Bradatude

Jesus as Babysitter

2010-11-05T20:38:00.004-05:00

Everyone seems to have their own idea of what Heaven will be like. Most seem to focus on what they have experienced thus far as ideal, and assume that it will be at least this--several times fold, in Heaven. I often invite the dying to dream about what Heaven will be like, fueling them with some of the enticements offered in Scripture. The book of Revelation gives the most descriptive pictures of its beauty.

On Oct 26, my best friend from high school lost his 4 and a half year old daughter to an odd form of cancer (PTLD). On the phone Matt told me, I guess you know what this is like. No, I have NO idea. I've never even had a child, let alone lose one. Sarah Elizabeth Brooks was a spunky, charismatic, resilient image of her parents. Cindy and I have been praying for her for months as she battled this illness at Children's Hospital in St. Louis. I was not prepared for the email I read that informed us of her death.

On a vocational note, I have been dealing with grief from about every angle one can imagine. Holding the hand of my 100-year old grandmother as she breathed her last this time last year was yet one more view of the ache of loss. Nothing could have prepared me for the funeral of Sarah this past weekend. Matt called me after her visitation asking if I could do him a favor. Anything--was my quick reply--I would have invented a way to help him for anything he asked. Be a pallbearer? Absolutely. God is in this, I know He is.

And that is what I keep telling myself. Her service was extremely personal--rivalling my father's for toughness to endure. A pale pink casket just her size was brought in by the four of us. Her service was a collage of personal remembrances by those who cherished her spirit most, replete with poetry by her mother. One of these included one titled, "I will not wear black" (to my daughter's funeral). Musical offerings included "Fearless" by Taylor Swift describing Sarah's fierce courage in facing cancer. Her brother Jacob, now 6, helped lead the singing of "This Little Light of Mine."

There are no words. I know that. Even though I do not have a daughter, I tried to try on Matt's grief, if that is even possible. The heaviness of its burden swallowed me whole with no respite in sight. Of course I want to be there for Matt, his wife Elizabeth, and son Jacob, through this.

I know that Jesus makes an excellent babysitter. I am praying that He gives them a glimpse of Sarah as she is today, and that this can be a portion of the hope of joy to come that keeps them plugged in. I realize that Scripture does this. Nevertheless, I am praying that a dream of some nature comes to the Brooks family about Sarah's life right now--in a manner that parents need to see.

Revelation 21:22-27
22 I did not see a temple in the city, because the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are its temple. 23 The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp. 24 The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their splendor into it. 25 On no day will its gates ever be shut, for there will be no night there. 26 The glory and honor of the nations will be brought into it. 27 Nothing impure will ever enter it, nor will anyone who does what is shameful or deceitful, but only those whose names are written in the Lamb’s book of life.

And I already have 10 years on Princess...

2010-10-22T11:26:00.002-05:00

The Visitor

2010-09-22T08:16:00.002-05:00

Look who came to visit us! I first spotted her last weekend, and she stopped me dead in my tracks. She had spun a web between 2 day lilies in the back yard. Straight down the middle of her web was a narrow vertical zig-zagged line. She looked like something out of a National Geographic photo spread. In my great enthusiasm, I went to show Princess. That was a mistake. Kill it, was her awe-filled response. I had not anticipated that, but I should have given our present understanding about all spiders. "I'd sooner stomp on a kitten," I told her. "I'm sure it would make a softer sound." Princess was not pleased with this response at all. What if it's poisonous? I saw a sticky board as a compromise to stomping on her, and trapping her was not a challenge at all. Stomping her would have been far more merciful, in retrospect. Now it's like I've put her in a terminal time out. Time to reflect on her life, try to make sense of it all.
Meanwhile I discovered she is a Mississippi Garden Spider, and she is not harmful at all. The articles I read said that mosquitos won't be a problem at all when she's around. I tried this optimistic approach with Princess, but she didn't go for it. I have decided to name our girl "Mrs. Ippi" giving credit to her great size. I told her that if her family decides to settle at the Eades abode in the future, they would be truly welcome. Just stay out of Princess' sight. I can tell she's thinking about it.

