What do you think of when you hear the word “ordinary” or, “normal”? Here is how it is defined in the dictionary…

or·di·nar·y [ áwrd'n èrree ] unremarkable: not remarkable or special in any way, and therefore uninteresting and unimpressive

       Hi friends and loved ones. I hope you are all warm and enjoying the new year, half as much as I am. I have mentioned, before, that, my writing is transitioning more toward ordinary, normal, life. Boy! was I in for a surprise! I was “sick” for so long I forgot what those terms meant, when applied to my life. I have discovered, that, what was normal, in the past, isn’t what I want, in the present. I wouldn’t say, that, normal, in that sense, is, or was, a bad thing, but it simply isn’t MY thing. Now, that, about half of you are thinking, or even saying out loud, “what the Dickens is he talking about now?” I will get on to the message.

     I have loved sports, for as long as I can remember. Watching, playing, and even, dreaming up new and exciting sports to play on those endless, perfect, summer days, growing up in WV. (Yes, they were hot, and muggy, like they are now, but, when you are a kid, full of life, it doesn’t seem to matter all that much.)  So, for me, at least, “normal” will always involve sports.  Sport, however, generally requires the sportsman, to have a decent heart. I thought, that, on October 25, 2005, my lifelong love of playing sports, was gone, forever. It was quite a kick in the gut.

     Fast forward to this past Tuesday (Jan 13)…

     I played in a volleyball league for the first time in a long, long, time. Wednesday, I played one-on-one basketball, with my daughter Jordan. Friday, I went to “The Y” for a workout with Caitlyn.  It is a meaningful experience, for me, to be sure. But, picture the look in the eyes of my daughters, as they realized that, if even, only for a while longer, they have their daddy back. Whether it is basketball with Jordan, or biking/walking for miles, side-by-side with Caitlyn, I have the heart for sport. Good medicine, and an Awesome God, have given me a second chance, to figure out what “ordinary” is going to mean, in my life.

     I have given the subject some considerable thought, and this is what I have come up with.

     I want ordinary to mean, that, I will not be, nor, try to be, perfect. I want it to mean that when my girls goof up, they will be corrected by a firm, yet, loving hand. When I want to go work out, I can go work out, and, my only obstacle, will be laziness.  When it snows, I am the one pushing the snow blower. I want ordinary, to be, when Mary and I want to wrestle, we can do so, without worrying about yanking cords, or setting off alarms.  I want, normal to mean that, when I need to go upstairs, I don’t have to find the nearest elevator. Most of all, I just want normal, to be, whatever I want to accomplish.

     I think you get my point, or do you? Ordinary, is an inexact and unfair term. Who is to say that Mr. Webster (the dictionary guy) wasn’t a nutcase, whose idea of “ordinary”, was so skewed that, even my head would spin?   We all decide what our own ordinary is.  As I sit here and write this, I am shirtless. I look down upon my chest and abdomen, and count no less, than, fifteen surgical scars. Each one, beautiful, to me, because, each represents a battle, in my fight for “ordinary”. The thing is, if, God willing, I wake up tomorrow, I want “ordinary” to have a brand new meaning. and the next day, and the next, and the next…

    Define “ordinary”, and then, push the boundaries. But, please, let it be YOUR ordinary, not someone else’s. We don’t all get second chances. God made us in HIS image, not the guy next to us.

    Quick, someone send me a plane ticket! I don’t care where, as long as there is actual open water (Not the frozen kind). I want to wear short sleeves, and shorts. I want to hear all the ladies giggle, and say “oh my, look at those chicken legs!” I want to hear that distinct “PLUNK” that can only be made as a slip sinker hits the calm water, dragging the animated bait to a pre-set depth. I want to hear the whisper of monofilament, slicing through the ripples,j as the bait is devoured, by an unwitting largemouth. I want to feel that first tentative tug of the fish as he decides whether, or not, he wants to eat my offered bait. I can’t wait, to feel that hook set, that, signifies to all involved or watching that a challenge has been issued between man and fish, and the fight is on. I want to know, that, for that brief moment in time, I am doing battle with one of God’s finest creations. I want to hold that fish with my thumb in his mouth, and my forefinger on the outside, and feel the rush that only comes when you realize, that, you are about to decide the future of another living, breathing, creature. I want to watch that beautifully colored fish slip back below the surface of the placid water, knowing, that, my decision will bring the same joy to another little boy or girl, or whomever catches him next time.

