Shoes in The Freezer - How To Detoxify Your Stinky Shoes

Take a look inside our freezer on any given day and you will see something like this:

Currently residing in our freezer are a pair of Salomons, three pairs of climbing shoes, some frozen chicken tenderloins, a box of frozen turkey patties, a couple boxes of Green Giant vegetables and one really old pair of New Balance tennis shoes. "Why", you ask? To kill that funky man shoe stank but of course! Carrie doesn't seem to have quite the odor problem with her shoes that I do with mine.

It all started on a dark and stormy night with my climbing shoes. They smelled horrific. Left to their own devices they could probably have taken out a small country within minutes. Seriously. So when first faced with this problem a number of years ago I came up with a solution: Dryer sheets. And this worked quite well. At least it masked the smell fairly decently. But as I continued to use this technique my feet started getting rashes on them from the dryer sheets (I have sensitive skin, cut me some slack).

And after some fiddling around on the 'net I learned a new trick. I read somewhere that the moisture and stench in shoes is caused by bacteria that grows in moist and warm conditions (i.e. sweaty shoes) and that putting your shoes in the freezer would kill the bacteria, unarming your them from their nostril-terrorizing powers. And it worked wonders. Now most all of my shoes visit the freezer on a weekly basis and my climbing shoes live in there. So if you gots some stanky shoes, throw them in the freezer overnight and see what happens. Plus they feel so good when you put them on. Kind of like a frosty mug for your feet.

I'm A Good Person. And I Deserve Good Things. Luke 15: The Lost Son.

I'm a good person. And I deserve good things.

Look! All these years I've been slaving for you, never giving you one moment of grief and never disobeying your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends!

- Luke 15: 29 (a mix of the NIV and the Message)

I've heard the Parable of The Lost Son preached dozens of times. And I really have always enjoyed it. I mean it is so cool to see how our God forgives us even though we squander all the blessings He has given us and we waste our inheritance on worldly things and just like the younger son in the parable find ourselves completely destitute, settling for pig slop when we could have some barbecue beef from a fatted calf. Seriously though, we serve a God that just doesn't care what kind of pig slop we are settling for or what we wasted our inheritance on. He just wants us to return home to Him. And He waits with His arms open, ready to party the moment we realize that we have nothing without Him and we come home. And think, He doesn't even yell at us, He doesn't punish us.

I love how the Message Bible says in verse 21 that when the younger son met his father he "started his speech". You gotta think that this guy had been practicing and rehearsing what he would say to his father his whole trip back home. It reminds me of when I was a kid and had done something I knew I was going to be in trouble for, I would spend hours coming up with the best thing to say to my parents to try and lighten their anger towards me, in hopes that I might get my 5 day grounding knocked down to 3 days with good behavior. So the lost son practices and practices what he is going to say to his father when he gets home, and no sooner does he start his "I don't deserve to be called your son" spiel that he realizes his father isn't even listening to his plea bargains because he is too busy making sure his son's needs are taken care of, making sure he is dressed in the finest of clothes. His father doesn't want an explanation nor does he want to scold his son for wasting his inheritance. In fact, out of his compassion, he wants to continue giving to his son. He throws a huge party because his lost son has returned home!

But there is another element to this story that I guess I have always overlooked. We heard a sermon this last Sunday focusing on the older son. Somehow I have always managed to overlook his behavior and actions. And I'm realizing now that's because that older son represented me and the way I related to God for a long time. Now that's not to say that I haven't left home and settled for my fair share of pig slop because I certainly have. And that's also not to say that I haven't demanded my inheritance and wasted it because I have done that too. But really it is the story of the eldest son that I identify with most.

Two thoughts are going through my head about the older son. Matthew 15:8 comes to mind when Jesus, talking to the Pharisees, tells them that even though they praise him with their mouths and say the right things and show up to all the big worship services, their hearts were far removed from him. Even though the older son stayed with his father and obeyed all the rules and did everything his father asked, he shows us the condition of his heart in verses 28-30. He doesn't care that his brother has repented and come home. Instead of being filled with joy over his brother's return he is filled with anger and jealousy. But don't we do that sometimes? Ever had that thought of "Well I don't ever do ____, and I certainly have never _____, and I've never even thought _____. But old John over there, he has done all of that times 5, and his house is waaaay nicer than mine" or "he hasn't gone through half the struggles I have" or "he makes a lot more money than I do".

