It\’s snow here in Raleigh for the second straight day. Coming out of Target after some Christmas shopping, H.C. kicked the Cute Meter through the roof:\n\n\”Daddy, I love the snow. It tickles me!\”

This is a bit late in posting — as in about three weeks late — but it’s too funny to never post.

Several weeks back, after picking up Her Cuteness from school, we were driving home talking about her day.  For one reason or another we got on the subject of God being everywhere, and in everything.

I told her, “Do you see those trees?  God is in those.  He’s in our car, he’s in your carseat, and he’s even in you!”

She smiled sweetly and laughed her cute little laugh that says, “Daddy, you’re funny!”

After a few minutes of listening to what was probably either Mozart or Rachmaninov, I hear from the seat behind me, “Daddy, I feel Jesus in my chair!”

How I ever managed to keep from swerving off the road laughing, I will never know.

InvertedMind once referred to quarterback-then-former-quarterback-now-quarterback Michael Vick as an “a**hole” for his forray into being…well…a moral-less, heartless, scumbaggyish butthead who hated dogs and may very well have regularly thrown kittens against brick walls for some sort of perverted kicks and giggles*.

It’s hard to forgive someone for some sort of heinous crime, be it against yourself, a friend, or even just against humanity.  In this case, Vick gave the entire world population a black eye by showing that, even though we’ve come a long way from stone tools and living in caves, we can still be barbaric.  It’s especially difficult when we are, in no way, close to the individual; love is something that is formed and nourished through intimacy, not through news clips and sports highlights.  When there is no positive emotion in that space between you and another subject, negative emotion is likely to fill the void.

But, as a Christian, it’s my duty toward God and my fellow humans to forgive.  As much as we all tend to believe that a person cannot change, that is proven, time and time again, to be an falsehood based solely on ignorance and short memories.  More often than not, because of the good in all of us through the grace of God, a person does learn from his or her mistakes, and grows into a better steward for the Lord because of it.

Is Vick a Christian?  I don’t know; but that should never be a basis of my forgiveness.  The Bible clearly states that, if I harbor animosity toward other, I cannot possibly draw close to Christ.

So, on that basis, InvertedMind has forgiven Mike Vick of his transgressions.  And, no, this is not some holier-than-thou post where I make you look bad for still holding his past against him.  Rather, it’s to call out groups like PETA (already a horribly misguided group that puts animals above human beings when Genesis clearly states that God gave us animals for numerous uses, including for food).  There are marches scheduled tonight as Vick takes to the field for the first time since his arrest, protesting his involvement in the game, and in life in general.

I, for one, applaud Vick for at least trying to look as if he has changed; and until proven guilty again, he remains innocent in my eyes.  I wish him the best of luck, and I hope beyond hope that he has, truly, changed not just in his actions, but in his heart’s desires.

* – This is pure speculation; InvertedMind has no way of knowing what the walls were made of.

It’s hard, as a parent, to avoid doing too much for my child.  For one thing, I hate watching her struggle.  It’s difficult to not step in and “right the ship” whe she can’t complete what she has set out to do, no matter how big or small the task.

It’s also tough for me as a perfectionist.  I’ve tried over the years to back away from a tendency to “tuck in the corners” of other people’s beds (speaking metaphorically, of course; I hate making beds).  I’ve forced myself into accepting the reality that life consists entirely of things that aren’t quite up to the highest standards.

I sat in church Sunday listening to a guest speaker named Johnny Evans speaking about encouragement, and he started down a path I thought I could complete before he did.  As he spoke of watching his daughter struggle running a race, I felt as if he was going to say that he ran out on the track, scooper her up in his arms and ran the end of the race with her in his arms.  That’s not where he went, though, and I’m glad to hear it.

How the story ended is unimportant to what I’m going to eventually get to in this post.  What stood out to me wasn’t that his young daughter was in a race, or that she was falling way behind everyone else, or that her partner in the race ultimately became an encouragement to her by jogging next to her and speaking words of encouragement to build her up for a relatively strong finish.  What stood out was the realization I came to: we, as parents, should never, ever attempt to finish the “race” for our children.  We are the trainers.  We prepare them for the journey, but a good parent knows when his or her role stops, and the child’s role starts.

If we weren’t all forced to learn how to do things on our own, we’d all still be getting fed by our parents.  We’d have a bunch of six-foot-tall, post-pubescent adults being carried around on our parents’ hips.  Instead, our parents equipped us for the future, but let us live through the highs and lows on our own.

So we tie bibs around our kids’ necks.  We show them how division works.  We give them a helmet, knee pads and a push down the street.  But the line between good parenting and coddling exists at the point where we hand them the spoon for the first time, or tell them to do their homework, or let go of the bike seat.

The fall will hurt, and we can’t absorb the pain for them.  But, once they learn to balance the bike, they can ride on their own.

Back to the race, and the metaphor that jumped out in my head: as parents, we run the first leg of the relay, not the last.  We do not take the baton and try to make up ground; we give it our all to give them a good lead, and let God take them to the finish line.

