I never considered myself a huge Charlie Kirk fan. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the guy and appreciated his work, and would occasionally watch his content when it popped up on the algorithm, but I never followed him on social media. So in a way, it’s strange how much I’ve been mourning the death of somebody I never knew. But after the initial shock, I understood why I was so crushed by the news, and why many others were as well.
Charlie Kirk represented people like me. But even more than that… he was among the best of us.
And if I’m being honest, I saw in Charlie Kirk a better man than me. I saw a man who didn’t give up hope, even through some dark times. I saw a happy warrior, someone with the courage to go straight to the battle of ideas with the wisdom. He had the emotional intelligence to not just defend his ideas, but to sway others to his side in a positive manner. In Charlie Kirk, I saw a man who emulated his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and though he probably made plenty of mistakes in his life, he looked to be much closer to Him than I certainly was.
Which is why the enemy, aka Satan (for he truly is the enemy of all of us), had him murdered.
A year ago, I was faced with a difficult choice. A choice that tested my faith… a test I failed miserably. It was pride month, and my office I was overseeing was tasked to put up a banner in honor of it. Though I have friends with people who consider themselves among the LGBT community and try to show love as best as possible to them, as a Christian man, I’m called not to take part in those activities. I’m called to take the narrow road and to make those hard decisions in obedience to God, even if it costs me friendships, money, or my job. During that time, I prepared myself to have a talk with management about it, telling them I needed to respectfully abstain from participating. But when it came time to meet, I cowered out. I didn’t bring it up, and ended up going along to get along. In ways, I acted like Peter when he denied Christ those three times before the rooster crow.
I’ve thought about that incident several times today, how I allowed that event to crush my spirits. And while I kept my head down and stayed out of the fight, people like Charlie Kirk put the team on their backs. He was out there battling when very few others would—when the rest of us had already given up. If Charlie were in my shoes, he wouldn’t have been a coward. He would’ve done the right thing, because it’s what he did his whole life.
And his reward? He doesn’t get to kiss his children goodnight ever again. He doesn’t get to watch them grow up. He doesn’t get to grow old with his wife and have the joy of seeing his grandchildren. Instead, he got a bullet.
And what eats at me more than anything about this, is that it’s a bullet I deserved, not him.
It’s that thought that has brought me to tears more than once today for a man I never met. I can only imagine it’s the same reason many men like me have also found themselves weeping. In Charlie’s short life, he inspired millions, changed minds on his campus travels, and built one of the most influential political organizations in the world. He was so influential, that it’s difficult not to compare him to another man who only made it to His early 30’s before he was murdered. A man who died the death we deserved! A man who lived the sinless life that we could not. A man who out of a love we did not deserve, took it upon Himself to take our sins and die the most excruciating death on the cross.
Now, if Charlie were alive today, I’d be willing to bet he would never compare himself to Christ. Yet, I can’t help but reflect on both their lives while feeling a weight of shame with my own. Shame that I haven’t shown the love, courage and obedience to my Lord and Savior that Charlie showed in his. Shame at how much I’ve squandered my talents while Charlie faithfully carried his out. And perhaps most shameful is through a grace I don’t deserve, I’m still here. Despite my failures and disobedience, I was able to eat dinner with my family tonight, pick my son up from the bus stop with my wife, and lay my daughter down to sleep, all things Charlie was deprived of through an utter act of evil.
Romans 8:28 states that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose,” a verse that reminds us that even through tragedy and evil deeds done to believers, God finds a way to use those events to ultimately glorify Him. And with that, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Charlie’s organization was named Turning Point USA.
2,000 years ago when he saw the resurrected Christ, Peter turned from a coward, into a courageous man willing to die for his Lord and Savior, so much that when he was crucified for spreading the gospel, he requested to be done so upside down, stating he was not worthy of being crucified like Jesus. This too can be a turning point for us. This can be a time to reverse course, put down our idols and comforts, whether it be Netflix, Fox News, X, the NFL, or Call of Duty, and confront the evils around us to make our communities a better place for our families.
There is no doubt we live in dark times, and for millennials like me, we often reminisce about life in the 80s, 90s, and 2000s, wishing we could go back to simpler times, times when the world seemed so much more peaceful, and much more… easy. When those thoughts pop into my head, every now and then, I’m reminded of wise words told by a far wiser man than I could ever be:
We are put here on this Earth and at this time for a reason. And with that comes a great opportunity, for although the enemy may have killed Charlie Kirk, they did not kill His spirit, the same spirit that flowed through Charlie, a spirit I believe is flowing through many of us today. We have an opportunity to go out into the world, to honor and serve Him. To spread the gospel. We have an opportunity, like Charlie Kirk, to hear the words, “well done, good and faithful servant,” from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Let’s go forth and make a difference in this world. Let’s become the men and women we were called to be.
January 26th, 2023 – Poor performances from the Packers? And Santa too??? Can’t get much lower than this…
Mr. Mike,
It’s been a little while since I’ve written. I wish I could say it’s because I’m just so busy now that I have a new job and everything. I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I have the keep the entire Embassy of the United States up and running, and believe me, that’s no joke! If things start to fall apart, my butt’s on the line, and that’s no fun, I don’t care who you are!
But in actuality, it’s a different story. Mike, it’s hard not to be depressed these days.
First off, we had Christmas. Now, this wasn’t a terrible Christmas by any means. And actually, all things considered, it was pretty good. My wife’s mom came to visit and she made a Red Velvet Baby Jesus Cake, I cooked my very own roast beast, and we all came out all right with presents. But Santa, man did he let us down this year…
We had an embassy Christmas party, which was decent enough you could say. My son built his own gingerbread house, and sad to say, I don’t think he’ll be following in the engineering footsteps of his old man. By the looks of it, demolition is in his future.
But when it came to Santa, man, this guy just wasn’t up for the task. He was boring as can be. Barely made a splash of an entrance, barely talked to the kids, and didn’t even ask my son what he wanted for Christmas! I mean, c’mon man! What’s the deal? You’re Santa for gosh sakes! Get with the program!
And I get that people are a little more cautious with kids these days, not wanting to get too close at all, but this guy acted like he was allergic to em’! I mean, he wouldn’t go near the kids! Mike, I’m telling ya, where’s our buddy Rich when we need him? Now that’s a man you can count on to be Santa. We’ve seen him in action at the Nats games. He could deliver.
I just don’t know what we’re going to do for next year. This is the US Embassy for cryin’ out loud, and we gotta set the example for the rest of the world, and alls I know is, if we can’t get Santa right, then I’m afraid… I’m just saying, somebody’s got to step up to the plate! And if I can’t get Rich out here, then… well, I don’t want to even go there right now, but let’s just say, if I have to take matters into my own hands… never mind, I’ll cross that bridge next year IF it comes down to the wire.
Now, I wish I could say that was the worst of my problems, but sadly, I can’t lie to a man like you, Mike. The truth is you see, this team I really like rooting for called the Packers just wasn’t having the year I thought they would. I mean, they lost to this team that used to be called the Redskins, and believe me, that’s not an easy pill to swallow. People have become self-masochists after something like that! Now, there was hope when they beat the Cowboys, a team that our former colleague Rich used to gleam over, but after they lost to another team called the Eagles, I just couldn’t take it anymore… I cried out to God, “Is there any humanity left in this world?!?!”
But wait… what is this? A glimmer of hope? May they actually claw their way back to the playoffs? I mean, its destiny, right? Everything was working in their favor. All they needed to do was win at home against this team called the Lions then everything will be ok! Surely they can beat them, because, who can’t beat the Detroit Lions for Denny’s sake?
Well, guess what, they lost to the bleeping Lions. And now here I am, back at square one, forced to re-enter this world, my mind wiser, but my heart… colder.
And to put a cherry on top of that, I finally happened. I never thought the day would come, but after 2 years and 8 months of invincibility, I caught the gosh dern COVID. And let me tell ya, what an annoying way to get sick! You’re always tired! You can’t do anything, and these days, you’re lucky to find anything of decency on Netflix anymore. I can’t lie, I worry about the future of these young kids. Back in my day we had quality television, like Family Matters and Full House. What do they have now, Meghan Markle and Prince Harry? Ughz, don’t make me barf!!!
And just when I thought I was out of the woods, my wife gets me sick again with the flu! Can’t a guy catch a break here??? At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I make it out of the winter alive!!!
To try to get my mind off things we all took a trip to the place called Napflio in a part of Greece they call the Peloponnese. They have this old castle there that if you want to get there, you have to walk up 999 steps! I guess they figured bad guys would really have to be determined to come, because I don’t know about you, but if I had to walk up 999 steps, I’d think twice about conquering a castle and pick one a little lower to the ground.
And that’s only half way up!
Well, those 999 steps gave me time to think about life and contemplate my misery over the Packers. And all in all, I was rewarded with a decent enough view of the place. And one thing I could appreciate was you could actually find a parking space around here, a true commodity in a place like Athens, or even DC!
