My Story to Tell

I was hesitant at first to write this blog post. A big reason for that is because so many people have experienced a lot of life-altering events and I don't want to appear as if I am trying to play the comparison game with mine. But, at the same time, when life throws you a series of curve balls, it is often therapeutic to chronicle the twists and the turns that it brings. This is my attempt to do just that.

In January of this year I finally got around to making an appointment with my cardiologist over some concerns I was having about my heart health. I say "finally" because I had been experiencing some less than normal cardiac symptoms for almost a year, primarily a sensation that made it feel as if my heart was going to burst out of my chest with every heartbeat. Something inside of me told me that this wasn't normal, but since I had experienced a major open heart surgery in January of 2020, I wrongly assumed that what I was experiencing could be my new normal.

A visit to my cardiologist quickly corrected my error. I had developed what is called a fistula, a rupture between my aortic arch and my pulmonary artery, both major vessels that exit from the top of the heart. The situation I was in was a little more precarious than normal - my aortic arch was artificial (it had been replaced in 2020 due to an aneurysm) and the rupture between the two vessels was creating a lot of back pressure, giving me nasty case of pulmonary hypertension and placing me in heart failure. Needless to say, I needed another open heart surgery and I needed it soon. 

My wife and I jumped in the car on January 17 and drove to Winston-Salem so that I could undergo further testing from the surgical team that operated on me in 2020 at Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center. It didn't take long to realize that surgery was the only option, so on February 2, 2023, I was whisked away for my second open heart procedure in the past three years. Once I succumbed to the anesthesia and I fell into a deep sleep, everything changed in more ways than I could possibly imagine.

The surgery itself was a success with my surgeon being able to fix the rupture and repair several other areas of concern, but my body had other ideas. Over the next several days I experienced a series of medical emergencies that literally had my life hanging in the balance. The medical team had to shock my heart back into rhythm almost a dozen times and it was if my body was waging a coup against all that they were trying to do so save me. At one point the medical team advised that my wife, Kellie, that it appeared I might not make it. I needed a miracle. 

During all of this time I was completely oblivious to what was happening. I never woke up after the surgery and I was in the midst of what would wind up being a two and a half week coma. While everything was crashing down around me and my family was hanging in limbo, I was in a deep sleep, experiencing a supernatural peace. It would take dozens of pages to document all that I saw and experienced during the constant dreams that I experienced in my coma, but suffice it to say that I knew that the Lord was with me and He was carrying me every step of the way.

About a week after the surgery, my surgeon advised the rest of the medical team that it would be best to let my body rest until the next day and then he would perform further procedures if necessary. My chest had been left open for a week with a balloon pump in place after the surgery due to recurring complications that I was experiencing, so the plan was to take me down after those needed hours of rest to the operating room to close it and consider further options. Those precious hours were all that my body would need to turn the corner. It was then that my body decided it was time to kick it into gear and get better. After he closed my chest the next day, my vital signs started to improve, my heart began to be more responsive to treatment, and I gradually began to pull out of the medical funk that I was in. Indeed I was experiencing a bit of the miraculous that everyone had been praying for.

What followed after that were several days of weaning me off of the nearly 20 medications that had been keeping me alive and pumping into my body for the past couple of weeks. Doing so would allow me to finally wake up and face the long road of rehabilitation that lay ahead. Eventually I began to respond to verbal commands, the intubation tube was removed, and on February 17 I was finally lucid enough to answer questions from one of the ICU doctors - although I'm not gonna lie, my answers to his questions were pretty bizarre! That evening they moved me to a step-down cardiac unit where over the course of a few more days I gradually began to eat and drink liquids, move with assistance to a chair, and gather my bearings. 

During all of this time I lost almost 30 pounds and with it the ability to walk and have full use of my arms. Once they deemed me strong enough, I was moved to a rehabilitation wing of the hospital where I would undergo daily physical therapy to learn how to walk again as well as perform basic daily routines. The physical therapists, occupational therapist, and recreation theraptist that worked with me were nothing short of stellar and they pushed me to recover much quicker than either I or the medical team thought that I would. 

On February 28, 2023, after 39 days in the hospital, I walked out of Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center and headed home. Never had I been more grateful to breath fresh air or walk on my own without assistance. Over the next several months I would gradually regain my strength and most of my weight and I was even able to go back to work on light duty in April. I did experience a setback in June when it was discovered that I had developed a bacterial infection around my heart. What followed was ten more days in the hospital and then six more weeks with a PICC line in my arm pumping in antibiotics 24/7, but I finally was able to resume some sense of normalcy and enjoy the last couple of weeks of summer. 

Let me just say that life is precious. I have always enjoyed life and sought to pursue those things that I felt were meaningful, but being on the precipice of death and making it back certainly do bring about a new perspective. Because I'm a list kind of guy, I want to finish this with some vital lessons that I learned and still carry close to my heart (pardon the pun) as I move on from this life-altering experience.

1. My wife is amazing. If you know Kellie, then you already understand this to be true, but let me tell you that I do not believe that I would have survived without her love, devotion, and advocacy as a wife and nurse. She left my side only to sleep, worked remotely from my bedside, entertained countless well-wishers in the waiting room all while trying to hold our family together, and asked  lots of questions of the medical team all in an effort to make sure I was receiving the best possible care. The emotional and mental toll that this took on her is incalculable yet her love for me and her belief in my recovery spurred her on. Without her, I truly don't know that I would have made it. It's not possible for me to convey how much I love her.
   
2. God is so faithful. My faith has always been my constant and this situation only strengthened it all the more. While in my coma, I had encounters with the Lord that I firmly believe allowed me to fight on and make it through. When the medical team seemed to be out of options, God was just getting started. I can confidently say that without the intervention of the Lord I would not have survived, and for that I am eternally grateful to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
3. My family and friends are blessings. There was extended family members such as my brother Chris and his wife Tiffany sitting with Kellie for hours on end and helping her to make decisions when she needed another voice in the room. My brother Parrish flying in from New York to be there for me and my family. There were neighbors and then aunt Carol from Kansas flying in to hold down the fort at home. Then there was my mother-in-law and father-in-law opening their home all hours of the day and night, providing amazing food, lots of comfort, and shoulders to cry on. Plus, my own four children came to see me even when I didn't know they were there, it was their presence, love, and prayers that pushed me forward. And the countless number of friends who called, dropped by the hospital, sat with me and listened to me ramble after I woke up, and sent cards, food, and care packages that cannot be underestimated in their importance. I would list their names but for the sake of offending someone that I might accidentally leave out, y'all know who you are. Thankful is simply not a strong enough word.
4. My medical team are rock stars. Simply put, my surgeon Dr. Neal Kon is world class as is my cardiologist and good friend Dr. Tim Winslow. All of the ICU nurses, cardiac team, and rehab clinicians were stellar and they were more than locked in every step of the way. While I would never wish what I went through on anyone else, I would recommend these guys to anyone who had health concerns. They are top notch. 

Every morning that I wake up, I see the day ahead of me as a blessing. I am still in the healing process and some days are better than others. One of the biggest struggles that I face is being patient with myself, knowing that I cannot push too hard too soon. Yet I know that I have been gifted a chance at life that I will never take for granted and always seek to embrace. God is good!

Hurry up and slow down

I have a confession to make: I am terrible at waiting. If patience is a virtue, then well, I ain't got much virtue. Truth be told, this is nothing new. Patience and waiting on events and schedules to happen has always been a sore spot for me.

Almost every Christmas Eve growing up, I was the kid perched at the top of the stairs starting at 3:00 a.m. anxiously counting the minutes until the sun would begin to poke its head on the horizon so that I could finally get a glimpse of the glorious presents that awaited me. I eat the cookie dough before it goes on the baking sheet. I'm sure you do too, but I eat A LOT of it before it can be baked. I was the senior in high school that got on the phone with Wake Forest University to find out if I had been accepted because I simply couldn't wait for that letter any longer. Thankfully, they said yes.

So as I recover from my heart surgery at home, you can imagine this is not the easiest of scenarios for someone like me to play out. My doctors have told me that I cannot drive for four weeks post surgery, I am not allowed to lift anything over ten pounds, and I must rest as much a possible. Now I love sleep as much as the next guy, but I also believe there is a thing as too much rest. Yet these are the doctors orders, from the ones who basically recreated my heart as if it was a ball of clay on a potter's wheel.

My days have been filled with cardiac rehab (treadmill, stretching, and yes, rest), reading lots of books, eating like a destitute goat so that I can put weight back on, spending some amazing time with my family, and coordinating class work with the many substitute teachers that my school has lined up to take over in my absence. All of these things are good and necessary. This isn't my first rodeo – I remember having to do all of these things twenty-four years ago when I had my first heart surgery. But things are different now and this is where my struggle begins.

When I had my first heart surgery in 1996, I was single, in grad school, and was able to recover at home with my parents, who to this day are still saints for putting up with me. This time around I have a wife and kids, a career, and many more obligations that require much more immediate attention. My life is different – better – and to have to sit on the sidelines like that kid who made the team but you know coach has no intention of playing is frustrating.

