Category: family

Twenty Years of Favor

Twenty Years of Favor

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Proverbs 18:22 tells us that “[h]e who finds a wife finds a good thing, and obtains favor from the Lord.” This is as true today as it was thousands of years ago, and as it was 20 years ago, the day Angela and I were married.

It is hard to put into words what this amazing woman means to me. Because of her, I have a warm, beautiful home. Because of her, I have two amazing sons of whom I could not be more proud or love more deeply. Because of her, I’m a better man – and a better follower of Christ – than I was then, or, I think, would be without her. I owe everything I am to her, and to the God of ours that sent her to me.

To Angela, my beloved, happy 20th anniversary. May God grant us 40 more.

Home Video Advice

Home Video Advice

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It’s Father’s Day weekend, and I find myself home alone, doing some backup maintenance on our home videos. I’m loving watching some of these old videos, some almost 17 years old. It’s beyond description getting to see the faces of family that are no longer with us — my Dad, Angela’s grandparents — and to get to hear their voices again. These videos are priceless to me. I wish we had more, especially of my Dad, so let me pass on this advice:

When you’re at a family gathering (Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, birthdays, whatever) and you find yourself taking videos, make sure you get “the crowd”. There may be someone blowing out candles or opening a present, but scan the room. Get video of parents, grandparents, great grandparents, cousins, nephews, nieces, friends, party crashers. Get them speaking. One way or another, there’s going to come a day when you won’t be able to see those people again. You’re going to want see them — you’re going to want to hear their voices — and those videos are going to be the closest you’re going to get to speaking to that person again on this earth. Trust me. You’ll be glad you “wasted” the space.

A day of professional triumph and personal tragedy

A day of professional triumph and personal tragedy

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Today is a significant day for me for a couple of reasons. Professionally, today marks three years since we released GlassFish 3 and Java EE 6. Most of you probably don’t care much about that. Today also marks another three year anniversary of a more personal nature. It was today in 2009 that my dad was rushed to the hospital for what turns out to be the last time. I’ve written several times in various places about my dealing with my dad’s death; I don’t want to rehash that here. What I do want to do, though, is share a song.

Over the past few years, I’ve come across several songs that have helped deal with grief, express thoughts, etc. One in particular, is “Even If” by Kutless. I think the chorus sums things up about as nicely as can be done:

Even if the healing doesn’t come
And life falls apart
And dreams are still undone
You are God You are good
Forever faithful One
Even if the healing
Even if the healing doesn’t come

Here are the rest of the lyrics, followed by the video.

Sometimes all we have to hold on to
Is what we know is true of who You are
So when the heartache hits like a hurricane
That could never change who You are
And we trust in who You are

Even if the healing doesn’t come
And life falls apart
And dreams are still undone
You are God You are good
Forever faithful One
Even if the healing
Even if the healing doesn’t come

Lord we know your ways are not our ways
So we set our faith in who You are
Even though You reign high above us
You tenderly love us
We know Your heart
And we rest in who You are

You’re still the Great and Mighty One
We trust You always
You’re working all things for our good
We’ll sing your praise

You are God and we will bless You
As the Good and Faithful One
You are God and we will bless You
Even if the healing doesn’t come
Even if the healing doesn’t come
My Son Is Now My Brother

My Son Is Now My Brother

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Last Sunday, my wife and I received an answer to many years of prayer as we were given the opportunity to help our oldest son, Andrew, to faith in the Lord. As a Christian parent, I can’t imagine there’s anything more satisfying than seeing your child come to Faith, and that we were able to help him make that all-important prayer brings joy beyond description.

We have been talking to Andrew about the Lord since before he could read. We would read the Bible to him, teach him the truths of God’s Word, explain to him that God loves him, etc. We were careful, though, not to push too hard or try to convince him of his need; that’s the Spirit’s job. We have, though, done our best to be faithful to teach him as he grows, trusting that the Lord would grow the seed He planted through us. That Sunday morning at church, then, our pastor was continuing his walk through the book of Mark (you can listen to the whole sermon, which was great, here, or see below). At the end of the sermon, Andrew tapped Angela on the shoulder and told her, “I think Jesus wants me to ask Him into my heart,” adding “My heart is beating really, really fast.” 🙂 She was excited, of course, but she told him that we’d talk once we got home.

