January has left the building

Wow, January is already out the door, folks.  Can you believe it?  2009 is already 1 month old, and so are all of my intentions to do things at the start of the new year.  Awesome.  I guess that’s long enough to no longer be concerned with wondering if anyone can tell whether my will and intent to resolve any unsettled issues in my life has been broken or not.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like to keep my promises.  I’ve made it a point to never break a promise to my daughter.  But, seriously, come on.  If Obama can break his promise to not putting lobbyists in his cabinet, then I can break my promise to not beat puppies when I’ve had a bad day at work.  It’s the same difference, right?

I’ve had an up and down year so far.  I got some interesting news from one of my close mentors that some churches have been asking about whether or not I’m available to speak to their church.  Since getting paid for speaking has been my life story for the past 5 years, I love the concept of being able to travel and get paid to speak to people.  So, I dusted off my Facebook and Myspace and started shooting emails and personal messages.  My speaking tour starts in late February with my first stop being in Pryor.  I’m still tackling the exact date but I’ll post it once I know for sure.

My grandma just found out that she has a spot on her right kidney that they are somewhat certain is an extension or spreading of her lung cancer.  This really has upset her and my family.  I’m more prepared because Wendy’s dad went through pretty much the same thing, where he’d look like he was doing much better and all of sudden would find a new spot and be devastated not only by the bad news but by the actual spreading of a disease that was wreaking havoc on his body.  I saw the pain Harry went through only in a small extent, but what I saw was enough to make me wish my grandma would find peace in a time that will be very painful.  If you don’t mind, take some time to pray for her.  I know she’ll appreciate it, and so will I.

Sunday was the Super Bowl.  I can say that with as much or as little enthusiasm as you need me to.  I notice that whenever I’m around my friends, I kind of throw that tester question out so that I can gauge how excited I should be about the “big game.”

“So, Burt, got any big plans this weekend?”

If he responds with a long grunt or hum, as most men do when they mosey over to share their plans, then I know he’s not really into the game, but he’s got a few plans that surround the event.  The coast is clear and I can act natural.

Now, if he responds with a shout and holler like he just got off a rollercoaster that would have caused most senior citizens to have heart failure, I know I have to step up my game a little.  So, I start yelling crazy too.  I just make sure to yell nonsense until he indicates what team he’s routing for.   There’s nothing worse than getting the team wrong, that causes some serious drama or begins a long drawn-out defense of one team’s worthiness over the other’s.  None of which I care the slightest about.  At least not in this instance.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love my football, but it has to be Oklahoma football.  And, it’s probably better if it’s not a Bowl game because we’ve gotten ourselves into quite an unlucky streak.  But, nonetheless, I only truly get passionate about football when the Sooners hit the field.  Otherwise, I’m a mediocre, if not fair-weather, fan at best.

Heck, most of the time when I hear “big game” I have a knee-jerk reaction because I instantaneously think, “Oh crap!  Grandma’s playing Spades with the neighborhood kids again.  I better get the bail money ready now.”  The woman is a card shark.  That’s all I’m saying.  I’ve never beat her in a card game in my entire life.

I had more fun watching my daughter ride the bumper cars at Incredible Pizza than I did when watching the game.  I found myself out of place amidst all the hubb-bubb of people cheering during a touchdown.  They’re all yelling, “Go Steelers!” or “Go Cardinals!”  and I’m like “I need to vacuum when I get home!”

Yeah, so Abigail had her first shot at bumper cars by her lonesome on Super Sunday.  That’s partly due to the fact she’s now tall enough to ride by herself combined with the fact the darned things have a 275 lbs. weight limit.  Nothing says, “You’re 1 Twinkie from death,” than finding out you’re too fat for bumper cars.  It broke my heart.  So, I ran to the buffet and had 2 cinnamon rolls.  Yumm.  Who needs bumper cars anyways?!

I want to stress to everyone that my commitment to writting my book and completing my statement of faith have not run dry.  I’m just very hard pressed to make sure I’m doing everything I can for the people who love me as I juggle an infant-sized professional ambition to be the next Ed McMahon and a full-time job that gives me more headaches than bank deposits.  So, keep me in your prayers, and I’ll make sure you’re the first people to hear about what’s going down in my world.  For now, I got to bounce.  And that’s not a fat joke.  Later!