I know that may seem a little over dramatized, so let me step back a little bit. In the midst of what seems like useless time wasting, I understand why the waiting is so important even though I despise it. The body takes time to heal. Getting back into the game too early can be detrimental to experiencing a fully recovery. And the fact that I am even alive to be able to type this graphically illustrates that I serve a God who has allowed me to stay on this planet for reasons I may not yet even fully realize.

So hurry up and wait is what I will do. After all, I did have pretty major heart surgery. Nobody expects me to take the field right away. And while I wait, I will do my best to enjoy each and every moment that comes my way. Wishing I was here or there and doing this or that only serves to cloud my vision for what's right in front of me. And that is what God wants me to see. Not the things that I want to conjure up for myself but rather the everyday, even mundane, things that He has placed in my path.

Heart surgery and life changes

Using social media to post every facet of your life is not always the wisest of choices, but sometimes it is the best way to disseminate important information. Since I have neglected my blog for way too long, I have decided to use this as the medium to give everyone a life update. I hope all of my 13 followers get this information.

Right before Christmas of this past year, my family doctor advised that I get the pneumonia vaccine since I have a heart history. Back in 1996 I had double valve replacement surgery and have been kind of on cruise control over since, but there is nothing like being a little extra careful. About a day after receiving the shot I was blessed enough to be one of the 1 in 1 bajillion to have a reaction to it, which was akin to being thrown in a freezer and then in an oven over a period of several days. I did survive it, but I was one sick dude and decided that I would pass the next time it was offered to me.

A few days after Christmas, I found that I was short of breath doing the most simple of things – sometimes walking the stairs, sometimes just crossing the room. In my mind I knew what the culprit was – that blasted pneumonia vaccine is now in my lungs! As the next couple of weeks passed, the shortness of breath seemed almost absent while at other times I was literally debilitated.

Finally on Friday January 10, I decided that maybe a call to my cardiologist might be in order. Of course, I understated my symptoms and settled on an appointment date a week or so in advance. That very afternoon as I was schooling my son Deacon in the finer arts of basketball on the hoop in our cul de sac, I found that after only a few moves in the lane caused me to basically double over trying to catch my breath. My wife Kellie, who is a doctor-nurse extraordinaire, gave me the "look" and proceeded to reach out to my cardiologist who happens to be also be a dear friend of ours. He told me that he would have me come in first thing Monday morning and to take it easy over the weekend.

As I lay my head on my pillow that same Friday night, I was feeling a bit more rested and not all that concerned. But when I awoke at 3:00 a.m.,, that confidence was shattered. I really could not breath lying flat on my back! So the next morning I went straight to my family doctor's office where they operate a weekend clinic, and as soon as the PA saw me she asked me how long I has asthma. That was it! I must be experiencing some weird "your almost 50" bout with asthma. After taking a chest x-ray, she pointed out that there was fluid pooling in the bottom of my lungs and that there appeared to be areas of my lungs behind my sternum that looked collapsed a little, but it was too hard to tell. She prescribed an inhaler and steroids but told me as seriously as she could, "You have to get in to see your heart doctor as soon as you can." Don't worry, doc, I'm on it.

The next morning was Sunday and my wife and I were sitting our screened porch enjoying coffee and solving the world's problems as we always do, when I received a text message from my cardiologist. He wanted to meet, within the next hour. So a little over an hour later Kellie and I are sitting in his driveway and he is telling me that he does not like what he saw on my x-ray the day before and he thinks that not only is one of my valves failing, but that I could be in early congestive heart failure (CHF) and possible have infection around my heart. I was told to be at his office at 8:00 a.m. the next day for blood work and an echo cardiogram. Yes sir!

Long story short, the echo revealed his fears – my aortic valve was a hot mess and simply wasn't working effectively anymore. A few hours later I was in the hospital receiving another more invasive echo (down my throat) and it confirmed everything. I needed surgery and I needed it as soon as possible. I appeared that my heart and pitiful valve had been compensating for their failure for some time and they could no longer keep up the fight. In all honesty without hyperbole, I was almost a dead man.

The next morning (Tuesday) I underwent a heart catheterization in the hospital in Wilmington where I live and then later that night I was transferred to Wake Forest Baptist Health in Winston-Salem for the surgery itself. My cardiologist had found a pretty good sized aneurysm near my heart a couple of years ago, so my surgeon in Winston said he would fix everything he could once he got in.

Friday January 17 was surgery day, and after over eight hours in the OR I came out with a new aortic valve, new pulmonary valve, a fixed aneurysm, and a coronary bypass for good measure. That's a lot of bang for the buck. Recovery was rough the first couple of days but by the next Wednesday they were ready to release me and I was ready to go. I still felt like a washed out garbage can, but at least I could rest at my mother-in-law's house in Winston-Salem for a few days until we made the trip back to Wilmington. Unfortunately, my plans changed.

I was home no more than an hour when a stomach bug decided to attack me with a vengeance, which meant that I was back in Wake Forest Baptist health on Thursday morning after barely twelve hours of freedom. Sick as a dog, I welcomed the IV nutrient pumping into my body and the doctors' and nurses worked to get me back on my feet again.

God graciously intervened on my behalf and I was released at noon yesterday, Saturday January 25. As I type these words on Sunday evening, I feel amazingly well but I know that I still have quite a road of recovery to go. In light of this, I want to highlight so many things for which I am eternally grateful:

• My wife, Kellie, who is my greatest advocate and supporter. Y'all, she is an absolute bulldog and you better know I got the best possible care I could get! There is no feasible way that I could express my deep love to her, but now I have several more years that I get to try.
• My Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Not only am I nothing without Him, but the truths of Him being my healer and sustainer have nveer been more real to me. Like I mentioned earlier, I probably should not be alive except by His hand of grace.
• My family. I had the chance to write notes to my kids the night before my surgery that my wife was able to mail back home to them. They were not notes of regret or fear, but rather of anticipation of the many wonderful years of this life that I now will get to spend with them. My extended family has been rock stars too, with my parents and in-laws available to help with anything, my brothers either being by my bedside or a close phone call away, and Kellie's aunt from Kansas even flying in at the drop of the hat to stay with the kids.
• My cardiologist in Wilmington, Tim Winslow. This man saved my life and our friendship now is based on more than he could possibly know. Tim, I love you. 
• Wake Forest Baptist Health in Winston-Salem. Dr. Kon is the Jedi Master of all heart surgeries and his extended staff, the ICU nurses on 7th, and the cardiac nurses on 5th took such good care of me that I am pretty sure I now have to put them on my Christmas card list. Thank all of you for being so aggressive to treat me physically and for being so encouraging to me in those early days of recovery. 
• My neighborhood in Wilmington, aka "The Hood." Once our neighbors found out that I would be out of the picture for a couple of weeks and that Kellie would be with me, they rallied around my family and got the kids to places they needed to go, provided meals (which they are still doing), and sending constant notes of support, prayer, and love. Let me just tell you now, if you don't a a group of people that you can call "your people", find them immediately. I can't wait to get back to The Hood!
• Our extended group of friends that received the play-by-play of all that was happening in real time. They have been ceaseless with calls and offers to help, and many have been there at a moment's notice in our time of need.
• Finally, Coastal Christian High School, where I try to teach the Bible to a bunch of high school kids who often can't find their way out of a wet paper bag. The administration has been unbelievably gracious to me and have assured me that I still have a seat at the table no matter how long it takes me to return. And those students...they aren't as goofy as they seem. They have all written me letters with encouragement and Scripture and my eyes may have sweated a time or two as I read through everyone of them. Can't wait to see y'all again soon. Yes, even you, Sam Morgan.

Tomorrow morning Kellie and I head back to Wilmington to resume our lives there. I am giddy with excitement to see my family and friends and my dog Bodhi. I am eternally grateful to have put this episode of life in the rearview and cannot wait to see what God has in store for me. Please, I ask you, would you continue to pray for me as I recover physically and for my family as we all strive to move past this and get back to a new normal? Oh, and since you now know all the details, feel free to send me message or text. I would love to hear from you!

Wrong bait? Who cares!

They didn’t catch a thing. In fact, I’m not even so sure they got so much as a nibble on those hooks baited with artificial top water frogs, probably not the best choice for luring bass in this pond. Although there are plenty of manmade retention ponds all around, natural freshwater spots aren’t all that common this close to the coast. Yet these less than ideal circumstances did not - could not - deter my son and his friend, along with my tag along daughter, from attempting to catch “the big one.”

Before we moved to the coast, we had unlimited access to a pond on the edge of our property that was swarming with fish, which included a giant elusive bass that we named Maximus. My brother, visiting from New York, purchased cheap rod and reel combos, effectively introducing fishing to my kids. The typical haul was a glob of algae covered grass or a tree limb on a wayward cast, yet every once in a blue moon one of them would hook a small brim or bass. Maximus, however, would remain unscathed, taunting us from the shallows as he leisurely swam amongst the reeds near the bank.

Last night was no different at this newly discovered fishing hole. Excited voices chattered about the “huge fish” they could see in the crystal clear water, yet dropping their hooks in the immediate vicinity yielded no success. Undaunted, they continued to fish off of the short pier, occasionally moving to the shallow banks, determined to hone their craft and technique even if their choice of bait was made their efforts futile.