Napflio… not the worst place in the world. I suppose I could come back for a vist.
In better news, last month, I practiced my patriotism by attending my very first Marine Corps Ball, and I can’t lie, it wasn’t too shabby!
Sure, there were some who complained that it wasn’t as good as the year before, but since I didn’t go the year before, I had a heck of a time! Anything I can do to support those who serve our country! And every now and then, I clean up pretty nicely. It’s like what you used to say to Rich back in the day, “You know the difference between you and me? It’s that I make this look good!”
I mean, just check out those shoes!
Other than that, we’re just getting back into the groove of things from the Christmas break. And who knows what 2023 will bring. Possibly some good news for the city of Philadelphia? Now, I gotta admit, part of me was hoping that the Giants would pull an upset last week, and was even tempted to jump on the Brock Purdy bandwagon, but once I saw that our good friend Jenn was donning some Eagles gear on her Instagram, well, I guess now they aren’t so bad. So, for this week, and possibly this week only, fly Eagles fly.
And now that we’re talking about football, have you checked on our buddy Rich lately? Oh boy, he must be in complete agony after his Cowboys blew it! I mean, what were they thinking? A play with no offensive linemen? C’mon Man!
All that said, you better check on him to make sure he’s doing ok, maybe bake him a nice fruit cake and send over some thoughts and prayers. I bet he misses you guys, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. And if you tell him I said anything, I’ll deny it emphatically, but I guess I miss him a little bit as well.
Well, don’t be shy. Make sure you update me on all the juicy gossip back in the office! Our buddy Rich used to spill all the dirty details, and I just got to know all the smack talk between you, Tara and Marquetta, so don’t leave me hangin’!
Oh, and PS, finally made my way up to the Parthenon! Also not too shabby. Give credit where credit is due, those Greeks built things to last back in the day!
March 12th, 2023– So the Secretary of State came into town. Big whoop!!
Mr. Mike,
Or is it Magic Mike? I seem to recall that’s the name you preferred, at least that’s what Tara told me back in the day. Either way, I think it fits you pretty well!
But first things first. My condolences to your Eagles. Believe it or not, but I was rootin’ for you guys. And that last play where they called holding and gave the Chiefs a first down? Bull crap if you ask me! Jalen Hurts got shafted, big time! But we can only lament for so long. The truth of the matter is, our country needs us, whether it’s supporting the Navy or the Embassy’s around the world, football gonna have to take a back seat.
Well, February was an eventful month over here in Greece, and this time, I have a pretty decent excuse for my lack of updates. First off, we had some Secretary of a State come into town. Blinkin’s the name. Which state, I don’t know, they wouldn’t say, but holy guacamole did it get everybody all excited. They were all running around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off, cleaning things up, setting up events and trying to get bands and dancers and whatever, putting this dude into a fancy hotel, plugging up traffic, it’s like, give me a break already! So, he comes in, gives a few speeches, cuts a ribbon, and then books it out of town. And I’m thinkin’ “is that it?” Apparently, it was, and I hate to say it, but the guy was kind of boring if you ask me. The speech he gave us was pretty much a snoozefest, and the answers to his questions… Lame!!! But what do I know? I’m not a Secretary of any State, at least not yet.
Sorry bud! The embassy looks nice, but as for you, I’m not impressed!
Thankfully, people have settled down a little bit, but next time he comes into town, I may have to give him a piece of my mind. “Hey buddy, what’s the big idea, making me do all this extra work? I got places to go, people to see, and updates to write!”
But on a cooler note, guess who else came into town?
It was our buddy the George H.W. Bush! And yours truly was hand selected to go on a visit! I felt bad for some of the Greeks since they wanted to go, but when my name was drawn out of the hat, I guess it was just meant to be. So, I made sure to get a couple good pics for everybody. Brought back some good memories of hangin’ with my pals back in the office. But dangit was it cold! I was just thinkin’, “Man George, did you really have to pick the coldest, rainiest day of the year to come to Greece?” In the end, it was a good trip, and I was able to pick up some goodies along the way. So maybe the next person who comes to visit me in Greece may just have a ship coin waiting for them (wink wink).
And don’t worry, I picked up some souvenirs for all the guys back at the office from the ship store, heheh.
There was also this place called Monemvasia. They say it’s the most romantic place in Greece, and I would agree with that statement, especially for a guy like you, in case you want to impress the wife someday. But when you have a two-year-old who’s constantly on the go, it’s more like as the Greeks say, “Den Nomizo Taki,” or “I don’t think so son!” Every step there’s a sharp ledge to bust your head on, a drop off with stairs to fall down, cliffs that fall into the ocean, obtuse stones to trip and fall on—basically one giant death trap! I think I left that place with more grey hairs on my head than Rich! Thankfully, we survived the ordeal, and in the process, I was at least able to get a few cool pictures to share.
And guess what was on the way back to Athens? That’s right, the place I’ve been waiting to see ever since I saw that great documentary called 300, where the Sparta soldiers beat up all the Persians until they are betrayed by the funny looking guy Ephialtes. Boy was I excited! “What could such a place hold for a guy like me?” I could only imagine the spectacles I’d see. A bunch of buff dudes with there shirts off walking around? Spartan helmets everywhere? Monuments to the great Spartan Soldiers? And finally, I’d get to see the mother of all travel destinations! The pit where King Leonidas famously kicked the Persian Messenger into! I felt like I was going to Disneyland for the very first time!
Mike, I gotta tell ya, the last time I felt this much disappointment was back in 1997 when Hollywood Hulk Hogan joined the New World Order. The place was absolutely dead. No shops with Spartan helmets, no tours of the ruins, no buff guys walking around, nothing but this one statue. That was it! The archeological site was a joke, the people seemed like they were too proud to care, it was just a boring old town in the middle of Greece! If I was running that place, I’d pretty much have an amusement park or something, making it the number one destination in Greece! No wonder they don’t talk a lot about this place anymore.
Ancient Sparta? You’re looking at it. Big whoop!Big ol’ YawnerMy wife was so mad, that she even tried kicking me down a well!
Oh, and the guy at the gas station was a big jerk too, or as we say in Greece, a “Malaka,” of which I can’t translate here, for the term is too dirty.
I got a one decent picture I suppose, but man, I don’t know how a man recovers after such a monumental letdown…
One way I can maybe get my mojo back is that it looks like I’ll be heading back out to the States finally. My friend is getting married in St. Louis, so I’m popping into town to see that go down. It’ll be my first time back in about a year and a half, so I’ll have to see how the place has changed. One thing I’m not too excited about is all the higher prices people keep telling me about. I’ll let you know if I have any money left after I get back. Until next time, stay safe and frosty, and don’t forget to pass this note along to our buddy Rich. I can only imagine he’s living his best life right now, probably on a yacht or out on the beaches in the Bahamas, soakin’ in retirement. Hopefully he hasn’t forgotten about all of us, but if you have his email, let me know, and maybe I’ll send him a note or two.
April 19th, 2022 – The Most Beautiful Place on Earth (According to a Smokeshow)
Kalimera Rich! I hope you had a happy Easter. Turns out, the Greek Orthodox Church schedules Easter differently, so I we’ll be celebrating Easter next weekend, I suppose. And really, the whole thing has thrown me off a bit! I’m going to have to do my homework for next year so we can celebrate the right way. One thing’s for sure, is that before all this is over, I’ll make sure you’re prepared when you decide to celebrate Greek Orthodox Easter.
We finally made it out to one of the Greek islands, and let me tell ya Rich, it was awesome! A much needed break from Athens, which is often dense, dirty, and full of traffic. We went to a place called Hydra, where there are no cars. And don’t make the mistake that I did and call it by what I think it should be called. It’s actually pronounced, “Idra,” and well, the locals weren’t shy about giving me a hard time about it!
From what my wife tells me, the actress Sophia Loren said it was the most beautiful place she’d ever been to on Earth. I don’t know that much about her, but apparently she was quite the “smokeshow,” as the kids say these days, and she was in the movie Grumpier Old Men. And now that I think of it, our good friend and colleague Tara told me that that movie was based off of you and Mike. I wasn’t quite sure where she got that idea from, but I suppose I’ll take her word for it.
Sofia Loren… the original smokeshow!
Well, enough slobbering over Miss Loren here. Bottom line is that if you ever make it out here, I would highly recommend you check out one of the islands, because that’s where you’re going to get an authentic Greek experience. And while I was there, I even found myself a nice fisherman’s outfit!
Watch till the end. You won’t be disappointed.
I think it’s a pretty good look, but unfortunately, by the time you read this, those lovely locks and that beard will be tamed. The wife couldn’t take it anymore and demanded I get a haircut. I pleaded with her, explaining you once had a great mane and sported it with pride during the Washington National’s World Series run of 2019, but she wasn’t having it.
