Being Chuck

On March 21, 2005, Riley Noelle Stroup, our first child, was born in the normal morning hours.

When I say normal morning hours, I mean that time when most people are not only awake, but functioning at a reasonable capacity.

However, to arrive at the hospital and have Riley at “normal morning hours,” it was necessary for us to awaken at not normal morning hours, but that is neither here nor there… I digress.

Riley was born, and shortly thereafter we knew for a fact that she had Down Syndrome. This wasn’t a terrible shock to either of us for a couple of reasons***, but it wasn’t “run-of-the-mill” type news either.

***1. Tara grew up with a cousin that has Down Syndrome, and I went to school with a girl named Sarah who also had Down Syndrome. We had a limited understanding of what was and what would be.

***2. I had felt since high school that I would have a child with Down Syndrome or something similar, and told Tara so before we were engaged.

This didn’t alter our feelings about our daughter. She was here and healthy, and that was enough for us.

As time went on, Riley’s delay (the amount of time she tends to be behind her peers in learning/skills) has always been slight, but it is there and more noticeable at times. She spoke and walked a little later than most of her friends, and some of her motor skills aren’t as developed, but we have been tremendously blessed that she is interested in progress (and also are blessed by having people around us who encouraged us to keep pushing her). Riley is never coddled or treated any differently than her brother.

We always kind of had a running bet (no pun intended) as to who would actually run first. Lincoln is about two and a half years behind Riley. She took a long time to jump, and just as long to actually run, so we were always curious if Lincoln would run first. We always kind of wondered at what point Lincoln would begin to pass Riley in some respects. [Side note: Riley ran first, but he is currently almost as fast.]

…

It’s funny. You can know something is going to happen, you can even know approximately when, but it still catches you off guard.

Today, Tara was at a women’s event at church, and I had the kids. So we ran a few errands and then stopped for lunch at “Burger-Fries!” [Translation: McDonald's]

Daddy forgot to bring their cups, so we used the juice boxes. But that means I had to hold the juice box each time they drank. I mean, seriously… who designed juice boxes?

Hey let’s make a cardboard box to hold juice and a little hole for the straw!

A good idea, but any kid who holds one and doesn’t have the gentlest of grasps, immediately ends up with juice everywhere. But again, I digress.

So the kids have to ask me each time they was a drink.

Lincoln (who by the way, isn’t two yet) looks at me and says, “I want a drink.” Clear as a bell. [No, I don't know why bells are the definition of audible clarity.]

And I replied, “Um, how are you supposed to ask?”

And Lincoln retorted, “I want a drink, please.”

Now, anyone who has children close in age can tell you, when one gets something, it’s difficult at best to give anything to one and not the other. So, of course, Riley needed a drink too.

“I want drink!”

So again, I replied, “How are you supposed to ask?”

And she retorted in kind, “Drink please.”

It’s small, and most wouldn’t have even noticed, but I did. I asked her to say the whole phrase and repeated it for her. But “drink please” was it. This was the first time I noticed a marked difference. Lincoln has already begun to pass Riley.

…

It’s not easy for me. (Selfish, I know…)

I knew Lincoln would catch and pass Riley in most respects, but I still wasn’t ready.

I almost feel silly even bringing it up, but I wanted to process it… so I write. I guess I just didn’t expect it so soon.

When you have a child with Down Syndrome, you get used to the pace. It’s leisurely. Things happen when they happen. We encourage and push, but she does things in her own time. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

But when we had Lincoln, holy crap! The pace seemed ridiculously quick. There were times when Tara and I would look at each other in amazement, “Oh, he’s doing that already?”

I’m amazed though, at the timing of things.

I’m fairly sure God knew I wouldn’t be able to handle having a Down Syndrome child second. It’s not easy having one first.

That’s not a pity statement. It is what it is.

I’m not really sure where I expected this post to go, but I learn so much from my kids everyday. It funny how God uses the people around us (including our families) to teach us. I more clearly everyday how much He loves me through the way I love my own kids.

I sat this morning in church with my jaw clenched as tightly as my teeth would permit in a desperate (yet completely futile) attempt to stop the little creeks of tears from flowing from the outsides of my eyes.

I don’t know why that part of my eyes always leaks first, but it does.

I don’t think crying makes a man weak. In fact, I would argue quite the opposite, but I really don’t like to cry. So there I sat, jaw clenched, eyes welling, trying to focus on something other than the fact that my Friend is leaving.

I did the same tonight when they left our house.

And the worst part (not really worst, but you’ll get the idea in a second) is that while I am extremely saddened by their leaving, I am also really, really excited that they’re getting to do what they feel like they were made to do. Being human really is quite confusing at times.

