#embarassed

So here is the deal. We all have embarrassing stories. They just might be at different degrees of WHOA.

With that being said, let me introduce you to 4th grade Randy. A real doofus of a kid. I was a super shy kid with middle child syndrome leaking all over everyone. I was very respectful to authority--as I didn't like being in trouble; I was too sensitive for all that. I would cry. Seriously though, why couldn't I be like that stone-face kid that got in trouble and just took it? I would get in trouble and blubber like a heartbroken, teenage girl.

Now that the picture is painted, let’s jump into this story:

Music class traveled on a little push cart from room to room. I don't remember our exact schedule, but it was something like every Tuesday and Thursday right before lunch. Our regular teacher, Mrs. Robinson (who by the way could solve a Rubix Cube in like two seconds), left the room to do her thing. Whatever that was for a fourth grade teacher. (All I can picture right now is that scene from Billy Maddison where the teacher rubs glue paste on her face while the kids are at recess.) Our music teacher would roll in and we played with musical instruments: essentially wooden blocks with sticks and bells and a random drum. My point in this is that my regular teacher who knew me well was out of the room. The other woman who literally went to every single room and taught every single kid in the building had momentarily taken my teacher’s place. She knew me not. I raised my hand and asked if I could go to the bathroom. She said no. Oh, did I forget to mention that I was notorious for waiting until the last minute to ask about going to the bathroom? If she would have said yes to that question it would have been cutting it close for me to get to a bathroom. A “no” was like a proverbial axe to my reputation. The inevitable happened. I peed. And peed. And peed. I could feel the puddle in my chair. I pulled my chair under my desk until I might disappear under it. Every bit of dignity I might have had was puddled under me. (To top it off I was probably wearing denim shorts overalls.) Music teacher ?!%@# left (pardon my language, but she cut me deep), and Mrs. Robison cheerful waddled into the classroom. Immediately my hand shot up. "Can I go to the restroom?" (Although technically I had already answered that question on my own.) She granted me permission, and I took my raft to the hallway bathroom to see what could be done. Nothing.

I escorted myself to the principal's office to call my mother. What I wanted: a reset button. Let's go home, pretend everyone forgot, and start over in the morning. What I got: a mom who brought me a change of clothes and an apology because she had to go back to work.

So I changed. Handed my wet clothes to my mom. Cried. And walked back to the classroom. Oh the joy.

I look back and laugh now. I actually tell this story as an ice breaker often when I am at speaking engagements. It's a reality check that, from the beginning, I was never and will never be perfect. It is a story of being human. And I definitely don't think too highly of myself. I'm thankful for all the embarrassing moments in my life: maybe not right away, but eventually. They teach me a little something every time. Sometimes real deep truths, and other times just simply: don't wait until the last possible minute to ask to go to the bathroom. 

Dear Adam, 

I am going to embarrass you. A lot of those times will be on purpose. That's kind of my right as a dad. :) And other time you are going to be the fit of your own folly. Learn to laugh at yourself. Don't worry too much about the opinion of the masses. Stick to your friends that love you and watch out for you. Now, they are going to laugh at you too, but they will also love you in spite of you. And that is a very cool lesson to learn.

Love,

Literally the Most Embarrassing Dad Ever ;)

#myearliestmemory

I wonder what Adam's earliest memory will be. 

Mine is 3 years old at my grandparent's house. I was in the kitchen with Papa (that's my dad's dad). We were getting lunch ready. This memory is a shadow, but the details that stick out to me are: trying my hardest to peek over the counter to see what he was doing (I can sense myself even now struggling on my tippy toes to get a glimpse into his secret recipes) and asking very directly what he was making. He gave me a very indirect answer… “Recipe Beans.” He was making lima beans, but from that day forward I would never refer to them by anything other than recipe beans. I have no idea why that memory is so sticky, and I can still see it in my projector brain like an old reel-to-reel clip. My Papa loved his grandkids very, very much. Maybe this is so sticky because it was truly a memory that was held just between him and me. We were the secret holders of the recipe beans. To this day my favorite bean dish is recipe beans. (Ellen loves them too.)