I observed these scenes as I sat in a beach chair I had brought along, glancing up from my book every few seconds at the excited voices calling from the dock. Honestly, I did not want to take them out tonight. The temperature during the day had hovered in the mid-90’s and it was humid enough to melt

the chrome off of a bumper. But a slight breeze greeted us as we sat our gear on the bank and the gnarled trees offered enough shade to protect me from the sun’s blazing intentions. Katydids serenaded us from the bushes and thickets as families of geese swam just out of reach. 

Taking all of this in, I was reminded once again of the joys of summer through the mind and eyes of youth. Who wants to stay inside playing video games when you can spend hours trying to drop your hook in hopes of catching the big one? Sure, it’s hot, but it’s not constraining like the classroom will be starting at the end of next month.

Loaded down with gear, we hiked the trail back to the car as the sun was mercifully bidding us farewell behind the trees. The evening’s lack of success could not dampen the mood as they planned their next excursion, debating which baits and rigs would work best. Bottles of ice cold soda from the corner convenience store, well earned rewards after a hard fought evening of angling, tempered the moment and added a little more inspiration to the stories they would continue to tell into the night. Next time, they will catch dinner, they proclaimed. And I believed them because they promised me they would.

Top ten road trip takeaways

Our family just returned from a quick weekend road trip to Williamsburg, VA., the primary purpose of our little jaunt was to spend a day at Busch Gardens on Saturday. However, we also threw in a ghost tour of historic Williamsburg on Friday night, which allowed us to take in some of the history even though we did not have enough time to spend a whole day there.



Up and back in 48 hours does not necessarily allow one to take in all there is to see or do, but that does not mean that a lot can’t be seen. Believe me, whenever you find yourself surrounded by hordes of people, there are A LOT of things that you see and some things that wish you could un-see. So, if you will indulge me a few minutes of your time, I would like to replay the top ten high – and low – lights of our little family getaway.



1) Intestate 95 is not a fun highway on which to drive. Lots of tractor trailers, phantom traffic slowdowns, and ridiculously crowded gas stations at almost every exit. But, we did find a pretty sweet Cook Out a few miles down an exit road that was clean and contained friendly people that were not overly stressed out. Bonus.



2) Coffee is essential for life, period. When you do not have good coffee available, then you find yourself embracing desperate measures. Because the hotel coffee was nothing more than heated dirty water, we have no choice but to stop on the way home for a cup of Starbucks, which barely rates it on my quality scale but enters a whole new arena of repulsive when you purchase a cup at one of their locations inside of a rest stop gas station. Again, we were desperate, so please don’t judge.



3) Busch Gardens is an amazing place to take your family. There are boatloads of roller coasters and other rides to choose from and the thrills are pretty easy to come by. We also chose to buy one of those all-you-can-eat passes which allowed us to eat at one of the on-site restaurants every hour and a half, which saved us tons of money at the end of the day. We may or may not have stopped to eat 4 times regardless of whether or not we were hungry.



4) Fanny packs for guys are apparently back in. I don’t even pretend to understand this nor do I condone the practice.



5) Parents who drag their toddler-aged children around a theme park for hours on end in the 90 degree heat look ridiculous when they stop to yell at them for being tired and slowing the rest of the group down. Please, mom and dad, have a heart and take your children home.



6) The excitement level of a ten and a twelve year old child does not wane in spite of twelve straight hours at a hot and crowded theme park. Hearing the awe in their voices because we let them ride that one last roller coaster just as the park let off their fireworks display: Worth every second of it.



7) Buffet lines are a good idea until they are not. Moms and dads, do your kids a favor now and help them to say no to Mt. Everest sized portions from the buffet that you know they have no intention or ability to finish. My family did not get pancakes and bacon this morning at the hotel because you allowed your kid to slap a ridiculous amount on his plate, most of which he never touched. Is that Mrs. Butterworth I heard weeping in the corner?



8) The popularity of tattoos is on the rise. The amount of really crappy tattoos is also apparently on the rise as well.



9) History is really cool, especially when learned in the form of stories. Bravo, Mr. Ghost Tour man, for keeping my kids enraptured for almost two whole hours.



10) Time away with family is a choice I will never regret. Even when it’s just quick trip to a theme park, the memories made will last a lifetime.

Location:Top top ten road trip takeaways

All cats are bad. Except for Bubba the cat.

I am not a cat person. Truth be told, I am not much of an animal person at all. As a kid, I grew up with dogs, a cat, and a couple of gerbils that got eaten by said cat. RIP Lenny and Squiggy. So it’s not like I am an anti-pet person at all. I like animals just fine, as long at they are the ones that I can eat.

Khaki was the name of the family cat that I grew up with. She was a calico cat and had this really cool vibe about her all the time. She wasn’t mean, always did her business outside or in the litter box, and gifted us her fair share of chipmunks and birds custom delivered to our doorstep. I’m pretty sure she was well over the age of nineteen when she went to that great litter box in the sky, so I don’t have any childhood memories when she was not a part of our lives.

Fast forward to the summer of 2012. My wife and I are living on the coast of North Carolina and we have four kids, each of whom who have been asking for a pet pretty much since they left left the womb. My answer has almost always been “No!” with the caveat, “I have four kids, why do I need to introduce another mess-maker into the family?” I have been accused of being mean and insensitive and an animal hater, but for years I have stood my ground. Except for that one time we actually did get a dog.

The year was 2010 and we were living in the first house that we had bought with our own hard-earned money. It was great first home - lots of land for the kids to explore and a pond loaded with fish and an elusive giant snapping turtle. It only seemed natural to my kids that a dog would complete the picture of the ideal family and in a moment of weakness I gave in. We researched online for rescue dogs and found one that was predominately chocolate lab (which, if I was pressed to admit, is the perfect dog). After a few phone calls and lots of questions, I drove an hour and a half to South Carolina to pick the pooch up from a family that was fostering this soon-to-be member of the Griggs family.

This exciting new canine adventure didn’t last long. Bella, the name my kids bestowed upon the dog, was not a cuddly kind of dog. Apparently she had previously been owned by a guy who liked to hunt and most of her life was lived in a kennel. She wasn’t aggressive or anything like that, she just didn’t do much of anything. Fetch a ball? Nope. Come when you call her? Good luck with that. But Bella did enjoy running the property and splashing in the pond and one time she even dragged up part of a deer carcass in the yard for us to admire. But it was no secret that she was not the best fit for the Griggs family. So when we decided to load up the family and move to the coast in early 2012, we were able to find a new home for her where she could run and play with other dogs. The kids were mad at me, but I tried to convince them it was for the best.

We found a charming townhome near the water in Southport, NC, perfect for our family and not quite suitable for a dog. Although they continued to ask for another pet, I was able to deflect their request by reminding them that it would not make a lick of sense to have a dog if we didn’t have a yard for it to run in. Plus, lots of people in the community had dogs and they constantly had to walk them day and night and engage in the disgusting act of picking up their poop in a plastic bag. Being a dad, I knew how this would work. I would be the one walking the dog and picking up after it, not the kids. Thanks but no thanks.

Summer arrived and my family enjoyed all the benefits of living at the coast. Why would my kids want a pet when so much of their lives would be lived outdoors? I could feel their angst toward me starting to fade over being a pet-less family and my second oldest daughter had even stopped accusing me of being an animal hater. Life was good.

Until August. That’s when everything changed.

Our neighbor across the street was a college professor, a grandfather-type figure who would give my kids odd jobs such as watering his plants when he was away. One day he called me from across the street to tell me that there was something he wanted me to see. Lo and behold it was a tiny orange and white tabby kitten who was lapping up milk from a glass dish. “Oh, that’s nice,” I said. “You have new cat.” I wish that was how the conversation needed. “No, Sterling, he’s not my cat. He showed up in my yard and I’ve been feeding him everyday. He now relies on me but I have to go back to teaching full-time this weekend and I can’t stay to take care of him. I want YOU to take him in and care for him.”

No. Freaking. Way.

Well, that’s not exactly what I told him but he pretty much got the point. We were not in the market for a cat and I am sure that this little guy would be just fine living with all the other feral cats for which Southport is semi-famous. Satisfied that I had averted this cat-astrophe, I went on my way and thought no more about it. Then, like being blindsided by a linebacker in the open field, I came home to my wife and four kids huddling around this tiny kitten that I had politely declined just a short time before. It seems as if the good professor was smarter than I gave him credit for - he circumvented me and went straight to the source of pet desire.

There was no fighting it at this point. Once mom was on board the only choice I had was to go along with this whole nefarious scheme. The kids batted around all sorts of potential names for the kitten until they decided on Bubba. Bubba Jingles to be exact. Personally, I voted for Meow Tse Tung but I was overruled.

I was off to Walmart where I dutifully purchased a litter box, food, and cat toys so that our kids could help their new little furry friend acclimate to his new home. Whether I liked it or not, I was now the owner of a cat named Bubba. All of the cat jokes that I had told over the years now were now coming back to haunt me, being swallowed like a bitter pill. I needed an antacid and quick.