All wasn’t lost though. I found this place called Barberia Atenes, of which advertise as a “Gentlemen’s Club.” Now, I know what you’re thinking, and I can assure you, this isn’t one of those Gentlemen’s Club that Hunter Biden goes to. No no, none of that greasy stuff. These guys were top notch, professional, and well dressed, the true definition of the word “gentlemen.” And Rich, I kid you not, the first thing they ask me when I walked in, “Hello sir, would you like a drink while you wait? Perhaps a glass of whiskey?” My mind was blown. And this wasn’t that cheap whiskey that our buddy Mike used to drink as a sailor. No way José. This was some quality stuff.
After a few sips the barber was ready and I took my seat. “Sir, what type of cut would you like?” Talk about a riddle that had me stumped! It’d been so long since I had a cut that I had completely forgotten what my go-to style was! My mind started racing, my head grew dizzy, and I took another sip of whiskey. I couldn’t just waste their time like that! Back in the states at a Sports Clips? ok, maybe I’d have some time, but these were professionals, with clients to see and things to do! I had to think, and think quick! “What type of cut would Rich get… THAT’S IT!!!”
I rummaged through my phone and found an old pic of you and me from the Navy Yard days, and told the man, “I want to look like that.” Rich, no lie, they gave me the best haircut I ever had. They cut with precision, they trimmed my beard, they spend 45 minutes primping and pampering, making sure every last detail was complete.
Then I started sweating. “You know, this is really nice. Like, over the top nice, something only those fancy politicians can afford. And all the whiskey, the pomp and circumstance, attention to detail, this has probably got to run me… uh oh…” Let me tell ya, I really stepped in it big time. I was seconds from blowing my entire budget on one stinking haircut. I was feeling sicker than ever, and even regretted getting that refill or two of whiskey. Tipsy or not, I braced myself for the damage.
“Thank you, sir. That will be 30 euros please.”
“What? Come again? 30 euros???” Rich, I couldn’t believe it. I felt like a king! “30 euros? Please, take my money! And here’s an extra 5 for the tip!!!” All that for 30 euros? Heck, I almost pay that much for a haircut at any dusty old place back in DC, and when it comes to tipping, they’re actually grateful for tips over here. A great cut, a complimentary glass of whiskey… you bet your sweet toosh I’ll be going back!
Not too shabby if I say so myself!
And it occurred to me while I was there. My engineering days may be numbered, for I may just need to open myself a whiskey bar/hair cut place when I get back to the States, because I can’t believe nobody had ever thought of that prior. Then again, I may need to be careful about who I tell. I’m telling you because I can trust you, but some of these guys, even our good buddy Mike, you just never know. Now don’t get me wrong, I like Mike and believe he’s a stand up guy, but you know what they say in the Navy, “Trust but verify.”
…Well, now that I’m thinking about it, maybe telling Mike isn’t such a bad thing after all. I’m sure if we work with him a little bit, I betcha the man can clean up pretty well and looks pretty sharp in a suit. And now that I’m really thinking about it, he may be the perfect spokesman, a poster boy to show the world that we can turn even the likes of him into a class act, a perfect gentlemen.
The Perfect Gentlemen… that’s it! That’s the name of my new business! And I’ll tell you what, if I ever get this thing off the board, you’ll be my first customer!
That’s about all that’s going on right now. I hear the Nats are playing the Dodgers this week, and I also heard about how the Dodgers pulled Kershaw when he was 6 outs away from pitching a no hitter. I don’t know about you, but that’s unbelievable. I don’t know what it is with these sports stars these days. I think they’re all a little too spoiled if you ask me, because you wouldn’t see the likes of Roger Clemens or Nolan Ryan stepping off the mound if they were on the brink of pitching no hitters. It’s a shame, but that’s how it is with these kids these days. The best I can do is teach my little guy appropriately. And don’t you worry, I’ve been getting him well acquainted with the classic sports legends since the day he was born. And trust me, I’ll be guiding him as long as I can.
Some of the greatest athletes of our generation, no doubt
On December 29th, 2020, my life changed forever. Whether I knew it or not, my son’s birth would become the most dramatic life-altering event I would come to know, and quite possibly will ever know. It was like a lightbulb went off in my head, that there is something more to a birthday than just having cake and getting presents. On that day, its meaning became much deeper.
As an avid blogger at the time, I posted all about it (The Significance of a Birthday), adding bits of humor as is typical of the Grizzly Chadams style. But somehow through the silliness, I managed to churn out the following poem:
The Significance of a Birthday:
It is a day of remembrance.
A day to reflect on nine months spent inside your mother’s womb. It is a day to remember the nurturing, hard work, and sacrifice that took place, all in preparation for your delivery. The hours spent in labor, risking one’s life to ensure the sanctity of another. A day to remember, after all the anguish, discomfort, and sleep deprivation, the overwhelming joy of seeing your face for the very first time.
It is a day of triumph. That against all odds, you developed from a few cells into the person you are today. It is a reminder, a living example of the miracle of life.
It is a day of reflection. We reflect on your greatest successes, the lessons you’ve learned, and the times you fell, only to pick yourself back up again. We reflect on the person you’ve become, the progress you’ve made, and the endless opportunities ahead of you.
It is a time to remember that on that day, the world would be forever changed.
Your birthday… the day you entered the world. The day you forever changed our lives. A day of intense pain and depleted energy, exerted for the sole purpose of giving you life.
A day to remember it was all worth it.
So, for that, we celebrate. Because among all things, the day of your birth is one worth celebrating.
Though I was pleased with the result, I wasn’t sure how it would reach an audience past my Facebook friends and Instagram followers (which isn’t particularly large). But soon, I would find out that my mom was making personalized cards for her friends’ birthdays with the poem on them. It wouldn’t be much longer that I received a message from her with an idea. “Hey, you should turn this into a children’s book!”
I really liked where her head was going, but quickly learned that when you have a newborn, coupled with moving to another country, starting on a new career path, navigating a new culture and learning its language (all through the throws of the COVID-19 pandemic I’ll add you), that life gets in the way pretty quickly! So, I sat on it for a while, almost hoping somebody would come along, see it, and do all the hard work for me. Eventually, that yearning caught up to me and I came to the realization that if it was going to happen, I had to suck it up and do it myself.
So, I bought myself a book appropriately titled, “How to Self-Publish a Children’s Book,” and got to work. I followed the steps, creating an illustrator’s brief, book specs, and an art release form among other documents. I learned through trial by error about book formatting and took a crash course in the amazon publishing process. I put together a job posting, sifted through about 75 applicants, and ended up hiring a Ukrainian Illustrator, which, thanks to the war, turned a 3-month job into 9 months, much longer than either of us had originally anticipated. And now, almost 4 years later, my first book is ready and available for the masses!
Looking back, I really have no recollection of writing the original poem. Nothing of the concept, the structure, how it would flow, or even a thought that it would turn into a book and make me a children’s book author. The crazy thing is, I have a novel that I’ve been working on for north of a decade that I was sure would be my first book! But, somehow through divine intervention, not only was I able to perfectly encapsulate all the thoughts on my son’s birth, parenthood, and how special that moment was in such a succinct manner, but I was able to take that vision and turn it into picture. And the more that time passes and I get to watch my kids grow, the more it becomes true, almost as if the Holy Spirit was moving through me to write something beyond my comprehension.
As I write this, there’s a temptation to expand on my thoughts of birthdays, parenthood, and the rest. For if given the freedom, I could probably write several pages on the topic now (and if you’ve ever read any of my blogs, you probably know what I’m talking about). But, for everyone’s sake, I’m going to resist, because in the back of my head, I know that because this book does this so concisely, any further explanation would weaken the message.
So, what are my hopes for this? Well, if it made me a million dollars and allowed me to retire early, that would be a dream come true. However, more importantly, if it changes the heart of a reader, brightens their day/week/month/year/life, and helps them realize how important they are, I’ll gladly take that. If it helps a struggling parent remember the beauty of the role they play and to keep carrying on, then that’s worth more than any financial reward I could reap. And, if there’s anybody out there who’s terrified of being a parent, or perhaps have received some unexpected news and have some doubts about themselves (something I’m sure all of us first time parents have felt), and after reading this they say, “I got this…” then, praise the Good Lord.
Below are some excerpts of the book, and if it’s something you think is worth 12 bucks (or 4 bucks for an e-version), then please consider purchasing a copy, and especially consider supporting an up-and-coming author. If it turns out that this was something you really enjoyed, then please leave a review on Amazon so I can help get them algorithm to like me more (and if it you thought it was just so so, then I would ask that you exaggerate just a little 😉). And most importantly, if you received some enjoyment out of it, please consider buying a copy for somebody for their birthday and sharing the message with them.
Because at the end of the day, what better gift idea is there than a copy of this book 😉😉😉?
