Mudshot Eyes

Krista took me on a weekend trip to Fall Creek Falls for my birthday. For me, that is like going to Disney World. Here are a few pictures, which I will soon have posted on my pictures page (Mouse over each picture for a brief description).

Some thoughts while sitting out on the balcony on Friday night:

There are a million bugs of various sort hovering, flying, crawling, and creeping all around us. It is dusk, and the night crawlers and flyers are doing their thing. This is their domain, along with the birds, snakes, deer, and squirrels (who seem to survive anywhere).

They don’t stop buzzing, crawling, and biting just because it is an annoyance to me.

I’m watching a spider weave his web on the railing outside on the deck of our room. He’s one of at least twenty spiders lined up along the railing, each having their own section to build a web. Krista has noticed three of them. I don’t think she realizes how many are right in front of us, preparing for a night of capturing unsuspecting insects.

Radar-equipped bats are flying over the lake now that the sun has mostly set. They are feeding on the millions of insects that buzz over the lake.

Observing these things reminds me of my smallness. I am part of God’s world, not the other way around.

Krista and I have been married for a month now, and one might think I would be quick to post some reflections about the wedding, the honeymoon, and our first days of marriage together.

Reflections on the wedding weekend would easily include how good it was to bring our families together for the rehearsal dinner and how humbled I am to have been treated with such kindness and love by her entire family.

It would be impossible not to write of how stunningly beautiful Krista was on our wedding day, and how her smile and her eyes captured me as we offered our vow of love.

I would also be compelled to tell how the bridal party did everything right and was so helpful through the entire weekend, how the reception was a perfect celebration setting, and how Krista’s dad and cousin overwhelmed everyone present with the song that her dad wrote for us.

An account of the honeymoon in Napa Valley, California would say that it was the perfect place for a honeymoon, with wine tastings, beautiful scenery, and a splendid stay at the Vintage Inn in Yountville.

And if I were to write about the first days of our marriage beyond the honeymoon, I would be sure to mention that each day has been sweeter and more satisfying than the day before with Krista.

However, I won’t go into such an account, as words are simply not enough.

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I have posted a selection of pictures from the wedding weekend, which can be found on my pictures page. Pictures from our time in Napa are coming next. (05/12/06 UPDATE: Honeymoon pictures are now posted. Enjoy!)

Also, the song that Krista’s dad wrote and performed at the reception with Greg has been recorded and is now in it’s final form. Those of you who were there are aware of how meaningful it was for us. It includes Greg Locke on the saxophone and Scott (Krista’s dad) singing and playing piano. We want you to have a chance to hear it, even if you weren’t at the reception… Click here to download.

Krista and I were married on Saturday! Right now we are in Napa Valley on our honeymoon, enjoying the fruit of the vine and the beautiful scenery. My bride was radiant, and I will make my best effort to describe that beautiful day when we return next week. It was perfect in every way, and God was glorified. We were overwhelmed by the outpouring of love from every family member and friend. We were especially blessed by our parents and their support and love.

During the reception following our wedding on Saturday, we showed a video of old family pictures and I couldn’t help but think about how I wished my cousin Mark would have been there. We lost him a year ago today to a motorcycle accident. If you knew Mark, you have a story with him. Everywhere he went there were stories taking shape. That’s what made him so enjoyable to be around.

There is one particular story that has lived on since Mark and I were kids. It has been retold countless times at family gatherings over the years. Krista suggested that this story would be a great way to remember him today, on the anniversary of his passing from life to death to Life.

We didn’t set out on that summer day to find a machete. It just happened. We were probably only ten or eleven years old at the time, which is plenty old enough to know how to use a tool of that magitude, yet not old enough to know how much trouble we could get into with it.

The machete was buried just under the surface of the dirt right beside a creek that ran behind my house. We were always drawn to that area for play because of the plentiful supply of mud in that area. For a 10 year old, mud is like duct tape. You can do anything with it. However, on one particular day, we had no interest in mud once we stumbled upon the rusty, dull machete. Our thoughts went from, “Should we bury our sisters’ Barbie dolls in the mud?” to “Should we level the entire neighborhood?”

We decided that we might get in trouble for cutting down anything taller than 10 feet, so any plant shorter than that was fair game. The first thing we came to was a grove of plants that I’ve always referred to as “banana trees”. They were perfect for our mission. The leaves were thin and crisp, allowing the machete to slice through them like pudding. I can tell you with confidence that God put those plants there for this very moment. The problem was that he put those plants in my neighbor’s yard. We refused to allow that to dissuade us. In fact, I don’t think it ever came to mind. For all we knew, we were battling aliens on planet Zortox.

It only took us about three or four minutes to eliminate the entire crop, and about 12 seconds after that to snap back into reality and plan our escape from the wrath of our neighbor. Our plan for escape was simple: drop the machete where we stood and run back into my house and sit on the couch as if we were waiting for Christmas to arrive.

The spanking that ensued will live on in my memory forever, but Mark and I always said that it was worth every swat.

In fact, every swat we took because of our mischeif was worth it, for it was another story that we have to remind us that Mark lives on and so will we.

I can still remember the aroma in that church in Bradenton, Florida. The smell of aged wood from the floors and the pews served as a reminder that we were part of a bigger, ongoing story. The air was thick with the stories of people like my grandmother and others who had struggled through the Great Depression and other personal crises, only to end up back with God’s imperfect people every week in worship.

Every time I set foot in one of those old church buildings I think of my grandmother, whose birthday would have been today. I am thankful that she was faithful to take my mom and uncles to church each Sunday. Not to exalt her to an impossible pedestal, but her legacy has been a deciding factor in my spiritual life. What she invested into the lives of her kids was also invested into me through my mom.

My journey hasn’t been the only one indirectly impacted by grandma’s faithfulness. My sister and my cousins have tasted salvation in part because of her faithfulness. My late cousin Mark was unexpectedly taken from us almost a year ago. Though we were hurt by the loss, we know that his refuge in life and death was Christ because his parents carried on a legacy of faith that Mark connected with.

I suspect that God brought Grandma’s birthday to my attention this year to remind me that no matter how long our days may be, we are not islands of personal isolation. Our decisions create a ripple effect on those around us and on the generations that follow.

I’ve got some new pictures posted! Browse around at

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jasonbarmer/

Happy Birthday, Scott!

To a loving father and devoted husband on his 50th birthday.
Krista and I wish you the happiest birthday.

“The purpose of my life is being a father to my kids and
being a husband to my wife.”
- Terrence Howard