Winter Sunshine Is A Great Smell

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I have a dog. Her name is Stormy. She’s a Shetland Sheepdog (Sheltie.) We took her into our home as a rescue dog a little over a year ago.

Winter Sunshine

Winter Sunshine

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After a week of decent weather, we’re back in the freezer in Minnesota (which may no longer be true when you read this posting – I bank the generic ones for a while sometimes.) So, it’s 12 degrees and my little friend just spent a full half-hour outside running around in the cold sunshine. It’s lots warmer than the cold shadows – you feel the difference the instant you pass into the penumbra.

So, back to the picture/story. I had finished doing the dishes, grabbed my coffee and plopped down on couch. She hopped up next to me (unthinkable just a few months ago) and came over to give me a sniff. I returned the favor and was rewarded with Winter Sunshine On Clean Fur. I wish I could bottle that scent. Dog owners in the northern climes would buy a big bottle of it and save it for years after their friends have passed away. It’s exactly what the words say, and it evokes a visceral response that I cherish. I bury my nose in her neck like some kind of scent vampire and inhale deeply.

Her good smell, relaxed response, and my satisfaction at making her life easier, all contribute to a rush of endorphin that makes me temporarily blind. I close my eyes and remember old friends who have gone on ahead. Friends with whiskers, poopy butts, limpy legs, and gentle souls. Friends who never spoke a word of English but captured my heart with their soulful eyes. Friends who now sit next to me on the couch without taking any space at all. Friends who have taken this current ball of fur into their company and let her know that it’s okay to hang up the anxieties for a minute and just be loved.

She flops down next to me and nibbles the bolster on the couch, her scent pervading the room. All too soon that will be gone as well. She’s not a kid. But I am so glad to have her in this moment.

Pardon me, I have to go stretch out next to her and rub that white chest. We both need it.

Have a blessed day. I hope it’s filled with Winter Sunshine for you as well.

Master At Arms Second Class Mark Mayo Is A Hero.

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I spent a lot of time the last few days reading about MA2 (Master At Arms Second Class) Mark Mayo and his heroic defense of his shipmates on the USS Mahon during an incident involving a civilian intruder. He was murdered in defense of his shipmate, his ship, his country, and you and me.

Master At Arms Second Class Mayo - An American Hero

Master At Arms Second Class Mayo – An American Hero

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There’s an excellent quote from the Bible that covers this: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” John 15:13 Petty Officer Mayo is an outstanding example of the men and women who serve today in our military. I was saddened by the loss of this fine man, and with the details of the story emerging, it has become quite clear that he took a bullet meant for a shipmate in defense of the defenseless.

It’s terribly easy to dismiss the role of the military when you don’t understand what they do on a daily basis. The fact is that each and every person on active duty, reserve duty, guard duty, and some assorted state militias has signed a statement that they’d give their life if needed. Last time I checked Taco Bell doesn’t require that of their employees, nor do NBC, Honeywell, General Motors, AOL, Amazon, or any other outfit except the assorted flavors of law enforcement and rescue/firefighters in our nation.

It may sound trite, but there are two kinds of people: the kind that run from the sound of gunfire and the ones who run toward the sound of gunfire. MA2 Mayo was the latter. I am honored to have served in the same navy as this young man.

Today I was with a bunch of warriors. Some retired, some active duty, and we sat around the bar telling stories, making hand signals to describe a flight formation, lying about our prowess in areas from the bedroom to the boardroom, and honoring our betters. There was a glass of whiskey in the corner of Keegan’s Irish Pub and an empty chair for our POW/MIA brothers and sisters. And when the time came, I made a toast to Master At Arms Mark Mayo for his heroic sacrifice. A hearty “Semper Fi” and a round of grunts went up from the assembled Marines who had invited me to join them.

Brothers and sisters. All members of the tribe. All saddened at the loss of one of our nation’s finest young people.

Rest your oar, Sailor. You stand relieved of the watch. We’ll carry on from here.

Caller Number 67 Got Me.