Another thought I had about the older son (and I think this is where I really identify with him) is that he is still demanding his inheritance, his right to nice things and a nice life and even a nice afterlife, just like his younger brother, but he is just doing it in a different way. He thinks he deserves his inheritance. It's his right. Because after all, he has always done what his father has asked of him. And beyond that, he had always not done what his father forbid him to. But none of it was from his heart. It wasn't because he was grateful that his father provided for him and met his needs. One commentary I read points out that the older brother even refers to his younger brother as "this son of yours" (Luke 15:30 - NIV). He wasn't even thankful that his father completely forgave his younger brother and was not going to give him the punishment he deserved. The older brother was just in it for himself.

Now how many of us can identify with that? I know I can. I guess sometimes we feel like we deserve for God to bless us. We deserve to be taken care of and to be given a spouse and a family and a nice job with a nice house. We deserve to be blessed with good health and to live happy lives. We even deserve to go to heaven. I mean if I read my Bible everyday and go to church every time the doors open and I raise my hands during worship and give 10% of my paycheck to God and I don't say things I shouldn't or talk bad about other people or have sex before I get married then I have been obedient to God, right? All these years I've been slaving for God and I haven't given Him one moment of grief or disobeyed any of His orders, so that makes me a good person, right? And good people deserve good things, don't they? And my father's other son, man he's not a good person. He took all of dad's money and went and completely wasted it on prostitutes and probably gambling and drugs and who knows what else. But me? I'm a good person. And I deserve good things. Happiness? Ya, I deserve to be happy. Good health? Yup, I deserve that. Wealth? Ya, I deserve wealth. Well at least enough to pay the bills and have a new car every couple of years and go on a vacation during the summer, because I for sure deserve a vacation. Heaven? An astounding yes. I have slaved for God and I have kept all his rules. I definitely deserve to go to Heaven.

But the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure (Jeremiah 17:9). And besides that, all of my righteous acts are like filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6). The 'good' I do on my own looks like filth before our Holy God. When I stand before God to account for everything I have done in this life, good (and my good being filth) or bad (I don't even know what my bad is going to look like), the only advocate I am going to have is Jesus Christ. My 'good' is not going to save me. All the Bible verses I memorized and all the church services and programs I went through and all the tithe I gave and all the times I said no to temptation and all the children overseas I sent money to on a monthly basis and all the times I invited my next door neighbors to go to church with me are not going to save me from an eternity of suffering.

But don't our actions say otherwise? Just like the older son in the parable don't we try to work off our salvation? Don't we sometimes fall to the belief that 'good' people don't really go to hell? Don't we sometimes get the idea in our head that we deserve better? That we are good people that do good things and we deserve all the 'good' stuff this life has to offer? And that that person over there isn't quite as good as we are so they don't deserve quite all the stuff that we deserve? And don't we sometimes feel like we have to earn God's approval? That we have to go for a month without sinning while reading at least 3 chapters of the Bible every day and memorizing 2 verses of scripture every week and not missing any church services in between before God will really love us or forgive us or be pleased with us? It almost sounds ridiculous I know but I'm telling you that has been my thought process before. And if you have grown up in the church I bet you have had those same thoughts.

If you are like me, you may need to check your heart before God. Forget about having to check off any of the boxes you have always checked off to try and win God's love, approval, or blessing. Because this is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins (1 John 4:10). But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Romans 5:8). Quit trying to win God's love. He didn't send Jesus to die on a cross because of the 'good' things he knew you were going to do. He doesn't want us to perform for him, doing all the good things and not doing all the bad stuff. Let's just live daily in the grace he extends to us. Let's break open the Word because we want to know more about our God who has redeemed us and not because we feel like that's what 'good Christians' do. Let's spend time with him in prayer not so we can check off another box but because our whole being longs for him. Let's love our neighbors not to get a pat on the back or words of praise from our Christian friends but let's love them because we want them to experience truth and freedom in Christ.