Sure, he was super cute, but I was waiting for the inevitable messes to start taking place. And it wasn’t all that long before they did. There were a fews accidents here and there that were not all that egregious, but when Bubba decided to use our Lazy Boy couch as a litter box, effectively ruining it (have you ever smelled cat urine or tried to remove it from furniture?), it was the only weapon I needed in my arsenal of cat-disdain to evict this little guy from our home and our lives. I looked at the kids and declared, “He’s gone!”

Tears ensued, followed by pleads of mercy and grace. “Dad, are you really going to get rid of the cat? Mom didn’t even like that couch anyway!” I had to admit that they had a point there. This was the perfect excuse to get a new couch that matched our beach decor. In my utmost benevolence, I agreed that the cat could stay but that we was now to be an outdoor cat. The litter box got tossed and Bubba spend the next few weeks outside, entering our home only to eat his food. Yet gradually, if not inevitably, Bubba found his way back into our home full-time, sans litter box.

And do you know what? This cat figured it out. Somehow, someway, his three week banishment from the kingdom had cured Bubba from needing any kind of reminder of where his messes were to go in the future. When he needed to relieve himself, he would wait patiently by the door or loudly meow in our general direction until someone let him out. This guy was easier to potty train than any of my kids had been!

Then something unexpected happened - Bubba decided that I was his primary master and he began to favor me over everyone else. When I would go to the mailbox, he would follow me. Bubba would come lay beside me when I was sitting on the couch and would come when I called, recognizing the sound of my voice, resembling more dog than cat. I had to admit that this feline was growing on me but I would never admit it to my kids as much as they tried to get the truth out of me.

Bubba has now been in our home a little over five years. The move this past summer up to Wilmington, NC, was a bit traumatic for him but he quickly adjusted, treating our cul de sac and surrounding yards as his personal kingdom. He still is fully potty trained, waking me up most nights around 3:30 so that I can let him outside when he does sleep inside. The neighborhood kids thinks he’s the coolest thing ever and he still lets my youngest daughter hold him and pose him like a toy doll.

So yeah, I guess I am a cat person of sorts. I like to say that I am more of like a one-cat man. Bubba has effectively become part of the family, for better or for worse. And just in case you are wondering, I still manage to deflect the constant barrage of pleas for another pet - except for the hermit crab and two mice that my kids brought home this past, but that’s another post for another day.

Give me those old time relationships

When I was a kid the world around me was unique and often intimidating. The mall where my parent's shopped was this huge complex of endless stores and easy places for kids like me to get lost. Fast food restaurants were exotic stops reserved for special occasions where I could peek over the counter as the workers whipped up a milkshake for me while steaming hot fries awaited me beside a fresh made burger. Even my backyard appeared as big as a football field on which I could wear my little self out everyday running and playing with my brothers and my friends.

As easy as it is to romanticize about the "good old days," it's also easy to realize that those places and events weren't so exquisite as I once believed. I can now walk from one end of the mall to the other in a matter of minutes and there are virtually no stores in which I would choose to venture, much less get lost in. Those milkshakes, fries, and burgers are certainly not a treat anymore and the older I get the more I realize that meals from those places did not constitute special occasions; rather, they were convenience stops when life got too busy or mom had not gone grocery shopping yet. That old backyard is still pretty awesome, but it's really more the size of a tennis court than an NFL stadium.

Perspective is everything when it comes to assessing the experiences from our youth. I still choose to romanticize those early days of my existence because those times were so essential to my formation as a young man. Even when those good old days turn out to be not as sacred as I remember, I still find benefit from clinging to a version of the past that causes me to pause and smile, pondering simpler times and experiences that appeared bigger than life. No harm in that, right?

Don't you wish all of life's experiences were that way? Unfortunately, reality has a way of smacking you in the face as you approach adulthood and you realize at some point that living in the past isn't going to get you all that far. This doesn't mean that you have to grow up as a cynic - life is still pretty sweet and the new experiences that you face everyday can be just as good as the ones in your past, ones that you will probably romanticize about ten or twenty years down the road.

Some of my fondest memories are of sitting beside my grandfather on hard wooden pews in a small Baptist church as he gently nudged me to stop fidgeting during the sermon and then listening to his deep baritone voice as he belted out the chorus to I Surrender at the altar call. I don't remember all that much about the content of what I heard or the organizational structure of that little church, but I do remember the people there and how special they made my experiences in Sunday School and at church fellowships. It was those humble beginnings that fueled the fire within me to serve the Lord full-time in vocational Christian ministry.

As good as those times were, I knew that they could not last. Today, that little church is a shell of what it used to be. Most of those congregants from my early days there have either moved on or gone home to the Lord, while the church never was able to move on beyond those simpler times in the 1970's. Those traditional ways were eventually eclipsed by the inevitable shift in our culture with people today preferring a more modern approach to their Sunday experience. Debates have been raging for decades over whether the traditional style church has its place anymore or whether the contemporary structure is what we should all embrace.

Yet if we take a really close look at what is going on in the churches around us, we will see that it's not really about stye or structural changes that are getting people all worked up. Instead, it is the radical change in relationships that so many are experiencing as life gets more complicated and families have less and less time.

Today, people are hungry for real "I-get-you-and-you-get-me" relationships - but they always have been. That's what held that little Baptist church together for all those years, the men and women who "did life together" and invested so much time in each other. Having the pastor preach a sermon that was rooted in the truth of God's word was and still is essential, but even when he had an "off day" those members still had their community rooted in faith to stand upon.

Those memories of people who loved and invested in me are the ones that I cherish the most but they also remain my deepest desires. I honestly no longer have all that much of a preference of style when it comes to church because I believe that when the men and women of God are seeking His face above all else and intentionally engaging in meaningful relationships with one another, all of that pans out in the end. I'm not so sure that we need to "rethink church" or craft newer expressions of worship. Maybe it's as simple as reevaluating the relationships that we have with each other regardless of the size of our gathering. When Christ is central and we are seeking to meet the needs of each other, I will romanticize about that all day.

We can do better

When social media first came to my attention years ago, I made a decision that I would avoid political and controversial posts if at all possible. Of course, I wasn’t always successful early on, garnering my fair share of harsh responses and a few posts that I deleted after I went back and re-read some of my words which made me look like “one of those guys.” Life has been a lot easier using social media for nothing more than posting cute pictures and keeping up with what all of my virtual friends around the world are doing.

Of course, it becomes harder and harder to peruse many of these sites because, more often than not, they are filled with nothing more than caustic opinions about politics and social issues. Yes, American politics is a hot mess and the media is nothing more than a feeding frenzy waiting to unearth the next savory morsel of ill repute that will hopefully doom another candidate or celebrity or turn an issue into a one-sided free for all. The funny thing about all of this is that I’ve yet to see a social media post that successfully sways the masses into agreeing with their point of view. If anything, all they do is cause further division and rupture budding virtual friendships. So not worth it.

The point is: We can do better. It’s not that I don’t care about your views. I truly do care and would be more than happy to discuss them over coffee and doughnut. I realize that you have every right in the world to post whatever you wish on social media and I will defend that right - while at the same time “unfollowing you” because I just can’t handle all of the negativity and one-sided vitriol that consumes my news feed.

Instead, let’s post more pictures of cute puppies and even cuter kids, Bible verses that inspire us to seek after Who really matters, cool videos of amazing guitar solos or soldiers being reunited with their families, requests for good restaurants and better recipes, and of course life events such as births and marriages that need to be celebrated.

Do we truly need social media? I don’t know, and I certainly don’t use it like I used to. But in light of the fact that we no longer send letters or make phone calls like we did back in the “good old days,” it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea as long as it is not abused. Still want to shout about your opinions and political views? Then run for office and be the change you so desperately want to see.

I guarantee that people would be able to accomplish so much more in this world if they stepped away from their keyboards and put their energy into actually trying to solve these problems that make them so angry in the first place. And, I bet that they would be so busy seeking to accomplish these changes that they wouldn’t have enough time to post about it. That would be awesome because it would free my feed up so that I could see more of those cute kitten videos.

Why are all these new "original" shows anything but original?

"Help, Lord, for no faithful one remains; the loyal have disappeared from the human race...The wicked wander everywhere, and what is worthless is exalted by the human race." - Psalm 12:1, 8

I love a good story. For years books have been my go-to if I want to lose myself in a thrilling plot twist or I simply wish to allow my mind to meander through deep wooded areas that are cut off from all civilization. Whoever said that it is easy to get lost in a book was not kidding. I somewhat lament that my kids don't enjoy reading as much as I do, however when they do find a book that captivates their imagination, I love to see how it invigorates their creativity and moves their souls.

With all of the technology of today, books have not necessarily become passe - but they have been somewhat replaced by the visual medium of movies and television as the dominant storytellers of our time. This isn't such a bad thing, even though most people will admit that "the book is better than the movie."

Streaming services such as Netflix and Amazon Video have produced more than enough original options to entertain the person who desires to spend his weekend binging on the latest new series or movie. In fact, these two services are seemingly pumping out more new content that the average consumer can watch. However, as I have taken the time to check out some of this original content that is being produced, I have noticed the tiring trend towards over-sexualization that has caused me to push the stop button and move in a different direction.