Once we got home and finally had the chance to talk to Andrew without distractions, we asked him about what he told Angela. For a while, we gently probed, not wanting to “trick” him into a decision he might not be ready for. Those that know me well know that I went forward at a church service once, thinking that I was making a true profession of faith, only to realize years later that what I had done wasn’t authentic. Perhaps I’ll write that up in another post, but it should go without saying that we wanted to make sure Andrew made this decision for himself, and that it be authentic and truly efficacious, so we were very careful.

After some discussion, Andrew told us again that he was ready. He had told us this before, several weeks ago, but he seemed to be fully aware this time of what he was saying. We bowed our heads, then, and helped him walk through that simple prayer. After the prayer, we hugged on Andrew, and reiterated to him how much we loved him and how proud of him we were. What a precious time that was. 🙂

No one can truly know, of course, the heart of another with certainty, but I’m convinced the Andrew had finally come to the point where he knew what he needed to do, and I’m so proud and pleased that I can now call him my Brother.

Trying to make some sense of Dad’s death

Trying to make some sense of Dad’s death

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One year ago today, my Dad died. In July of 2009, he was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. Five months later, he was gone. Like countless others who have lost loved ones, I’ve struggled with the question of “why.” And like those countless others, I really don’t have an answer.

I’m a Christian, as was my Dad. It is within the framework of that Faith, then, that I’ve wrestled with the question. Of the various possibilities, the one I like to think is probably the right one, is that this was my Dad’s last act of faith and obedience. My family has gone to church as long as I can remember. Twenty to twenty-five years ago, though, as I remember things, we started getting more and more involved in our local church. Dad volunteered for one thing after another, taking his service to the local body very seriously. In fact, as he became sicker due to the scourge that eventually claimed his life, he lamented missing church, something he hadn’t done in a very long time. Though not formally a deacon (which, in Greek, means ‘servant’), he was a servant of the church nonetheless. He loved its people, and he loved its Lord.

Ultimately, though, the road each of us walks comes to an end. For some, it’s at a ripe old age, where time has taken its toll on our bodies, which eventually give out. For others, that end is much earlier. This was the case for my Dad. It’s quite possible, and, again, I think probable, that the Lord, for reasons we don’t understand, decided to let this awful thing we call cancer touch my Dad’s body as one final test, either of him or for us. As Christians, we contend that, once we accept the gift of salvation, the rest of our lives are spent trying to become more and more Christ-like. Life’s trials are often the tools the Lord uses to affect that change. It may be that this was one last stroke of the chisel, once last brush with the polishing cloth, that my Dad needed before he was ready.

It might be, also, that the Lord used my Dad’s disease and death, as an example of what Christian faith looks like. Perhaps it wasn’t a test, but Dad’s last mission, his last act of service in life; to demonstrate true faith and the peace and grace it brings as he passed on to his reward.

In truth, we’ll never really know. Not in this life. To be honest, I really wish it didn’t have to be this way. I miss him terribly, and probably always will. Despite that, though, I have never been angry with God for allowing this to happen. I don’t understand why it had to, but I trust The One who let it. And perhaps that was the point, at least in part: to test my faith. To inch me toward the perfection in Christ that will someday be mine. I’ll know for sure someday. My hope and prayer is that someday I’ll hear the Lord tell me, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” And as Jesus says those precious words to me, I can’t help but picture my Dad standing there amongst the throng of redeemed, whole and healthy and perfect, flashing that proud, happy smile of his I long to see again. I may understand it all then, but it won’t matter, I think. I’ll be with my Dad again. And like him, I’ll finally be Home.

From Blueberry to Grape

From Blueberry to Grape

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I’m taking karate lessons. I have for years, but for one reason or another, I’ve never been able to make it to black. I’ve been "stuck", then, at blue (or blueberry, as my boys like to call it) for quite some time. In my current class, the instructors, while honoring my belt, wanted me to work back through the tests and instruction to make sure I understood this style correctly. I finally caught up to my current rank at my last test and, last night, tested for my first new belt, purple (or grape :), in years. With Angela and the boys on hand to watch, it was a great night.