Let's also check our hearts that we aren't jealous or angry when a lost brother or sister comes home. Let's look past all of their sins and rejoice with God and throw a party for them. And let's also make sure we don't have an "I deserve ____" attitude. Because in the end we are deserving of absolutely nothing outside of an eternity spent in hell. Our hearts are desperately wicked and when we move on from this life our only defense will be our faith in our advocate Jesus Christ. That's it and that's all. Thank God for Jesus!

For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.

- Colossians 1:13-14

Marvelous Martes!

We feel like Rex could make the front cover of the 2011 Labrador Retriever Calender with this picture. We certainly support him in his modeling endeavors.

And he could be Mr. February with this one.

Took this out at Foster Falls. I guess an icicle fell down from the top of the cliff line and impaled itself on that little tree?

How Common Is Your Name?

We ran across this pretty cool website that tells you where your first and last name ranks in popularity among the rest of the U.S. population. Check it out where your name ranks here. This is what we found out about our names:

"Chance" is the 2,441st most common last name in the United States out of about 49,000. It occurs in the U.S. population 13,586 times. The top 5 most common last names in order of most common to least are: Smith, Johnson, Williams, Brown, and Jones. There's about 2,376,206 Smiths running around out there.

"Corinne" is the 554th most common name for a female out of over 4,000 and occurs 36,434 times in the U.S. population. "Carrie" is a little more common and ranks as the 129th most common female name, occurring 259,594 times. The top 5 most common female names are Mary, Patricia, Linda, Barbara, and Elizabeth.

"Nathan" comes in at 108 out of over 1200 male names on the list and occurs 269,908 times. The top 5 most common male names are James, John, Robert, Michael, and William.

There are almost enough Carrie's for all the Nathan's in the United States.

On an interesting side note, there are 32,097 Bert's in the U.S. but only 21,884 Ernie's.

On an even more interesting side note, there are 15,181 Berta's and 13,663 Erna's in the U.S.

On an even more interestingner side note, there are 338,534 Bonnie's and 138,601 Clyde's.

And just in case that wasn't interesting enough, the United States is home to 1,518 women named Claude.

Marvelous Martes!

These babies are from the Atlanta aquarium. I'm telling you I think we are getting better at this photography thing.

Sea Dragon.

Lion Fish.

Crush.

Allie Chaos

We did something today we shouldn't have. We went to the humane society with a couple of our friends to play with the dogs. We've really been wanting one but decided we need to wait for awhile but going to play with all them puppies sure isn't helping anything.

Carrie picked out Miss Allie Chaos. She lived up to her name.

Dixie. Trey Walker is going to adopt her.

Tales From The Hood: A Chance at The Bee

I want to take you back, if I may, to a time when life was care free, calories weren't counted, and gasoline cost just over a dollar, though you probably could have cared less. Go back with me to those magical elementary school years, specifically to the life-defining 3rd and 4th grades. I would like to share with you a story, mostly true with some probable embellishment. I am going off my memory of 15 years ago after all and there are obviously going to be some black spots where some color is needed.

I started my third grade year off with a bang. I entered class fashionably late, meandered straight up to my teacher, kicked her in the shin and told her she could expect more of that as the year progressed. We lived in Maryville, TN at the time and I had a controlling share of Sam Houston Elementary. I basically ran the school. The teachers knew it, the students knew it, the principal knew it. What I said went, and went when I said it would. My school life was a breeze. I brought in my Game Boy most days and played Riddick Bowe Boxing while the other students slaved away at their school work. I came in an hour late, left an hour early, and took a two hour lunch break. Life was good.

I received news late that fall by way of my parental units that we would be moving to Chattaboogie, TN (that's Chattanooga) over Christmas break. This was going to be a problem. This could also be read as: Little fish in a big pond. I would be entering into a world of unknown. Where previously I had ruled with an iron fist, I would be no more than a pauper at this new school. But perhaps this may be a good thing. I was tired of running everything. Having to figure out where everyone should be and what everyone should do for an entire school is a lot for a third grader to handle. Maybe this transition could offer a Chance (pun intended) for a new beginning.