I hate goodbye.

This was J and Kelly’s last Sunday at church. They leave for Tampa tomorrow. From Tampa they’ll fly to Chicago, and from Chicago on to Istanbul, Turkey.

I hate Turkey. (Not the delicious bird mind you… the country.)

………

I have never really had a lot of Friends in life. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always had lots of people that I could call friends, but I keep very few Friends.

The people you trust with everything. The people you know you could call and borrow money from if they have it. The people you would call if your car broke down in the middle of no where. The people you trust with things you’re not even sure you can tell your spouse.

That’s what I mean when I say Friends.

J was/is that to me. But the “is” is changing. He’s moving to Turkey (just in case you missed that from above).

And that is part of the reason I don’t keep many Friends. Life changes and people move on. It’s just a fact of life. And you use that word… goodbye.

We try to use euphemisms in its place:

“Be safe!”

“Be good!”

Take care!”

“Later!”

“See ya soon!”

But the harsh reality is that all these words mean goodbye. Whether it’s for now, or for longer, they all mean the same thing.

And that sucks.

But instead of spending time seeing how whiny I can be, let’s try something different…

If you don’t have someone in your life (same sex, same general life position) that you can lean on, you’re an idiot.

That kind of person is the one you can bounce crazy ideas off of, and they’ll tell you straight to your face whether it’s crazy or crazy enough to work. That kind of person is one who will tell you when you’re treating other people poorly, or when you need to figure some things out before you wreck your life.

I can’t tell you how many times J and I had “come to Jesus” meetings. He was never afraid to put me in my place when it was needed. And never once did I doubt his intentions when he came to me with a problem. He and Brian Truschinger (usually together) used to sit me down and let me know when I was being an idiot. They always did it in a way that was loving and recognized their own faults, and that was always (eventually) received well.

I used to joke with J and Brian that if I ever started a church (or got hired to run one) that I would be calling them to come sit in my office to keep me in check. That would be their entire job… sit in my office and just make sure I’m not an idiot all the time. That’s what they’re going to do.

They don’t really have any choice in the matter… I’m bigger than both of them together.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that J has had an enormous amount of influence in my life. And almost all of it (if not all) has been for the better (much, much better). Thank you, J.

And if you don’t have one of those, you are an idiot. Go get a J.

I don’t know why this was prompted by these pictures and not anything else before this. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to be there. I only got to see pictures.

Becky, I’m still sorry and sad I was stupid enough to miss your high school graduation, and now I’m sad I missed Ben’s college graduation.

It’s weird to look at pictures of my younger brother graduating and being ordained. In the same way it was weird to watch my younger sister graduate college. In the same way it’s weird to see Becky’s white coat, it’s weird to see pictures of Ben’s ordination.

(Sorry Jenny, you will have an opportunity to be thought of in a weird way too. It just hasn’t happened yet.)

We’re getting older and becoming adults, learning to be responsible (kind of).

It’s not always fun “growing up,” but it’s pretty cool.

I guess I’m trying to say:

I’m proud of you, Becky.

I’m proud of you, Ben.

I’m proud of you, Jenny.

I’m not sure I’ve said that to any of you before. But I definitely am, and I definitely should have.

Okay, so have you ever had one of those moments where you feel like God is trying to subtly tell you something. Not that you’ve gone majorly astray, but more along the lines of, “Maybe you should reexamine your thoughts on this subject…”

Today, more appropriately this morning, has been one of those days for me.

There are a few things I read fairly often. And the two blogs I’m about to reference both addressed this topic on May 5. I read them both this morning.

Both posts have to do with (my wording) “American Entitlement.” This idea: I have a right to complain. I have a right to fight for things that I want. I have a right… etc.

This is also something I posted about back in August, but apparently I need to revisit.

Thanks Ben and Josiah (you can click their names to check out their posts) for writing these.

I’m stealing their posts (and apparently one of my old ones) to make it look like I posted today.

I could be wrong (wouldn’t be the first time, nor will it be the last), but very few people, if any at all, are prepared for the finality that the death of a loved one seems to bring.

My grandfather, Charles Russell, died when I was in 8th grade. To me, it was sudden, unexpected, and heart breaking. I’m sure it was for a lot of people.  But more than anyone else, it was hard for my grandmother, Catherine Russell. Life changed drastically for her. A lifelong friend, her husband, her confidant was gone. But that thin little woman, whose size belied her incredible strength, lived on.

But after a few years age, and maybe a little loneliness, began to take their toll. Dementia set in.

Things that were once so familiar gradually became foreign. Friends and family became different people. Some of them were other friends or family. Some were strangers. Life changed once more.