     Will it be his or her first fish? Will it be the final trophy for a dying man, who wants to catch one last fish before meeting God face to face? Will it be the next meal for the mom or dad who can no longer afford beef? or chicken? What stories will be told with that single fish as the main character? What if I had kept and eaten that fish? Would I be wrong? Would I be depriving the next guy of the experience? Would I grin inwardly? Knowing that my great friends James P. or Bob W. would not have caught him anyway?

     Do the fish in Georgia have a southern accent? Do the teenage fish tease the smaller ones, by saying stuff like “I’ll bet you can’t eat than worm in one bite” and laugh hysterically when the poor sucker is yanked violently to the water’s surface? Do they put shaving cream, or toothpaste onto the fins of the first one to fall asleep, and tickle his nose so that he covers himself with humiliation when he slaps at the disturbance? Do they dream of meeting Bill Dance, Roland Martin, of Jimmy Houston? Do they have that awkward silence, followed by nervous laughter, when suddenly there is an extra air bubble in the water? Did every female reader just roll her eyes?

     IT IS JANUARY 8th. IT IS COLD. THE WATER IS ALL FROZEN. AND… I AIN’T GONNA GET TO FISH UNTIL AT LEAST LATE MARCH! Ironically enough, exactly one year ago today, Doctors at the Mayo Clinic implanted an LVAD in my heart. What a difference a year makes. A year ago, I was fighting to stay alive. Today, I am whining because I want to go fishing. It is a good problem to have, isn’t it? What do you want to do today?

     God is knocking. Answer the door.

     Hey everyone, it is official! I survived 2008! If you won money on my survival, good for you. If you lost money… OH NO YOU DIDN’T!!! I am not going to put ‘08 in the books as a “bad” year, and here, in my humble opinion, is why…

     At last check, (and, yes, I take my vitals at least twice a day) I am still very much alive. I am still the proud father of two darling, Christian girls. My lovely wife has not changed the locks on the house yet. And… I have the worlds cutest puppy! I can walk for miles at a time. I can skip the elevator, and take the stairs. I can go outside in the rain. I can take a shower. I can go to church on a regular basis. I can help Doug install a dishwasher. I can jump up, go jump in the truck, and go somewhere, without making sure I have enough LVAD batteries. I CAN…

    We take life for granted. I am guilty just as much as you. I constantly remind myself, “hmmmmm, a year ago, I couldn’t do this…”  I went with my family to a hotel for New Year’s, and sat in a hot tub, I couldn’t have done that a year ago.

    You know, I had pretty much stopped writing, because I didn’t think I had anything interesting to say, anymore. I almost let a new heart change who I am. I guess, that, writing a blog isn’t so much about me, as it is, about you taking 5 minutes, to look at someone else’s life. It really is an interesting life. Please don’t see that as arrogance, but it is interesting. Several of you say things about yourself on MySpace, Facebook, and  other forums for “putting yourself out there”. You update your status, change your moods, and share with us all. My point is this… Every life is interesting. I am able to use words, to tell a story, but, the words don’t MAKE the story. The story is made by the life that is in it.

    I am going to write much more. I want  to make you laugh, but, most of all, I want you to know, that I am okay. My new life is nowhere near perfect. I am not cured. But, I am not sick anymore. I look forward to each tomorrow. I don’t sit and ponder what I should have done yesterday to make it better. Yesterday is gone… remember it, but, don’t dwell on it. Make it your story. Tomorrow is Sunday. We will go to church, and worship the Same Jesus. We will probably sit in the same pew as always. Sing the same hymns.  Ask yourself this question… Why, after over 2000 years, is his story still so interesting? The answer is so very simple… He is still alive, and, life is interesting.