Well I packed up my game and headed out west (yes that is a Kid Rock lyric, and yes, Chattaboogie is west of Maryville, albeit southwest, it's still west). It was a harsh Chattaboogie valley winter and when I arrived I could tell immediately that the town was missing something, but exactly what I had yet do determine. I entered McConnell Elementary school on the first day back from Christmas break with determination in my mind and trepidation in my heart. As I walked to my classroom I couldn't help but notice the sadness that was crawling through the halls almost as slowly as I was.

I walked into my class, ready to be blasted for the fact that my face very much resembled a Chinese beaver. In my defense, I looked much more like a Canadian woodchuck than a Chinese beaver. I did, admittedly, have extremely large buckteeth and a diabolical overbite. But, to my surprise, there were no ethnic slurs thrown my way, no laughs at my expense. Just a warm, Chattaboogie welcome. And as I began to play with my new friends and learn more about who they were, it slowly began to dawn on me what they and the rest of the town were missing: A Spelling Bee Hero.

With the 3rd grade spelling bee tryouts just weeks away, I realized that this was the chance (no pun intended) that I needed. So I waited. And when tryouts finally came around, I made quick work of the rest of my classmates to claim the number one spot going into the Bee. I spent the next few weeks in preparation as I cleared my mind through yoga, tai chi, fitness swimming, and gardening. At last the Bee arrived and I was ready. I walked into the school auditorium with the weight of my classmates and the rest of the community on my shoulders. What they needed was a Spelling Bee Hero and I was ready to deliver. I strolled onto the stage confident and after an arduous 3 hour battle with 15 other 3rd graders, I left the Bee feeling cheated with a 3rd place finish. I was congratulated by my peers and the rest of the community but I knew in my heart what I could see in their faces. I had failed them. They had been waiting for Batman and I gave them Robin. They longed for Darkwing Duck and I gave them Scrooge. They needed Sherlock Holmes but I gave them Dr. Watson.

I went into hiding over the next year. I came into town only when I had to and usually by aid of moonlight. Embarrassment is not the right word. I was shamed. I had single-handedly crushed thousands of hopes and dreams. And the only thing I could do was slink down into oblivion until I was only a memory. I killed squirrels and rabbits for nourishment and developed my own system of water purification using tree bark and goat hair. I lay in waiting the rest of that fateful year knowing full well that I had only one Chance (you decide if the pun was intended) to make things right.

Fourth grade arrived just in time to find me the youngest person in history to have grown a full beard. I was handed a razor on my entrance to school and I promptly disposed of my Robinson Crusoe-esque look for a more Christopher Robin-like appeal. I sat in the back of my class and talked to no-one and the favor was returned. I breathed only when I needed to and dared not make eye contact with anyone because I was too afraid of what I would see. The disappointment I had left them with the previous year had not faded and had made itself evident in their tear-stained faces.

A few months later the announcement I had been longing for was made. The 4th grade spelling bee was drawing nigh and it was time for each class to have a spell-off to decide who would represent their class in The Bee. My teacher, Mrs. Frankenburg, called out for any who would dare to enter into the class spell-off to stand up and make their way to the front of the class. All eyes were on me. I knew they would be and in fact this was indeed the very moment I had been dreaming of since my last nightmarish spelling bee adventure. They didn't have to say a word. Their body language spelled it out clearly for me. They still did not have the hero and the hope that they needed. They were tired, worn out and had little left to offer. And I was ready to finally be their hero. I had learned from my past mistakes and was ready to bring them the happiness they so desperately longed for and deserved.

I stood as their gazes fixed upon my valiant and undaunted stature. I looked so deeply into their eyes that most had to turn away. I knew that they needed reassurance and words of encouragement, and that's exactly what I gave them. There are some things said that are forever remembered. Some are immediately forgotten. What I gave them was sure to be passed on for generations to come: "You have forgotten who you are and so have forgotten me. Look inside yourself. You are more than what you have become. We must take our places in the great Circle of Life. Remember who you are. Remember..." [Yes that was a Lion King quote].

A class spell-off is not really the best description of the onslaught of flawless and undefiled spelling that ensued. I knew where my place was and would not stop until I stood in it, on it, and through it. Finally I knew that they once again believed. They believed in something that was bigger than they were, that was bigger than I was. I was ready for victory and so were they.