The test started with katas. As a purple belt candidate, I had to do five katas: the three I had learned for earlier belts, plus two new ones. Overall, I think they went really well. I’m pretty sure I muffed a transition in the orange belt kata, but the two purple belt katas felt really good. Nice, low stances. No feet sticking to the floor, making me stumble. Most importantly, I didn’t forget where I was in the kata or which one I was doing, which is always nice.

Next came the usual testing on techniques: what are they, what are they called, let me see you do them. That left two major items: board breaks and sparring. To be honest, I was little nervous about the breaks, as there would be three power breaks, which were, I thought, several boards at once with spacers. It turns out that it WAS several boards at once, but with no spacers, which sounded much scarier and harder in my head. 🙂

I had to do three breaks, so I chose a hammer fist, a stomp and a side kick. I had no worries on the stomp, as that’s a powerful technique no matter what size you are. The hammer fist, though, involved smashing through the boards with the "meaty" part of my hand, which is a bit daunting. After a fewer practice swings to set myself, I wound up and hit the boards, which broke surprisingly easily. My hand hurt a bit, but not too bad. Awesome.

The last break was the side kick, about which I was also nervous. They assured me that I’d have no problem, that my kicks were strong enough, so I lined up to give it a go. With any kicking break, you typically have two guys holding the board(s), one on each side, with possibly others pushing on the holders to provide a little more solid target. My holders were Mr. Harp and and Mr. Sexton (two of the brown belt instructors) with the third being Mr. Lowery, one of the two black belts. Per protocol, I said, "Brace!" and threw my kick. That’s when time slowed down. I saw my foot hit the board, I heard a crack, then saw the boards explode. Just like in a movie, I saw chunks of wood and splinters go flying. I saw Mr. Lowery’s head snap back out of the way. I watched the wood fall slowly to the ground, then everything went back to normal speed. I looked around and saw that Mr. Harp had a nice cut on his forehead from the wooden shrapnel, and Mr. Lowery had a bloody lip. We all laughed and joked about it, but they reminded me that I still had to spar. 🙂

I actually find myself really enjoying sparring. Teddy Roosevelt said a century ago that football "breeds toughness and courage" and I think the same can be said of karate and sparring. Ultimately, you’re training to defend yourself and someone around you, so you have to be able to fight. Sparring offers a chance to learn that in a controlled environment, allowing you test yourself and your skills, finding what needs work, etc. And it’s a lot fun. 🙂 At my level, I had to do 4 1-on-1 fights, and then 2-on-1, 3-on-1, and 4-on-1 fights, which are as crazy as they sound. Of the the three "plural fights", I think I scored a total of 2, maybe 3 points (out of 5 per match). Luckily, the test isn’t about points, but to see how the candidate does, overall. 😛  Rare is the time where the single guy wins a match. 🙂

When the night was finally over, I was awarded my first new belt in years. As Mr. Gold, the other of the two black belts, handed it to me, he told me I wouldn’t have to wake up in the morning wondering if I had earned that belt, and every muscle in my body will attest to that. 🙂

Overall, it was a hard night, pushing my body further than it wanted to go at times, but I loved every minute of it. While I can’t directly compare, the camaraderie that has developed with the other students in the class, as well as the instructors, seems very much like what you see in, say, a football or basketball team. Being able to put ourselves through that together, then talk and laugh about it afterwards is a big part of the joy of studying. I’m very lucky to have a class like I do.

Now, staring in January, onward and upward to brown, with my oldest son starting on his yellow belt. It’s going to be a blast. 🙂

Thoughts on My Dad

Thoughts on My Dad

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As many of you may know by now, my Dad passed away on January 4th after a five month battle with cancer. In the days leading up to his death, and certainly in the days after, I’ve done a lot of reflecting on my Dad – who he is, what he stood for, and what he meant to me. When my Dad died, the world quietly lost a really good man.