And for some I would imagine (at least it was so for me), Grandma wasn’t really Grandma anymore. She was still my grandmother. I loved her and missed her when we weren’t there, but she wasn’t Grandma anymore.

So when this day came, I expected it would be a little easier to swallow, because she hadn’t been Grandma for so long.

I was wrong.

My mom called me today. Grandma passed away.

I am so sad. I miss her. I haven’t seen her in so long, and now I won’t. At least not for quite some time.

That pseudo finality I spoke of earlier doesn’t feel so “pseudo” right now. The death of someone close (or even sometimes someone not-so-close) causes pain and seems to remind us of that feeling of finality.

There is pain from want (“I will miss them”).

There is pain from regret (“I wonder if they knew…” or “I wish I had…”).

But there is also pain from the realization of mortality.

My first thought today when I heard from my mom was, “There’s the end of an era. This brings a close to a chapter in history.”

That’s how we think as finite beings. Everything has an end. Nothing lives on forever, not in this world anyway.

But we’re wrong.

The legacy Grandpa and Grandma left behind will live on forever. And nothing can end that.

There are thousands upon thousands of people whose lives have been forever altered by the fact that they “happened” to cross paths with Charles and Catherine Russell. And there are thousands upon thousands upon thousands more whose lives have been forever altered by the ripple effect of those encounters.

If I sought to write about those people, even if I only chose a few, this would become a long read indeed. But that isn’t my goal.

My goal is this:

I want people to know that despite the fact that Grandpa died years ago and despite the fact that Grandma died (and hasn’t been Grandma for a while), nothing can change the fact that they have changed the world. Their devotion to Christ, His church, and each other has had a profound effect on our world.

Whether by being completely committed to showing others the love of Jesus, or by having sons and daughters who have done the same, or by growing and equipping other people they met along the way, they have been agents of change.

It is not the end of an era. It’s not even really the end of a life.

This is only the beginning.

This morning, Tim Couch gave some new perspective to a familiar passage of scripture. He would tell you he got the info from somewhere else, and that it’s not his, but he put the sermon together. The credit for this post goes to him…

Anyway, go back and reread John 21:15-18. The story of Jesus restoring Peter. We (the church) tend to focus on the fact that Jesus asked Peter three times (in relation to the three denials by Peter of Jesus), but I’m not sure that’s the point.

Jesus asked Peter, “Do you love me?”

But our language is lacking when it comes to certain words… LOVE being one. When Jesus asked this question the word he used (in the Greek) is agapao (root = agape). But when Peter answers each time, he uses the word phileo. Both mean love, but they are different kinds.

Here are a couple of definitions:

Agape = to be fond of, to love dearly; to love, to be full of good-will, to have a preference for, regard the welfare of: . . . to take pleasure in the thing, prize it above other things, be unwilling to abandon it or do without it; a spontaneous feeling which impels to self-giving, the weak sense to be satisfied, to receive, to greet, to honor, or more inwardly, to seek after; to have love for someone or something, based on sincere appreciation and high regard.

Phileo = friendship, to be friendly to one; phileo more nearly represents tender affection; To love; to be friendly to one, to treat somebody as one of one’s own people; to have love or affection for someone or something based on association; love, have affection for, like.

If you haven’t already had the “AHA!” moment, it’s okay. I will continue.

So, the difference is similar to this:

agape = real love… “I would die for you.” It is a strong, intense, and deep bond.

phileo = “I love you man.” It’s a simple friendship. A bond of commonality.

So Jesus basically asks Peter (I’m paraphrasing here), “Peter, do you love me more than life itself? Would you go to the ends of the earth and die for me?”

And Peter’s response is, “Come on Jesus, we’re buds. You know how I feel.”

Total cop out.

So Jesus asks again, “Peter, do you love me more than life itself? Would you go to the ends of the earth and die for me?”

And Peter responds a second time, “Jesus, man, you know how I feel. We’re tight!”

At this point, most of us would get angry or fed up.

I know I would. If I asked someone who said they had my back, someone I was close to a question like that, and their response was similar to Peter’s, I’d be finding a new friend. That’s completely lame.

But I’m definitely not Jesus.

Jesus asks Peter again, but this time in a simpler way. “Peter, we’re brothers, we’re tight, right?”

And Peter replies, “Yeah man, we’re tight.”

And this is just one of those things that make Jesus so unbelievable. He was asking for everything Peter had. All of it. Every last bit.

But Peter wasn’t ready, even though previously he had said he was. So Jesus, instead of finding someone else “on which He could build His church,” met Peter where he was.

