Howdy,

Swimming lessons, not for kids, feels weird.

But was nice.

The water was wonderful.

I just finished getting some swimming tips from a man in Mariposa—Mike Bergstrom—who was a former swimming coach at Ohio State University.

I feel better, as an adult swimmer, about that term, swimming tips, than the idea of swimming lessons.

Not that it’d be bad to get or take swimming lessons as an adult. But I—as the water lover that I’ve expressed myself to be—would consider myself a better-than-average swimmer. I’m not going to make the Olympics. But I don’t foresee any reason why I’d drown in the town people, either.

Which is why I don’t know why it felt weird, why I was actually a little nervous heading to the pool? How would I stack up? Why was I going to a swimming lesson?

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Howdy,

I know I’ve done a couple of these Sunday Scripture series posts recently, but I figure when it comes to Scripture verses there’s a storehouse of riches in the Bible to choose from—material shouldn’t be a problem.

I won’t even always have to lean on my “FAVORITES” in my ESV Bible app to find them, but today I did, and I’m going with: Psalms 121.

The whole psalm.

More Psalms.

There are a lot of Psalms—150—and many of them are so good. (And, of course, beyond that, beyond them being “good,” they are all God’s Word and have their purpose, their inspired purpose, so they’re all “good.”)

Clicking that favorite, I knew I had to type out the whole of Psalm 121. For two main reasons: 1) It’s always been a favorite one—so strong, and 2) it took on extra meaning when the late Dr. Tom Johnson adopted Psalm 121 as a life verse when faced with the real threat of death.

Dr. Johnson, or, as most people in our church or around town who knew him, just Tom, was so humble, a learned learner; a helping helper; a leading leader; a serving servant; a discipling disciple; and probably other touching and personal things to others who knew him. It’s seems to me that so many people probably felt that Tom Johnson knew and cared for them, in a way that was special.

Battling the cancer that would ultimately take him to heaven, the Johnsons had rubber bracelets made up and passed out, as reminders for his family and friends and the fellowship and family of God to pray for Tom. The imprint on the bracelets included the reference: Psalm 121.

(Caption: “My Help Comes from the LORD”)

“I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the LORD,
who made heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot be moved;
He who keeps you will not slumber.
Behold, He who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD is your keeper;
the LORD is your shade on your right hand.
The sun shall not strike you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The LORD will keep you from all evil;
He will keep your life.
The LORD will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and forevermore.”

We miss Dr. Tom Johnson. He is with his LORD, his Keeper Forevermore, and I believe fully healed and restored Tom would wish us a holy, healthy, and happy Sunday.

—Billy

Reading. Writing. Living.

Word Count: 162,639 / On Pace: 161,700 / Year’s Goal: 200,000

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Howdy,

Vacation Bible School.

VBS.

The kids love it.

The parent volunteers get exhausted.

They love it for their children, but it’s a lot of work.

In our case, it was parent volunteers, but there are also grandparents volunteering and older siblings—brothers and sisters who have out-aged the event, but have gained the maturity to want to help and are kind enough to be there for the younger kids and to have fun with them, which is fantastic to witness—there are spouses and children of church staff and other volunteers who also get roped into helping with the programs, and friends of all these people. People who want to throw an entertaining and educational event for kids to experience a week of spiritual things.

It’s more than just something to break up the summer. But, boy, do you know it’s summer when you’re doing it. It’s hot and sweaty spiritual service.

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Howdy,

I really have to write now—right now!

After yesterday’s post, that’s the push. Not the 200K word goal: but just to blitz anything I get the chance, and I figure I ought to give that a go at least for this day after I said it’d be a good idea, a good approach, a good way to finish.

It strikes me that it’s weird to me that I now think of being within 40,000 words to go as being near the end, as being almost done, as being the time to make a push for a strong finish, as the marker for breaking into a sprint.

Forty thousand words (40,000!) is a lot for me—or it certainly would have been in the past. I mentioned yesterday that I’ve never written 200,000 words in a year’s time and in saying so realized that I’ve never in a year written the 160,000 words that I’ve already penned and pulled together on this project to practice and publish, perform and improve, (digital) ink blot by (digital) ink blot, day after day (and double days after a missed one—promises and commitments broken, but momentum still carrying through and keeping the spirit of the projection alive).

And now today I’m contemplating the reality that it is likely that I’ve never written 40,000 words in a year. Maybe. But I don’t like so. I have an 86,000 word novel, but it took me longer than two years to write. Much longer.

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Howdy,

I was just thinking, I’ve been trying to keep pace with this word count to 200,000. I’ve been trying to catch up (and by the time I finish this post or an additional free write today I might be), but it’s August.

That’s what I’m thinking: but.

And: October.

It’s coming.

It’s already August, and I’m just thinking it’s time.

It’s time to blow the doors off this thing, this writing project, this year-long exercise, this goal to produce, to practice my writing, my craft, and publish my practice. It’s time to blow the roof off of 200K!

Pacing myself was wise, in that it was a lot of work, the commitment quite a bite off to chew, a big goal for me in my stage, as a writer, as a husband, as a father. I kind of can’t believe what I committed to with this, but then in the same breath, in the same double-minded that, I know that I could have done more. I could have done more, and more quickly.

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Howdy,

It seems I’ve been getting a late start these evenings.

Getting a late start on my writing.

With summer getting late early.