Dad was big on family. He was always saying that what he wanted was for us all to be together, to get along, and he wasn’t just saying that. When Dad was a boy, he didn’t have a good family life. For example, when he was in the fifth grade, he was living in Shreveport, LA with has dad, who had divorced his Mom some time earlier. One morning, Dad awoke to find himself alone. His dad had left sometime in the night, so Dad wandered downstairs from the apartment they were living in to find help. The waitress in the diner downstairs had not seen my granddad, but, once they determined he wasn’t coming back, she helped Dad get a bus ticket back to Oklahoma City and his mom. Dad didn’t know the waitress’ name, but until the day he died, he was extremely grateful for her kindness.

My granddad’s departure from my Dad’s life was pretty typical for him, from what I’ve been able to gather. Because of his dad’s example, my Dad was determined that his children would have it better, and he worked hard every day to make sure that we did. We moved from a house we all loved to where he and my Mom live now (though it’s just my Mom now) to allow Mom to quit working so she could stay home with us. He did his best, especially as we got older, to avoid traveling for work as much as possible. I’m not sure if that cost him professionally, but it sure was nice having him home.

Dad was a big believer in being self-sufficient. I don’t recall ever getting a “speech” from him on the topic, but his life exuded it. He often talked about how he had to fix his own cars from the time he was (almost 😉 old enough to drive. He was constantly working on TVs, VCRs, microwave ovens, cars, air conditioners, etc. to fix them himself. While I don’t have the know-how to fix things like he did, I can see in myself that same determination to do what I can for me and my family.

He did, of course, recognize that sometimes you do need help, and wasn’t too proud to ask for it. Or give it. Every one of my siblings and I have needed and gotten help from Mom and Dad over the years, from automotive to housing help. One of my fondest memories of the generosity of my parents comes from a rough time in college. One semester I found myself quite short on funds to pay for my college expenses. Skipping meals wouldn’t even come close to covering my shortfall. One day, though, Mom and Dad showed up with a check for, if I recall correctly, $1,200, which I’m sure wasn’t easy for them, but they made the sacrifice so that I could stay in school. I’m not sure Dad understands how much of an impression that made on me.

During Dad’s funeral service, I was reminded of how important Dad’s faith was to him. This was highlighted very subtly by the fact that the speaker was not only the pastor of his church, but one of his best and closest friends. Since Tony and Regina came to that little country church, Mom and Dad spoke often of the times they’ve spent with them. During his eulogy, Tony shared how often Dad was helping him personally, and of how often Dad was at the church making sure things were working, that everything was being taken care of. When Dad was first admitted to the hospital in December, before things got really bad, he would repeatedly…complain about missing church, how he hadn’t missed a Sunday in so long. Up until the point he could no longer speak, he would speak openly of his faith. Despite his cancer and the complications it caused, he never wavered, nor did he question God, to my knowledge. He was a man of Faith, and lived by it until the day that faith was made sight.

During all of this reflection, it was interesting to see, consciously, the effects my Dad has had on me over the years. His attitudes, his beliefs, and, much to the chagrin of wife, even his sense of humor can be seen in me in one form or another. In that way, the old cliche that he lives on in us is, indeed, true.

Even more important, though, is that my Dad does live on, in every way more alive than he ever was. My Dad knew Jesus Christ, not just as some good man who lived long ago, but as his very real, very alive, and very personal savior. It’s that relationship with the Lord, I think, that really made him who he was, that gave him such and authenticity and fervor. I’m eternally grateful that that relationship drove him to raise us in a Christian home, to make sure we were in church, to make sure we had the opportunity to come to know the Lord ourselves. He loved us and the Lord enough to put up with countless youth over the years at summer camps, which are some of my favorite memories. Of all the things Dad leaves behind, that legacy of faith, I think, is the most significant.

After we said our good-byes, or, more accurately, “see you laters” to my Dad on that cold Thursday morning, I finally returned to my church a few days later, taking my place once again in the orchestra and praise band. While I still mourned and missed my Dad, I felt oddly rejuvenated in my faith and service, and somehow connected to my Dad, as I honored him in my continued service to my church and my Lord. As my Dad now perfectly worships the Lord in Heaven, seated at the feet of the One who died to make that possible, I can’t help but think that he’d approve, that he would be proud. I sure hope so, because I am who I am today largely because of my Dad. One of my life’s goals is that my legacy will honor his.

