If you’ve ever wondered how this blog got the name Wildly Blessed, here’s just one of many reasons. God has wildly blessed me with my two boys, and there are no words big enough to tell Him how grateful I am.
Today, you get a word from Logan.
Much like just about every single other person on the planet can claim, I, too, feel my family is a bit odd. Although I had some sense of our oddity while in high school, it has become increasingly apparent throughout my half-a-decade at A&M. And, as with almost all things, there came with my realization both a good and bad side.
I’m not a fan of giving good news first, but I’ll make an exception in hopes of this blog actually making sense. The good news is everyone else is weird, too. HA! Picture the scene. It’s freshman year in Aggieland. To say I loved all of my new friends would have been absolutely true. To say I completely understood them? Not so much. Enter Parents’ Weekend. Each time I met one of my friend’s parents, I left the conversation thinking, “Ohhhh, now I get it.” It was one lightbulb moment after another. Prime example: my current roommate, Scott. Now Scott is about as awesome as they come, but he’s got this funky way of standing whenever he’s talking with people. Of course, by spring of freshman year, we had all become aware of this and perfected our imitations. So now I meet Scott’s dad, and he immediately strikes an identical conversation pose. I couldn’t take it. Couldn’t look at him without losing it. It was Scott… as a 40-year-old man, and it was hilarious.
Despite how fun it was picking out all the ways my friends are just like their parents, the bad news is I was unable to escape this “rubbing off” phenomenon myself. There are countless examples of things I assumed were normal until I lived with college friends. Exhibit A: My dad washing his hair in the sink every morning. It seemed logical to me. You take a shower before bed, so why not save time in the morning with the quick hair wash? I never thought twice about it until sophomore year when my roommates informed me they had never seen or heard of anyone doing that. Needless to say one of those guys still refers to the sink hair wash as a “Logan bath.” What a fantastic thing to be named after……
Exhibit B (and point of story/title/blog/whatever you call this): Last story I promise. Freshman year again. Some buds and I are at a service event doing typical service stuff. Nothing too difficult, but spreading dirt on a Saturday morning tends to give cause for complaint. Amid my buds’ grumbling, I casually comment that it’s better than picking up rocks. I immediately receive confused stares followed by a “Heh?” So I proceed to explain that my dad used to make my brother and me pick up rocks whenever we got in trouble. More questions. “What do you mean pick up rocks?” “I mean there would be a pile of rocks sitting in one spot, and my dad would tell us to pick them all up and move them to another spot.”
Feel free to formulate your own thoughts on the absurdity of this punishment. Now I can laugh at it, but at the time I had to make up 8-year-old versions of awful cuss words to describe how I felt about it. My dad just called it discipline.
Fast forward to now. I never ever never thought I’d be doing something worse than picking up rocks. But here I am… studying for the cursed CPA. Don’t get me wrong. Life is still great, and God is still good. But for a dude who gets his happiness (not joy, big difference) from being around people and being active, studying all day every day is NOT COOL. Then this morning I hear the Holy Spirit speaking through His Word. Read with me from Hebrews 12: 7-11.
“Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons. For what son is not disciplined
by his father?… Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and
we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of our spirits and live!
Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.”
What else can I ask for? That’s about as truth-filled as it gets. It even talks about my old man! When I was younger, I couldn’t comprehend the value in the lessons my dad was trying to teach my brother and me. Now though, I probably can’t thank him enough. Through something as ridiculous as picking up rocks, my dad made me learn how to work. He made me learn what it’s like to finish something you don’t see the point in doing simply because you’re supposed to honor your parents.
So here I am. Attempting to honor my Father in heaven by trusting there is a reason behind becoming a CPA. Attempting to have faith that a harvest of righteousness and peace is waiting for me after I finish in May. Attempting to rest in a peace greater than my own understanding.
I end with the brilliant, wonderful, and humbling perspective offered in the beginning of Hebrews 12.
“Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy
set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand
of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men,
so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”