpa Tom

On March 21, which was earlier this week (when I typed this), my grandpa turned 88 years old. Grandpa Stockeland. I visited my grandpa and grandma two days earlier at their home in Binford, North Dakota. There are some things I feel compelled to share about my grandpa. Two things, I suppose.

Thing one:
My grandpa served in the US Navy during WWII. He never speaks much about his service, but I know it has had an impact on him and the generations that have followed. When I was in early high school my family watched an old, rather patriotic movie. I was on the front steps of my parents house reflecting on the movie (I was an odd little kid), and my parents were having a conversation inside. They weren’t aware that I could hear them. My dad was talking about the movie, and he became emotional when he began talking about his father and his generation and the sacrifice that he made in WWII for his country. I don’t remember exactly what was said, but it was clear that my father had a profound respect for my grandfather. That night I became a very patriotic young man.

In a journal that I kept during my first deployment to Iraq I noted several reasons that led to my joining the military. One of the reasons was, “All of my grandfathers served our country in WWII. ...I joined because of/out of respect for my grandfathers and the sacrifices they made for this country and for the future generations of their family.” June 6, 2006. (June 6 is the anniversary of D-Day)

Thing two:
In mid-July of 2008 I visited my grandparents, also at their home in North Dakota. It was a beautiful sunny day with a light wind. As we sat down to eat dinner Grandpa prayed. My Grandpa’s prayer was the most reverent, sincere prayer I have ever heard. There was an evident weariness in his voice from his age and the work that he had been doing around the house that day. It made his prayer barely audible, just above a whisper. The bits that I remember vividly were his gratefulness for the sun, for the warmth that it provides. He also thanked God for the meal He provided, and that it would give us the strength needed to continue to serve Him.
I just assume that when I eat a hearty meal, I won’t be hungry. If I’m in a workout mindset I may consider the energy it provides, but that’s rare. At his age, however, my grandpa was dependent on the calories of this meal to go back outside and continue working in the yard, all to the glory and honor of God. That day I became sincerely grateful for the most expected, yet undeserving blessings from God.

That is all. Happy Birthday, Grandpa.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

I'm not sure what to say about this. I have a growing list of writing ideas and a shrinking amount of free time, but writing about the redemptive value of sports is one of those topics. I don't think I'll try to tackle that here, save for a few sentences, maybe.

The above photograph is every male in my family aside from my middle brother, AT. I am the only one in the family to have been to the new Target Field, so it was a great opportunity to get all of us together from our three different states of residence to enjoy this time together. I've taken my nephew to several minor league games, but this was his first major league game, and a Twins come-from-behind win, at that! (At the outset of the game, his favorite team was the Texas Rangers. Not no mo')

Baseball. Before I left for boot camp, I made sure I played catch with my dad. Before I left for both of my military deployments, I made sure playing catch with my dad was one of the last things I did. While I was in boot camp I received a photograph of my brother playing catch with my nephew on the field where the movie "Field of Dreams" was filmed in Iowa. It increased my resilience.

I enjoy baseball. I appreciate that there is no time limit. I appreciate that in over a century of play, the rules are virtually unchanged. I appreciate that I can go to a game by myself and just enjoy the sounds, sights and smells of the ball field. (Permitting that there are no drunk grown men nearby) I appreciate that they play the national anthem before every game. I appreciate baseball because is ties the generations of the men in my family together. I visited with my grandparents a few weeks ago, and I had a conversation with my 88 year old grandfather about the Twins then-upcoming season. My dad has told me about how fondly he looks back on his experiences of playing catch with his father, explaining why he cries during the last scenes in the "Field of Dreams" movie. Now I cry at the same place.

The Twins went down 0-1 in the first inning. The score remained that way until the bottom of the 8th, when the Twins put together a string of hits and Harrison's (my nephew) favorite player, Joe Mauer drove in the winning run with a line shot down the first-base side. He doesn't even understand all the rules, but he was EXCITED. That made me happy.

After the game I expressed with my dad some frustration, though, as Joe Nathan was trying to finish off the last batter to secure a victory. With every pitch, I realized that a home run from the opposing team would be devastating. I sometimes wish I could watch a sporting event without getting emotionally involved, but I realize that good or bad, it is a very quickly fleeting emotion. There used to be a t-shirt slogan for various sports that read, "Baseball is life. The rest is extras." Somebody bought my dad a shirt that read a little more accurately, although still very extreme, "Christ is life. The rest is basketball." A good reminder of our perspective, anyway.

America does have an obsession with sports, I realize and confess, and I thank God for breaking some of the past compulsions I've had toward sports. With this picture, though, I cannot help but see some of the redeeming value of sports, and the need for fun.

I just realized a church service begins in a half hour. I suppose I should practice what I preach and stop writing about sports and instead worship my Savior.

Sincerity

I have begun and deleted, or finished and decided not to post at least a dozen writings in the past weeks. This one may survive my apparently rigorous screening process.