St. Louis' Baton Bob Moved to Atlanta

2010-08-13T10:04:00.002-05:00

The Easter Bunny outfit was my favorite

Southern Hospitality

2010-08-04T09:36:00.000-05:00

BED INTRUDER SONG!!!

2010-08-04T09:30:00.000-05:00

Pooch Envy

2010-07-22T10:50:00.005-05:00

We want to get a new pooch, we really do. Mom just got a Bishon Friese puppy, Wilbur, and he is settling in well.
He goes on several daily rampages, she calls them Bishon Frenzies. The pooch ache continues to grow...

I did go to the post office and buy doggy postage stamps today. Unavoidably, cats were included. I'll be using those for bills.

Same Work, New View

2010-07-02T13:17:00.004-05:00

Two weeks ago, I was given a new position in my work as chaplain at Hospice of the Valley. I am now the bereavement coordinator. Essentially this means that I will be following up with families after their loved one dies--providing one on one grief counseling, officiating memorials, and meeting with those who want to talk through their loss from our Community Bereavement Center. I also facilitate the grief groups that meet at our office for every kind of loss you can imagine: loss of a parent, spouse, sibling, child, grandparent, and those who have lost a loved one to suicide or homicide.

I love my work at hospice, but this definitely is a different view. My former work was more about walking the terminally ill through the last months of their lives, and being a companion-like presence as they explored their fears, anxieties, hopes, beliefs, and anchors. It was like leading them in taking a spiritual inventory of their lives. I likened it to walking on the beach with someone special one last time.

This new role surprised me. It is very rewarding, but in much different ways. Someone has already died. There is shock, disbelief, hurt, guilt, fear, anger, and a list too long to describe here. It is still a companion role that I take, but the walk resembles something much different. It is like walking with a family member, sometimes several family members down a darker corrider. It is like walking the beach at night. There is unmistakable beauty, but in a more solemn and profoundly helpless manner. The hope of what is believed about death either brings comfort, or it can breed despair.

I don't think I'll ever get used to the ache expressed a thousand ways through the lives of those who loved, and lost. Scripture has been leaping off the page at me in ways I will continue to treasure.

Year Long Break

2010-06-07T20:08:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure what the statute of limitations is on blogging breaks, but suffice it to say, I've been on a 14 month sabbatical. If I were a missionary, we could call that a furball, or something. Since bowing off of Facebook, many have asked me if I have also deserted the blog. Yes for awhile, but maybe I'm ready to come back. Maybe it's time.

Co-worker Confections

2009-03-14T21:26:00.003-05:00

I have noticed something from working in an office made-up of 95% women: there is always something to eat. Every alcove, every peninsula, every nook in the building has a foil-covered plate on it with some kind of cookie, pastry, pie, cake, truffle, sweet roll, or pound cake upon it. Early in the day, those in closest proximity exercise amazing will power. They say things like, "Oh, it looks amazing but I couldn't... Or "keep me away from that," and on, and on. But then as the day grows closer to lunch, little one inch dents appear. When caught, the guilty usually smile sheepishly as they confirm its goodness with gushing compliments to its maker. After lunch, the dents grow from one inch to more substantial helpings. Excuses change to justifiers like, "gotta have that sugar rush" and "one more couldn't hurt'" thereby giving those in their hearing permission to gorge on what's left. What I can't seem to understand is in the presence of daily comments of "Oh, I'm SO fat," why my co-workers keep baking and bringing the stuff in?! Do they do it vindictively? Does Barbera smile with satisfaction as she pulls her 10,000 calorie chocolate cake out of the oven certain of its pound-packing allure? Or do they do it to guarantee that no one loses weight--EVER!! I can't protest too loudly, I would rather work as a minority among women any day, especially women who bake.