Though it took place over 20 years ago, I remember it vividly. It was late on a Monday night when my mother walked through the door. You could tell by the slow cadence of the door hinges as she opened and closed the door that it had been a rough night.
I had been deep in the thralls of a video game, Final Fantasy 7 if my memory serves me, having been able to get an extra hour or two of playing time in her absence knowing full well I would have already received an earful about my homework had she been home. But that night she didn’t even bother to come down and scold me, as she only uttered one phrase to my dad before they retreated upstairs to talk in private. “I feel like I just had to make one of the hardest decisions of my life…”
***
It has been a difficult week to say the least. As I’m writing this, I am in route back to the United States for 6 weeks of training, which will be the longest time I’ve been away from my wife and son. I had been preparing for my departure for the last month and though I was physically and mentally ready for my trip, or so I thought…
On Wednesday, I learned that my stock trading coach had suddenly passed away, his body succumbing to a brain tumor that had rapidly grown out of nowhere. We were chatting on a zoom call like we usually did on Wednesday evenings, and two weeks later, he was gone. All of us in our trading group were shocked and saddened by the news, but at least we had some solace that he had lived an eventful life, and he had the stories to back it up.
Then on Friday, I received some news that absolutely slayed me. I learned that a coworker’s child had passed, and though I don’t know the details, it looks to be a suicide. I couldn’t quite figure out why this struck me so hard, for I’m usually able to keep stoic in these situations, but knowing who this man was, humble and kind-hearted through and through, my heart broke for him. “How could something like this happen to him, of all people?” I couldn’t imagine the pain he was feeling right at that moment, knowing he wouldn’t see his child again, knowing he didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. As I was thinking of this, I could see my son in the living room, a beautiful, innocent 2-year-old, laughing, playing, still oblivious to the horrors of this world. It was only natural that my mind went to a dark place after that.
I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a kid these days. Social media has destroyed any perceptions of reality as they’re perpetually connected to others who are sharing only the very best of their filtered, fantasized lives, as if they never deal with the struggles of being a teenager, or a human being for that matter. A place where anonymous bullies can tear them down and make them feel worthless without any repercussions. A place you can’t escape from, where one bad post or simple mistake is forever a stain on their record and can destroy their reputation.
Coupled with that is our culture’s growing obsession with sex. Most of the sitcoms on network TV are littered with it, and that’s not even counting what’s on Netflix or HBO Max (Game of Thrones, anyone?). And it was difficult enough already growing up in the dawn of the internet where pornography became easily accessible. At least we were given some indication that what we say wasn’t normal, and that it took some effort to obtain it, let alone conceal your degenerate behavior. Now with unfettered access to the most hardcore pornography imaginable with a few clicks of a mouse, we’re stripping them of any imagination, anticipation, and innocence of sex, of knowing the importance of having an emotional relationship with a woman, and of the drive of seeking a worthy mate.
The obsessions don’t stop there, as there’s the push to teach kids about sex and transgenderism, with some encouraging them to embrace it without the consent of their parents. And how confusing must this be to a child, telling them they can be something that they inherently aren’t, that they can take hormones, go through surgery, and make life-altering decisions, as if that’s the answer to their problems, that if they mutilate their bodies, then they will become full, normal and accepted? It wasn’t long ago that we called this crazy, but now this is being widely supported by politicians and academics alike. There are even some in the medical field that are promoting it. How cruel can we be, and how lost have we become to tolerate this?
I say we for a reason, for as these thoughts and several more ran through my head, I was filled with terror, fear, and hopelessness. For most of my adult life, I could barely restrain myself from the temptations that came with social media and the digital age. If we as adults can so easily succumb to the evils of this world, how do we expect our children to do the same? “They don’t stand a chance,” was all I could think to myself. “None of them do.”
That night and the next day, I prayed to God for my coworker, for my son, and our nation. Eventually, my prayer turned into a desperate cry, pure vulnerability on display, pouring out my soul until I just repeated, “I don’t want to fail my son,” over and over again between sobs. It was the only thing I could say. “I don’t want to fail my son…”
***
Years later, I found out what my mom had been so stressed out about that fateful night. As the president of the school board at our school, she was forced to make a decision in opposition to her best friend, to go against a policy they had created and renege on a promise she had made that involved hiring teachers who did not yet have their teaching certificate. Knowing how it could damage her relationship with her friend and make her look lie a fool in front of the community if she was wrong, deep down she knew what the correct decision was. So that night, she decided to give a young, new teacher a chance.
That teacher, Mr. Healy, ended up becoming one of the best teachers I ever had. Through him, I developed a love for storytelling and actually began to enjoy reading for the first time in my life. He taught us how to analyze themes and think for ourselves the meanings and interpretations of classic literature. His Research Writing Class was one of the toughest, yet best courses I took in high-school, and even marked the first time I had to pull an all-nighter to finish a paper. But it paid dividends in college, for every time I had a writing assignment, I could pull out my old class notes as the foundation for each of my papers. And each time, my professors were impressed. One particular paper on affirmative action, a theme I had written about in high school, my professor essentially told me after a single draft that my paper was nearly perfect, all because I applied what I learned from his class.
I tell this story for a few reasons. One is that through the darkness I’ve felt during this week, with all the evil we face in this world, it gives me hope. It gives me hope that a little courage and willingness to stand up for what is right can make a world of difference. Without Mr. Healy in my life, I may have never developed my love for writing, but without my mother’s conviction, he may have never been a part of my life. And unbeknownst to her, her one vote ended up making a huge impact on my life.
The second is to apologize. I apologize to my mother, and my father for that matter for all the times I acted like a turd, for not telling them where I was at night, for making them worry when a quick phone call would’ve sufficed, and for all the other stupid, selfish stuff I pulled as a kid, including all the Jackass stunts and that one time I fell off a rock and almost died. I had no idea the emotional toll that comes with being a parent and how all the things I did as a kid could cause so much stress. I had no idea the amount of sacrifice it takes being a parent and how much mine were willing to sacrifice for me. Growing up, it baffled me why my parents seemingly gave up their dreams, why my dad worked a 9-5 that was much more stressful and much less gratifying that it should’ve been, and why my mom chose to stay at home and take care of us instead of being a fashion designer. Now, I understand completely. There’s no amount of corporate success or personal dreams that comes close to the joy of being a parent, and the sacrifices you make are well worth it.
And lastly, it’s to say thank you. Thank you for being a mother, for caring, and for making decisions in my best interest. And even when it wasn’t the right choice, for making it because you loved me and wanted what was best for me.
Thank you for being a role model, an example of how I can be a good parent. For giving your son and grandson a chance in this world. Your love gives me hope, even in the darkest of times.
Anybody who knows me knows that I’ve been a huge fan of Kanye West for a long time. His “My beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” is a masterpiece of an album, possibly my all-time favorite outside of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon,” and for the most part, I like his brash, no-filtered style. In a world of celebrities where everything seems so fake, it’s actually refreshing to hear somebody say exactly what’s on their mind, no matter how outrageous it may be.
With all that said, his behavior as of late has been disheartening to say the least. The culmination of events that has led to his most recent “I like Hitler” statement has been excruciating to watch. There were many to quickly condemn him, and others who blame his episodes on mental health. And while that may be a part of it, I believe his struggles are much deeper than that.
Whether we’re aware of it or not, Kanye, like the rest of us, is caught in the middle of spiritual warfare. And sadly, I fear he’s losing the battle right now.
The word Israel literally means, “to struggle with God,” as told in Genesis chapter 32 where Jacob literally wrestles with an angel for an entire night. At the break of dawn, the angel finally lets him free, changing his name from Jacob to Israel, of which Jacob’s 12 sons would eventually represent the 12 tribes of Israel. And how fitting a name that would be, not just for Israel, but for all of humanity.
Throughout history, you see this struggle play out. Moses led the Exodus from Egypt, paving the way for a great Kingdom under King David, only for the Jewish people to lose their way and eventually fall to the Babylonians. There’s a similar story with the Christians Crusaders leading to the Dark Ages. Today, we’re watching this struggle not only play out on a macro level with our country, but on a micro level in our individual lives.
And unfortunately for Kanye, the curse of stardom means that his struggles are out in the open for all of us to see.
For a long time, Kanye was doing exactly what the devil had planned for him. As he gained popularity, his music became cruder, with songs that included a vulgar rant about how “Yeezy taught,” a woman how to perform incredible sex, to even referring to himself as “Yeezus” in a direct afront to God. The devil was more than happy taking this talented rapper/producer further away from “Jesus Walks,” and more towards “I am a God,” and he was rewarding him with all the material treasures of this world. He received the most desired woman in the world as a wife, he had become extremely wealthy, and his influence was only growing, even reaching people like me who, like Kanye, had strayed from their spiritual upbringing.