He asked Peter to step across the line. But Peter wasn’t ready, so Jesus met Him on the other side.

I always had trouble with this story. Jesus asking Peter three times. “Oops, that just happens to be the number of times you denied me isn’t it?” [include Dr. Evil pinky finger to mouth gesture here]

It always seemed a little harsh to me. (By the way, Jesus, if He chose to do that, had every right to.) But I don’t think that was the point.

So what is the point?

Restoration. Redemption.

A simple way to let a friend know that even though he couldn’t hack it, he wouldn’t be cut off.

Do I have grace like that?

If you are currently unfamiliar with the phrase “stay the course,” you can check it out here. But I would imagine that you already have some idea what it means. However, if you don’t you could probably figure it out with a little effort, but most likely you’ll take the course of action that most do and simply click the link.

Hard work may pay off later, but laziness pays off now.

Stay the course…

I’ve used phrase a lot lately.

It interests me though, that this simple three word phrase (were I to actually follow it) could change my life.

There are innumerable times I’ve set a plan in motion to change something (be it about myself, a situation, or otherwise), only to give in when the going got tough (or when I got bored).

Hard work may pay off later, but laziness pays off now.

And laziness feels good now. But that’s pretty much the only time it feels good.

See, rarely is a problem actually a problem because I didn’t know what to do (or was simply unaware of a solution). Usually the problem is a problem because I chose to leave the plan of action that would bring about a solution. And that was most likely because I got tired of waiting for results. I was impatient, or tired, or scared, or something else… so I gave in.

But were I to “stay the course,” the benefits would far outweigh the immediate results I received from that instant gratification.

Example:

Problem = I would really like to get in shape…

Solution = Run, Workout…

Action = Eat ice cream… Yummy!

But therein lies the problem. The problem isn’t really the problem. The problem is the action I choose to take. If for just a few consecutive days I were to actually make an attempt at exercise, it might become a habit. And if exercise became a habit, I might actually be able to solve my problem. But…

Hard work may pay off later, but laziness pays off now.

I could go on, list more examples, but I’m fairly certain you get the idea.

Laziness may pay off now, and hard work may be hard (that’s why it’s called “hard” work), but two years, two days, or two minutes down the road laziness totally sucks.

Stay the course.

Ever heard of Murphy’s Law?

[Please note: This is a rhetorical question. I am assuming you have. However, if you have not, please feel free to check out Murphy's Law here.]

I don’t quite believe that Murphy’s Law (not all the time anyway), but this one (below) is proven.

Stroup’s Law:

When travelling alone, the size of the persons one is seated with is directly proportional to the size of the one.

Once again, this time on my return flight from Kansas City, MO (which was ridiculously cold by the way… the city, not the flight), I boarded the plane seeking out my seat. 21C. As I looked down the plane beyond the seemingly endless line of bodies attempting to stuff their oversized “carry-on” baggage into the undersized overhead compartment, I could see a man. He was sitting by himself, but he took up about one and a half airline seats.

[Please note: That is not an indictment or slam of said man. I, myself, take up more than my grossly oversized (yes, sarcasm) airline seat.]

And I immediately thought to myself:

Well, there’s row 21…

And of course, I was correct.

So I sat down and said, “Let’s pray this seat just happens to be open.”

He laughed.

…

As more and more people boarded the plane, I tried to avoid eye contact for fear of magically wishing/unwishing some other large person into the middle seat in our “three-person” row. But I couldn’t help myself.

As I raised my eyes through the river of people… I saw him. Another man, equally as large as the one currently on my left, looked at his boarding pass, then down the aisle at us, and rolled his eyes.

How does this happen? Does the airline have some weird IP mapper that also flags the weight and height of the person purchasing tickets? Is it some cruel joke by skinny little airline workers bent on shaming people who are bigger than them? Did they get picked on in high school or something?

…

It’s not very often that I spend time around one person who is of considerably more size than I. But it usually happens on planes.

So there we were. I’m sure it was quite the humorous sight. Three large men (of which I definitely weighed the least, and wasn’t the tallest) crammed into a space worthy of two smaller or even average-sized men.

And of course, the flight was packed full. There were no open seats for any of us to move to… to alleviate the amazing pressure caused when a great amount of mass is compressed into a container not built to hold it.

It may not be Murphy’s Law (the plane didn’t crash… it could have been worse), but Stroup’s Law was definitely in full effect once again.

I don’t want to sound like a total nerd/old man/word snob (even though I’m probably going to anyway), but can we not get away from the ridiculous im/texting abbreviations please?