Make Room

2008-12-28T19:01:00.003-06:00

Okay so, these are the new self-imposed rules to prevent becoming a holiday hoarder. For every addition, there must be an equivalent subtraction. For clothing gifts from Mom, that's easy, everything she gives me gets exchanged for clothes I will actually wear. This Christmas brought new shirts and jeans from several givers. A generous survey of my closet made me realize that my hoarding had already grown legs. I was able to easily make quota for the new holiday rule, with a couple of additional honorable mentions:
1) A gray shirt that was two washes away from a final farewell in the dryer lint trap
2) A very old pair of jeans I used to call "relationship jeans." These are what I used to wear before Cindy introduced me to something called "loose fit." Before this very necessary fashion and comfort change, I believed that all men had to deal with the denim snugness that produced the timeless question, "Do I know you?"--especially upon sitting
3) An old pair of brown slacks that had the beginning of a long gash down its rear, and believe me, I have NO idea how that happened. Whenever I contemplated parting with them in the past, I reasoned, I could paint in them. I have painted on three separate occasions since, and could not bring myself to adorn a garment that sported my butt for the luxury of sparing my better pants, not to mention the other painters.

All in all, I parted with eight garments, which in testosterone terms means I'm growing up!

I'm Going To Sneeze

2008-11-03T15:29:00.004-06:00

It's the only time you preface a bodily function with an announcement, well, unless you're a junior higher. It's always been a head's up for me as a random opportunity to bless a complete stranger. "God bless that man" and "God bless that woman" shouted from the general vicinity of a sneeze is almost always well-received, if even in an obligatory manner. I only realized the necessity of the announcement this morning as one of my colleagues made a desperate leap for the corner of my desk. The warm mist that showered my shoulders was followed by a sheepish apology. It was then that I realized he had violated the code of conduct. He didn't announce his sneeze!

Rearview Mirror

2008-10-17T15:32:00.002-05:00

The Twentieth High School Reunion, who can beat it? Twenty years of anticipating being thrown back into a room with all the people who helped you flesh out the true meaning of awkward. Funny how some of the same people can evoke the same response regardless of how many years are placed in between. I will add that the classmates of mine who put ours together truly did a great job, lots of planning paid off. It is a strange feeling being with so many people from the 80's once more. Most looked remarkably the same, though others were like 'magic eye.' You had to stare for awhile, and then, oohhhhhhh, I see it now! We had a contest at our table of trying to locate the person(s) most desperately trapped in a conversation they would give anything to be free from. The over animated gestures were a dead giveaway. Nobody is that interested that paint is mixed on site, or that the red-tailed robin is migrating early this year. I noticed my place in the group picture was much like my place in the class picture in 1988, with one huge exception. Only the upper half of my head showed up in 1988, but in 2008, the whole head made the cut! I am already dreaming big for the 30-year! If there is any lesson I am taking from the experience, it is that high school is a poor place to take cues for how one's life will turn out (thank-you, Lord!), and that the friends one chooses to keep from such an early date, are the keepers.

2008-08-13T20:25:00.002-05:00

I cringe everytime I see them. Why, WHY do we need hard hats? What are we expecting to fall from the sky that will require a hard hat? I've never met anyone who was thankful they had their hard hat on. Who invented these? What landed on this poor guy, and why do so many have to suffer the plight of his disaster? How about instead, a video explaining in layman's terms, how to watch where you're going? I have never understood their use, and all the ridiculous places people are required to wear them. In my garbage-slinging days, I was required to wear one. I can't remember exactly where I 'lost' it. I had a buddy that was required to write-up an injury report explaining how a hard hat could have prevented his injury. He was driving his garbage truck into the landfill. Upon backing-up in the designated unloading area, his truck ran over a soft area, and the truck ended-up on its side. Were you actually wearing your hard hat, I asked him? No, he said, it was on the passenger seat next to me, but when the truck turned on its side, it came over and hit me in the head! If nothing else, it was a fun accident report form to fill out.