About That Birthday…

About That Birthday…

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In a recent Twitter/Facebook post, I mentioned that my birthday, while good, was emotionally exhausting and promised an explanation. If you don’t want possibly too much medical information, you may want to move. Otherwise, here it is…

As some of you may know, my Dad has been fighting esophageal cancer for some time now. He was diagnosed in July of last year and had been taking chemo since then, more or less. Long story short, Dad was admitted to the hospital sometime in the second week of December and by the 22nd, had had 2 different surgeries. The prognosis after the second surgery was “without additional chemo, 6 weeks to 2 months.”

After his initial diagnosis, we knew we didn’t have much time, but this grim news really sent us reeling. I spent the next day, then, my birthday, I spent sitting at the hospital with Dad, giving him wet swabs for his mouth or, later, holding a glass of grape juice so he can get a drink. The giant snow storm came on Christmas Eve, so I wasn’t able to get back to the hospital (or out of my driveway) until Sunday morning, when I was able to take Andrew and Noah up to the hospital to celebrate Christmas with my parents. We had a great, mostly normal time, with Dad feeling well enough to interact with my boys. It was a special time.

Then came Monday. He developed a lump in his throat (and eventually all across his throat), which turned out to be a swollen lymph node. The surgeon felt it was the cancer coming on really aggressively. The medical doctor, though, felt it might just be a normal infection, so he prescribed some antibiotics. The next morning, the swelling had gone down, so it seems the MD was right. He felt, though, that the central line they had put in the week before might be the cause of the infection, so he ordered it removed. During the removal, it appears that Dad “threw a clot” which ended up in his lungs, causing his oxygen levels, blood pressure, etc. to crash hard. We (meaning the doctors) eventually intubated him and moved him to the ICU.

Over the next couple of days, we hoped he would recover, but it was looking more likely that he would not. On Friday, we decided to honor his wish not to be kept alive by a machine and had the tube removed. To our surprise, he came off the vent really well, with all his stats remaining pretty stable. Over the weekend, he did OK, though we had a slight scare on Sunday. Then came Monday.

Monday morning, I was supposed to start back to work. Since I work from home, I thought I’d just go up to the hospital and work from there in the waiting room near his room (I was, in fact, typing this :). At about 10:30, though, Angela came out to tell me that Dad’s breathing had changed, so we raced in. A little over an hour later, Dad was gone. With his family around, he breathed his last.

As I sit here now, a few days later on the evening of his funeral, it’s still hard to process. I keep wanting to tell him some funny thought I just had, or ask him where he keeps his tools. Despite the time we had after his diagnosis to start coming to some sort of acceptance, it has been harder than I could have ever imagined. It’s really, really awful. As I noted on Facebook and Twitter, we don’t grieve as those who have no hope. My Dad knew the Lord, so we know where he is, and we know that we’ll see him again. Selfish as I am, I want him here, though I know he’s much better off now. I miss him terribly already.

So… yeah… that was a hard birthday, especially now looking back. I hate the way it turned out, but I cherish every minute I spent at the hospital that day, the two weeks prior, and the week and a half after. I’d much rather have spent them here in Mom and Dad’s house, where I sit now, but it was my honor and pleasure to sit next to my dying father’s bed, doing what little I could for him.

Remembering Pa-Pa

Remembering Pa-Pa

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Frank Pybas, or Pa-Pa, is a man I’ve known for nine or ten years. He’s Angela’s paternal grand dad. In the few years I’ve know him, I’ve come love him and his wife, Martha (or Mam-ma), as if they were my own grandparents. Friday night, after having a meal with his wife at their assisted living center, Pa-Pa collapsed in their apartment. The EMTs and doctors were unable to revive him. …

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Patriots’ Day

Patriots’ Day

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I don’t have much of substance to add to the Patriots’ Day discussion. My heart, of course, aches for those who lost loved ones. I would, though, like to honor my favorite patriot, my Dad. Here he is in his official Marine Corps photo, circa (I’m guessing a bit) 1968:

Love ya, Dad!