Late Night Criminal Mischeif

My daughter, freshly home following three weeks in the wilderness of western Canada (she calls it a “thin place’ because she says “the barrier between there and Heaven is so thin”), is clearly bored.
To cope with the mundaneness of home, she and a couple of her friends resorted to madcap mischief.

During a late-night trip to a local outlet of a national discount chain, they became fascinated with the photos in the low-cost frames.

Sometime in the dark hours of the morning, they snapped cell phone pictures of the frames, made their way back home, stealthily ascended the stairs and painstakingly replicated several of the photos using themselves as models.

Then, later still but well before sunrise, they boldly returned to the Great Discount Frontier and while no one was watching, placed their own photos on top of some of those in the frames, then placed them right back on the shelf.

As silly 19-year-old high jinks go, this one is pretty innocent (and I have to admit disarmingly hysterical), but I worry that they could get into trouble. I mean, after all, they did plant some pretty substantial evidence against themselves.


In this photo, one of the girls in the original image had some missing teeth, so our pranksters went to the trouble to black out a couple of their own with raisins. Details are very important.

As for the trouble: what is their crime? They didn’t steal anything. They might have impacted the value of a retail item. They could argue that the value actually increased, but that’s a dubious position.

The best part? Later in the day, my daughter got a text message from someone asking if she had modeled for the people who sell the frames. So, nobody at the store had noticed. The photos were still there....and one of her friends saw them!



Even though she and her buddies get the last laugh (at least for now), I think we need to find her something to do, like get a good night’s sleep.

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Speed On The Bayou

My afternoon was spent gliding through a little slice of North Louisiana I had not seen before. While it’s easily accessible, I suspect not many people have had this view of downtown Shreveport.



And when you turn around, this is what you see.



Cross Bayou runs into the Red River, and north of downtown it connects with Twelve Mile Bayou. My buddy Mr. Watercraft recently got two brand new Wave Runners, and he offered me a modern-day excursion into the wetlands.


Having spent an afternoon on these bucolic tributaries, I can see why people who know about this sort of thing say the waterways are woefully underappreciated and shamefully underutilized. What a treasure. We were committed to speed on this trip, which was easy to accomplish because the water in the bayous was like glass. But because we were hurtling along the surface at speeds approaching 60 miles per hour most of the time, photos were not so easy to come by. So, trust me when I say it was like being on a wildlife adventure. We saw herons, egrets, buzzards, turtles, water moccasins, catfish, gar, hawks and even a few cows. Flocks of birds flew along with us. For a moment or two, it seemed like a Spielberg movie. What a treat!

We roared all the way to Caddo Lake near Blanchard, and with the exception of a river cruise that went a few hundred yards into Cross Bayou, we only saw two other boats along the way. Truly, it was a spectacular Sunday afternoon.
We went so far so fast that we almost ran out of gas before we made it back to the boat launch. Fortunately, we were smart enough to pay close attention to our fuel gauges. When we emerged from the bayou into the river, we did take a little jaunt to the north and then turned back home. When we reached the casinos, I knew the adventure was quickly coming to a close.



I’m thrilled to have made the trip. Countless times, I’ve crossed over the bayous on highway overpasses and looked longingly at their tree-lined shores and wondered what it would be like to navigate their lengths. Now that I’ve done it, I can’t wait to do it again. Next time, I’ll go a little slower.

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Daddy Jumped Out of an Airplane, Too.

For a guy who didn’t have any specific plans for the weekend, my day took an exciting turn.



The children have gone skydiving over the last couple of weekends and people have been hammering me with “When are you going?” There was no answer to that question; but an unanticipated slot opened at Skydive Louisiana, and it was made available to me. I considered it for a couple of minutes, then thought, “Aw, chute! Why not?”



As word of this feat spread, I was called crazy, brave, “a bigger man than me,” that sort of thing; but to be honest, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Once I made the decision to go for it, I had a total sense of peace about it. I mean, I’ve watched my children fall out of the sky and land safely. What did I have to worry about? I think my wife has even grown accustomed to dealing with the stress of watching a loved one plummet to Earth from 10,000 feet.



The plane in which we all have flown is small and thoroughly no-frills. I think at some point I might have compared it to a tin can. The flight, which takes 20-30 minutes, was exceedingly pleasant, though. I enjoyed seeing the north Louisiana countryside from the air and was fascinated with the curves and currents of the Red River. I was also encouraged to see so much progress being made on the northern extension of Interstate 49.



When it came time to actually jump out of the plane, I wasn’t nervous or scared. It was a tandem jump, and I had the same guy strapped to my back that the kids had, so I had gotten to know him a little. He shouted a “ready, set, GO!” and we tumbled from the door, doing a full somersault in the process. It was quite a thrill. I really didn’t have a sense of falling. It felt more like sitting in the bow of a motorboat as it skids across the water full-tilt.



