and now for something completely different

So, sometimes I try to take everyday occurrences and find ways to locate that deeper meaning or that larger lesson that they hold within. As best we know, Jesus did much of his teaching this way (in true rabbinical style). Life happened and the rabbi used it to teach larger truth.

I am not attempting to draw comparisons between myself and Jesus or rabbis. I am merely using the above paragraph to lead into a confession about today’s post:

This story has no redeeming value, except that it is possibly humorous and probably a little strange. It is Monday morning and we could all use a little bit of nonsense.

A week or two ago, I was at my desk eating a McDonald’s salad. (I usually bring PB&J to work, but woke up late and was forced to venture out for sustenance.) And eating in a cubicle allows an employee a brief moment to catch up on the day’s news. Unless something pressing is happening at work, people around my office generally surf the internet while eating. I do the same.

So, I was reading something stupid (probably about Beijing smog or Nigerian militants or urban planning in Brazil) and eating my salad. And I take a bite and CRUNCH!!!!

(Internal dialogue: No way, I couldn’t have…Impossible…Yup, there it is…I really just did that…)

I looked down at my plastic fork. Half of it was missing. I had somehow bitten my fork so hard so as to break the entire thing off. (What is going on in my subconscious that could make me so aggressive…I mean, I was engrossed in my reading, but it was enjoyable and relaxed reading…I’m a little creeped out just thinking about it all.) Only slightly embarrassed, and yet to chew this plastic-infused bite, I looked around the office and realized no one had noticed a thing. After politely disposing of my horrifying fork-bite, I continued eating my salad, stabbing the bits with my half-fork and eventually resolving to see a psychiatrist.

Now you know.

of painting, parabolas, and blind inference

Are you ever living life (or watching it happen around you) and you think of what a great metaphor it is for something larger? Some folks used to teach this way. They saw a sheep fold and told us of how His Kingdom works. They saw a farmer sowing seed and used it to explain how our lives are sown and what the implications are of where we sow them. Preachers still live on this method. People at my church have heard more cycling stories (and related metaphors) than any other church in history. But it works. It paints the picture better than simple words.

I tell you stories of elevators and baby news and generally mundane life events and somehow there is something larger we can all take from it. These are parables, in a sense, related comparisons, story-telling devices.

I often run across things and wonder if there is an applicable parable in it. I ask myself, “Is that parabolic?” I used the term privately, since I was both unsure of its accuracy in that context and since I was probably the worst math student in the history of Robert E Lee high school (not to mention the fact that I flunked “Math for Artists” at UT before retaking the identical class with the same professor and managing a “D”, leaving me with a cumulative Mathematics GPA of 0.5).

Finally, I sought out the etymology of the words and found that parabola does indeed come from the same root (Greek parabole) or at least that “parabola” grew off the same branch of the tree that our modern “parable” eventually found itself.

Parabola - 1579, from Gk. parabole "parabola, application"

Parable - c.1325, "saying or story in which something is expressed in terms of something else," from O.Fr. parable, from L. parabola "comparison," from Gk. parabole "a comparison, parable," lit. "a throwing beside," from para- "alongside" + bole "a throwing, casting," related to ballein "to throw." Replaced O.E. bispell. In V.L. parabola took on the meaning "word," hence It. parlare, Fr. parler "to speak."

So, having blindly inferred your permission, I will now use the term “parabolic” more freely. I will encourage you to seek parabolic moments in life and to keep your eyes open for parabolic pictures as we all continue to live in these complicated parable-machines called lives.

we're all going to die: or how i found donut holes to be exactly like velociraptors

"We’re all going to die."

Usually, that phrase is uttered right before a catastrophic moment in a movie. Aliens are landing, the bomb is being dropped, the infection has mutated, the velociraptors have escaped their paddock…Whatever.

I’m saying it now and this is real life. We’re all going to die.

I just finished half of a “cup” of Krispy Kreme Donut Holes, purchased for $1.79 at my local Exxon. And I think I am dying as I type. I don’t really know why I purchased the donut holes, but I did. And as I was popping one after another in my mouth, I read that the half a cup I just ate contained half of my fat intake for the day. Half. And about 500 calories. And 40 grams of sugar. Gulp.

Don’t get me started on the ingredients, of which there are only about 400.

What have we been doing in our society that made this ok? Who has been asleep at the switch here? Sweet fancy Moses, what is going on?!?!?

I am actually partly amused by this gruesome discovery. I did buy breakfast at the convenience store. And, considering that the “cup o’ holes” fit into my cup-holder, maybe I got exactly what was promised – convenience. I don’t suppose the “Good-For-You Store” has any cup-holder based products at all, much less donuts. So, in the end, I have no one to blame but myself (and whoever was asleep at the switch, of course).

Enjoy your convenient donut holes, everybody. I have a half a cup left for anyone who wants them. Maybe I’ll just add some sugar and creamer and drink ‘em down. After all, we’re all going to die, some of us (especially those of us with donut-bits blocking our arteries) much sooner than others.

I will now go eat a punch-bowl full of spinach.

getting off on the wrong floor

I did it again today.

I exited the elevator, took about three steps, looked up, looked around, and then it hit me. Wrong floor. Idiot!!

Ever happen to you?

I always blame it on exterior forces. The elevators are painfully slow (I really think there is a 93 year-old man operating the thing with a traditional pulley system down in the basement)…I was engrossed in the document I was reading…It’s Monday morning – of course I am out of it…blah, blah, blah. There really is no excuse.