But then, something happened. Something that wasn’t in the devil’s plans. No, it wasn’t Kanye putting on the red hat (though I’m sure that wasn’t in his plan’s either). He did something far more treacherous, far more betraying…
He declared his allegiance to Jesus. And he did so with a bang.
His album “Jesus is King,” debuted at number 1, and the titular song, “Selah” was a loud and proud tribute to the glory of God. This boisterous rapper was now using his powerful influence and far-reaching voice to not only praise and honor God but deliver His message and make converts out of those lost souls.
This looked like a positive turnaround for the accomplished rapper, but like all of us, he is a fallen creature in this sinful world. And his figurative chickens were about to come home to roost, leaving us with several lessons.
1. You cannot serve two masters.
Kanye, like many of us, claims to serve the Lord. And while we mean well by it, we often fall short of that claim, for we have our faults, our idols, and our weaknesses that prevent us from committing our full service to Him. It’s why Jesus said it’s easier for a man to go through the eye of a needle than for a wealthy man to get into heaven. Although Kanye was vigorous in his faith for God, he believed, like many of us foolishly do, that he could work that into the secular empire he had emersed himself in, one who’s worldview was in complete contradiction with the Christian worldview. Sooner or later, something had to give.
Is Kanye’s love for Jesus greater than his love for fame, wealth, influence, and most of all, his ego? Only him and God know the answer to that question. But it’s a question all of us need to ask ourselves. We may not have what Kanye has in terms of material things, but we all struggle with those worldly desires that we just don’t want to give up, from the lonely single man addicted to porn to the church pastor who’s more concerned about retaining the size of his congregation over preaching the true word of God. And how many of us wake up on Sunday morning thinking about how our favorite NFL team is going to do vs. how we’re going to honor our Lord and Savior on the Sabbath? I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been guilty of that sin many times.
I hope Kanye can eventually get to that point. I hope we all get to that point. However, to do so, we must surrender those vices and temptations that have control over us so we can fully serve the one true God. However, the enemy does not give up that easy, which brings me to the second lesson…
2. Never underestimate your enemy.
Kanye West is a gifted individual. By watching his documentary “Jeen-yus,” you see how the combination of talent and relentless drive and determination propelled his career to become one of the most influential rappers of our generation, despite several roadblocks and powerful people in the industry not giving him a chance. The same qualities that made him such a success also generated many of the flaws we see in him, of which Satan has his own drive and determination to exploit. Not only is he cunning and relentless with this exploitation but has no problem leaving a path of destruction in his way. As Christians, it’s important to understand this, for we all have our weaknesses that we must actively combat.
His Christian faith clashed with the hedonistic lifestyle that comes with the Kardashian name, and it was only a matter of time before his marriage would fall apart. And that’s when the attacks really began to ramp up. He was provoked by an individual of whom I’m actually starting to believe is involved in satanic worship (but that’s another story for another day). Immediately after their separation, this man started sleeping with his wife, even going as far as tattooing the name of his children on his body. Something like this would drive anybody mad. Mix in a diagnosed bi-polar disorder, and it’s a recipe for disaster, as was apparent all over social media.
The downward spiral into self-destruction continued. He began receiving threats of physical harm, threats of never seeing his kids again, and even threats of losing his wealth, the last of which came to fruition on some level. Each time he responded, the situation only seemed to get worse. I can understand the indignation, for any righteous person would, and frankly should have some level of anger if ever they were to receive the type of attacks Kanye faced. But Satan was in control of the situation, and the more the saga went on, the more Kanye relied on his ego, fame, and influence to combat him instead of relying on God’s guidance.
3. We all need good, spiritual guidance to develop spiritual maturity.
When you listen to Kanye talk, he speaks as if he’s ready to be a general in God’s army, when in reality he barely just finished his first tour of combat and lacks the maturity to lead an army into a battle of such magnitude. He is in severe need of spiritual guidance, of which I don’t think he’s getting much of. Right now, he’s being heavily influence by a man named Nick Fuentes, which admittedly, I know very little about. A quick internet search pretty much makes him synonymous with “white supremacist,” a term so broadly and overly used these days to describe anybody with differing views that it’s pretty much been rendered meaningless to me. Regardless of what his racial views are, it’s apparent that he’s taking advantage of Kanye right now, acting as an enabler to his addiction to fame. Each time Kanye needs his fix, Mr. Fuentes is there to deliver the goods with another podcast appearance, with each hit costing him nothing but a small a piece of his soul for payment. Sooner or later though, he’ll have nothing left to give, while the dealer will simply move onto the next unfortunate soul.
Kanye is not alone in his need for spiritual mentorship, somebody to guide us on a personal level on our walk as Christians. Sadly, I think that’s something lacking in our churches, and whatever leadership it provides often hasn’t been sufficient to prepare us for spiritual warfare.
In other words, Joel Osteen’s prosperity gospel isn’t going to cut it anymore, at least not in this culture. Being a Christian isn’t an easy task. It isn’t “believe in Jesus and all your problems go away.” It takes hard work and discipline to follow to 10 Commandments, to not give into temptation, to free yourself of the material desires this world brings and commit yourself to serving Jesus. And with the trajectory we’re on, it’s only going to get harder in the coming days. Thus, if we are to truly live out our lives as the Christians we claim to be, it’s imperative we surround ourselves with righteous individuals and seek the council of elders who have walked this life and can provide the wisdom to endure.
It’s heartbreaking watching somebody get used, abused, and fall the way Kanye West has, especially considering how vocal he’s been with his faith as of late. Not only is it heartbreaking, but terrifying. It’s terrifying because his decent into darkness is something that can not only happen to us, but most likely has happened to us in some point in our lives. On some level, we’ve given into temptations, disobeyed our Lord, and paid a steep price for it, and will eventually pay the steepest price of all… death. And seeing Kanye with a mask over his face, a symbol of hopelessness, and saying the things he said is a stark and dark reminder of how serious the struggle, the same one Jacob had many millennia ago, really is.
Except that mask isn’t our symbol, and it doesn’t have to be Kanye’s either. Our symbol is the cross, the symbol of hope, the reminder how Jesus walked the Earth as a man, facing the same emotions, the same struggles as all of us. In fact, his struggles were greater than ours, considering how he was given the task of sacrificing and placing upon himself the entire sin of humanity. He struggled so much so that at one point he actually began to sweat blood, and the last time I checked, I don’t recall anybody so stressed out that they literally sweat blood.
But as a man, he answered that call. He was beaten, tortured, mocked, humiliated, and eventually nailed to a cross to die. And at the end of it all, after his friends—his disciples had abandoned all hope, he rose from the grave, conquering death, and conquering Satan once and for all. Not only did He set the example to how to live your life, but He saved us from the eternal damnation we all deserve, and that includes Mr. Kanye West.
I hope that Kanye remembers this, and I pray he receives the spiritual guidance he desperately needs; not just for his sake, but for everyone else’s as well, for all of us need that same spiritual guidance during these times.
It’s been a long time since I’ve written a blog post. Over a year, in fact. And though there are many reasons why, I’d love to say it mostly had to do with life simply getting in the way. While it’s true that life suddenly became busier once I became a father and moved to Greece, that’s not the complete story. There is a deeper, not so convenient reason.
The primary reason for my silence is because I have been a coward.
Years ago, I asked a friend to read my a few of my posts and create a painting based on them. It was part of an experiment on my part, for though I wasn’t an artist like he was, I had my own ideas of what grizzlychadams.com would look like as a painting. I imagined an enraged head exploding much like what is shown on the warheads candy packaging with visuals of all my grievances and tribulations spreading across the canvass. I was curious to see how much, if at all, our visions differed from each other. This is what he drew.
Two faces, one smiling, one frowning, with the phrase “GOIN THROUGH THE MOTIONS” written above and below it (the black is a little hard to see, but it’s there).
At first, I didn’t think much of it other than how interesting it was that he interpreted my blog in such a unique way. But several years later, I look at this with astonishment, and with an unnerving feeling of how accurate he was. It forced me to look deep within myself and pony up to reality, however inconvenient it may be… that for most of my adult life I have been going through the motions… at work, with relationships, and most frightening of all, in my faith.
Being a Christian was easy when I was growing up. I lived in a fairly conservative community where there was no threat of persecution for stating your Christian values. Naturally, with little reason to believe I, or any of us for that matter would ever be attacked, I didn’t take my study of scripture seriously, and when the time came, I was left not knowing how to defend it. This isn’t necessarily a knock on our parents, pastors, or any of the other authority figures who raised our generation, and in some respects, I feel we owe them some gratitude. I feel so blessed to have grown up in the 80’s and 90’s, a time when it was still generally safe to let kids play outside unsupervised, where the biggest political issue of our time was pro-Sega vs. Pro-Nintendo (and believe me, battle lines were drawn) and counter-culture entities like The Simpson, Beavis and Butthead and the Alternative Rock movement were deemed “edgy.”