The skydiver taking photos hung in the air right beside us, at one point coming over to me for a high-five.



I remember letting out a “Woo-hoo” or two along with way. Then, my man Bill gave the signal that he was about to pull the cord to open the chute. That went without incident.

I was asked if I had a moment of trepidation right there. No, actually. I was noting the sudden change in rate of descent, as well as the quick shift of our bodies from horizontal to vertical. It must have taken 10-15 seconds before I thought to look over my shoulder at the chute. I did, and all was well.
From that moment on, it was simply a slow float to the ground. It was so peaceful that Bill and I carried on a conversation in normal voice tones as we practiced techniques for steering and landing. The harness that strapped me to him became uncomfortable after a while and solely because of that I was ready to get to the ground. That was the only unpleasant aspect of the whole experience.



My wife dutifully greeted me at the hangar, as she has done with all three of her immediate family members now. She insists she has no intention or desire to join the club.



I’m really glad I did it, and I’m also glad it was spur-of-the-moment. I suspect if I had anticipated it for days or weeks, I might not have had so much peace of mind. And I have to admit in the plane at about 8000 feet, I spent some quality time talking to Jesus.
On the way to the airstrip, I told my wife, "If I slam into the ground, you have my blessing to marry for money next time; but you have to wait an appropriate interval." She asked how long that would be. I said she wouldn't be allowed to become emotionally involved with anyone until after my birthday in 2012. That's seemed reasonable to her. I also said, "If that happens, know my last thought was how much I love you." I didn't go splat, thankfully. So, I have plenty of time to get right with the Lord and stay right with my bride.



Now, my fall from the sky is another great memory. And the photos are pretty cool, too.

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There She Goes Again

She likely wouldn't admit it, but I suspect for the past eight days or so our daughter has been bored. From a parent’s perspective, her brief downtime was good for her. She needed the rest that is associated with being in the family home for a week. We intentionally took a low-key approach to Memorial Day, actually planning absolutely nothing. We knew that soon she would pack her bags, hoist her passport and be off again.
This time, she’s bound for British Columbia with a two-day stop in Seattle.

Let’s recap: When she wrapped up her final exams at TCU, she did not come home. Instead, she joined a large group of Dallas-Ft. Worth friends who went to Frontier Ranch in Colorado to prepare a Young Life camp for the summer. There, they did their fair share of work, but also enjoyed an abundant May snowfall and generally cavorted in the Rocky Mountains.



She came home for one night.

Then, she joined a group of Shreveport-Bossier friends and headed east for a similar work week in Georgia at a camp called Sharp Top. There was no snow, but there were mountains, hiking and general cavorting around waterfalls and other wonders of nature.



On her first day back, she went skydiving.



Then, there was the weeklong sentence of resting. Surely, she enjoyed seeing some of her oldest and closest friends on home turf. They may all be college women now, but there is still common ground to be found in the sleepy hometown. She’s going so far away, about an hour north of Vancouver, that there will be no cell phone service. So, she will be off the grid for the month of June.
Despite absurd springtime heat that approached triple digits, she dressed in flannel for her trip. The friend meeting her in Seattle said when she arrives to expect rain and temperatures in the 50’s. In the mountains of British Columbia, she should expect to experience highs in the 70’s.



She’s on the summer staff of another Young Life camp, this one called Malibu. She has been assigned to the snack shop. Good work if you can get it.
Her grandparents have essentially given up on trying to keep up with her dizzying travel schedule. One of them will call and say, “Where is she now?” Whatever the most accurate answer is usually illicits a chuckle or some exclamation of wonder.
Who knows what’s next? There’s no way to know if she will be happy for a little more down time or if she will be crushed with boredom when she gets back. There’s only one thing of which we can be certain: after spending May and June in the mountains, July on the bayou will be a little sweaty.

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A Gift of Faith and Courage

A couple of days ago, I received in the mail a book sent to me by the author, Brady Boyd. He autographed it for me with the inscription, “Darrell, stay strong! Psalm 23:4 –Brady”
I sat down almost immediately and dived into the pages of Fear No Evil: A Test of Faith, a Courageous Church and an Unfailing God.