I think this sometimes happens in our lives. I think we sometimes find ourselves in a place we never really intended to be. Sometimes the door closes behind us and we’re forced to make do with the situation we are given. And maybe that’s a really good thing. Rather than attempting to script every aspect of our lives, it might be refreshing to close our eyes and hit a button on life’s elevator. Truth tells us that there is something to learn every time the door opens, regardless of whether it was the floor we intended to get off on or not.

the cone of uncertainty

Did you know that it was hurricane season? I remember that, at least around my house as a child, hurricane season was a pretty interesting time. We were all sure that my older brother was going to be a meteorologist, as he not only was glued to the Weather Channel (ah, the early years of cable) but he had a dry-erase “Hurricane Tracker Map” on the wall of the garage which he used to plot the movement of the storms as they roared towards landfall. Being infatuated with everything my brother did, I naturally shared his enthusiasm. It was also typically 137 burning degrees outside so this helped chew up some of the day.

At that time, nothing was more exciting than when a storm was approaching landfall. The Weather Channel would send some poor intern out onto the beach at Hilton Head or Homestead to get pounded by the wind and the blowing surf. He would be blowing around and getting pelted by sideways rain and telling the audience things they could probably see for themselves (“The winds are really starting to pick up here”). Before reality TV existed, that was as real as it got. And we would watch for hours.

Well, times are busier now, but hurricanes still find a way to entertain. Now we are privileged to have (cue threatening music and booming voice here) the CONE OF UNCERTAINTY. Nothing is more exciting than a (threatening music – “Duh duh duh!!”) CONE OF UNCERTAINTY. I mean, how great is it that in this life where everything is planned out and programmed that there can still be something so menacing as a (“Duh duh duh!!”) CONE OF UNCERTAINTY to cause us to wonder and fear and check Weather.com every 20 minutes just to see if the track has changed.

I, for one, love the Cone of Uncertainty and wish there was a way to extrapolate it to the rest of life. The Green Bay Packers could have the Brett Favre Cone of Uncertainty. College students could have a Dating Cone of Uncertainty, although, on second thought, that would bring up all kinds of “making landfall” references and I don’t think I want to be the one to get that started.

No matter. It’s hurricane season. Enjoy the show. And enjoy the (“Duh duh duh”) CONE OF UNCERTAINTY!!

of responsibility

Where does responsibility begin?

If you have a child, it becomes your responsibility, right? The child gets sick, needs care, whatever… You are responsible. What if something tragic happened to your sibling who has children – do their children become your responsibility? What if a neighbor’s child is suddenly in need? Is that your business? What if you hear of a child in your church that is desperately in need? A child in your city? Your region? Your country? Your world?

You see, somewhere in there, there is a line for all of us. Because, obviously, there are millions of starving, disease-infested children in this world that could really use a little bit of help.

We hem and haw and I think we generally have great intentions. We think things like, “If there was no one else to do it, then I would” and “If I could help everyone then I would but I am only one person”. Then we smile as we think that Bill Gates sure is doing a lot with his money (and we would too if we were him and really we helped him get that money when we bought Microsoft products so in a sense he is really just giving away our money for us which we sort of wanted him to do anyway).

But would we? Do we? Where does responsibility begin?

We know a gem of a soul in Johannesburg right now, who is seeing some difficult things, some of them for the very first time. (Her blog, How to Save the Kosmos, is worth the read and linked to along the right side of my page…) The first day that she walks into a squatter camp, she will have no choice – on some level, she will feel very responsible. So must you see it? Is that the line? Will it be the look in a child’s eyes or the touch of their little hands? And could she have ever felt that responsibility from her American living room, watching a Feed the Children infomercial at 3am?

Strange isn’t it? Where does responsibility begin?

my african daughter - blogging baby burkholder

I am a believer. I believe that there is purpose and wisdom in every step of this life. I believe that great tragedies and triumphs both produce greater awareness and connectedness to the Source. And I believe that when everything lines up just right, I can be the beneficiary of the good designed to bring added weight to that Source. Confused? Let me explain.

When I found out last week that we were going to have a girl, I felt very small. And very thankful.

You see, I miss my sweet little African “daughter” so much. We talk about her (and talk like her) every day. She was such a force of hope and light in my life. I remember holding her little chocolate hand in mine as we walked to buy her some “mazimba” (chips) at the shop. I remember putting her on my lap and teaching her how to do addition using her “flinglers” and the way that her eyes searched mine for approval and praise when she would do well with the task I gave her. I remember the day that we got her tested for HIV, the tremors that shook through my body as I imagined the results, and the unaware little smile that she wore after the test. We ate KFC that day. We hoped for good results and decided that life was too precious to waste worrying about what we could not change.

I think about her often, my African daughter.

I can’t even begin to describe how blessed I felt when it was revealed that God was growing a little girl in Stefani’s womb. I would again have a daughter. I would again have a little hand to hold, little eyes to reassure, and a little smile to treasure forever. My little girl will not replace what I miss so dearly in Africa, for there can be no replacement for a unique creation of heaven. My little girl will be more of a reminder, a link to a part of me that lives in Johannesburg, in the glimmering eyes of a hopeful, silly, and perfectly healthy angel.

My African daughter is HIV-negative, along with her brother, Baby Kyle. It brings a smile to my face just thinking about it.

It is things like this that make me a believer. In hope...in redemption...in the Source.

I believe that if everything lines up just right, one day my two daughters will meet in person. And I’ll be there crying and smiling, the happiest father on earth.



(In the top photo, she is letting the bubbles from a Coke tickle her face. Only a child would notice such a pleasure. Precious.)