I should be in bed, but I’ve had this running through my head this evening.

Rewind to last Wednesday: I was about to head out to dinner for my neighbor’s birthday.  I get in the car — I had just been driving it all of three minutes before — turn the key, and all I get is a repeated electric “click.”

Uh-oh.

I figured the starter got killed.  It had been pouring rain earlier, so I thought I had, in some freak incident, managed to short it out and fry it.  A few helpful neighbors tried to jump it, but I knew it wouldn’t work.  A friend even offered to use her AAA membership to get me a free tow (she was going to dinner with me, so technically she was in the car and we were completely within the rules).  Eventually I had it towed at my own expense since my insurance covers it.

It turns out it was just some corrosion on one of the electical connections to the starter.  $95 for labor and $65 for a tow, and I was good to go.

Fast forward to Monday night.  I left my briefcase in my car over the weekend.  I’ve had a habit of doing that, and I usually lock the car up even though i live in a ridiculously safe neighborhood.  I had gotten into the car late in the evening, and apparently failed to lock it up.

This morning, I opened my driver’s side door to find the glove box and the dashboard storage wide open.  And the briefcase?  Gone.  No big deal, it’s a $20 Wal-Mart special.  What stung was the fact that my Zune and my Sansa were both in it.  For those counting, that’s $250 worth of electronics on top of $160 for car repairs.

I could have been upset.  At first I was, but I knew it was my own fault.  But as I steamed my way to work after filing a police report, I started to gain some perspective on the situation.  I have a home.  My car runs.  I don’t live paycheck to paycheck.  I’ve got an awesome job and the best friends in the world, hands down.  And, above all else, I have a child who is my entire world.  She’s safe and I’m safe.  When it all comes down to it, nothing that actually matters has changed; God doesn’t care about my electronic toys.

It got me thinking deeper, though.  I came to a realization tonight, which ultimately is the reason I’m not already off dreaming about something random.

Think about this for a while: if I wake up tomorrow, I’ve been given the gift of another day filled with untold adventures and lessons from God.  If I don’t wake up in the morning, I finally get to meet my Savior face to face.

Bottom line: if every day is a gift from God, then there is no such thing as a bad day.

I enjoy my life.  There’s not much I have to complain about, aside from a pending divorce.  But of the few things about my life that I could actually say suck — and it’s generally a relative concept, as in, “relative to winning a million dollars on the same day a Belgian supermodel falls in love with me, not having a garage is kinda crappy” — there’s one that stands out and truly pains me every day.  It’s the fact that I can’t save the world.  By God, I’ll try my best, but I’m just me.  And the only man who can do it hasn’t come back yet.

But, yes, not being able to fix what’s wrong truly burdens my heart.  I see so much war, crime, bigotry and just general hate in the world, and I want to tell these people that it is the meek, humble and compassionate who shall inherit the earth, not the dictators and warmongers.

But there is something I can help fix, and I’m going to do all in my power to do so.  And you can help.

You all know I’m a single father, and we’re hundreds of miles from our nearest family.  My life revolves around that little girl, and I spend most of my time worrying about her.  When she has the sniffles, my heart aches for her.  When she cries for her “Dedo,” I want to cry too.  All minor, passing afflictions, to be sure, but she’s not just someone who depends on me; she’s part of me.

It’s that build-up that brings me to Katie Fitch, a beautiful little three-year-old from Florence, South Carolina.

See, Katie has hepatoblastoma.  Don’t try to say it, or you might wind up with your tongue in a splint.  But, essentially, it’s a cancerous tumor of the liver.  Cancer.  In a three-year-old.

My next-door neighbor and close friend is a pediatric nurse who deals with cancer patients all the time.  I have no idea how she can see this stuff on a regular basis and be anything more than a basket case for her entire shift — I merely read a story about someone and almost broke down crying in part because of the innocent child being afflicted with such a horror, and also because I can’t do anything about it.

Katie’s family is taking donations; you can contribute directly from the Web site they’ve set up for her.  I ask anyone who can give to do so.  Help make a future for someone who doesn’t even really have a past yet.  I implore you to find some way to scrape up a donation, even if it’s only a few bucks you scraped together by foregoing a cup of coffee, a Big Mac or a pack of cigarettes.  And please, tell your friends and family.

None of us can save the world.  But if everyone tried to save a small slice of it, we wouldn’t just save it — we’d make it infinitely better.

You can read all about young Katie and make a donation at KatieFitch.com.

Do I really look that old?
We often develop close relationships with the people around us at our jobs.  Those relationships, though (in Information Technology, at least) are usually tightly based on alcohol consumption, and not so much on actual personal knowledge of one another.  On my birthday a week ago, at a small celebration in my honor held by my manager and open to my coworkers, a friend speculated on my age.

He guessed 35.

D’oh!

I decided to let him live, but that wasn’t a decision I came to lightly.  I think it was based largely on the fact that there were several witnesses (if you so much as say “cake” in an IT department, you better have experience running with the bulls in Pamplona).