Why must there be so much trashy content in an otherwise compelling show? People complain about the sexual content of broadcast television shows and with good reason, yet streaming services have no buffer against the amount of sleaze that they can include in their original creations. And this is a shame, because honestly most of these shows contain enough suspense and intrigue to drive the plot forward without having to throw in sex scenes or NSFW dialogue.

Before you call me a prude and tell me that this is just art and should be interpreted as such, let me remind you that there have been decades of great movies and shows that have relied on the ability of the actors and dynamic plot lines to drive the story forward without the necessity of having someone bare it all or tell it all. "But this is the real world - it's everywhere! You can't hide from it and act like it doesn't exist!" True, but why embrace it if I don't have to?

The above verses from the book of Psalms illustrate where we have come as well as we are heading as a society. And you don't have to be a Christian or even a religious person to see the truth in this. What was once sacred has now been stripped of its value and has been put on display for the whole world to gawk at as if it is some county fair sideshow. When we as a society begin to place a higher value on that which cheapens a healthy and holy view of intimacy and sexuality, then indeed "the wicked wander everywhere, and what is worthless is exalted by the human race."

Yes, I am free to turn the channel and to choose not to watch these shows and movies. Unfortunately, there is so much freedom of content out there that one has no idea when a racy scene in an otherwise enjoyable show will pop up out of nowhere. I desire to not only protect myself from this kind of stuff but my children as well. You can watch what you want and tell yourself that it's just art, but I want to protect my heart and my mind from that which will drive me farther away from Jesus.

To all of you writers, producers and directors - I promise you, if you make a great movie or show and drive it forward with a gripping plot and awesome character development, people will watch and you won't need to capitalize on skin and trash to gather an audience. Now THAT would be original!

Open hands and letting go

Several weeks ago I ran across an article that described the kind of person that I am to the letter. The writer described a group of people that he referred to as "introverted extroverts," those who are outgoing and not shy about being in the public eye yet are just as comfortable being alone with a book or sitting in a quiet place.  If you know me, then you know how much I love to talk and be with people, but it might surprise you just how much alone time I prefer (and need).
In spite of my hidden extrovertedness, I realize that life is not meant to be lived alone. We were made for relationships, first with God and then each other. Consider God's words to us in the Old Testament book of Genesis:

So God created man in His own image; He created him in the image of God; He created them male and female. (Genesis 1:27)

Then the Lord God said, "It is not good for man to be alone. I will make a helper as his compliment." (Genesis 2:18)

So the Lord God called out to the man and said to him, "Where are you?" (Genesis 3:9)

From these verses we know that God created us in His image so that we could know Him in a real and personal way and that as human beings we are better together. In particular, the family unit includes those kinds of relationships that God had in mind from the beginning. My wife is absolutely my best friend and closest confidant and my children bring great joy and satisfaction to my life.

Which is why this past week has been such a challenging week for the Griggs' family. On Thursday, my wife and I moved our second oldest daughter, who is only fourteen, into the University of North Carolina School of the Arts High School, almost four hours away. The school itself is amazing and the academics are top notch. She has a super cool roommate and the students are well taken care of on a very secure campus. This is an unbelievable opportunity for her to grow not only as an artist but also as young woman.

The struggle for me is not how she will do away at school or whether or not she will be okay. Instead, my biggest concern is how I will do at home with her so far away. As a family of six, we are all so very different from one another, yet we also have shared a unique relational rhythm for the past eighteen years. With the addition of each child to the mix, my wife and I were able to adjust to a new normal and we thrived a little bit more as our family grew. Now that we have subtracted a child at least for a season, the gap in our family dynamics feels like a gaping hole at times.

As I begin to adjust to a newer kind of normal with my daughter away at school, I am keenly aware of just how precious relationships are to me. I am grateful that our family is so close and that we can allow our kids to go and experience the world with open hands, even if they are more ready to go than we are to let them go. This experience has also reinforced just how important my other relationships with friends and co-laborers are.

It is hard to let others that are close to you move on so that they can flourish. Yet it is so rewarding to see them ready to go, knowing that you have invested as much as you can in their lives to prepare them for these moments. Life is indeed better lived together.

Taking the time, time after time

This summer has been a bit of a whirlwind for me and my family. As soon as school let out in June I took my son to soccer camp for a week. When we returned, I had two days to prepare to preach my last sermons at the church I was serving before we packed up all of our belongings and moved to Wilmington, NC. Almost immediately we had family in town all the while trying to adjust to a new environment. From there it was youth camps, another soccer camp, registering our children for their new schools, enrolling our youngest in a new gymnastics program, celebrating a sweet sixteen birthday and then going to get her license, and then serving as the speaker at a week-long high school camp. Somewhere in the midst of all of that my wife and I carved out regular time for each other so that we wouldn't be tempted to wake up one day and ask each other, "Who are you?"

Time itself is such a funny thing - we can't actually create any more than we are given in a 24-hour day but we do have the opportunity to manage the time that we do have. If we don't manage our time, then it will be more than willing to manage us! As busy as our schedules can tend to be, there will always be those quiet(er) moments in the midst of our chaos where God seeks to grab our attention in an effort to refocus us and refresh our souls.

These are moments we cannot afford to miss.

As we watch our children grow up way too fast and struggle to believe that what seemed like yesterday was actually a few years ago, my wife and I often ask ourselves, "Where did all the time go?" If our lives were wrapped up in events and achievements then I am sure that a deep-seeded depression would have set in by now. But life is more that what we can personally accomplish or what kind of a name we can make for ourselves. Life is a beautiful journey filled with people and places that impact our every step.

That being the case, what are you doing with the time that you have? Allow me to suggest a few ideas that I believe will help you manage your time in such a way as to be fulfilling and fruitful:

• Spend time with God everyday. Read the Bible. Sit in the stillness of the sunrise or sunset and contemplate His majesty. Use the time that you are driving in your car to lift up prayers and praises to Him. Don't neglect attending a church on Sunday to connect with God and His people.
• Find a special place and go there often. Each morning I strive to enjoy my coffee and time with God or a good book on my screened porch. It's quiet, peaceful, and it also allows me to spend quality time with my wife and to gather my thoughts for the day.
• Don't neglect spending time with people. Chat with your neighbors, go to dinner with friends, visit your grandparents and ask them about their childhood, or enjoy game night with your family. Avoid the temptation to let people pass by because that is when opportunities to grow and invest in others will pass you by as well.
• Find something that you love and do it often. Since I moved to the coast and discovered stand up paddle boarding, I want to be on the water as much as I can. Even though this is not a daily thing, the times that I do go out fill my cup to the brim. We all have things that we are most passionate about. Those areas certainly deserve our time.
• Enjoy a good book. Books open up a whole new world to the imagination, that is if you are willing to invest in the time to read them. Put down your phone, turn off the TV, and get lost in a good book.
• Invite others to join you on errands or small tasks. Whenever I need to run to the store I usually take one of my kids along with me. Sure, I may bribe them with the promise of gum, but I have never regretted those extra moments away with them.

That's a pretty simple list, isn't it? And for the most part, engaging in those things shouldn't cause you to have to radically rearrange your schedule. In fact, once you organize your time for those activities and people that make you most come alive, you will find that including them more and more in your daily life becomes not only natural but essential. So stop making excuses and take the time because it's right there in front of you. 

At the beginning and the end

Today I am officiating a wedding and also speaking at a funeral. I love officiating weddings because they are beautiful opportunities to be a part of the beginning of something so special between a man and a woman. Being able to speak God's truth into the lives of a couple as they say "I do" is a powerful thing. Plus, there is the benefit of enjoying all of the food at the reception - definitely a plus.

Funerals, on the other hand, are not so high on my list. It's not that a funeral isn't important - it certainly is - but the reality is that a majority of the time they are somber and incredibly sad events. Even when the one who has passed has lived a great life and is now in eternity with Jesus, those left behind still feel the sting of their lost presence.

But regardless of my feelings towards funerals, I have the honor of speaking at the service today of a woman named Cheryl who passed from this earth on Monday at the young age of 38. Let me tell you about Cheryl. I met her last year at my church and was immediately struck by her warmth and grace towards others. Cheryl was pretty much on her own - not much family in her life - yet she found herself surrounded by a community of friends and faith that loved and supported her and became her true family.

About the time I met Cheryl she informed me one Sunday that she had been diagnosed with cancer of the liver. She told me that she was going to fight it with everything she had. Once the treatments began she shaved her head as an act of defiance against the inevitable effects of chemotherapy and not once did she gripe or complain about the process.

As the months and treatments went by, Cheryl continued to fight but it became apparent that her cancer was fighting just as hard. Over the past several weeks she began to face complications and hospital visits became a part of her weekly routine. Last week, her best friend took her to the hospital one last time.

This past Sunday I received a text from Cheryl's friend asking if I could come see her at the hospital. I arrived at the ICU unit to find her hooked up to a respirator, dialysis, and all sorts of other tubes that were feeding medications into her failing body. She was resting peacefully, as if none of this cancer nonsense was all that big of a deal.