The word 'sincere' can be defined as being without hypocrisy or pretense; pure; unadulterated; not feigned or affected; genuine.

***I should offer up this disclaimer: ...this is not aimed toward any person in particular. This is a general observation I have made about my little world, as well as a challenge for my own behavior.***

Sincerity.. I was driving the other day.. wondering how I would define sincerity. I think I would use words like consistency.. and honesty.. a tendency to be unchanging, regardless of the various circumstances or contexts you may find yourself in.

Am I defining a different word? I don't think so. It seems like I'm just using different words to describe the same definition.

So people are called sincere, very sincere, extremely sincere, etc. For some reason, that reference always makes me very apprehensive and cautious. Well, I know the reason. It's because sincerity seems misused. Ugh.. I'm on the verge of deleting everything I've written.. How do I save these thoughts?? It seems sincerity and insincerity are so similar.

Please, let us be consistent. Let us be unwavering in our actions and words and behaviors. I think it was Bill Hybels who wrote a book titled, "Who you are when nobody's looking." (I'm not even going to google that for accuracy, so feel free to correct me.) In one of my first blogs I expressed a curious thought as to how the world would be if our worst discrepancies were written on our shirt for all to see. That's not what I'm promoting here, otherwise I would have no friends except for my all-forgiving Savior.

**side-thought inserted here**
It seems to be okay to have certain conversations with some people, and not with others. For instance, A friend of mine who was a follower of Christ said that is was okay to curse around him (this was years ago) because we were both Christians. Or, just this week a gentleman was leaving the DMV complaining about some fees he had to pay. I chimed in with some random complaint, but I tried to have a positive attitude about it. (hard to do when you're complaining) Put me in a different environment, speaking to a different person, and my speech would be disturbingly different. Should conversations be that much different between close friends and family or casual acquaintances? Of course, there would be a different level of openness, but what about your attitude or demeanor when you're talking? I don't feel like there should. Even in writing this post, I am taming my true frustrations with 'sincerity' down quite a bit. ... side-thought adjourned.

I'm suggesting.. honesty. Terrible acting. An elimination of false persona's. Maybe it would help to provide a few examples from my life:

Smiling. Sometimes I have a tendency to be infrequent in my smiling. I assure you, it is not because I am not happy. Well, it sometimes is, but smiling simply is not natural for my facial structure. My somewhat intimidating bearing has served me well in certain lines of work, but if I'm at church or with a group of friends I just seem really sullen and unhappy. (It's fun to hear people's first impressions of me. My lack of smiling is always mentioned.) Anyway, sometimes I think I should smile more, and be, or act, more cheerful. But I don't. Because it's not sincere. If I smile, I'm happy. And if I don't smile, I'm probably still very content, but I'm thinking about something.

One more example. Trafficking. I care about trafficking. But I sometimes wonder if I didn't just jump onto the recent social justice bandwagon just to be accepted and respected. By people. I've been praying lately that this IS a sincere concern on my heart, something that is from God, and not just an act.

Paul mentions a sincere faith in several of his letters. There's another issue for me, and I'm sure every other believer.

There is no rhythm or flow to this rambling, but I shall not worry.

I pray (sincerely) that we can be genuine in our interactions and relationships, that we won't be striving to impress people, but to please and glorify God.

SDG

Moped Justice Mission

My friends, I am excited. God planted a crazy idea in my head last August that has begun to flourish into a reality. I am eager to share about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity my close friend Brady and I have been given.

We will be embarking on an 8,000 mile trip around the United States. On our mopeds.

http://www.mopedjusticemission.blogspot.com/

This blog will be our primary medium for providing updates on our adventure. Please share this with any other friends you know who would enjoy hearing about God's plan for justice, or just to see an example of the unique and exciting opportunities God has in store for those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.

Just about every day I literally become giddy with excitement when I realize the reality of this trip.

A new medical breakthrough in restful sleep!!

...Ask for it.

(I am writing this in an effort to better document even the 'smallest' ways God is mindful of me.)

I am in the midst of my spring 'break' from school, and I immediately seized the free time to earn some extra funding for God's plan for my summer.. From 8pm on Friday night until 4am on Sunday morning I worked 23 of 32 hours. Sunday was filled with church events and meetings, and I was staring down the barrel of another night shift that night. If I didn't obtain some needed sleep Sunday afternoon I would be sitting at 6 hours of sleep over a 72 hour period. Maybe not the healtiest routine. Even the military recommends more sleep than that as a daily minimum. (They claim you can operate efficiently on 4 hours of sleep per night for prolonged periods of time. The Army says that, anyway. The Marine Corps says you can sleep when you're dead. I'm going to miss my beloved Corps.)