…Gosh, what I would give to go back to such an innocent time…
And call me sheltered, but I got the sense that even through our differences, most Americans agreed on a higher level that first and foremost we lived in a society that not only revered God and Country, but saw both as forces for good. I found this culture to be enjoyable and optimistic, and in it, I was comfortable.
And therein lies the problem. Comfort.
With comfort came complacency, which followed a lack of preparedness for what it took to live out my faith. Starting with college and expanding beyond, I was exposed to ideas that contradicted what I was taught and didn’t have good answers for. While living in an unsupervised environment I was faced with a plethora of temptations, many of which I succumbed to. I even dealt with my fair share of heartbreak, and over time, these events contributed to a descent into nihilism much like a frog slowly being acclimated to boiling water. Throughout it all, I still claimed I had faith, yet it was only on a superficial level, for my actions were in direct disobedience to what the creator I claimed to worship commanded. Even worse, I did so with an unrepentant heart, and that nihilism started to morph into a form of narcissism. I didn’t obey God, for I worshipped myself and followed my own desires. In essence, I became my own god.
Then 2020 happened.
Don’t get me wrong, there were a few reality checks along the way that swayed me back in the right direction, if ever so slightly, but nothing like the smack in the face that was the year 2020. Within an instant, it was as if the entire world began crumbling before us. Beginning with the pandemic, each passing day seemed to bring a new crisis. Lockdowns, toilet paper shortage, mask mandates, George Floyd, riots in the streets, election integrity, January 6th, vaccine mandates, and we were barely into 2021. The list goes on and on, with each week adding something even crazier than the week before. I can only imagine if Billy Joel wrote “We Didn’t Start the Fire” today. It would take a double album just to make the last 30 months fit.
This was no ordinary blitzkrieg, for even the beleaguered quarterback taking sack after sack with little time to catch his breath before the next pounding knows that at some point, the play clock will turn zero and the game will be over. These attacks kept coming with no play clock, no timeouts, and no signs of stopping. This was spiritual warfare. Warfare that I was ill-equipped for.
Eventually, I tapped out.
I turned off social media, not for noble reasons, but because I could no longer handle it. I hid myself from much of the world, believing if I kept my head down and kept a low profile, the spirit of the age would just pass me by without any trouble, that I didn’t have to be involved in any of this. And sure, at the onset, like many of us I was caught flat-footed, so understandably, I did what I was told. But as 15 days turned to months, and the months started closing in on years, I was still wearing my mask, both literally and figuratively. I was still going through the motions.
“But I couldn’t question anything or else I’d be cancelled!” Oh, how I wish that narrative was true, for what better excuse would there be to remain inactive. But that’s not the case. I didn’t even attempt to question. No, the sad truth is, I was too much of a chicken even to find out.
For what if I did? Would I lose friends? Might I lose an argument and look like a fool in public? Would I lose favor with those whom for some reason, I was so desperately trying to reach and seek approval from? Would my past sins come out to haunt me if I spoke up? Might I lose that book deal I imagined was going to magically come to fruition if only I stayed quiet and did nothing for just a little longer?
The longer this went on, the harder it was for me to accept that this was my fate, or any of our fates, to just be a cog in the machine doing the same motion day after day until we dropped dead. The answer was yes, and yes to all. Yes, if I went down this route, I’d be confronted—forced to give up my idols, the ones I had be clamoring to my whole life, the ones that were spiritually draining, of which the devil was more than happy to keep feeding me. That was his plan, and so far, it was working out pretty well for him. But not for me.
I wouldn’t accept that. I couldn’t. Deep in my soul there was a tugging, an urge to change course, to draw from a different source other than the cesspool that had long ago been corrupted by a degenerate culture. Did I know what to do? Not quite, but I knew where to look. I turned to a place I knew that had answers, a place that had assisted people like me, and frankly, people more righteous than me for two millennia. For the first time in my life, I read the entire bible, something I should’ve done decades ago. And as it turns out, history has a tendency to repeat itself.
I don’t remember the reason, but out of all the books in the bible and all the logical starting points, I chose to read Jeremiah first. As a profit, Jeremiah was tasked with warning the Jewish people that the Southern Kingdom of Judah (the only one left at this time for the Northern Kingdom, Israel, had fallen to the Assyrians a few generations before) was about to fall. Judah had been committing several atrocities ranging from idol worship to even child sacrifice. During this time, they had received bountiful mercy and plenty of chances to repent, but you can only turn your back on God for so long. God’s judgement was imminent with an impending invasion of the Babylonians, and invade they did, just as Jeremiah prophesized.
Now, we may not be offering our children up as sacrifices to Molech, but if we take a serious look at ourselves as a nation, with the amount of support for unfettered abortion access and the rising insistence that we push transgenderism onto children, we aren’t that far off. And sorry, the rest of us aren’t off the hook even if we publicly state we don’t believe in that sort of stuff. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. We have plenty of idols and overall wickedness in our lives of which we stubbornly fail to correct, and believe me, I certainly have my fair share of course correcting to do. So, when I look at the last 30 months, it wasn’t just a wake-up call. It was a warning shot across the brow.
It was a stark reminder that in fact we are in the midst of an ongoing battle against the forces of good and evil, and that we’re not allowed to be neutral. For by staying silent, we aid the side of evil. It’s also a reminder of his mercy, that even with the last 30 months of which our utter disobedience has been on display, we still have a shot of redemption. We can repent and change our ways. We can still be saved… I can be saved, whether it be in this life or the afterlife. And we need more Jeremiah’s out there willing to speak up, even when it seems that nobody is listening.
The thought of mortality runs through my head more often than I’d like to admit these days, and each day I grow older, the more prevalent it gets. Yes, death is a very real concept I think about; and add in the threat of nuclear war being thrown around lately or whatever the next ingredient of turmoil to be stirred into the pot next week will be coupled with the fact that I’m at the sunset of my 30’s, it becomes harder for me to ignore that fact that someday, my spirit will leave this place. And on that day, what am I going to say when I come face to face with my creator? How will I answer to him, not just the sins in my life, but for my inability to do good when given the chance? It scares me, for if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I like the answers to those questions.
I’d be foolish to act as though I have the answers, not just to those questions, but to also get us out of the mess we’re in. Perhaps it’s too late for that, but even if that’s so, I’m still alive, I still have a voice, and because I’m still here by His grace, I’m still commanded to serve and obey Him. Ultimately, this means I’m no longer allowed to stay silent, and though there is much more to say than can fit in one post, I know where to start. I can start by boldly proclaiming my faith.
I am a Christian. I believe in the God of Abraham and Moses. I believe in the Holy Trinity, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and I accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior. I believe he died on the cross, was buried, rose from the dead, and walked out of that tomb like a boss. That because He conquered death, I don’t have to live in fear, not even in the face of death, for He has promised me paradise. That through Him, I can speak the truth and no longer have to be silent in the face of evil.
I’ve made many mistakes in my life. I’ve spent way too much time indulged in drunkenness, which led to precious years wasted. Like many men, I’ve fallen prey to lustful thoughts and desires, and lacked the self-control to not act upon them. I put myself and my idols above my God and let my pride get in the way of doing what was right. I have been selfish, I have used people, and I’ve allowed my anger to get the best of me, time and time again. To sum it up, I have not lived up to His standard, and because of this, I deserve death. And even as I write this, I know I will still fail several times over. I will fall short of His glory and will need to ask for forgiveness time and time again.
BUT… because He, Jesus, God in the flesh who lived a perfect life free of sin, took on all my guilt, shame, and sin upon himself when they nailed him to the cross, I know I have been saved. That I have the opportunity to spend eternity with Him in paradise. So, the least… the very least I can do is to obey him, to be courageous in my convictions, and serve him accordingly.
In closing, I always meant for grizzlychadams.com to be a fun, satirical medium for me to express myself. I’ve used it as a creative outlet to take the absurd, self-imposed stresses and 1st world problems of my life and spin it in a way that brings joy and laughter to people. Often, however, it was being used more as an escape. This isn’t necessarily bad in moderation, but given the times of which we live, I think I’m being called into a different direction, a calling I can no longer escape from.
I pray for a day when I can resume the Grizzly Chadams tradition, or at least find a good balance to provide that humorous escape I envisioned it to be. But for now, it needs a bit of a revision, for I am declaring that I will no longer go through the motions of this life. After all, doing so would not be honoring my God.
Part of being married is learning to compromise. And since that day we said “yes” nearly 2 years ago, we’ve made our fair share of em’. And because we live in the exorbitant real estate market of Washington DC where I have a better chance of finding the Ark of the Covenant than building a man cave, I’ve learned to accept… er, I mean, appreciate some of my wife’s favorite TV shows.
And… now that we’re about to enter year 2 of the pandemic (15 days to flatten the curve my butt!), it just so happens that I can now recite the entire cast of every Real Housewives show on Bravo Channel nearly to heart. Not a fact I’m proud of, but merely a survival mechanism to keep my sanity intact.
