Thank you for your service

Costco Wholesale Warehouse is an absolute gold mine around lunch time. Vendors set up 
tables all over the mammoth store, hawking all sorts of samples ranging from vitamin juice 
shots to mini crab cakes. I used to make sure that I would go there with the kids so that we 
would have at least one day when we didn’t have to meal plan.

    
I don’t shop there all the time because we simply can’t afford to. Not that the prices are bad, 
it’s just that I don’t know when to stop. Instead, I will go every month or so to stock up on bulk 
supplies of juice boxes, salsa, pizza rolls, peanut butter, and whatever items I am convinced 
that my family cannot live without. 

     
Perhaps the biggest, if only, drawback to Costco is that it is always crowded. Every aisle is 
clogged with shoppers pushing oversized carts full of their choice of essential goods and, 
while no one is necessarily rude about the rules of the road, it can get pretty dicey navigating 
tight corners and attempting to cross from the snacks to the pasta section. 

    
Whenever I encounter an aisle that’s a little too congested for my comfort, I will backtrack and 
take an alternative route, as if I have some secret shortcut that no one else knows about. Not 
long ago when I was shopping for the next few week’s worth of supplies, as I wheeled my cart 
filled with a 120-count box of granola bars and enough gummy bears to choke a small elephant, 
I encountered a roadblock that had me quickly throwing it into reverse into a detour down the 
next aisle. It contained socks and men’s off brand running shoes, so it was a much safer 
passage.

     
Rounding the corner that would allow me to bypass this latest obstruction, I paused for a 
moment to take in exactly who it was that had caused this latest inconvenience. There in the 
middle of the adjacent aisle was an older gentleman, possibly in his 80’s, hunched slightly at 
the waist and using his shopping cart as a walker. He was traveling at the speed of slow, which 
for him was just fine because he was in absolutely no hurry at all. 

     
On his head he wore a baseball cap, one of those military hats that veterans of wars and armed 
conflicts wear with obvious pride. The insignia on the front told me that he had served in the 
Korean War. My grandfather operated the radio on a B25 bomber during World War 2 in the 
Pacific theater and I knew all about those islands he flew over and the enemy he fought.

I have read books about Guadalcanal and Bougainville and other exotic sounding places where 
our American GI’s fought tooth and nail against the Japanese for what amount to nothing more 
than isolated plots of land made mostly of coral. On these islands we began to win the war 
against Japan, keeping them from overtaking Australia and the rest of the Pacific region. My 
grandfather never spoke much about his time over there, but I know he must have seen and 
experienced some incredible, and horrific, things.

The war in Korea I admittedly knew very little about. I know that we tried to help South Korea 
hold the communists at bay and eventually were successful in doing so, but that’s really about 
it. Nevertheless, I have a great amount of respect for anyone who has served this country in the 
military and I learned a long time ago that it was a good and right act to thank those servicemen 
face-to-face whenever you saw them. Especially if they were wearing those special kind of hats. 

As this elderly hero made his way down the aisle, I purposefully stood in his way so that I could 
garner his attention. I wasn’t all that concerned that he would run me over with his cart because 
of his lack of momentum, but I was careful all the same to watch out for my toes. Right as he was 
about to bump my cart, he stopped and looked up, staring me straight in the eyes. I quickly 
gathered myself and told him in the strongest voice I could muster, “Thank you for your service.” 

Without missing a beat, he replied, “It was my honor to serve you and my country and, if I had 
the chance, I would storm the border of Korea all over again in order to make sure that you 
stayed safe.” Instantly I felt my eyes start to sweat and any response that I could have made 
was stuck in my throat as if I was choking on a piece of steak.

Mesmerized by his response, I stood frozen in place, unable to reply. Here was this weathered 
and worn veteran who could no longer tie his own shoes, now declaring his desire to re-defend 
this country if that’s what it took. Shaking off my stupor, I was finally able to feebly respond to 
him, thanking him again for his service, words which now seemed pathetically inadequate. This 
genuine hero offered a satisfied smile and began to shuffle on his way towards the peanut 
butter and honey section. I in turn quickly turned my cart in the other direction to head toward 
the ice cream and fruit punch.