If not for a series of daily-life obligations, I might have devoured every word in one sitting.
The thing is, I’m not exactly sure why Brady, the senior pastor at New Life Church in Colorado Springs, sent me the book; but I’m honored and thrilled that he did.
As I get older, there seems to be an ongoing emphasis on this life lesson: You never know when someone with whom you were once in relationship will reemerge into your life. “Pastor Brady,” as he is known to his massive flock, is a glowing example of that.
It must have been almost 20 years ago when a journalism student from Louisiana Tech named Brady Boyd slaved as an intern at the television station where I was the sports director. I remember him as likable, reliable and eager. He got his grade of “A” for his internship and moved on. He showed up on my radar screen occasionally as a young up-and-coming broadcaster and a coach; but then, from my perspective, he slipped silently into the ephemera.

I ran across his name on Facebook and/or Twitter, and we passively reconnected. I sent him a message asking what he’s up to these days. He replied, matter-of-factly, “I’m senior pastor at New Life Church in Colorado Springs.” Embarrassingly in retrospect, that struck me as slightly interesting. I didn’t realize the deeper meaning of that until months later.
I didn’t even know he had gone into ministry. I figured he was working in media sales somewhere and calling ball games on the side for kicks.
I had no idea that my former intern had replaced disgraced pastor Ted Haggard at a megachurch. I was also blissfully ignorant that on Brady’s 100th day in his position, a gunman armed with an automatic weapon, diversionary grenades and a thousand rounds of ammunition strolled onto his church property on a Sunday morning and opened fire.
Two people died that day. A security guard, who said she was guided by The Holy Spirit, emerged as a life-saving hero. Brady became the centerpiece of a major national news event. I somehow missed it all. Three years later, Brady Boyd has published his story. He dutifully dispenses the details of that incomprehensibly harrowing day in the first chapter; but that simply sets up a riveting tale of courage, redemption, faith, perseverance and forgiveness.
Pastor Brady lays out so many life lessons, using his obviously unwavering faith in God, Jesus and The Holy Spirit as a granite base, that it often felt as if he had been speaking directly to me.
He admits there were dark times when he felt despair and depression, staring into the abyss of what seemed to be certain defeat. But he remembered the words of the 23rd psalm and realized he was in a valley of darkness. He knew that if he just stayed strong and kept moving, he would eventually climb the mountain and turn around. He has done it, and the faces of tens of thousands of faithful followers of Christ are looking to him with hope.



Brady’s congregation is evangelical, and as a lifelong devotee to liturgical denominations, the form of worship in his church is miles away from my comfort zone. From a safe distance, his story has moved and inspired me. It has offered practical life lessons as well as insight into the kind of Christian faith that I practice and strive for, but which seems to elude me. I want to make a pilgrimage to Colorado Springs and see if maybe somehow my former intern can carve out time for lunch.
I still don’t know why he sent his book to me, but I’m glad he did. He would no doubt advise me to intentionally and diligently pray about it. I think I just might do that.

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Finding a Hole in the Sky to Jump Through

My children seemed to be determined to become citizens of the sky.

Just about a month after a gentle but thrilling hot air balloon ride across the city, the daughter emulated her older brother’s breathtaking adventure of a week ago. Inspired by his derring-do and no doubt feeling a little competitive, she strapped on a flight suit and jumped out of an airplane at 10,000 feet.



Her first skydiving experience was a little dicier than his. The whole family rolled up to the airstrip north of town, where both of the kids planned to jump. The sky was threatening and the wind was alarmingly gusty, so the plane was grounded for most of the day.



At mid-afternoon, there seemed to be a sliver of an opportunity, so into the aircraft they climbed, determined to find their way out of it two miles high.



The cloud deck seemed to close quickly. From the ground we could hear the plane but could not see it. For a half-hour or so, the distinctive hum of the engine circled us from high above. We knew they were biding their time, hoping for an opening. We figured if we couldn’t see the plane, the people in it couldn’t see the ground and it would not be safe to jump. We were lamenting her seemingly certain disappointment.
We were told later that indeed a decision had been made to scrap the jump and the pilot was making preparations to land with a full load of passengers.

Meanwhile, back on the ground, there was a telltale change in engine sounds. We knew this to be a strong indication that the jumpers were away.

A week earlier, my wife had become just the slightest bit nauseous at the sight of a speck in the sky she knew to be her son plummeting to earth. Only when she saw the chute successfuly open did she feel better. This time, there was no speck; but bursting silently from the clouds emerged the reassuring image of a colorful chute with four feet dangling beneath it. Our daughter, jumping tandem, was taking her sweet, blustery time returning to earth.



She was thrilled and overcome with a sense of satisfaction at having checked another box on her life’s to-do list.



She also revealed how close they had come to returning without having jumped. They were on their way back when her jump partner alertly noticed an opening in the clouds. He saw the airstrip below and yelled, “There’s a hole!” Seizing the moment, they leapt right into it and away they went.