I'm just positive the inventor was intoxicated when the idea for 'hard hats' was born. He must have thought to himself, "what if we all just wore really hard hats?"

3.14 Reasons to Visit

2008-08-11T17:56:00.004-05:00

About 8 years ago, I was a youth pastor intern at a church called Westminster Presbyterian in Huntsville, Alabama. That experience remains one of the very best in my life. The youth there changed my life, and I will forever remember how God used them to deepen my love for ministry. Cool thing is, many of them remain good friends, and as life would have it, I am living in their neck of the woods these days. Ironically, I am currently ministering to the polar opposite of youth--those at the end of their lives, but my experience with them has nothing to do with that. In presbyterian circles, we simply call that providence, and no further explanation is needed.

Anyway, in the youth days, there lived a family named the Shipmans. "Pronounce the 'P'," they would always say. I could count on these 3 girls to work magic in the group, mainly because so many of the rest of the youth looked up to them. With the Shipmans on board, anything was possible. Oh, and God. Him too. I remember receiving the news that we had a couple of kids leaving the group and headed to the mission field for Arian Jia. At the last minute, Amanda had the great idea of making a scrapbook for them before they left the following day. Great idea, I told her, but there just isn't enough time to pull it off.

At send off day, there was Queen Amanda with one of the most artistically and creatively put together scrapbooks I have ever seen! It was a very special and meaningful addition to a tearful send off for the kids. I had drastically underestimated what she could do. And that was only the beginning.

The Shipmans were 3 natural born leaders, and I could continually count on them to help lead. Their parents were always willing to volunteer their house, their time, as well as themselves to whatever plan had come apart--even if it was the last minute.

Earlier today, I combed through youth pictures I had on file. These were taken at least 8 years ago, and I know a certain Adams' boy who has slightly changed in appearance...he's so cute! All that to say, that Queen Amanda graciously endorsed me in her imminently creative blog this morning, and I felt compelled to return the favor. Not out of obligation, mind you, but because she remains one of the most creative people I know. Her wit is matchless, her heart golden, and her blog will make you laugh out loud. She is happily wed now, to a dynamite guy worthy of her, Wade. My wife and I are still getting to know him, but he is great for her.

Boy, Princess is right, I have a lot to say! All that to say, you really owe yourself frequent visits to a blog that I have come to count on for a smile. Tell all your friends, and let her know the hospice chaplain told you to call.

She and Wade's blog:
Pettuspie.blogspot.com

summer cleaning

2008-08-08T12:32:00.004-05:00

Recently, a friend of mine had a colonoscopy. No one's favorite procedure, but hey, the thought of colon cancer makes it sound pleasant. Since I am nearing the colonoscopy age, I thought it would be wise to be proactive in my colon health. What I found on the internet in this realm made me rethink this decision, and to perhaps take a whole day to focus on this goal. I certainly did not realize that so much ambiance was involved in the whole ordeal. Read on, but remember, this suggestion is not for the faint-of-heart:

High Enema
A high enema is designed to wash, clean out, and empty the entire colon, the large intestine. By comparison, a regular enema only washes fecal matter out of the area near your rectum. When done properly, you will introduce enough water into your bowel that it will reach to the beginning of the colon, which is an average of 5-6 feet long. This can be done easily at home. The first time requires a little patience. Place a couple of old towels or rugs on the bathroom floor for cushioning and to catch any water leakage. One can make themselves comfortable, by putting a little heater in the bathroom. They might want to play some soothing music, spray some essential oils or light some incense; create a comfortable environment to enhance the experience. After filling the enema bag with warmed, purified water or herbal tea mixture (not tap water), lubricate the speculum with vegetable oil or ghee. Kneel on the towels with elbows touching the floor. Insert the speculum slowly into the rectum.

