Hero

There are few people in my life I would call a hero*. The term is thrown around loosely and usually involves super powers or supernatural abilities. This guy possesses neither (to my knowledge) but has the character traits that, in my book, qualify him as being a bonafide star.
*(n. a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.)

The man is at the top of his game and got there via a faith-filled approach to his life, family and work-a life of integrity and honor-treating people with respect, grace and care. A division I athlete at the University of Minnesota, he took his outstanding work ethic into his professional life and made excellence his forte. A humble man, never yelling or using foul language to make his point-rather leading by example, he is respected by peers and those who have had the good fortune of being under his tutelage. His family and friends have the utmost reverence for him as he is a man of his word and strong leadership.

Yes, my Dad is one of my greatest heroes and I am grateful to be his son. Thanks Dad, you are one of an ever-decreasing number who exemplify what it means to be a man.

And the other guy in the picture just happens to be Tony Dungy. I think he won the Super Bowl or something last year.

Lunch Lady Land

For some reason, the other day, a memory hit me. Not a frightening one or a particularly significant one, but a memory nonetheless. I think it was because I've been watching my friend Chad work day and night on a project (he's the new product developer for an educational software company) that seems to have no end. It's a software that basically allows parents/guardians to add money to their child's 'lunch account' at school. By using a credit card, a parent can easily add credit so their child can eat lunch at school.

My memory was the one with Mrs. Hess (or Juanita Ernst, can't remember whom) and her lunch ticket cart. Every week this woman would take her media cart and roll it from room to room and offer wee kids the chance to purchase lunch tickets. At so young an age, I can still remember whose parents had the most money. Our teacher would let us line up at the front of the class, pull a wadded up check from our little pockets and approach the ticket cart. As we fumbled our little hands to hold out the money, in return we received a number of tickets (the same ones used for drawings, wound around a big roll) corresponding to how much was written on the check-I think at that time lunches were like $.90. I still remember some of the kids walking away proudly with a stack of tickets folded on top of themselves-a virtual smorgasbord promising peanut butter sandwiches and mushed turkey and gravy on potatoes. Others returned to their desks with enough for the week. And still others-with one or two goldenrod tickets that held the hope of mere days worth of lunches. I now wonder about the kids who never visited the cart.

It's funny how at such a young age we were subjected to the scrutinizing eyes of our classmates. Who came away with the most tickets? Who remained at their desks, averting their eyes onto a list of spelling words or math problems?

I don't think it's ironic that Chad and his wife, Liz, share a compassion for the people, the wee kids who never get to buy a lunch ticket, never have their 'account' full. They started a non-profit organization, Project Foodstock (watch the video here) to ensure that every kid gets to eat not only while at school, but at dinner time, every day. It's the contribution, not only on the clock, but in their free time, of friends like the Caswell's, who bring action to their convictions.

Days Like This

When you wake up to bright, sunny skies in Minnesota in February, you don't need to have lived here too long to realize you're being duped. Such is the case today. There's not a cloud in the sky, branches swaying a little, maybe I should take Tabby for a walk? In 3 minutes we'd both be frozen solid. It was -15 with a -40 wind chill as we headed out the door to church. Reminds me of what now feels like 4 months ago-a Caribbean cruise.

Enjoy the pictures. They never do the experience justice. What you can't see in the pictures are all the open time slots, the lack of schedule, not having to rent a car or take out my wallet all week. In marriage there are lots of things to learn. Very few you grasp off the bat-most take wading through the differences in wiring many, many times. For some reason, we got our vacation philosophy set year two. (Just writing about vacation ignites some ideas to blog the question, 'what is vacation?' and who in the world deserves it?) Anyway, we have been very fortunate to take a yearly holiday and (spending consciously) we see them as an opportunity to get our batteries recharged, to connect, to rest. And as far as I'm concerned, I would never have to change that philosophy!

We talk about a European 'vacation,' or a 'vacation' to the mountains to go hiking and sightseeing. Sounds like a lot of work. For now, we're perfectly content to pull up a chair, read a book, close our eyes and do nothing for a good week.

Pictured (L to R): Mary and I in front of some Norwegian viking symbol aboard the Norwegian Sun. Troy taking shot at arm's length. Mary looking out over Roatan, Honduras. Troy with Atlantis over his shoulder. At the port in Nassau, Bahamas. And, oops, how did a picture of the Nassau Starbucks get in here?