It is memories like this that are so incredibly peculiar to me. There is no big moment, no truly memorable circumstance, but my mind latched on to it. And then I think about if Papa was still alive: and I would ask him, “Want to come over for lunch? How about I make some recipe beans?” He would laugh and smile and feel love because that tiny insignificant piece was just for us. 

This 3-year-old-boy-recipe-beans memory is a memory that floods my Papa's presence into the moment. It is a trigger to a smile every time I have a pot of lima beans on the stove. 

We never know what will be the sticky memories in our lives. Sure, the milestones will be vivid. But what about the little things? 

What are Adam's little things? I don't know, but I do know one thing: I will cherish every single moment of "recipe bean” memories while we are together. 

And since I mentioned him, let me tell you about my Papa. He was not full of words, but he was full of action. We were always doing: planting trees, raising rabbits, salvaging and repurposing bicycles, growing elephant ears, cutting grass, hauling dirt, drinking cokes, getting snacks, fishing, fishing, and more fishing. He told the dumbest jokes that got the best laughs out of me. He could talk like Donald Duck and growl like a dog. He could fix and "fix" anything. He inspired me often to try at things I was not so sure of. And I was his Bubba. 

Dear Adam,

I cannot tell you what your earliest memory will be. But I can tell you this--the little things that fill in between the milestone moments of our lives, well they tend to be the sweetest things that compound into our character. And make you cry later when you recount them in a blog to your unborn child. I love you!

Love, 

Arguably the Strangest Dad Ever

#80thbirthday

I have a hope for you today. Really a hope for you and me. I was at a birthday party today when the guest of honor, Damon, stood up to share a round of thanks. It was his 80th birthday. He first said in jest, “When you're 80, you just get excited for one more day.” (Cue laughter.)

And then he said something incredibly profound. He said:
“Every morning when I get up to read the Bible and pray with my wife, I only have thanks to be said. I look at my life and all I can do is thank God for it.”

What an amazing statement. I think of my own prayers right now as a 33 year old child. I pray for and towards things: direction, enlightenment, hope, strength, perseverance, love, peace… all with a little elaboration. My point is that I am continually praying towards and for the journey that I am on. What was super neat today was to hear a mentor of mine say- I pray thanks. He looked at the room full of people there to celebrate with him, and I bet all he saw was his journey. He saw the faces and milestones of the people for whom and with whom he prayed throughout his life. In his heart he whispers thank you with each breath. 

Wow. I do pray thanks. I have a lot to be thankful for. But I confess the words thank you are not always on the tip of my tongue. I want this 80th birthday revelation to be mine every day from now on. I want to always be thankful first. 

I fast forward in my mind. I envision the future. My own 80th birthday. I am sitting on the porch, coffee in hand. I am smiling. I am thinking of the day's festivities. Ellen greets me with a kiss. I tell her I am 80 today and without a beat I move into a cliché joke: "80 of my best and your worst...bahaha" (old man humor is the bees knees). She says: "I know. Happy Birthday sweetie." We then talk. Probably for hours. About everything and nothing. And life is good. And God is good. And tears form in the corner of my eyes (because I have turned into a cry baby. That's a current statement not an 80 year old statement). I look at her and simply say, “I have so much to be thankful for.” Then we start sharing lots of stories of half-truths because our memories are more like fog, and I have made up so many outlandish stories to get a rise out of our grandchildren and great-grandchildren that there is a very blurred line between reality and fiction.

Our hope--that story. It starts today. Every single day: Be thankful.

Dear Adam,

First of all, when I am 80 I better have a sweet set up. I put up with you for a looooooooong time. Just saying. And second, thank you for 80 years of memories. Thank you for the snuggles (future snuggles because obviously you aren't here and your mother would be really sick and tired of me if I curled up to her belly all the time)- they really are my favorite. And thirdly, be thankful. Every day. Even the bad ones. Find something to be thankful for. And be thankful to God. He has put things in motion that we cannot fathom. It will be hard some times to be thankful, especially to God. You will most likely want to blame him for things. Look past that. Look for the blessing. Look for the thanksgiving. (Mmm, Thanksgiving.) Here is a short list to start with. Each day, think on these things and smile and be thankful.