Her brother’s planned jump was postponed and the plane was secured in a hangar. Hers was the last jump of the day.
All the while, Mother endured this with a hint of agony on her face. When her son did all this, I pledged afterward to hunt down a doctor with a prescription pad to help her through. After her daughter took a turn, I think she has a few more fine lines on her face and the silver in her hair is a little more prominent. I’m thinking this time, I’ll treat to her a spa day.

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Nobody Bounced and That's a Wonderful Thing

“This is probably the greatest thing I’ve ever done” said my 21-year-old son moments after he dropped from the sky.

Don’t ask me how this happened, but he decided he wanted to go skydiving and he did it. With two of his buddies in tow, he made his way to a nondescript airfield north of the city, where he slipped into a tiny single-prop plane and jumped out of it 10,000 feet up in the air.



He was the third man in his group to get the opportunity, and he had seen his friends land breathlessly but safely, both of them with gleeful declarations about the amazing experience.



The day was almost picture-perfect with a temperature in the 70’s and a cloudless sky. The breeze was a little stiffer than everyone would have liked, but it certainly was not an impediment to a successful skydive. They all did tandem jumps, which means an experienced skydiver actually did all the work while he was strapped to the guys’ backs; but you have to start somewhere.



My wife was a surprisingly cool customer about all this. Initially, she said she wished she hadn’t known, that she would have preferred to hear about it after the fact. She planned to go to a movie during the jump, but I talked her into driving up there with me to witness it.

She later said she was fine almost the whole time. There was a moment when she saw a tiny speck in the sky which she knew to be her son falling from an airplane, before the parachute opened, when she felt a little sick.



It was fleeting, though, and she admitted she was glad she went. This was such a significant event; having shared it with our son was meaningful.
It was so great to see him so thrilled (and safe!) that I just had to hug him when he came trudging off the airstrip in his flight suit.



He was all smiles, high-fives and thumbs-up.

There are two little secrets to share, however:
1) One long-neck Budweiser was consumed about 45 minutes before his take-off.
2) The harness he had to wear (How can this be put delicately?) gave him trouble.



He’s going again next week, weather permitting, and taking his sister along. He said “She’s going to love it.” I’m not so sure about their mother. Longnecks may not be enough. I’ll try to find someone with a prescription pad.

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Out of the Clear Blue Sky

(Barksdale AFB) – I grew up just a couple of miles from a major Air Force base, so seeing giant warplanes in the sky is a daily fact of life for me.



Each spring, the base hosts an air show that attracts tens of thousands of awestruck attendees. I’ve made my way to the show a few times, but more often in my younger days, I would actually get on the roof of my house to see enough of the aerial acrobatics to hold my interest. From that vantage point, you didn’t have to fight the crowds or traffic and you had your own bathroom.

This year, though, my wife and I were offered “distinguished visitors” status. That meant a parking pass, free food and a front row seat. Feeling distinguished and somewhat special, we slathered on the sunscreen, donned protective headwear and hit the tarmac.



It was fun, kind of an ego boost, to rub elbows with other distinguished visitors and to have an unobstructed view of things you can’t see from a roof miles away; for instance, a jet-powered truck that we are told topped 300 miles per hour on its ear-splitting jaunt down the runway.



I was most looking forward to seeing the B-2 stealth bomber, and I was not disappointed.



As always, the base opened several aircraft for public tours.



We didn’t have any kind of VIP status for that, so we stood in a couple of long lines and walked through a cargo plane, orbited a B-52 and got an up-close look at some scary looking bombs.



We soon grew weary of mingling with the common folk and went to rejoin our distinguished company in the “President’s Club.” (I asked, “President of what?” and nobody seemed to know). As we enjoyed our lunch while watching various aircraft perform loops, twirls, tumbles and stalls; we chatted amiably with some other privileged people who joined us at the table. Our eyes appropriately locked on the sky, we heard a familiar voice from behind us say, “Mom? Dad?”



By the craziest coincidence, our 21-year-old son had mysteriously appeared among the distinguished visitors. There he was, in the flesh, with appropriate President’s Club credentials and a beer in his hand.
He didn’t expect to see us and we certainly didn’t expect to see him, so we all just kind of laughed as Mother’s day came early.



It turns out that the father of one of his closest friends owns a company that is a major air show sponsor. That can elevate one to “distinguished” status rather quickly. He admitted he wasn’t there so much for the airplanes as he was the bountiful free food and drink available to him.
So, we all ate together, feigned interest in yet another loopty-loo airplane and then left the base together once the show (and the buffet) had run its course.



Making the transition from parent-child to adult-adult can be a little jarring sometimes, particularly when your kid unexpectedly walks up to you out of nowhere and offers you a beer.
I think I need to go up on the roof and think about this for a while.

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