I wasn’t planning on posting it to Youtube this year, but I’ve had several requests….so, here you go. For those of you who haven’t the slightest clue what I’m talking about, here’s a brief explanation:
One of the perks of having a large family is that you can dress up as almost the entire cast of a movie. This year, we chose Despicable Me…primarily because the minions are funny. We had a grand old time October 31. Since we’ve had a lot of people ask, I’ll answer a few questions:
Some days, humanity depresses me. You’ve probably had similar feelings if you’ve spent any amount of on social media. So much hate. It’s ironic, really. We allow our anger toward people with whom we’re largely disconnected (i.e. politicians, celebrities, 19-year-old college athletes, etc.) destroy relationships with people with whom we are directly connected (via Facebook, Twitter, texting, or even old-fashioned friendships that involve actual face-to-face conversations).
First off, feel free to share this post on Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, etc.
As you may have heard (or deduced from the giant ad on the right side of the page), I wrote a book last year. If you haven’t yet, you should read it. My mom says it’s great.
There are thousands of versions of the song “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” All of them contain some variation of the following verse: “Here I raise my Ebenezer. Here by thy great help I’ve come.” So, what in the heck is an Ebenezer? Why are we song-fully raising it? In case you don’t know (and since the song is probably going to be stuck in your head for the remainder of the day), allow me to help you avoid singing in ignorance.
Perhaps you know my wife and I personally. Perhaps know us from your casual reading of this here blog. Perhaps you know us from stalking us in your spare time. Regardless, you’ve probably gathered that we’re not normal. At all. There was a time, however, when our family was closer to “normal.” We had two kids. We drove a normal-sized vehicle. We did a normal amount of laundry. When we ate dinner, we ate sitting down. We slept sometimes. Our house was clean. We didn’t spend 10 hours per week searching for missing shoes. Or coats. Or toothbrushes. Or sanity.
The year was 2001. I found myself sitting in the middle of a little church in the middle of a little village in the middle of nowhere in Kenya, Africa. We were miles from electricity. The church was a small building made from sticks and mud. With the exception of a few people, everyone was standing because there was not enough room to sit. A decent-sized group of people stood outside, listening through the windows. About 45 minutes into the church service, my guide/interpreter gently elbowed me in the side.