1. Your mother and I. We love you. We want the best for you. Our goal is to provide for you in every way.

2. Today. Because we are not guaranteed tomorrow.
3. The people you get to share life with. Someone needs you. Be ready. And be thankful.

4. Your toys. Because they are going to be a lot of fun.
5. Your acute skills of manliness that your father has bestowed upon you. (For those of you who know me, stop laughing. For those of you that don't, let’s just pretend I am like Old Yankee Workshop meets Bob Goff meets Gas Monkey meets Bear Grylls meets Wolfgang Puck meets personified Bow-and-arrow.)

Thank you, Adam. You have opened my eyes to a whole new meaning of life. 

Love,

Arguably the Future Sexiest 80 Year Old Alive

P.S. Hurry up (but not really) and get here because I want to hang out and your mother is desperate for someone else to be my audience to entertain. 

#itsaboy

It's a boy!

Ellen is going to be so tired of potty humor that she just might just explode. And I will be loving it! 

May we introduce: Adam Armour Olive. He will carry a name that holds three generations of family history. Adam which is his maternal great-grandparents' roots (Ellen's mom's maiden name), Armour which is his grandparents' roots (Ellen's maiden name), and Olive which is his own roots and the long list of Olive sprouts that have come before him. 

I am getting pretty pumped about a few things:

1. Teaching him (by example) to love

2. Teaching him (by example) to respect - especially his mother

3. Boy trips: camping, fishing, sporting games (Ellen just asked if she could be invited.)

4. Showing him God is most important in our family

5. Being his hero (and living up to it)

6. Sweet little prayers from his heart

7. Tears and triumphs (both are super important)

8. Helping him develop skills: perfect spiral, building things, painting & drawing, music (Come on Ellen! We need your genes for this!!)

9. First beer together (many moons from now, don't worry!)

10. ETC...

Things I am not pumped about:

1. Poop everywhere

2. Nose picking (and eating the boogers)

3. Puberty (cause boys are gross)

4. High School Graduation (I already miss him so much)

5. A little more etc... (shorter list)

What I am most looking forward to is the faith legacy that is being born into my family tree. I grew up and could not tell you the difference between Jesus and Santa Clause. I actually liked Santa WAY better because he brought me presents. (I believed until I was like 13 because I refused to not believe in Santa. Christmas is just the best!) And now I have a little boy who will carry the Olive name into the future with the banner of Grace and Love that his dad found as a 14 year old boy. That is a cool statement for me. That is a legacy piece that I am looking forward to. He will know and see how important God's love is in our household. It is truly what has held me and Ellen together. He will hear his mother sing songs of praise. He will be involved in conversation with me and my buddy Matt about the struggles of faith. He will understand that everyone deserves love and grace and mercy. He will know that our measure of goodness is only in our ability to take care of the widows and orphans. He will know God. 

I hope he rests in the safety of being in his daddy's arms. I will teach him everything I know about Jesus because this family tree, this branch, it is grafted into the kingdom.

And he will have awesome friends like Annabelle and Claire that will help him memorize his Bible verses, friends like Zoë and Preston that have parents with the same desires, "big kid" friends like Neely and Little Bonte and Carlee that will watch out for them, the fullness of the Finn crew that will love him like a brother, and life-long memories and continued traditions with his three adopted McBeth aunties!

He will have cousins like Cooper and Addie for all family functions to just romp around with, J. Crockett who will be his protector (and possibly the person who gets him into the most mischief. I can just hear him: Hey Adam. Do _________! It'll be hilarious. And he will do it because the Olive blood never backs down, unfortunately), he will have Jaxon and Lily that will inspire creativity and wonder (because they are choc-full of it), and then there is Brook who will be the best big cousin because somehow she has already learned how to love unconditionally, and finally Bailey who will inspire him that faith is real as you learn of her battle with cancer (AS SHE KICKS ITS ASS!!!!). 

Dear Adam,

I am excited to meet you. I want to show you everything I know - which scares your mother. But I truly hope you carry all the best of us in your being. The creativity of your father, the love of your mother, the discipline of your mother, the beauty of your mother (okay really I hope you get most of your mother's genes and a few of my really good ones). But most of all, what I want you to see in us is that Jesus is alive in our household. Faith is real. Life is fun. People need you, and you will be an example of faith and love for them. So I commit to you that we will be the example of faith and love for you to follow.