Much like the silence between the field goal kicker and the rest of his football team moments before his attempt to win the game so myself and my classmates sat for the remaining days before the Bee. The rest of the community had gotten wind of my re-emergence into the world of competitive spelling and the city was, for the first time in a long time, abuzz with excitement. And the day of the Bee finally came.

I spent that morning managing my fresh chili-bowl haircut and focusing myself for what I knew was going to be a bloody spelling crusade. As I marched into the auditorium flashbacks of darker days flooded my mind. I pushed them out and remained focused on my task at hand. The place was filled to the brim with students, parents and families with one thing in common: A hope for a better life. And I knew their hopes rested entirely on my shoulders. I pointed to my classmates as I shot up the stairs, onto the stage, and took my seat amidst the city's best and brightest 4th graders.

It wasn't long before my number was called. I strode valiantly up to the microphone and everyone held their breath as they waited for my first word. "Admission" came a dark voice from behind a desk and stack of dictionaries. "Your word is 'admission'" it cackled again. I smiled, knowing that I would survive the first round and I could see the relief on the face of the entire city. "A" I began. "D" I continued on. They had been waiting for an entire year and I was finally going to deliver. "M-i-t-i-o-n" I said with confidence and even a touch of humility. "A-d-m-i-t-i-o-n" I thought in my head. "What a beautiful and touching word." I turned to go back to my seat and hear the applaud of thousands. And then I heard the bell. And my world came crashing down. And the hopes, the dreams, the ambitions of thousands went, along with mine, right out the "admition" window.

The sun still rises and sets in the sleepy little town of Chattaboogie. The wind still blows and the birds still chirp. And the people still wait on their Spelling Bee Hero.

This Is Scary

What we can do to a funfetti cake in one sitting:

Keep Up The Bag; or, [the greatest game that never was]

We had to do a little rat killin' tonight and when we got back home Carrie suggested we spruce up a little bit. So we headed to the kitchen, ready to wage war on a few odd dishes that didn't make it to the washing machine for some even odder reasons that no one knows. And then it hit me. What we needed was not to enter into an episodic cleaning convulsion. Neither did we need to any longer stress over the capitulations of the day. What we needed was an amiable and calming (if not somewhat exotic) game of Keep Up The Bag.

The goal of Keep Up The Bag is simple, obvious, and eloquent: Keep a designated plastic grocery bag from touching the ground for an allotted amount of time. A spin off of the more simple and catchier childhood game Keep Up The Balloon, Keep Up The Bag combines hand-eye coordination with foot-ground coordination to bring you a challenging and jovial game that will test your wit, monitor your reflexes, develop your teamwork skills, and is sure to delight even the most begrudged of folk.

To play Keep Up The Bag, kindly find a partner and together select your favorite grocery bag. Agree upon an amount of time to play (noobs should start off with 30 seconds) and set a timer for the predetermined time. The taller partner should begin with the bag. Start the timer and hit the bag up into the air. Take turns hitting the bag, taking care to not allow it to touch the ground. You may not hit the bag twice in a row. If you make a bad hit on the bag it is up to your partner to redeem your folly. Should either you or your partner hit the bag twice in a row, or, at any time during play should the bag touch the ground, the bag wins.

What are you waiting for? Grab a partner, get a bag, and let the smiles begin!

Marvelous Martes!

We took this at Daytona Beach on our way back from Disney World last month. Some dude peddled up and parked his fishin' vessel right by us. This was shortly after another stray biker asked us if we wanted to buy some marijuana.

Rex!

Back In The 'Boro [the new Chancehold]

Well we finally got everything moved to Murfreesboro and settled into our new Chancehold. Carrie wanted to post up a picture of her new hutch so radiantly displayed in our living room.

Someone did a wonderful job picking out that hutch for Carrie....

The new Chancehold!

We rode our bikes down to Barfield Crescent park today and enjoyed quite a raucous game of tetherball.

We are excited (and maybe a little anxious) to see what God has in store for us as we enter into this next season of our marriage. We pray that God will give us a heart to see His Name glorified in this community as well as the rest of our nation and all the other nations of this world. We also pray that we will be committed to doing His kingdom work in all we do every day and in every way He presents us opportunity!

Love and Peace,

Chancehold out!