I completely understand their usefulness and convenience, but I believe for most of us that time (the period of life in which these abbreviations are a normal part of textual conversation) has passed. With the advent of QWERTY phones, the “necessity” of such abbreviations has pretty much run its course. You don’t need to type “BTW” anymore. You now possess the ability to actually type out “by the way” without clicking 22999074433092999 (or something of the sort).

And if you type “BTW” or “LOL” on a computer, well, it’s just plain ridiculous.

How did we become so lazy that we would rather type “LOL” or “ROFL” than “ha ha?” It’s one or two extra characters/keystrokes…

“But Chuck, I need to let people know when I’m just kidding with them, and that’s so hard when I’m typing…”

Listen, I know that email and messaging are severely limited when it comes to expressing emotion and tone, but can’t we be more creative than “LOL/ROFL/OMG?”

Maybe I’m a word snob, but are we not capable of finding actual words to help express our tone? Isn’t there any way we can distinguish between things that are slightly humorous and things that are actually hilarious?

…

Maybe not.

Perhaps, I’m doomed to reading emails that include “LOL” and “BTW” from co-workers (who BTW are fifteen years my senior) for the rest of my natural life, but I certainly hope not.

[Please note the blatant contradictory use of an abbreviation as situational irony.]

Seriously, emails with abbreviations, it happens. A lot. At work. From real live adults. It did again today.

And while I’m on “LOL”

Are you really? [read with sarcastic grin] Did my overwhelming hilariousness actually cause you to laugh out loud? Or better yet, did you really end up rolling on the floor laughing?

I highly doubt it… for two reasons:

1. I’m not that funny.
2. You’re probably not really that expressive. (But the sad state of our inability to express real emotion as a culture will have to be saved for another day.)

If I’m being totally transparent, I use abbreviations here and there. “FYI” is one I use all the time. So perhaps I’m as guilty as anyone. However, I definitely see a difference between “FYI” and “LOL,” but then again, I would…

…

Is it possible that someday people will use words again? Could it be that one morning I will awake to the sun shining and emails with words that are spelled out, correctly? Or am I dreaming the impossible dream?

If you really want to ROFL [yummy irony], go back and reread this while imagining you can hear Andy Rooney (of 60 Minutes fame) reading it to you. When I reread it out loud, I felt like he was standing over my shoulder nodding/whining his approval.

Someone asked me the other day why I think it’s fun to learn new things (perhaps because I say it is so very often). And for the first time in recent memory I didn’t have nor could I come up with an answer. (Which, for those of you that know me well enough, this is a problem…)

Why is it fun to learn new things?

I really do like to learn new things. My new job has been a lot of fun (most of the time) due almost solely to the fact that I keep learning new stuff. Whether I’m learning about Online Banking, IT, or just more about people and the way they interact, it’s fun.

But I have no idea why. Why do I enjoy learning?

My default answer has always been that I’m a little bit  [read: way more than most people probably realize, ask my wife...] nerdy, and that’s usually enough for most people. But for some reason it wasn’t enough for me this time. It wasn’t enough to make fun of myself and move on. I needed the real answer.

What is it that compells me to read stupid trivia crap or watch software tutorials on the internet? What drives me to try new things? What is it about that knowledge of one more thing that causes me to keep pushing?

Is it a genuine and pure thirst for knowledge motivated by a desire to help? Or is it a desire to be seen as knowledgeable?

Do I really enjoy knowing? Or is it simply that I enjoy other people knowing I know?

I’m not sure…

If you’ve read my blog before you have probably noticed that in my self-awareness I tend to assume the worst about my own motives.

I am a cynic (mostly about people). And I know me better than anyone else does. I hear my thoughts. I know my motives.

I’d like to believe that I enjoy learning because my motives are pure and I just have a thirst for knowledge and I take joy in helping people, and that’s it.

But I know better. I am a sinner (like everyone else), and I am selfish.

I do honestly enjoy learning things, and I do have a genuine thirst for knowledge. I really do like to help people and knowing more does facilitate that. But I also know that I enjoy the fact that people know I know.

The joy of being human and conflicted…

Seth Godin is one of the bloggers I read regularly. I subscribed to his blog, and every time he writes something new, it shows up in my inbox. I love it.

This was in my inbox a week or so ago and am just now responding to it. I’m kind of slow.

Read his words (and marvel), then read mine (and pretend to be impressed… maybe).

*******
Which comes first, the product or the marketing?

I don’t intend to keep posting this kind of stuff and not actually writing.

But when other people say it better…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JHS8adO3hM

Why can’t we all figure it out like the guy Penn’s talking about?

This guy is my hero/idol/new best friend… even though we’ve never met.

http://lordsofbacon.com/2008/11/bacon-fresh-easy-way.html