The next day I received another message - Cheryl was ready to go home. The decision had been made to terminate all of the artificial measures that were keeping her alive and I was asked to be there when the time came to turn them off. I'm not going to lie, I was conflicted. Watching as someone passes from this earth is incredibly difficult and is not something that I would naturally choose to do. Nevertheless, I drove to the hospital to be there with Cheryl and her friends when the time came.

As we were waiting in her room for others to arrive, I talked to Cheryl and read passages of Scripture to her - Psalm 19, Psalm 23, I Corinthians 15, and Revelation 21. These passages are beautiful reminders of God's love and purpose for us, not just here on earth but also for all eternity. Throughout the entire time she remained in a deep sleep, but I do believe she heard me. It is widely accepted that hearing is the last sense to leave prior to death and I firmly believe that she could hear and process my every word.

When the time came for the machines to be unplugged and the IV lines to be shut off, there was peace in the room. We all gathered around her bed and prayed over her, telling her that we would miss her but that it was okay to let go and go home to Jesus. As the minutes passed her vitals signs began to slow until she quietly took her last breath and the monitors fell silent. Without realizing I was even saying it, I exclaimed, "She's home!" and her friends gathered around her for one last goodbye.

Over the past sixteen years I have had the privilege of being in the room as all four of my children were born, assisting in the delivery of two of them. I've watched in awe and wonder as new life entered into the world, taking in that first lung-full of breath and crying out with the announcement that they have arrived.

I've also enjoyed the honor of officiating many weddings, celebrating with the bride and groom and their families as two lives merge together on a new and exciting journey. Their shared enthusiasm and giddiness during pre-marital counseling, the look on the groom's face when we first sees his bride, and the exhausted yet deeply in-love look they give to each other at the reception are memories that don't easily fade from the mind.

And then there is the end of life. Contemplating someone's years on this earth as you honor their memory is very sobering, yet it is also a wonderful opportunity to consider just how good and faithful God is. In the New Testament, James wrote that "life is a vapor," just a moment on earth in contrast to the continuum of eternity (James 4:14). During our time here, we live and breath because of a God who desperately loves us and wants us to know Him in a real and personal way through faith in Jesus Christ.

I am so very grateful that my friend Cheryl knew this and placed her faith in Jesus some time ago. As I speak on her behalf today, finding the right words won't be all that difficult. It's easy enough to speak about a life well lived. It's even easier to speak about a life well lived for Jesus.

Location:At the beginning and the end

We aren't starting over, we're just turning down a new road

This past Monday morning June 19, 2017, a couple of trailers and a whole host of people showed up at our town home in Southport, NC, to help us pack our lives up and move us up to Wilmington, NC. For several hours we sweated, laughed, grunted at ridiculously heavy pieces of furniture, and laughed some more.

Our journey to Wilmington began towards the end of last summer with a bit of a nudge. Both my wife and I sensed that God was moving us in that direction, but we weren't exactly sure why. My position at the church I was serving in was going and growing well - I truly enjoyed being both a Teaching Pastor and Connections Pastor there, helping people plug in and take their next step with God. Even though my wife is a nursing professor at UNCW, she was okay driving back and forth a few days a week. Our kids had all of their friends in Southport and we lived in a really cool community. Why move?

God continued to nudge us and we continued to pray for His wisdom and guidance. At the beginning of December, some dear friends of ours from Wilmington told us about a house in their neighborhood that had just gone on the market, for sale by owner. They said it would be perfect for our family and we should check it out. Being familiar with the neighborhood and loving how it was laid out, we said why not, let's take a look. We loved the home the moment we set foot inside of it.

Things began rolling after that. Within a week's time we had come to an agreement with the home owner and on January 31, 2017, we closed on our new home. We decided that we would wait until the end of the school year before we moved in, giving our children the chance to finish at their respective schools and to have that valuable time with their friends. In the meantime, we would venture one or two days a week to change paint colors and put our own touches on the place. Three days ago that house officially became our new home.

As you read this story, you may notice that there is one element missing. What am I going to do as far as ministry is concerned now that I am in Wilmington? That's a great question - I'm glad you asked!

Even though the future for my ministry was unclear, from the very beginning my wife and I had a peace about this move. Let me rephrase that. We had a intermittent peace about the move, interspersed with doubting and second guessing and moments of panic. Are doing the right thing? Maybe we misunderstood what God was trying to show us? Why move now when things are going so good?

As we wrestled with these realities, there was one constant at the forefront of all our planning, dreaming, excitement, and worries - God is faithful. He has a plan and His plan is always better than anything I could possibly scheme. So as far as what I will be doing up here, the moment those trailers pulled up in front of our new home this past Monday, my new ministry began.

I want to be the best neighbor that I can possibly be, loving my new neighbors well and being a godly influence in my new community. But my plan is not to just sit at home and be nice to people - I am actively seeking opportunities where I can serve and work and give of myself, utilizing the gifts that God has given to me. We are also now just a short drive from UNCW, which means that our new home will be open to college students who are looking for a place to "get away." In short, this new home is the beginning of an exciting new ministry for our family.

Moving is hard and unbelievably fatiguing. But moving is also exhilarating when you are following the path that you believe God has set before you. For me and my family, moving to Wilmington doesn't mean that we are starting over, because God's path for our lives hasn't changed. Instead, we are taking a turn along the way to somewhere new. Life is a journey and life is ministry. Y'all come see us!

The good old days are alive and well

Yesterday Chris Cornell, an icon from my younger days as a seeker of real music, died. I remember when his band Soundgarden first came out with their heavy, grimy guitar riffs and his unmistakable voice driving their songs all along the spectrum of vocal abilities - it blew my mind! I will admit that my air guitar game was strong in those days. The early 1990's were a time when bands like Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, and Stone Temple Pilots were swooping in to rescue all of us from the nefarious clutches of hair metal and the really bad 1980's electronic stuff that they tried to pass off as music. I'm not too biased, am I?

As I get older I will inevitably experience the loss of those who not only entertained me in my younger years but also those whom I knew personally. Many of my friends have lost one or both parents and all of my grandparents have already passed on. Every once in a while social media lets me know that someone I knew in high school or college has succumbed to cancer or died from some other cause. Every single time that happens I pause and reflect, trying to conjure up memories of these old friends and acquaintances from places in the far corners of my mind.

This is not intended to be a sad or depressing post. Rather, this is celebration of memories if not all out nostalgia. I find my self consistently referring to the experiences of my younger years as I converse with my children (can you feel their eyes rolling through your computer screen?), realizing that I have become "one of those" adults who believes that everything was not only simpler but better back in the day.

It's not that I - nor any of my contemporaries - are going kicking and screaming into the future. I love today's technology and depend upon it just as much as today's generation does. The fact that I haven't had to walk across the room to manually turn the television channel in years has been life-changing for me. My life today has the ability to be so much more efficient than it was when I had to write all of my college and grad school papers on an electric typewriter. Can you imagine trying to type anything today without spell check?

But I have to admit, my fondest memories come from when I was younger and life for me WAS simpler. Sure, I didn't have to carry the weight of a job or family responsibilities (which I love, by the way), but the whole process of experiencing life for the first time was exhilarating. My mind wasn't cluttered with worries and anxieties like it sometimes is today, and relationships were at the forefront of everything that I pursued. That's why when I read of someone from my younger years passing on, it causes me to stop in my tracks to reflect on what, for me, will always be the good old days.

There is no doubt about it, life is short. I recently turned 47 and I can't believe how stinking old I am. Yet instead of living in the past, I relish seeing my own children create their own futures right before my eyes. Other than leading a life that points my children to the truth of Jesus, my highest goal is to live in the moment with them as they experience relationships, heart aches, achievements, and failures. As sad as it can be to see others from my childhood pass on from this earth, it's even more exciting to watch my own children and those around me blaze their own trails into the future.

Oh, one more thing. Today's music can't hold a candle to the songs of the 1990's. Thank you Chris Cornell for the memories and for Eddie Vedder and the other remaining old rockers who are still keeping it real for us today.

LIfe as a "wedding guy"

Over the next two months I will be officiating nine separate weddings along with two beach vow renewals. Now I ain't complaining because beach weddings are a lot of fun and I usually get to wear shorts and flip flops when I do them. But performing this many weddings does mean that many of my weekends are going to be tied up with rehearsals, dinners, and really fun receptions with great food. Tough life, huh?

I didn't really set out to do this many weddings and there are times that I have to say no, but at the same time I consider it an honor to come alongside couples both young and old who are ready to walk that aisle and embrace life together as a unit instead of going at it solo. One of the coolest aspects of doing weddings for me comes during the premarital counseling portion, and that's because when at all possible my wife and I tag-team those sessions. After all, if she has survived me for almost 18 years then you know she's got mad wisdom to give to any nearly newlywed!

Since I have had the privilege of performing so many wedding ceremonies over the years, I thought it would be cool to compile a list of marital wisdom to pass along, things that I have discovered on my own but also many nuggets of goodness that have been passed down to me.

Successful marriages will be 100%/100%, not 50/50.  Dr. Gary Chapman, author of The Five Love Languages, taught my wife and I this principle as we sat down with other couples to receive counseling almost 20 years ago. On the surface it may sound like semantics but it is truly so much more. If men and women aren't willing to give their full effort in marriage, then they are opening themselves up to the greater opportunity for failure. In marriage, you shouldn't go half and half. You must go all in.