I’m getting a late start on my writing, in the evenings this week, because I’m getting a late start on the days.

That’s what staying up late and getting a late start on going to bed does to you, when it’s late in the summer.

I can feel it, my family can feel it, the end of summer is coming, and we’re hanging on as the late has started.

Plus, when it comes to writing time and attempting to get my session in before it is last thing of the day, this week has been about Vacation Bible School. Our whole family has been involved in VBS: Jasper as a first-grade participant; Titus as a part of the pre-VBS (nursery to Kindergarten) group of kids belonging to the staff of volunteers helping with VBS; Riah fits into that same group but he has a way of getting around and making mischief and noise and sort of somehow being everywhere—he’s loving it; and Sarah and I are volunteers helping out, though I’ve backed away into the behind the scenes more so (thinking I’m find a moment to get some writing and other things done while the kids are whooping it up [and learning the Bible] at VBS at The Rock Church) while Sarah is a team leader and lesson instructor of the older group. (VBS is first through sixth grade this year.)

We’ve also volunteered to bring dinner for the volunteer staff and the kids for two days this week. So Sarah has done a lot of meal planning, shopping, and prep and I’ve helped with that quite a bit, going shopping, cutting watermelon, taste-testing, and doing dishes. Yesterday was a lot of that.

And we’ve got “kitchen duties” again tomorrow. But we’re probably practically pros by now, after yesterday. I was going to type that at least tomorrow Sarah won’t have a meeting for work on the same day we’re prepping dinner for all these people, because she had an afternoon meeting yesterday, but then I remembered that she does have a meeting/training at MJC tomorrow. It’s a morning meeting, though. We’ll be fine. But, as you can see, summer’s getting late.

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Howdy,

Today, August 1^st, is an anniversary of sorts: a horrible and terrible anniversary.

No, not a wedding anniversary or anything like that. Those are wonderful. (By the by, Sarah and I are speeding ahead to our 10^th this fall!)

The horrible and terrible and painful one is this: on this date one year ago—August 1, 2016—I spent very nearly the whole day in the fetal position, on my right side, on the bathroom floor, clutching the doorjamb between our master bath and closet.

It’s a memorable day.

It was horrible, terrible. So painful.

It is a day memorable for all the wrong reasons.

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Howdy,

Recently, a couple of nights ago, Sarah and I had an event to attend that called for a bit more than swim-to-street hybrid shorts and flip flops. (Wait, let me stop to think if anyone at the dinner was wearing shorts before I set the standard … No, no the shorts were worn during the day during the family, gather-at-the-park segment of the reunion day. It’s Turlock, and it’s hot, the Central Valley in the summer: no shame in shorts. That’s how we survive. That’s how we live.)

But that’s the point: that’s how we live, in shorts and flip flops around here, especially if you’re a stay-at-home day—or at least I have that on good authority.

So we had an evening on which we had a choice for how to dress for the occasion, and I told Sarah I was planning to wear “my good jeans.”

Jeans.

Jeans and flip flops.

No shorts, but still flip flops. (Looks good with the sleeve-rolled button down: “double-roll,” as my friend used to emphasize very emphatically; it’s the contagious way he lives life, which I like.)

Anyway, the point being jeans. Hey, it’s Turlock, and it’s hot, and jeans seem like compromise, sacrifice, stepping-it-up enough. Besides, my wonderful wife Sarah was fine with that. (Had the same plan herself, in fact. And hers had holes in them! [Fashionable holes, but still holes!] And I thought she looked great!)

So I told her I was wearing jeans, saying I was going the Steve Jobs route early, able to wear whatever I want wherever I want whenever I want because I can because I’ve made it—except doing it before I’ve made it. That kind of thing. And for the late Steve Jobs that was jeans.

I said I’m Steve Jobs without the gigantic, innovative, wildly-successful company, that I was Steve Jobs without the business.

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Howdy,

Once again, another Sunday has rolled around and (yet again) it’s already been awhile since I’ve done a Sunday Scripture series post for the blog. Back to my trusty ESV Bible app on my iPhone (ESV: English Standard Version—a tremendous translation that I’d highly recommend) for a pick from my “FAVORITES.”

I skipped a few passages from Numbers, I Samuel, and Job, to select: Psalm 1:1-3.

Psalm one kicks of quite a collection of ancient song and wisdom, praise and protection, “the way of the righteous and the wicked,” and cries and choruses to the LORD, the ultimate Choirmaster.

“Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he mediates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers” (Ps. 1:1-3).

I don’t know what all I want to attempt to say about those renowned verses, but I do know that I want that to be me.

And, as tempting as it may be, I don’t just want it because of the last line: “In all that he does, he prospers.” As there is no doubt no need to explain, since we would all want that—to prosper in all that we do, that sounds good—and I do want that, too. But I also want the portion that brings that about, that makes such a life and blessing possible.

I want to be wise enough to not walk in the thinking and behavior of the wicked or hangout in the philosophy or attitude of the wrong people or influences, in a way that would compromise my constitution for being blessed, receiving the blessing promised in Psalms. I want to be someone whose thinking is different, transformed and renewed: that my delight and my focus and guidance is God’s Word. I want to be faithful, strong, and established—planted in rich and renewing resources, like that tree planted by streams of water (I don’t think we can envision that wonderful word picture too many times)—producing spiritual fruit, with wholesome health and a hope for the future, of more fruit in His Kingdom.

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