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Two or three times each year I spend some time working the phone banks at KTIS radio during their sharathon fund raising drives. I like the pace, I’m good at it, and they appreciate the help. I also get to talk to a lot of tremendous people with great hearts and good stories. They could use your help in funding the station, and it’s a great station. They are making huge inroads into the community for Christ, and the music is uplifting and encouraging. Here’s a link if you’d like to donate.

Jason Sharp and Joe (nice blink!)

Jason Sharp and Joe (nice blink!)

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I’ve been doing this for a few years now, and some years “that call” comes the first day. Some years it comes every day. This year, this time, it came Thursday morning. I’ve changed the names to protect identities, and since the listener wanted to share the whole thing on air I don’t feel that I’m violating any confidences. But, to be sure, I’ll change a detail or two about these calls so that they are not quite real, but close enough to understand what I experienced today – and what choked me up so badly that I had to take a moment to gather myself.

I learned long ago that God puts us in certain places at certain times to provide comfort and aid to people that need our help. Sometimes he puts us there to help ourselves. Thursday morning I’d had a series of great calls. I’m going to paint the picture of what led to caller 67 for you.

The first relevant call came from a Claudia, a nurse who was so excited about her new job that she had to tell me all about it: she was going to work at the VA hospital in Minneapolis. I thanked her for serving me, and my fellow vets, and then spent a minute praying with her and blessing her for her role in my life. I asked God to cover her with grace and make sure she was satisfied in her work as an angel of mercy to the disabled.

A few calls later I was talking to Angela, a woman with virtually nothing. I recognized her address as being in a ghetto area. She was making a meager donation to the station, hardly worth the effort in her own opinion. I realized that this was exactly what Christ was talking about in Mark 12:41-44. I knew that this monthly gift was from deep in her heart, all she had to give. I let her know that this was as big a deal to me, and the station, as a $1,000 dollar gift from another sponsoring listener. She was doing her part to spread the word, faithful to God and herself. I thanked her and prayed with her as well. Such a tender heart, such a good heart.

A short time later the call that popped my circuit breakers rolled in to my headset. We were running a dedication to our personal superheroes. The caller, Marion, started out by telling me that “Axle was my superhero, even if he doesn’t fit the description to most people.” She went on to explain that her son Axle was a two-tour veteran of Afghanistan. Heroic so far. And she went on to tell me that Axle had passed away a year before; haunted by his personal demons he’d taken his own life.

Marion talked for a while about how Axle loved God and was a believer, but he was so damaged (her word) by his service that he couldn’t make it another day. In the wake of his death his family was shattered as though an explosion had taken place. Siblings and parents no longer even talked to each other, silence and sadness ruled the home.

I listened and wrote down what she said. I took her donation. And then we prayed. We prayed for Axle, his family, his siblings, his mother, and for some healing to all who have been wounded in war. I encouraged her to seek out a support group and talk to others who had gone through this terrible tragedy. I told her of my loss of friends to suicide in the years following our service, and how I felt the empty void staring at us all from time to time. I let her know that she wasn’t alone, that we were all in this together, and that there was hope for her family.

And that’s why I answer the phones. Because caller 67 needed to talk to a veteran who’d lost friends to suicide. A veteran who knew of the darkness that haunts our dreams. A veteran who loved Marion as though she was his own mother. God put me there today to talk to Marion, Angela, and Claudia. Not to take credit cards, but to pray and encourage. To love and be loved. To share that witness for Jesus that keeps me going when darkness invades the light.

God bless you, Marion. And Axle, Claudia, and Angela. You are in my prayers tonight.
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Surrender My Man Card? NEVER! But I Did Read Love Gone Wild By Amy Matayo And Loved It. Here’s The Book Review.

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First, all the linky goodness and art work you will eventually want, then on to the review.

