What if? Why not? Could it be?

Wondrous wondrous Kate D. (think Edward Tulane and Desperaux) has come out with another glorious tale - full, as always, of light - The Magician's Elephant.  My book recommendation habits, however, will allow me to tell you precious little about what the book is about.  Halbroox Bros. rule number one in picking up a new book - *never* read the back.  Why? because too many a good book was ruined by some overzealous publisher who thought it'd be a grand idea to reveal half the plot on the back cover.  

This is how it usually goes:

Jimmy was always a strange boy.  But one day, his whole world is changed - an even stranger, eight-legged creature shows up on his bedstand to tell him the meaning of life and to set him off on the most exciting adventure of his lifetime.  

So you pick up the book (I'm not really sure why at this point) and start reading...and reading, and reading.  On page 320, the spider finally shows up in what's supposed to be a plot-twist.  FAIL.  All this time you were waiting, expecting the eight-legged wonder to appear and change the boy's life. The book ain't about the spider - it's about Jimmy.  But now that Jimmy's life is a sub-plot and the spider has gained full rights to the climax, you set it down and find a cheese muffin.  And with a plot like that, we can hardly blame you.*  In other words, you limit the amount of times you get moments like these:

Note: I must admit that every now and then, you will, in fact, come across the back of a book that is just vague enough to get you interested without giving away anything you shouldn't know.  So perhaps Halbroox Bros rule number one in picking up a new book is a bit harsh.  Just know that we have had far too many a good book spoiled to remain detached from what we see as the inevitable disillusionment with book-backs.  Of course, there is always hope for a better future...in fact, one of my friends wants to be "one of those people who write blurbs on the backs of books," so we cannot give up on back covers altogether.  

All that to say, this book is grand, and has nothing to do with 8-legged creatures or boys named Jimmy.  And whatever the back cover says, don't read it.  It's Kate DiCamillo, so know it's pure goodness.

What I can tell you is this:  it's full of hope, loss, wonder, and Home.  And already, I've said too much.

Zebra Cakes and the Beginning of Something New...

Wednesday night was fast approaching, and with it the teaching of my next lesson in the Lord's Prayer series.  This time: "Lead us not into temptation."

I had planned on spending the afternoon preparing, and so I made my way home early from work.  I whistled merrily as I got out of my car and strolled towards the house, little knowing how much temptation lurked inside the front door.

First, it was the cutting board from Tuesday's watermelon - sitting in the sink, still tarnished with white seeds and a chuck of rind that never made it to the rubbish bin.  Dang.  I can't prepare for a lesson on leading us not into temptation and just pass by a sink full of my own dirty dishes.  So I washed it.

Next, it was the brownies.  I hadn't eaten any snacks yet, so I ate the first one without a second thought.  No problem.  The next one was a little less justified, but tasty anyways, and if it turned out that I later regretted it, I could just use that as an example for giving into temptation.

My taste buds and stomach fully satisfied, I made it past the kitchen and into the dining room.  

Zebra Cakes.  

They were sitting there on the counter all alone, like some poor orphan who'd been neglected for the greater part of his natural life.  But no.  That would just be shameful - stuffing my face with pure tasty goodness while preparing my heart to talk to the children about God's power to provide a way out in those times of temptation.  "No temptation has befallen you other than that which is common to man."  Zebra Cakes are certainly common to man. So I passed them by.

I sat on the couch to read from the Good Book and quickly found myself tilting towards the horizontal state.  Before long I was on my back, eyes half closed, with Benji's dino pillow secured comfortably behind my neck.  Lead us not..... tem...ta.......t..........

I jumped to my feet.  Just another epic failure of a role-model I was, sleeping on the job.  So I walked around to get the blood flowin' and the mind churnin'.  Things were on the up and up for a while, until...

Zebra Cakes.

This time, I gave right in.  Without a thought to the lesson I was teaching or the book I was reading, I grabbed the box with greedy fingers and turned it upside down.  Shake.  I feared the worst.  Shake.  I dropped my jaw.  Shake.  No Zebra Cakes.  Not even one.

The box was empty all along.