Love,

Arguably the Manliest Dad on Earth!

#measuredbylove

Measure your actions by love. This is obviously a borrowed idea birthed by God and developed over time by numerous amazing people. I have been thinking a lot these days that at the end of each day I would like to measure of success by how well I loved. 

This idea is way too big to cover in its entirety, so I want to break it down into a few parts.

1. Love measuring me. Integrity is doing what is right when no one is looking, or more importantly, judging (measuring). If I start adjusting my life to be built on the measure of love, then integrity will be a natural by-product. Love is watching me always. We all struggle with a myriad of sins. And this blog is a not judgement zone. But try participating in your vice with these prerequisite questions: Will this love? Does this action add to or take away from my capacity to love? I won't cheat and give the answer away, but I will leave you with this: every single vice will take debit from your capacity to love and will eventually come to light.

*As a side note: if you don't love yourself, then find someone qualified and talk with them. An inability to love ourselves is a dangerous place to be. Everyone is worthy of love: especially from themselves.

2.a. Love measuring my with-you. With-you is the most important place for love to be a measurement. Am I acting with love when I am with you? This is also the most difficult place to always act with love because it involves people, and people can be hard to love. For real... it's just really difficult to love people sometimes. We are all broken to an extent. Loving people becomes especially difficult when I add my charming personality to the mix. I am *always right, I have the *best ideas, and my way is generally the *best way. I am a blast to be around. (*These are my confessions. And trust me, I am working on this.) Mix that beautiful mess with a world that has its axis on a tilt. It becomes difficult for me to always act in a loving way. In this little category, what helps me the most is to think about an equal sign. When acting outside of love with frustration, anger, angst, sarcasm, etc., the equal sign or result is the feeling of frustration, anger, angst, sarcasm, etc... all reflected in my own being. The with-you that receives my unloving actions gets an equal sign of either: 1. Hurt feelings, 2. Loss of respect/trust towards me, 3. A negative self reflection of "I am wrong/bad/dumb/etc." 4. A poor view of love. (This one really stings because the Bible says that the way the world will know Jesus is by how we share love.) To recap: I get an ulcer, a bad reputation, and immediate regret, and the with-you gets a bad day with a poor view of love. So choose love with each other. Be measured by love. Equal love.

2.b. Love measuring with-you socially. Are your social actions a measurement of love? Our filter of decision making while with friends and loved ones should always be, "Is this loving?" I am defaulting to an example I recently heard on this. The person I am grabbing this from in no way endorses me, my blog, or any of the things I need to say to make sure and give credit where credit is due. I don't even know him personally, but Ben Stuart nails it with this message. (Worth the watch at least through the first 15 minutes. Actually, I take that back; watch all 51 minutes.)

* Breakaway: Psalm 69 *

3. Love measuring my love for Love. Mind blown, I know. Up to this point you have no doubt read my relationship-with-God undertones in each of my blogs. Well the most perfect picture of love is God. He is perfect Love. Love doesn't even happen without him. Capacity for love is non-existent without God. When my head hits the pillow, I want to know that I loved God today. It's as simple as that and the most important measurement of my day. I cannot share love or be measured by love without having Love. I know... real deep. It is truly that simple. How I show God love: acknowledge I cannot _____ without him and his grace, take care of orphans and widows, give of myself out of my abundance (and trust me, we all have abundance somewhere), treat others better than myself, erase idols from my day, refrain from judging others, and pray in all ways trusting his way over mine. 

Think about the addition we give the world when we measure ourselves by love. When I give love, the other side of the equal sign looks like others being lifted up, smiles, laughter, encouragement, joy, freedom, growth, knowledge, friendship, life, breath, rest- sweet, sweet rest, and all of this on a reciprocating crescendo of shared love because love is contagious.

Dear Sweet Child of Mine,

You will be the echo of my desire to share love in this world. I want to add to the place where you will experience life, not take away. One person at a time, one decision at a time, one equal sign at a time... I will be adding to this world a measure of love.

Love,

Arguably the Most Loving Father in the World