And They Partied On…And On…
I vowed this year that I would make up for last year’s birthday — the only way my 27th could have sucked worse is if someone had kicked me in the cajones, repeatedly, the entire day.  So, with that in mind, the party kicked off on Monday, August 11.  A trip to the beach — the Outer Banks is my new Favorite Place On Earth™ — launched the festivities.  A week of U.S. Olympic triumph, presumably in my honor, then ensued.

We won’t go into all the details — no, there was no debauchery, but there was food, music, general fun to be had by all, and even a $10 prize for finishing third in a beer pong tournament at a local bar.  I finally let the party give up the ghost on Monday, August 18, sometime around 11:45 p.m.  And, I’ve got to say, I think it ended a little too soon.  I had a semi-crappy 19th birthday too, so I still have a little bit of karmic make-up to do.

Answer me this: how do you read that statement?

Do you see it saying, "any level of effort is good enough, as long as you are trying," or does it say, "doing nothing is not acceptable?"

To me, these two are mutual exclusive when it comes to living as a Christian.  While God understands we are fallible and we will sin, screw up, let him down, and generally not live our lives as we should, the simple fact of the matter is that everything we do should be done to glorify God.  Simply being a good person — i.e., "any level of effort, as long as you try" — will not find you favor with God.  First Corinthians 13:3 says, "If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing."  In other words, if we do not love God, and do not love our brethren as He loves us, all the good deeds we can do mean absolutely nothing.  Our deeds need to reflect God, but also need to be done directly, actively and clearly glorify Him.

It's not complicated.  All you need to ask is whether you are doing your deeds for God's gain, or for your own.  For, when you die, your deeds for yourself may be remembered on Earth, but are forgotten in the eyes of Heaven.  And if you've spent your life doing seemingly good deeds — giving to charities, working to eradicate disease or developing new technologies to improve the quality of life — and your intentions were never to extend God's reach into the community, your deeds are no better than the evilest of evil — and, therefore, are unacceptable.

The line is a fine one: it's not what you do, it's what is in your heart.  If you have a prideful heart that strives to bring glory to yourself, you will not find the tiniest shred of peace in the eternity you've dealt yourself.  But if you have a humble heart, that of a servant in a life where God is the master, your eternity will be one of peace and unimaginable joy.

It's not what you have done for man, but what you have done for God, that counts.  Because, by doing good deeds for man, you show that man can be compassionate.  By doing good things for God, and letting your deeds for God shine with the glory of the Father, you show that God is Love.

I was having trouble coming up with a good topic for the first weekly installment of The Journey.  Then, I spent about 30 minutes on the phone with one of my favorite people, and as I passed along some advice on life, I thought about something my mom once said to me: you can't be happy with anything else until you're happy with you.

The problem most of us face isn't the desire to be happy.  Few people, aside from the unlucky minority who have just totally given up, could ever honestly say that they don't want to be happy.  The hard part is finding out how.  And, the longer you search in vain, the harder it becomes to find the path to your happiness.

Having been through years of depression, and having found my way out of it by no means other than my own overwhelming desire to laugh until I cried again — to live this life, rather than just move from one work day to the next — I feel like I'm at least remotely qualified to say this.

We all think, because of this world we live in today where everything is available instantly, that there is some magical way to find happiness.  Maybe there is, but don't count on it.  The big-ticket item probably isn't going to give you an ounce of long-term happiness.  A vacation, a new house, a new car, having a child…they may bring you happiness now, but they aren't going to fix you.  You're treating the symptom rather than the disease..

Okay, so I haven't mentioned God up to this point, and The Journey is all about my spiritual journey.  So here goes.  God's timing almost always means one thing: the big fix is going to take a long, long time.  God wants us to find happiness in Him, but he also wants us to learn from what valleys we walk through.  Chances are good that he's not going to put a Big, Red Button™ in front of us.  Instead, we're going to have to take baby steps.  He'll reveal a piece of the puzzle here, and another one there, and at the same time he'll make us look back at all the pieces we've already put together to remember where we are.  In the end, it's just foolishness to expect the home run from God when we need to find a way to make a major change in ourselves — in this case, being content with who we are.

Which brings this whole thing around, full circle.  When we're looking for instant happiness, that's something we can buy.  But the moment — the glory — is fleeting.  It's the lessons learned through struggle that will stick with us and continue to bring us happiness for the rest of our lives.  And, to stick with the analogy, no one remembers the home run forever.  They just happen way too often to be worth remembering.  But, when you're down by one run in the bottom of the ninth, you have a runner on third, and the pitcher is stepping up to the plate, everyone will remember the little tap down the first-base line that gave just enough time for the runner to make it home.

Much in the same way, keep this in mind when it comes to learning how to be happy with who you are: legends aren't made with dime-a-dozen home runs.  Your best choice isn't always swinging for the upper deck.  Sometimes you've got to bunt.