Well, it’s a new year, and now it seems that the wife’s interests have turned to another show, this one much more sinister than that time Sonja Morgan got hammered and stomped on the glass table at Ramona’s birthday party on RHONY (and believe me, I have plans to talk about that s*** show in the future).
What a Disaster of a Birthday!
Yes, for the next few months, we will be watching “The Bachelor” every Monday night… Yippee.
First off, whoever this Bachelor is (Matt whatever), is boring as a dried-up pile of dog crap in the middle of the Gobi Desert. Monotone, no personality, and a complete moron. But apparently, that doesn’t matter to these group of babes, who all think they’re in love with a dude they met just a couple days ago. So, he’s kind of a hunk. Who cares?!?! He literally just stands there like a dingus, and he becomes “the one” to these women. Total bull crap!
Now that we’re a few episodes in, he has to “address” the girls about a “toxic” situation in the house where some girls are talking crap about the others. A little backstory: during one of the previous episodes, out of nowhere, 5 new girls showed up and got to be on the show, and the girls who were there were a little butt hurt about it. Now, putting my feelings about this terrible show aside, I can actually sympathize with the OG’s. It would be like if I were running a mile race, and after the first lap, another group of dudes got to start the race from there with fresh legs. Hell yea, I’d be pissed! And not just pissed, but talkin’ smack as well, because that’s what people do when they’re put in an unfair situation. It’s uh… HUMAN NATURE!
But apparently, this point doesn’t quite get through to our “Bachelor.”
So, there was some huffing and puffing, and one of the old girls said one of the new girls was a ho or prostitute or whatever, so he goes and lectures all of them and gives one of those “this type of behavior won’t be tolerated” types of speeches. Ok, fine and dandy. They have a rose ceremony, he kicks a couple of the babes off, all of which act like they’re sad and hug him except for the one they call Queen Victoria, who essentially tells him to F off (and hey, more power to her), and then they all go on their merry way.
BUT… then, after lecturing this group of hotties about the toxic environment they’ve established in the house, he goes on a couple dates with these girls, and makes out with like 5 of them THE VERY NEXT DAY!!! And believe me, when I say 5, I’m being very generous to this guy, because it’s probably closer to 10. Think about that. This dude has the cahones to reprimand a group of girls who would move heaven and Earth just to get into his pants, then turns right around and starts smoochin’ all of them in front of everybody. Now, alls I know is, if when my wife and I were dating and she saw me smoochin’ with another girl, I’d be in big, BIG trouble (and just for the record, that never ever happened)! And he just openly starts smackin’ on all these girls in front of them? Man, the balls on this guy…
If this were an 80’s John Hughes movie, this dude would be the ultimate teen douche bag that we’d all be rooting against. And the sad part is, even though most of these girls are dumb as hell by the fact that they signed up for this show thinking they’d fall in love, there’s actually a good girl or two, like the little deaf girl who seems like she’s actually really sweet who has to put up with this guy and all his games. How much you want to bet there’s an Anthony Michael Hall type back at home whose heart is being ripped to shreds watching this undeserving a-hole toy with his one, true love?
And don’t get me started when he goes on these one on one dates and they talk about their “insecurities,” along with all the struggles they’ve had in their lives. First off, these girls are in the 1% on the hotness scale for babes. And then, he joins in the action, as if he can relate to their hard-knock life as the hottest girl at their high-school.
It’s like, dude… you’re on a TV show where you get paid to live at a resort and make out with a bunch of girls who are all competing over your nut sack. You can take all your insecurities and shove em’ right up you’re a**!
Now, some may say I’m being a little harsh on the Bachelor. And you would be correct. Yes, to summarize, I am criticizing a no-personality, monotone douche bag who dates multiple women at a time, makes out with them in the open, and leads them on to believe they are the one for him, only to have their hearts eventually broken. Then, on top of all that, he has the nerve to lecture the women he’s dating about creating “toxic” environments for being put in unfair situations, like he’s the ultimate arbiter for morality? Screw that!!!
And how does we reward such degenerate behavior? With copious amounts of money and the entire country wanting a piece of the action, of course!
My prediction for The Bachelor, the girl he picks actually is a prostitute and he gets herpes… at least I hope that’s what happens… But given my luck, he’s probably going to pick the deaf girl, but then screw her over by cheating on her later.
I’m going to have to apologize in advance everybody, but I’m going to have to break character a little bit here.
My wife and I have had a few people reach out to us the past couple of days to make sure we’re ok, since we live in the DC/Maryland/Virginia Metro area (DMV). For those of you those who did reach out or were concerned, thank you for reaching out, and just so everybody knows, we are completely fine. In fact, as we were preoccupied with newborn tasks through the day, we didn’t even know that anything was happening last Wednesday until we received text messages from friends and family. And luckily for us, though we live relatively close to the capitol/mall area in DC (I often run through there at least once a week on one of my runs), protests, riots, and the such never seem to spill out into our neighborhood. That was the same with the riots that spurred from the George Floyd protests, for when all the other neighborhoods around us were boarded up, ours was surprisingly untouched. Or, in the words of the great Buzz McAllister, we live on the most boring street in the DMV, where nothing even remotely dangerous, will ever happened. Period!
That being said, I’ve struggled on how to respond to what happened occurred this last week and whether I should use the Grizzly Chadams as a means to respond. After all, this blog has always been used as an outlet for me, an escape from the stresses of the world, and hopefully in the process of all that, I’m able to put a smile on a few faces with some lighthearted humor and occasional sentimental words. But I’ve questioned, as I often did over the summer when other sorts of craziness was happening, whether or not it was appropriate to proceed in such a manner. Besides, how do you address something like this? I don’t like what happened at the Capitol at all. I don’t think any reasonable American does, and I really don’t like how 4 Americans lost their lives over this. Yet, I can’t lie to myself and say I didn’t share the sentiment of most of those who were protesting (key word, most, not all). After all, it’s our elected officials who have been the source of much of the misery that’s been imposed on us over the last few months, years, decades—however long you want to go back (there are plenty of examples). And possibly the saddest part about the whole thing is that, yet again, those up on Capitol Hill received a convenient excuse to demagogue and ignore the inconvenient problems their elected to address, all at the expense of the American people.
The more I wrestled with the chaos surrounding the country and my bleak outlook on it, the more I struggled internally to write, for it’s hard even for old Grizzly Chadams to keep it going at times, as if it’s my duty to give people answers that I don’t have, and aren’t qualified to provide. But then, as I was lying in bed last night, festering about the spirit of the age, up popped a much-needed Instagram notification, “stoolpresidente is live with aaronrodgers12.” As curiosity struck and I clicked on it, sending me to a split Screen of my boy Aaron Rodgers and Dave Portnoy, or “El Presidente” of Barstool Sports. The conversation was relatively quick and simple, yet effective, and the result was something that lifted my spirits, as if it were a small glimmer of light that could possibly guide us out of the darkness. It was something worth sharing.
Can somebody say, MVP of the World?
For those of you not familiar with Barstool, to put it simply, it’s a sports news website that’s a bit unorthodox from the mainstream. With their “Smokescreen of the day” posts and unregulated use of curse words in their articles, it’s definitely not something you would promote in the church bulletin. Yet, there’s an honest, unfiltered approach to the site that attracts visitors. It’s genuine, relatable, and you get a feeling the writers aren’t some elite ESPN analysts, but regular sports fans you would see at your local sports bar (hence the name, Barstool Sports), simply talking and writing about the things they’re passionate about. And Judging by his “emergency press conferences” of which he rants about topics near and dear to him such as his disdain for NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell, it’s easy to see that Founder Dave Portnoy lives with that passion day in and day out. One of his more recent rants revolved around the Coronavirus policies, how it’s been affecting small business, and how the government isn’t doing its part to help those businesses they forced to shut down or restrict due to the pandemic.
Eventually, he decided it was up to him to do something, putting his money where his mouth was and setting up the fund to help these small businesses on the precipice of shutting down for good provide enough money to stay afloat. And since then, many have gotten involved, the most recent being Aaron Rodgers yesterday with his pledge of $500,000, of which I watched in real time. To see the conversation, click here.
As a Packer fan, I swelled with pride upon seeing this. Then, I was humbled. 2020 was a tough year, one that forced us to cancel our honeymoon, prevented me from attending the funeral of one of my greatest childhood mentors, and hasn’t allowed my family to meet my newborn son. And by the looks of it, 2021 isn’t going to get better anytime soon. Yet, we still had our blessings. We were still employed and still receiving paychecks while others were forced to, by no fault of their own, watch their savings accounts drain just go keep their businesses afloat. And despite the misfortunes we had felt, ours were miniscule compared to those.
So, when I woke up this morning, I logged onto my computer and donated $1,000 dollars myself to the fund.