Communication is key. Approaching marriage from a biblical perspective (again, creds to Dr. Gary Chapman), there are two primary forms of communication styles for couples: The Dead Sea and The Babbling Brook. I believe that those terms adequately describe themselves. The key is to recognize which style you are and which style your spouse is and then work to accommodate so that both sides can be equally heard. If you are a talker, i.e. a babbling brook, then this will take some practice but it is so worth it. Just as no marriage will be fully healthy unless it is 100/100, most marriages will struggle to survive if the conversation is always one-sided.

Marriage gives birth to a whole new family. I love to see a couple exchange vows and then pronounce them husband and wife because it is at that moment that I get to witness the birth of a whole new family unit. When the two come together as one, they share more than just a common last name - they embrace a new identity. And let me tell you, this can be a tricky point for some! I encourage newlyweds to focus all of their energy in at least the first year of marriage on this new family that they have created. This means that if he does something to hurt her feelings, she resists the urge to call her mother or her girlfriends but instead goes to him to work it out. This means he gives up his weekly poker night with the guys in favor of taking his wife out on a date so that they can strengthen their relationship. Are you used to going to Sunday lunch every week at mama's house? Start your own family tradition and go with another young couple or even on your own. I have had some balk at this suggestion, claiming that they don't want to stop doing some of things that they have always done, and I tell them that is just fine. This doesn't mean that you cut all friends and family out of your life completely But if you want to grow your new family in a healthy and holy way, then focusing more - not less - attention on each other is an essential ingredient in that formula.

Make sure to plan ahead. Almost all the weddings I have played a part in have occurred during the spring and summer months, the bride and groom taking advantage of the beautiful weather and leaves on the trees. A June wedding date is perhaps the most popular choice and there is much competition for wedding venues during that brief window of time, but I leave that up to the bride and groom-to-be to determine the dates and the details. What I mean by planning ahead is that in just a few short months the holidays will be upon them and couples suddenly realize that they can't be in two places at one time. Whose house will they choose to go to for Thanksgiving dinner? Around whose family tree will they gather at Christmas time? These decisions are very important and they go back to my previous point about focusing on each other as new family unit. Bottom line is that you can't please everyone and therefore you should not try to do so. Divide and conquer may be the best alternative - his parents for Thanksgiving, hers for Christmas, or vice versa - but either way there is no need to kill yourself to accommodate all sides when there are only two of you. This is another one of those less-than-fun conversations for married couples to have, but it is far better to have it earlier on than before the seasons are almost upon you and promises have been made.

"Submit" is not a four-letter word. The ceremonies that I lead are usually fairly brief in nature, typically no more than twenty-five minutes. A big reason for that is because you didn't come to hear me preach - you came to celebrate seeing loved ones and good friends get married! My ceremonies are also completely based upon concepts of marriage as spelled out in the Bible, and I speak from passages from Genesis, Ephesians, and 1 Corinthians. Inevitably, when I speak from Ephesians chapter 5, there will be some that balk over the word "submit," especially since the Bible says that women are called to submit to their husbands. I do my best to explain this concept not only to the bride and the groom, but also to all who are in attendance in an effort to not have tomatoes thrown at me (none yet to date). If you are at wedding or about to get married and you are worried about the word submit, let me break it down for you just like I do in the weddings that I perform:

• The word "submit" doesn't mean that the man cracks the whip and the wife does whatever he says. Rather, it carries with it the greater idea of respect, and in the Ephesians 5 passages mutual submission for the husband and wife is what we see first.
• So when a wife is asked to submit to her husband, she is being called to respect and follow his leadership...
• ...which in turn puts a huge responsibility on the husband to be the kind of leader that his wife wants to follow.
• In summary, the wife is not asked to submit because she is anyway inferior to her husband, but rather because God, in His creative order, set man to be head of the home.

There are still some that think this is too old fashioned, but in doing so they are missing the point. Having the wife remain barefoot and pregnant is not in mind here. Rather, God has established a healthy balance of leadership that both the husband and wife have an equally large role in which to play.

Marriage is a wonderful thing but it can also be incredibly difficult. It takes lots of work and constant attention. I have been blessed to be married to a women who for almost eighteen years has worked tirelessly to see that our marriage is successful. We both truly enjoy passing along our success (and sometimes not so success) stories to couples both young and old who are considering entering into this amazing covenant relationship with one another. Feel free to share any other words of wisdom that you have learned in the comments!

Growing up Griggs

Sarcasm and cynicism is something I come by honest. Perhaps it's because I'm the youngest of three boys, all separated by a mere two and half years, and my place on the food chain was well established from day one. Or maybe it was all the comments that me and my brothers got when mom dressed us up all alike and people would stare for a second and then exclaim, "Oh my! Are they triplets?"

It was at this point that I usually got into trouble. Before my mom could explain our ages, I would step up, hands on my hips, and ask, "Do we look like triplets?" I mean, come on! We were stair stepped in height and, other than a crop of blonde hair on top of our heads, we really didn't look all that much alike. Those early lessons that I learned after the fact about manners should have stuck with me longer than they did.

Growing up in a house full of boys wasn't always easy, but it most certainly was fun. From the beginning the outdoors was our playground. When the summer months hit and school mercifully released its hold on us, darkness was the only boundary for being home that we knew. We had neighborhood boys up the street and one street over, so we never lacked for playmates or friends to dare us to do the next stupid thing that brought out the band-aids at best or grounding at worst. Life seemed so simple and slow then.

My parents were and still are amazing parents. They both worked ridiculous hours at more than one job to feed and clothe us, their work ethic still etched in my soul. I can remember my dad dragging in after a long day's work as a contract draftsman only to change clothes and run off to a church softball game or another sporting event that we were involved in. My middle brother made the high school soccer team as a freshman, an unheard of feat in the 1980's, and he started all four years. To my knowledge my dad only missed one game, home or away.

Mom was that constant presence in our house. Whether it was making sure we had breakfast in our bellies or everything we needed before running to the school bus, she always seemed to save the day just in the nick of time. I can remember one day forgetting to grab the paper bag that my lunch was packed in and having to call home to see if she could run it up to school. This happened to be one of those days when laziness trumped responsibility and all I had packed was a quarter bag of nacho cheese Doritos. When my name was called to come pick up my lunch at the office, I found a bag filled with a sandwich, chips, fruit, and a cookie. She never did fuss at me when I got home either, for I figure she knew I had learned not to slack-pack again.

We were fortunate to all have our separate bedrooms, my brothers and I. That split-level house on Winslow Lane in Winston-Salem, NC, looked kind of like a barn, but in my eyes that place was a castle. On the bottom level joining the garage was a room we called the playroom. It was where all of our gear and toys were stored in bins and shelves and where I would retreat to help G.I. Joe save the day or make a test run of the Millennium Falcon. Sometimes at night we would turn off the lights in that room and play what we called "The Game," which was nothing more than hide-and-seek in the pitch dark. The thrill of waiting for that hand to accidentally tag you was often more than I could stand.

By the time my second year in high school rolled around we were living in another house located in a different school district on the other side of town. Not far away from us was the prestigious neighborhood of Buena Vista, marked not so much by boundary lines as it was the sheer size of the homes and quality of the cars in the driveways. Many of my friends lived there and I cut through there all the time on my way to school and their houses, yet I knew that I wasn't quite up to the social standing that they had been born into. That never really bothered me and no one ever made me feel that way, it was just something I knew and appreciated. I was proud to be in the middle class.

Sophomore year in high school marked a new era for my family. My oldest brother was now a collegian, even though he was living just ten minutes down the road at Wake Forest University. Still, it was odd having one less body in the house and one less role model to lean on. Two years later I was the only bird left in the nest, my next oldest brother having retreated to that state university in Chapel Hill. I thought I would enjoy the freedom of being the only child and of not having to share the car during those years, but the truth is I felt more loneliness than I cared to admit.

You could say that going off to college began the final transition into manhood for me, and you would be right if I had stayed gone, but I didn't. Home was what I knew. Even though my grades and degree predicted a decent future for me, those thoughts were put on hold as I wound up back home for a few years before I was able to finally grow my permanent wings that helped me to leave the nest. I know that I am not alone.

Growing up Griggs wasn't always perfect but it was wonderful for me. It is so tempting to romanticize those days of coming home covered in dirt after catching crawdads in the creek or scoring the winning touchdown in a no-holds-barred game of tackle football in the backyard, but I find that I don't need to embellish a thing. The memories I have are fond and most of those people in my life who helped to form who I am are still doing so today.

Honestly, I don't call my brothers as much as I should and my parents hear from me less that a faithful son should admit. Yet not a day goes by that I am not ridiculously grateful for my family and how they helped to shape me into the husband and father that I am today.

And now I have four kids of my own who are living their own version of Growing up Griggs.

Better heroes than you will find on TV

My wife and I were sitting on the porch the other day sipping coffee together and reminiscing about how easy life was when we were little kids. We tend to do that from time to time when our schedules get out of whack and it feels as if the calendar is our nemesis rather than sheets of paper held by magnets to our refrigerator. Memories have the ability to allow you to escape like that.