Amy Matayo’s Love Gone Wild link for Amazon.com

Stolen without shame from www.amymatayo.com

Stolen without shame from www.amymatayo.com

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We start the review with some more inside baseball stuff. There is a great risk of corrupting your integrity in the writing world when you swap fan letters with other authors. There is an expectation that when you give your manuscript to another author, especially one from your own agency, that they will say nice things about it on the internet. I can gleefully report that I’m not that guy. I’ve read lots of really crappy books that friends and associates have written. You will find me strangely mute when it comes to discussing them on this blog. I only review the ones that amuse me greatly. That doesn’t mean that my silence means a bad thing about another author. It means that I haven’t read the book, it wasn’t a story that caught me, it was badly written, it would be unfair to print what I thought. I reserve that critique for their ears only, and so you will be getting just the cream of the crop here. Nothing but four and five star reviews. And, since my silence includes stuff I haven’t read yet, you’ll never know how I feel about what you don’t read about. Donald Rumsfield put it well when he said “there are things we do not know we don’t know.”

That said, let’s review the book.

It’s funny, has great dialogue, an engaging story, and it’s a page-turner in every respect.

On the negative side, that Amy woman stole a whole scene from my novel and now I have to rewrite it or look like a copycat. I hate it when a kindred soul reads my mind and does the same, terribly original, thing that I’ve done but not yet published. Knock it off, Amy. That is all I’ll say about her using my clever ideas to make her book even more unforgettable.

I’m a fanboy. Let’s be honest. I used to say that I don’t read “Chick Lit” but that’s become so patently untrue that I can no longer even hint at it. It will require a trip to the pistol range on Friday with my trusty .45 automatic and some zombie targets to make sure that my man card is safe for another month. Amy has started my decline and I’m enjoying it more than I should.

The story, the second in her not-quite-a-series of books about reality television contestants, involves a young woman who strikes off to the Alaskan wilderness in pursuit of her personal worth. She’s the daughter of a presidential contender who has some control issues – she’d best obey is the prime directive. Winning this wilderness competition might just allow her to be her own person, and give her some self respect before she settles into a dreary-but-inevitable marriage to her father’s protege.

Like real life, things don’t work out the way she plans. Great hilarity ensues. And drama. And tragedy. And scares. And some of the best comedic dialogue you’ll ever read. Amy has truly got the hang of that whole “it’s real” thing. Sometimes that means you question the dialogue, as it’s redundant. But the way she uses it enforces the idea that these are real people talking – we do it in every day dialogue. Her use of this trick is sparing but quite effective.

The biggest difference that I noted between this book and her first, The Wedding Game, is that there’s more of an emphasis on the hugging and smooching/girly/romance element. Well done, definitely more to the female audience interest, but enjoyable. I did wonder, intermittently, if it was okay for me to enjoy this kind of thing or if I needed to go wrestle a calf or something to get my testosterone levels up. I suffered through it – it is fun to read and if you have the guts to admit it, she captures the emotional feelings of falling in love at an elemental and fresh level.

I liked the characters. I liked the story. I liked the dialogue. I did not like the fact that the book ended. I wanted more. I guess I’ll just have to wait for her next book. Get writing, Amy, your fans are waiting.

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I’m Throwing In The Towel: It’s International Abba Weekend And I’m Giving Away Happy Any Day Now Copies From Toby Devens To Celebrate.

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How… what??? Why?

I can hear it from here (the distant past when this posts. That ought to make your head explode.) It’s simple: I like cross cultural confusion. Toby Devens’ great book Happy Any Day Now crosses between Jewish and Korean cultural landscapes, and I like ABBA. It’s international ABBA weekend this week and if you can’t see the connection I pity you.

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I will make this simple: the contest to win a signed copy of Toby’s book is simply to email me with your name and mailing address. It’s only open to subscribers (hint: YOU can become a subscriber by clicking on the box to the right and following the instructions. You have to open the email that is sent and click the link to fully subscribe. I won’t spam you, I won’t sell my list, and I will use it wisely.) So, if you’re a subscriber, send me an email at headdoofus AT commotioninthepews.com with the shipping info. I will randomly pick two winners of the book. Pretty simple, eh?

In the meantime, here’s some ABBA videos to make you smile. They are in Korean and Hebrew. Eat your heart out Drudge.

Super Trooper Korean:

Israeli flash mob does ABBA (Hey, it means Father in Hebrew, you find a better version and I’ll post it! English Techno was the best I could do – but the people in the mob speak Hebrew – as does the lifeguard.)

And that, folks, is The Name Of The Game.