I had work at 8pm, and laid down around 5:30. Just before falling asleep, I quietly prayed that God would grant me a very restful time of sleep. I fell asleep very quickly, feeling like I could sleep for 12 hours. In Sunday school earlier that day we looked at James 1:2-12, which shows us what our response should be to trials of various kinds. Having my alarm set for 7:30pm, I sensed a small trial coming on when I inexplicably snapped awake at 6:39. After just a few minutes of laying wide awake in bed I realized my time would be better spent on more productive endeavors. (although I was thinking sleep to be a pretty noble endeavor at the time) Based on my study of James 1, I knew I shouldn't ask God what he was trying to prove, but trust that this small trial would mature me in a special way. (Praise the Lord for Sunday school, by the way)

Around 1am I realized that I was still wide awake. I had a pretty strong headache, but I didn't feel tired. I even closed my eyes during a half-hour break at 2am, but couldn't fall asleep. Now, to the untrained eye, you may say that I was just using my incredibly strong will-power and determination to overcome any fatigue. Wrong. I happen to know myself, and I am acutely aware that my 'will-power' is composed of the same toughness you would find in mashed potatoes and gravy.

As I was thinking about it, I was likening this to the story of Gideon, when God reduced the army of thousands to just 300, so that HE would receive the glory, and not Gideon or any army. God knows my pride's tendency to seek glory for myself. If I had awakened with the alarm and rushed to work, I would have thought nothing of it. I would have made it through the night and really felt good about myself. (key word being 'myself') The abridged sleep gave me pause, though, and opened the opportunity for God to show me a little something about HIS capabilities, even in the small matters of my life.

This is just one bite of the feast of provision that God is pouring out on me.

Post-script: I was still wide-awake after work, but after tending to some emails, I decided that sleep was again a noble endeavor. So I slept a few hours.

I Timothy 5:11

"But refuse to enroll younger widows, for when their passions draw them away from Christ, they desire to marry..." I Timothy 5:11

I spent a good deal of time last week thinking about, pondering, and meditating on this verse. Why would I choose such an abstract selection to spend so much time thinking about, you ask? Because I was told to.

In an email I received from a good friend (to fully appreciate this story, you should know that this good friend is an unmarried young lady) they told me they were praying for me from I Tim. 5:11 and went on to say that they were praying that I would be strengthened to run from anything less than His best.. etc. So, I looked up the passage and read it. I blinked my eyes and re-read it. My eyes grew large and my eyebrows raised. I was confused. And a little distressed.

One of my first thoughts and hopes was that she clearly gave the wrong reference. I flipped over to 2 Timothy, but that book only has 4 chapters!! I then began to try to think outside the box, wondering what she may be trying to say with this verse. I've come to admire her knowledge of scripture and her ability to dispense passages from memory and expound on them, but this was a whole new level of depth.

"So.. Am I the young widow here? She IS praying that I would run from anything less than his best.. Is she saying that if I desire marriage I'm not desiring what's best? Is she saying my other passions are drawing me away from Christ? What makes her think I desire marriage? Is SHE the young widow?! That would make a little more sense, but neither of us have been married, to my knowledge. But that scenario doesn't make as much sense in the context of what she followed the verse with.. Am I somehow drawing her away from Christ? Does SHE desire to marry?! AAAUGH!! I am SO confused! I feel like she's using a pretty straightforward verse, given the context, and taking a LOT of creative liberties with the interpretation. But she's not Baptist, so maybe she can do that. (HA!)"

I went to bed that night with no conclusions on how to receive that verse. The next morning, still completely perplexed, I recruited the assistance of the most Christ-like man you or I know. My dad. In an email with the subject line titled, "Care to interpret?" I pasted the paragraph from the email along with the remarks, "This was sent to me by a young lady yesterday. Trying to understand what the 5:11 passage is about.."

I scooted off to class, fully confident that my father would come through for me. I was right. As I was waiting for my second class to begin I checked my email and found a message from my father with these words, "A quick response.....she must have meant 6:11..................5:11 would be quite disturbing......6:11 has the words she included in the message........"

I quickly pulled out my Bible and flipped to I Timothy 6:11, which reads, "But as for you, O man of God, flee these things. Pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, gentleness." That fit with what she was saying SO much better.

I replied back to my father, "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! Oh man!!!!!! I figured it was a mistaken passage, but I looked to 2 Tim... Didn't think about a different chapter. YES, 5:11 WAS somewhat disturbing. 6:11 is better. Much better. I'm losing it right now. No bearing."

The mystery was solved! Unfortunately I was in a quiet classroom, unable to unleash the uproarious laughter that had immediately welled up inside me. I sent a quick email to my friend saying, "I'm going to have to call you later. Your email has just been immortalized as an instant classic in my heart. Oh mercy, I'm having a hard time not laughing.."

After I scooted home in between classes I walked in my door and doubled over in the kitchen laughing, unable to catch my breath from this priceless gem of an incorrect scripture reference. Later that night my friend and I did have a very pleasant talk on the phone, and my smiling continued well into the night. I can say with confidence that during my time in Minnesota, no event has produced more laughter for me.