I don’t say this to brag about my contribution, for if it came down to it, I could always give more. But when I looked at a company like Barstool, imagine that it doesn’t have a lot in common with a lot of the businesses it helps, or even the people that are contributing to the fund. Hell, I’m sure there’s a lot of people that are on the opposite side of the aisle from me that have contributed as well. But that’s what’s great about it. Barstool, El Presidente, and others saw the struggles of these entrepreneurs. They saw a need, and instead of waiting around, complaining and waiting for somebody to do something about it, they stepped up and took it upon themselves to act. They are making differences in people’s lives, not in a week, not in a month, but today, and to me, that’s a beautiful thing… beautiful and inspiring.
We often look to others, whether it be our friends, neighbors, bosses, congress, the president, or even the government as a whole to fix the problems in our lives. Occasionally, they come through, but it’s usually not in the way we’d expect, and more often than not, we get let down time and time again. So, maybe the answer isn’t with them. Maybe it’s with us? Maybe it’s us taking action instead of waiting for others to act. Maybe that’s what Mr. El Presidinte finally realized when he started the Barstool Sports Fund.
And maybe we can do the same.
So, If you’re reading this, and if you’re in a position that you can help, then I would encourage you to act and make a donation, although if your hearts not in it, action doesn’t have to be in a donation to the Barstool Sports Fund (though I believe it’s a great cause for these times, and you can find the link to contribute here). It can be for a good charity of your choice, or in the direct support of a local business in your city. Or we can volunteer our time and resources to needs in our communities, much like my mom did when she joined Embrace Grace, a group that provides assistance to single mother’s.
The point is, there are endless ways we can make an impact, so let’s challenge not just our friends and neighbors, but ourselves to act, and maybe we can find it within ourselves make a difference in our communities.
I hope in the future, I can continue the tradition of silliness that Grizzly Chadams is accustomed to, such as talking about my love for McRibs or the pristine conditions of the bathrooms in Jimmy John’s. But we live in trying times, and unfortunately, more trials and tribulations may be on the horizon, possibly worse than what we’ve seen already. Admittedly I don’t know the answers to the problems we face today, and I won’t pretend otherwise. But based on the feeling I got from watching the Bad Man make that pledge last night, I would say things like the Barstool Sports fund are good places to start looking. And if we look hard enough, we kind find more of those small glimmers of light, a piece of hope to give us inspiration, to give us the will to act, and to help us find our way out of the dark place we find ourselves in.
Let’s start with seeking out the truth, let’s seek out those glimmers of light, and let’s take it upon ourselves to act.
Well, looks like Grizzly Chadams finally grew up a little bit and became a papa bear. To say the least, it’s been quite an adventure getting to this point, and having this been our first child, my wife and I had different thoughts as to how the birth would go.
She had it in her head that induction and labor would go a little like this:
While I certainly had my expectations…
Warning: Explicit Material
But 36 hours after the induction, this is pretty much what we got:
But low and behold, eventually a baby came out of the womb. And thanks to the nurses’ orders, good ol’ Grizzly Chadams got a front row seat for the entire ordeal. With that came several emotions, the first of which being, “Jesus Christ! That’s a giant baby!” I mean, I could see the top of the head, then all of a sudden, “WHAM!” Out came the rest of the body! “How in the world did that thing fit inside my wife’s body?!” Even she swore that by the end of it, the aftermath of his birth was going to look a little something like this…
I couldn’t resist!!!
Sorry, a little graphic, I know, but that’s what inevitably comes to mind after 3 hours of active pushing!
It didn’t take long however for a sense of fear strike through me. Right from the get go, I expected to hear a crying baby, just like the ones you see in the movies, something along the lines of a “Hey, what the hell, man? I liked it in there! Put me back!”
What I got instead was complete silence. The doctor’s sudden decision to deviate from my originally planned cord cutting duties was also cause for concern, coupled with the group of nurses hovering over the intensive care station, ready for action. And I’m sure in one of those “new parent” classes, they told me the baby would have a bit of a deformed head when it came out. But of course I forgot about that, and naturally, I panicked!
We were told during the whole process that the baby had Billy’s Ruben or something of the sort, and that he immediately needed to be placed on oxygen among other treatments. Now, I won’t like, upon first hearing this, I was a bit impressed. The fact that he snatched this guy Billy’s Ruben Sandwich had me swelling with pride. Right out of the womb and he’s already got the upper hand. “That’s my boy!” I wanted to shout. “Way to go little Z!”
Then, it got me all irascible. Like, “What the hell, Billy? What’s a grown ass man doing leaving such a fine cuisine out within snatching distance from a little baby boy?”
After further consultation from the doctor, it turns out that there was no Ruben sandwich, and apparently, it has nothing to do with a guy named Billy. Wikipedia may have had some answers, and a quick internet search revealed that it’s actually called “bilirubin” for some reason. I tried looking into it a bit more, but there was just too much scientific mumbo jumbo for me to make the connection (they talk about all these different chemical bonds and stuff, and you know I barely made it out of Organic Chemistry alive!). I’m just glad the little guy got out of it safe and sound.
But in those few of moments fear and confusion, where the health of my baby was in question, I was overcome with grief, if only for a moment. “What happens if he doesn’t pull through?” I thought. “All the work the doctors put in, the machinery to monitor my wife’s and baby’s status, the drugs to relieve the pain of child birth, the equipment required to induce labor, all the work my wife put in, the 36 hours of labor and 9 months of pregnancy and sacrifice that was made on her part all in preparation for this day… What if it was all for nothing?”
I got to think that because of his innate Grizzly bloodline, he pulled through with flying colors. But once the chaos settled, I was struck with a revelation. Up until then, a birthday was an excuse to party and an opportunity to score on some awesome presents (i.e. Nintendo 64 at 12 years old… I’ll never forget that one), along with a few milestones along the way. Age 13, you become a teenager and start getting hair in weird places. Age 16, you’re legally allowed to drive. Age 21, it becomes socially acceptable to drink alcohol, and so on and so on.
The moment I saw that baby in the flesh for the first time though, everything changed.
You see, we all started where he did, just a little human entering this enormous world, scared, confused, and utterly helpless. The smartest minds that had ever blessed this Earth, Einstein, Sir Isaac Newton, and Nikola Tesla, to history’s most renowned artists, Michelangelo, Shakespeare, and Mozart… all of them were in his exact position at one point in their lives… and all of em’ had a level playing field. Michael Jordan and my boy Aaron Rodgers? Those guys were babies once, small and feeble just like him before they became the greatest sports heroes of all time. And let us not forget all those great figures in American History who changed the world… George Washington, Honest Abe, Martin Luther King… Yep, they were all babies too.
And what about my man Kanye Freaking West, aka the greatest of them all?!?! He was there, cryin’, and burpin’, and poopin’ in his pants just like the rest of us! He had to go through the same ordeal, develop from a helpless infant with no means of self-support into the greatest of all time!
At one point in time, they were all just like my son. And just like them, he has a chance to change the world.
And how wonderful it is that we take time to remember that once each year? To remember the miracle of life and the blessing that occurred on the day of his birth? It turns out that a birthday is, and has always been, a much more significant day than I had ever realized, more so than I could have ever have imagined before the birth of my son.
And it was during that moment of respite in the hospital, after the silence and the scary thought that all had been lost, when I realized the opportunity before me. As his father, I have an amazing opportunity to shape him into the best person he can be. I get to watch him learn how to crawl, walk, talk, throw a football, do a kickflip on a skateboard, and grow into a man. And together, we get the opportunity to celebrate that all of that, year after year.
So, to my newborn son, I leave you with this…
Your birthday:
It is a day of remembrance. A day to reflect on nine months spent inside your mother’s womb. It is a day to remember the nurturing, hard work, and sacrifice that took place, all in preparation for your delivery. The hours spent in pain and labor, risking one’s life to ensure the sanctity of another. A day to remember, after all the anguish, discomfort, and sleep deprivation, the overwhelming joy of seeing your face for the very first time.
It is a day of triumph. That against all odds, you developed from a few cells into the person you are today. It is a reminder, a living example of the miracle of life.
It is a day of reflection. We reflect on your greatest successes, the lessons you’ve learned from your mistakes, and the times you fell, only to pick yourself back up again and continue the fight. We reflect on the person you’ve become, the progress you’ve made, and the endless opportunities ahead of you.
It is a time to remember that on that day, the world would be forever changed.
Your birthday… the day you entered the world. The day you forever changed our lives. A day of intense pain and depleted energy, exerted for the sole purpose of giving you life… a day to remember it was all worth it.
So, for that, we celebrate. Because above all things, the day of your birth is one worth celebrating.
Happy Birthday Zander Travis Andrews, born December 29th, 2020. We look forward to celebrating several times in the years to come.
The Trials and Tribulations of a Grizzly Chadams 