As I padded my way, avoiding more carts and the glut of consumers, I could not help but admit 
with a bit of sadness that they simply don’t make men like that anymore.

Boredom is all in your mind

"I'm bored."

"There's nothing to do."

"Can we go somewhere and do something?"

Growing up, I am certain that I uttered those same phrases at least a million times, especially during the summer months. It didn't seem to matter that I had two older brothers close to my age, a huge backyard to play in, neighborhood pool that never seemed to close, and was surrounded by woods and creeks that never ceased to invite me for an adventure.

Yet even then, I often struggled to find things to do. Since this was the era before computers and cell phone technology, sitting in front of the television was about as lazy as I could get away with until my mom made me go back outside. Most days I was out the door after breakfast and had to be called home (via my mom's vocal chords, not a phone!) for dinner. Boredom wasn't much of an option or a privilege for me and most of the friends I knew.

Now don't get me wrong - I'm not claiming to have lived some idyllic childhood where we churned our own butter and went on Robinson Caruso type adventures. But I do believe that my generation was better equipped to deal with how we would solve the problem of too much time on our hands.

Look around you today and you will see that people in America are as busy as they have ever been yet seemingly more bored than all the other past generations combined. Everywhere that you look, teens and adults are glued to their phones in hopes of finding something - anything - to entertain them for the next few minutes of their lives. Texting, SnapChat, and other forms of social media have replaced real live conversations. And no, FaceTime does not count.

Do I love my phone? Yes, I do. I admit that I have to fight the urge to waste precious minutes and hours on my phone looking at everyone else's pictures and posts and reading up on the news. But I also grew up learning the value of a book, of spending time outside, and being with friends talking and laughing with each other deep into the late hours of the night. Face-to-face, not phone-to-phone. These are the things that I still so greatly value.

Boredom doesn't really exist. What does exist is the fact that we've often forgotten how best to utilize the time that we've been given. Gizmos and gadgets are artificial ways of stealing what precious time we actually do have. They can't truly teach you anything. Rather, they often rob you of what you already have.

Imagine how much sweeter life would be if, instead of grabbing that rectangular device every time we've got a few moments to kill, we would instead choose a book or an adventure in the woods or a conversation on the porch until late in the night. I don't know about you, but that doesn't sound boring at all.

I'll take one order of higher ground to go, please

Higher ground. It's where people go when rising waters threaten to devastate their homes and everything else that they cherish. Going to higher ground during a major hurricane or flood is a no-brainer. If you stay where you are, then there is really only one option - you will get soaked at best and washed away at worst. Who wants to drown in swirling waters when there is a safe refuge nearby?

America just finished a contentious election. I know, I'm Master of the Obvious, right? Social media has allowed America's citizens to voice their glee and dismay, optimism and devastation at the click of a few buttons. Depending upon whom your digital "friends" are, you have probably seen a whole host of not-so-friendly posts from those who believe a new age of awesomeness has been ushered in - or is it a new age of going to hell in a hand basket?

Every single time I read someone's impassioned thoughts on social media, I realize that there will be many vultures coming out of the woodwork to pick at the meat of those thoughts. This is not always a bad thing. I love the fact that we have dissenting voices in America because I truly believe that diversity is a beautiful thing.

But let's be honest. What you and I have seen and heard the past few days has been anything but beautiful, much less helpful. I get it - people are angry and upset or elated and overjoyed. Yet time and time again I've seen my friends and acquaintances wade back into the danger zone of a flood of emotions and vitriol that has no exit door.

It's time to take the higher ground.

I am not one to tip my hat to my political leanings because, well, they are kind of complicated. I am a registered Independent and I do my best to vote issues, not people. But man, it has been so difficult these past couple of days to refrain from responding to bigoted, arrogant, selfish, and near-sighted posts from many of my friends on social media! Yet I have avoided doing just that.

Why? Besides the obvious that I've yet to ever see a social media post about politics ever make the world a better place, I choose to take the higher ground. And that's not because I'm some sort of exceptional person or anything. It's just that I realized that if I got me feet even just a little bit wet in the flood of negativity, vitriol, and hate, then the rest of me would be swimming before long.