Eight to sixteen ounces of water or herbal tea can be introduced while kneeling on the floor with the shoulders as low as possible. Some catnip can be added to the water if one is prone to having bowel spasms. (Make sure the cat is locked out) Now, start introducing water into the colon itself, it's very simple. Just lower your shoulders and relax as much as possible, unclip the hose and let the water slowly fill the colon. Not much water gets in the first 2 or 3 times, because there isn't much room in a plugged up colon. Usually most people will feel a lot of pressure and feel a need to eliminate. The water can be felt, especially if cooler water is used or if there is a little vinegar in the water, on the left side as it's entering the sigmoid and descending colon. If it feels a little crampy, or, like it can't be held, clip the hose to stop the water flow, relax and breathe, then unclip the hose slowly and fill again, getting as much water in as possible. It will take about 40 minutes to an hour to do this high enema. There's no hurry to get up. The rectum will empty, but there will also be some emptying out of the descending and sigmoid colon. Use a little more oil or clarified butter, fill the enema bag again, and then kneel down. The second or third time gets a lot more water in. The whole bag will be emptied.

The water will be felt on the left side, all the way up under the left ribs, where the colon makes a turn. At this point, one can roll over and lie on their back. The rear can be elevated with a little pillow to create an incline. The water will then travel above the navel to the base of the ribcage and through the transverse colon. This may feel as though there is a belly full of water; it will feel a little heavy.

Next, you roll over onto the right side. The right side will be filling up; the water will be felt, especially if it's a little cool, going down the ascending colon to the lower right abdomen, where the colon begins. When it feels like no more can be taken in, or the bag is empty, clip the hose off, remove the speculum and lie there. Elevate your rear a little more if possible, to help move the water through the colon. Some people do a yoga shoulder stand at this point to entirely invert the body upside-down. Lie there and relax. Remain there for 5-15 minutes and then get up and sit on the toilet. Just relax. All the water doesn't come out at once, rather in cycles. It may take a few evacuations to get all of the water and fecal matter out. When finished with this stage, begin again.

Should you think this sounds to you like a date, give me a call and we'll make it a double!

Luft Balloons and my Grandmother

2008-08-01T10:29:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, my grandmother turned ninety-nine. I told her this year she'd be able to cut her cake and eat it too. "That's some cake!" was her response. This photo was taken July 31, 2008. I adore my grandmother. She has a spry sense of humor, and I will forever be retelling her tales. One of my favorites comes from when she was niney-three, and helping a man out of his car at her assisted living facility. This man was eighty-three at the time, and part way through his transfer out of the car, gripped my grandmother's arm and informed her, "You realize that I'm EIGHTY-THREE, don't you?" My grandmother's classy response, "I think that's WONDERFUL!"
You didn't tell him you were ten years his senior, I asked incredulously. "Oh Brad," she replied, "he would have been MORTIFIED!!"

Happy Birthday Mary!

Perfect Storm

2008-07-09T18:18:00.003-05:00

I love my job, and I wouldn't trade places with any of my friends. Still, there are some days as a hospice chaplain that are just plain difficult. Loss is hard from any angle. I walk with many patients through the last mile or so of their lives. Of all of them, there are some I will never forget. I have discovered that the most memorable ones for me are the ones that, for whatever reason, tend to remind me of someone I know or have lost in the past. Today, I visited a man who has decided to stop receiving chemotherapy treatments. This came as a shock to his family, who know him better as one who had a gameplan to conquer no matter what. I think I am relating to his sons, about my age. I spent a long time with them this afternoon talking through the shock, the trying-to-take-it-all-in, and the hollow sadness that has only begun to settle in their hearts. I lead them to be intentional in allotting time with Dad. "Leave nothing unsaid." "Express to this man what he means to you, and tell him your gratitude for a life full of love you can't even begin to itemize." And then, watching this man in one of his last lucid moments scan over the faces of his family, settling on a 2-year old grandson, his eyes fixed. One of the sons held up this grandson, telling him to give his granddad "five." The grandson eagerly slapped his hand while this man drank in the scene with his eyes, slowly digesting every detail. As one of his other sons took in the scene from across the room, his eyes filled with tears, and he fought hard to compose himself. Both of this man's sons will have their time with Dad--a unique and many-faceted gift by any measure. The scene that brought tears to my eyes as I left is a familiar and unanswerable question: What do you say when you know it's the last time? Nothing can convey the level of admiration and respect an excellent father deserves. And yet, here is an opportunity. I could fill a hundred rooms with people who would give 10 years off of their lives if only to have that one moment these two sons have been afforded with their Dad.