On this particular morning we were talking about our grandparents on our mothers' sides, all of whom have already passed on from this world. I brought up the old show Hee Haw that I watched on so many Saturday evenings in my grandparents living room when my wife lit up and told me about the many times that she too had lounged in her pajamas in her grandmother's living room in Topeka, KS, and watched Roy Clark and Buck Owens lead a cheesy cast of comedic characters across the old tube television set with the wood grained sides. 

My wife never had the pleasure of knowing her grandfather as a child, but her Grandma Becky more than made up for that. She spent countless days with her grandmother as a girl while her mom was at work, helping out at the Mason Lodge and running errands across town for one event of the other. She sighed gently and smiled as she recalled those many hours listening to Grandma Becky's stories and tall tales.

For years Grandma Becky published a family newsletter entitled The Kansas Korn where she would voice her odd mix of conservative and liberal views for the benefit of her family and closest friends. While the rest of the family would silently groan when they saw the thick envelope in the mailbox, my wife would readily pull open the sticker tab and read every word that Grandma Becky put on those pages. Most of what she wrote would be considered political satire, but that woman had a way with words and she wasn't afraid to share them with the world. When age began to overtake her and she passed on several years ago, more than just a comical newsletter was taken out of circulation. My wife lost one her best, and at times only, childhood friends. 

My grandfather on my mother's side was affectionately known as Pop and his wife, my grandmother, we simply called Grandmother. Pop was the only grandfather I ever knew since my dad's dad had passed away before I was even a thought in his mind. He was a WWII veteran who worked for the USPS after the war before opening up a mom-and-pop store with Grandmother called Food Land. Pop was a large man but even if he had been skinny as a pole he would have still been larger than life to me. He was funny and witty in an archaic kind of cool way. Pop never talked about the war - I only learned about the B25 bomber he had flown on in the Pacific theater and saw the amazing pictures of Papua New Guinea after he died in 1990 - but he was quick to share with me stories about everything else in life. 

On Sunday mornings at Antioch Baptist Church I would love to slide in next to Pop on that hard wooden pew because he had a way of entertaining me during the sermon so that I wouldn't fidget my way into too much trouble while at the same time maintaining a laser focus on the pastor as he preached. More than anything I loved to hear Pop sing. I can still hear his deep baritone chime in on the secondary chorus of I Surrender All, a staple invitation song at sermon's end. 

There were many Sunday's when we would take the short drive down Palmer Lane to Grandmother and Pop's house where Grandmother would have a literal feast prepared. You would have thought she had invited the entire neighborhood! Cube steak and gravy, fried chicken, collard greens, corn, green beans, biscuits, banana pudding, and sweet tea were just a few of the options that we would gorge ourselves with before collapsing on the couch to snooze between innings of an Atlanta Braves baseball game. Breakfast at Grandmother's was even better - country ham with red eye gravy, thick sliced Neese's country sausage, grits, chipped beef with gravy, biscuits, and sweet stewed apples - but that's another story for another time. 

Eventually time and age took us to different places in our lives. My wife left Kansas at age 19 and I met her in Clemmons, NC, a year later. We fell in love - and are still falling to this day - got married, had four amazing children, switched careers about half a dozen times, and finally settled on the coast of North Carolina, which I am convinced is a little slice of heaven. We have been unable to figure out how to get our kids to stop growing, so as a result we spend much of our time trying to stay caught up with their lives and activities. My parents and my wife's parents are now our kids' grandparents, and we diligently try to keep them connected from four hours away. FaceTime and texting seems to have taken the place of Saturday evenings in front of the TV watching bluegrass inspired family comedy. 

Yet not a day goes by that we aren't grateful for grandparents who in a big way served as larger than life heroes. By the time high school and college rolled around, we didn't think that an evening in their house watching TV with only three channels was such a fun idea, but as an adult there is no doubt that those were some of the best and most meaningful times in our lives. Which is why when we go home to visit, we sometimes hide in the background as our kids lounge on couches with their grandparents watching Discovery Channel shows or root around in their kitchens looking for a snack that they can help bake or help pick weeds around the flower beds out in the yard. With all of the negative options that my children have in this world, I am so grateful for grandparents who can serve as heroes just as our grandparents did for us.  

Summer Memories: The pool

I didn't sleep in much during the summers when I was a kid, not when there was so much to do each day. From the moment I finished my bowl of Froot Loops in the morning until the sun went down and I knew to come home when I heard my mom hollering for me, summers were made for playing outside. My neighborhood was filled with other kids close to my age, so there was never a shortage on things to do and places to explore.

But without a doubt my fondest summer memories involved the Sandihill Swimming Pool that we joined when I was in kindergarten. Sandihill was unlike any other swimming pool on the planet. It wasn't Olympic size or some luxurious, gated private club. Instead, it was a pool tucked away in a neighborhood next to ours that felt like the best kept secret.

What made that pool so special was the people and the memories that were made there. It was there that I learned to swim, not because I took lessons but rather because I jumped into the shallow end one day and figured it out. Every fifty minutes the lifeguards would blow their whistles and shout, "Kids out!" which was the open invitation to our parents to take over the pool. All of us kids would sit on the edge of the pool counting down those eternity-long ten minutes until the lifeguards would blow their whistles again and we would crash the party while the adults would frantically swim for the ladders to avoid the onslaught of bodies.

The snack bar at Sandihill was always stocked with the unhealthiest of options that parents today would never dream of feeding their children. Frozen burgers and pizza slices were heated up in a dial-operated microwave, to be topped off with Big Otis ice cream sandwiches, Boston Baked Bean candies, and Lemon Heads which in turn were all washed down with Sunkist soda from the drink machine. Somewhere in the corner a radio would be playing an endless loop of classic rock music where the cooler older teenagers would be hanging out around the picnic tables.  

If my brothers and I didn't have a ride to the pool, we would pony up on our light blue ten speed bikes and pedal the short - but dangerous - distance on Bolton Street, avoiding oncoming traffic and trying to maneuver properly with goggles around our necks and towels trailing in the wind. There was no bike rack at Sandihill, just a mesh of bikes strewn all over the front lawn, abandoned in a hurry to be the first one in the water. If you were late, you might miss the first game of sharks and minnows in the deep end.

Thursday's the pool was reserved for swim meets. I wasn't allowed to join the team because I had a heart condition, but that didn't keep me from being a lane judge or raiding the cooler that mom would pack for my brothers and eating all their snacks while they were swimming their races. The best part were the pool parties that would take place the nights of those meets where we would cook out, fight for greased watermelons, and dive for 50 cent pieces in the 14-foot diving area while our ear drums rebelled against the water pressure. 

Nighttime was my favorite time to swim because I would usually have the place to myself. Sometimes after dinner, mom and dad would pack up the leftovers in Tupperware containers and take them to the lifeguards, who in turn gave me and my brothers free rein of the pool while they chowed down on meatloaf and mashed potatoes. A full belly often made up for their frustration of having the work the evening shift while all their friends were out on the town. When the lights in the pool came on, we would dive for quarters and nickels at the bottom of the deep end, imagining we were Jaques Cousteau finding treasure on the ocean floor.

35 years later, life doesn't seem as simple as it did when I was kid swimming at the pool almost every day. Yet there are those moments when I see that same glimmer in the eyes of my own children as they splash around our little neighborhood pool with their friends and play hide-and-seek in the neighborhood long after the sun has gone down. And there are still those moments when I find that I can't resist the urge to play sharks and minnows or dive for coins that might be enough to buy a Coke in the machine, yet to the imagination of a little one is the next best thing to buried treasure.

The five-year vacation

Two days ago marked the beginning of my family vacation. I ain't gonna lie, I don't vacate all that well. It's hard for me to unplug and disconnect. I didn't necessarily advertise to the world that I was going on vacation, so I had my fair share of emails and "important" texts that first day. I did respond, but tried to be brief. By the next day there were only a few communique's, to which I observed but didn't respond. Today...nothing. Except for this blog, which is relaxing for me so it really doesn't count.

Today, this is my office. I sat in a chair and read a book, went for a long swim with my family, and people watched - which is always interesting. I have no idea if I had extra emails or those "important" texts because I never checked while I was out there. I finally feel as if I am on vacation.

I don't write or show you all of this to rub it in your face. And for those of my friends back in Southport and Oak Island, this probably doesn't do much for you since you see a similar view pretty much every day. But I do want to stress just how important it is to unplug and get away, to vacate from the chaos that is everyday life.

When God created the heavens and the earth, he designated the seventh day as a day of rest, which we call the Sabbath. This is a day for God's people to set aside for rest and no work, which for the most part I and most Christians I know are pretty lousy at doing. I realize that Sabbath doesn't necessarily mean vacation in a biblical sense, but it certainly can be just as energizing spiritually as it is physically.

Everyone needs some time to unplug and get away from it all. Whether it's a day trip with family or a  big elaborate vacation, I've never known anyone to regret spending more time with the ones they love. It's been almost 5 years since my family has had a full-blown vacation together and I could not be enjoying this time any more if I tried. Get away. Allow God to nourish your soul. And make memories with those that you love that will never fade away.