Look, if you're mad, then I get it. And if you are celebrating, I get it too. Yet I also realize that our country is divided into many different segments of people who have radically different world views of which they are zealously passionate. And while there are a few people out there that actually want to discuss issues, most want to assassinate another person's character, whether that person is the winner, the loser, or sitting in front of a keyboard. Thanks, but no thanks.

My friends, please take the higher ground. Before you dip your toe into that cesspool of incivility and hatred, head for the hills. Log off of social media. Refrain from pushing the "hate" and "ignorance" buttons on your keyboard. Some of the best agents of change were those who anticipated disaster and took a different route to avoid it altogether. Never heard of them? That's the whole point. If you are someone who has already voiced toxic opinions, then you can't take back what you have said (or typed) but you can step toward the higher ground.

Can I leave you with the most amazing example of what this looks like? 2,000 years ago a man named Jesus took everything that His haters could throw at Him and the only defense He took was with the truth that He proclaimed. As a result, He received a death sentence. Even then He chose to respond not with hate but instead took the higher ground on a cross perched on hill outside of town. He did this for you and He did this for me so that we could be saved from our sin and ourselves and thus take the higher ground in the future - that perch from which we could also treat our friends and neighbors and fellow country men with the same love and respect that He afforded to us.

Get out of the water and take to higher ground. It's not too late.

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.

What the 1980's are teaching us about our future

What is going on with all this retro stuff that America is going crazy with? Everywhere you look, someone is trying to kick it old school and go back in time. There is the 1980's-ET-sythesizer-inspired Stranger Things show on Netflix (which is awesome, by the way) that pretty much everyone I know who graduated high school in the 1980's is gaga about. The newer Progressive insurance commercials are all now filmed as retro 1970's spots. Then there are movies - how many remakes of older movies are we gonna see? Hello Ghostbusters and Poltergeist, not to mention War Games, Commando, and Honey, I Shrunk the Kids which are just a few that are in the process of being remade.

And oh my word, there are the clothing and music styles. The 1980's absolutely haunt me at times, not because it was such a bad decade but because my style was so pitiful. I had hair then, amazing blonde hair with a natural wave to it. But I parted that hair down the middle and heavily hair sprayed it, preserving for decades horrific yearbook images that I still can't escape.

And yes, I owned and often wore a pair of acid washed jeans. I even tight rolled them at the bottom as I paired them with my favorite Stan Smith Adidas shoes. And yes, my musical tastes were often driven by synthesizers, although I did buck the trend by dabbling in some punk rock music and what became known as early alternative rock. Sounds and looks a lot like today, huh?

Why do find ourselves coming to roost in the nostalgia of the past so often? When we get all caught up in reminiscing about how amazing the past was, what we are doing is looking negatively at our NOW while believing that we really had it figured out in our PAST. And there is nothing wrong with reveling in the past, as long as you don't convince yourself that nothing in the future could ever be better. If we can't do that, then we are guilty of violating the golden rule of history: Learn from it or you are doomed to repeat it.

Nostalgia should fuel our desire to do greater things, not keep up mired in mediocrity. I sincerely believe that many of us are paralyzed by the shrines of the past that we so readily build. But what if we could take what the past has taught us and use it to propel us to make our future memories better than what history could ever teach us? Can we even do this?

God's word says that we can. Psalm 119:92-93 tells us, "If Your instruction had not been my delight, I would have died in my affliction. I will never forget Your precepts, for You have given me life through them." The guy who wrote this is happily reminded just how much he has learned from the past and how grateful he is that what God had formulated in eternity had changed the course of his life in the future. The past can be awesome, but only if it causes us to go further and deeper and greater into the future. If not, then all we are left with are just some stale memories and an inability to move beyond the equivalent of high school greatness.

Brush the dust off of your letter jacket and put your cassette player away. Stop waiting for MTV to actually play music videos again. What God has in mind for your future could be amazing if you will only let Him have his way.