What would you say to your Dad?

Little 2

2008-07-04T21:24:00.007-05:00

While in seminary, I used to wait tables at a restaurant called "Bahama Breeze."

It was the place of a zillion stories, but I'll remember it as the place I first started being called "Little 2."

As with most server jobs, there is a kind of presentation that needs to be conveyed, naturally and conversationally, of course. Mine began as most do with a simple introduction. At this particular table, an angry man and his (wife?) were having an argument. I approached, knelt tableside, and said, "Hi, my name is..." Before I could get another word out, the man interrupted saying, "WATER."

Not to be dismissed, I rose to my feet correcting, "well actually my FULL name is H2O, but my friends call me "Little 2." A neighboring waitress, Linda, overheard my defensive reply, and the nickname stuck.

Bachelor Porridge

2008-07-03T23:14:00.012-05:00

In my single days, I used to cook up a cullinary delight I liked to call "bachelor porridge." I liked it because I could set-up, chow down, and clean-up, all inside of 15 minutes. Funny thing is, no one I describe it to seems to share my excitement.

It has 1 can of creme of mushroom soup
1 can of peas
1 can of tuna
all dumped over minute rice :) :)

I just don't understand why it emits the gag reflex from everyone lucky enough to be included...I mean, ALL the food groups are represented...

Bad Acting: Ain't Nothin' Like it Nowhere

2008-07-02T19:30:00.002-05:00

I'm really not sure what makes great acting, but who of us can't spot bad acting in seconds? The South has lent my wife and I many occasions for culture shock, and even more for a shared moment of incredulity. I'd heard of banana pudding--maybe? I can't be sure, but I am pretty confident I'd never seen mirages of building-sized proportions of the yellow nanner stuff. In the South, we are learning that culinary diversity refers to how many different bar-b-que places there are to eat. Nanner puddin seems to be a specialty in each of these. We have learned in our neck of the woods that for bar-b-que to "di fer", it's gotta be Big Bob Gibson's. A friend from our hometown of St. Louis inquired at the register if the namesake was for Bob Gibson the famous Cardinal baseball player. The homegrown teen at the counter replied in confident full southern drawl, "I reckon he might coulda played softball a time er tyoo."

And since we're talking of the accent dayown har, can I tell you how many times I have wanted to tape the "Sticks N Stuff" commercial and send it home just to prove I'm not exaggerating! Sticks N Stuff might could do themselves prayoud if they'd save theyare pinnies and har out for one a-them PROfessional marketing outfits. But what about that Goldberg guy? How does he do it? How come he can get away with a silly singing of his phone number that 10 out of 10 Alabamians can recite on key?

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy culture. We had the same type of crazy marketing schemes in "the North." I can still sing the Frederick's Roofing song in my sleep, "For a hole in your roof, or a whole new roof..." And one of our Chevy dealer's: "If you don't know low prices, then you don't know Jack Schmidt." And of course Uncle Leonard's TV. He used to take any trade-in for a new TV. He always bragged that one could trade in their old mother-in-law for a new TV. Poor Uncle Leonard has long since passed away, and his shop has closed down. I find myself thinking about him a lot more since I have a mother-in-law now...