Life is precious and oh so sweet

I just returned from South Brunswick High School where almost all of the high school students in my youth group attend as well as my oldest daughter. Normally, this wouldn't be an unusual event at all since I sub there a few times a month and I man the carpool duty there every afternoon. But today was different. I was there for the worst possible reason.

This morning a high school senior, a vivacious and popular fireball of a girl named Lily Beatini, died tragically in an auto accident not far from the school. Word in the form of rumors spread fast - I got my share of text messages - with everyone wanting to know what was going on. When my phone rang and I was officially told the tragic news, my heart sank. I didn't know this young lady personally other than being her substitute teacher on a couple of occasions and watching her play lacrosse, but I knew that she was well-loved and respected by all of her classmates. Her death has left so many students staggered and at a loss for words.

I drove with a heavy heart to the high school to see if there was any way that I could help. When I arrived I was told that several of the students in my youth group were assembled in a classroom and were expecting me. Tears of grieving teenagers greeted me at the door and I saw first hand the pain and anguish in their eyes. As I sat down with them to talk and listen, the first question I knew that I had to address was, "Why?"

Why? Why does God allow things like this to happen? Why does an 18-year-old who is set to graduate in a couple of weeks have to die? It just doesn't seem fair, does it?

Honestly, I have no good answer for those questions because I simply don't know the answer. But there are some things that I do know about tragedy and death:

1. We will all one day die. I don't like to think about this for myself or for anyone else that I love for that matter, but death is the reality, not the exception. And for most of us, we are given no warning when it will come. I hate death. Not so much because it snatches away loved ones from but because when God created life in the beginning, death wasn't in the equation. We were made to live, not die, but sin ruined all of that. Death makes me hate sin all the more.
2. God is good. In spite of all the tragedy that seems to surround us everyday, the one constant that we can rely on is the goodness of God. Oh, I know it doesn't seem that way when bad things happen and there may have been times where you were convinced that God was anything but good. Yet when we examine our day-to-day lives and we realize how God sustains us and meets our needs and answers our prayers and blesses us in spite of what we deserve, that's when we gain the proper perspective. God is indeed good and He grieves over the same frustrations and tragedies that almost devastate our souls.
3. Death does not have the final say. Death stings and it stings badly, but it does not win in the end. When God sent His Son Jesus, He came to defeat sin and conquer death. On the cross, Jesus forgave the sins of the world. When He rose from the grave, he told death to literally go to Hell. For those who place their faith in Jesus, this life is only the beginning. What awaits us when we pass from this earthly existence into the presence of God in heaven is what we are truly waiting for, for that is when life really begins.

Those words make sense and many of you believe them as I do. Yet still, the sting of death is hot and the pain is real. And that's the way it's supposed to feel. It hurts and it sucks. So allow me to leave you with a few suggestions on how to face the pain that death brings while also embracing the life that you were meant to live:

1. It's okay to cry. Pain is, well, painful and it touches us to the depths of our emotions. So go ahead and cry and get it all out. It's okay. God created your emotions and that's what they are there for.
2. Don't go at it alone. We were all made to live in community with each other, not be Lone Rangers. As you struggle to understand why these things happen to people that you love and care about, choose to struggle together. Be with your friends, sit around and talk and laugh at the good memories, cry on each others' shoulders, and enjoy being together. We are always better together.
3. Take advantage of the simple things. A simple wave at a friend or even an acquaintance always means something. Smile at people. Take time to watch the clouds as they roll by on a sunny day. Walk barefoot. Stop to chat even when you're in a hurry. Think about what you say before you say it. Call or text a friend you haven't seen or heard from in awhile. Ferris Bueller said it best: Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it.
4.  Seek after God with everything you've got. Remember, as awesome as this world can be, you were created for so much more than this life can possibly offer you. Jesus came that we might have life and life to the fullest, so seize every opportunity to connect with God and live in awe of your Creator. Pray to God and give Him your needs, go to church or youth group, take time out of your busy day to the read the Bible, enjoy the fellowship of other Christians. Do all of this in anticipation of much greater things to come.

Life is precious and life is sweet. Don't miss it.