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Tomorrow I head off to Chicago with Denny on an evangelistic road trip.  It promises to be a most exciting, challenging, and messily glorious adventure.  If anyone's interested in keeping up, we'll be blogging along the way at socraticcup.blogspot.com.  

25 Rolls of Toilet Paper

My good friend Miguel told me a story yesterseve that captures the very essence of messy glory.  It simply must be shared.

----

It started like it always does - some overzealous kid wanting to do some quasi-illegal activity to get the urge out of his system.  At first Miguel was not convinced, but the thought of 40 yards of christmas lights wrapped around Chad's car was enough to secure his involvement.  Within a few hours, the toilet paper was all purchased, the plan was made, and a group of five or six students (plus Michael, the "responsible college intern") were walking down a dark street armed and ready to roll their youth minister's house.

It was not thirty seconds after they stepped foot in the yard that Chad's garage door made a noise like an old electric can opener and began to rise.  The dispersion was as smooth as any could have been rehearsed - the girls took off running down the street, the guys found suitable bushes nearby - only Michael was left in the yard, and the other side of the car seemed a perfect hiding place.

I say "seemed" because a few moments later it became clear that this was not to be the case.  If I'm caught hiding, thought Miguel, I'll give them an awful fright.  So to assure his not being caught, he found his way *under* the car...and waited.

EPIC FAIL.

As the other car made its way out of the garage and up the driveway, the headlights landed directly on our dear friend.  The car stopped.

...

"Yeah, there is a grocery bag in our front yard."  Thank goodness, said the mutterings of Miguel's mind, Amanda called Chad to tell him a mysterious bag was left in the yard - NOT that a mysterious man was hiding under the car.  The one side of the phone conversation he could hear continued.

"Dude, there's 25 rolls of toilet paper in here - unwrapped!. .... Well, I guess that means you don't need to go to the store any more."  Amanda was on her way to Wal-Mart to pick up...need I say it?  Toilet Paper.

"I'd think we were getting rolled, but why would they leave the bag here?  Nobody would be that dumb."  Michael silently nodded under the car, wondering the same.

The next few minutes were something of a blur.  Amanda pulled the car back in the driveway, Chad discovered more mixed messages - a wad of christmas lights, a single strip of paper on a bush - and Michael decided it was time to reveal himself.  All three of them stood in the front yard laughing at themselves and each other until Chad got a chance to ask Michael if anyone else was involved.

"No.  Just me," admitted Michael, just in time for the two other guys to appear from their respective trees and bushes.  More laughter.  

"So this is everyone, then?"  "Yep.  Everyone."  And the three girls walked into the driveway. 

It's such, such a perfect day...

I was in the midst of writing a long story last night when I suddenly drifted out of consciousness.  So in the meantime, this will have to suffice (I'm confident it will...).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lb9X5jMofEo

Something Untraditional (we hope...)

"Well, what'd you do for the Fourth of July this year?"

I broke my cousin's left toe.

We were having our usual reunion in the mountains of Tennessee with the Halbrooks side of the family (often dubbed the 'less-than-normal side' - and for understandable reasons).  Friday  brought its usual joys - the special ingredient pancakes (vanilla ice cream this time, which received top marks in every category), monkey tree madness at the river, a rousing game named after an idiom of fruit comparisons, and a restful nightly sabbatical on the top bunk hammock.

Saturday of course was equally enjoyable, but for the one moment of tragedy.  Tradition has it that whenever we set foot on the waters of Honey Creek, a tree of boatlike proportions must be felled or dragged into the water for transportative purposes.  It was during this dragging that Jacob's toe was poorly placed beneath my folly. 

"Alright, we're all going to pick it up on three," I suggested.

"One, two....three!"  We lifted.  It was at this fateful moment that I realized the end of the log I was holding was more than I had bargained for.

"Okay, I'm gonna drop it."  No one-two-three this time.  Just the drop.  And the ligaments that had been merrily holding Jacob's left toe to his left toe bone were merry no longer.

Ben still insists that the blame rests on us all.  A kind brother, and I'd do the same for him...but we all know the truth.  Jacob's toe has every right to pay me back in full.

The Cockroach Whisperer...

Just a few minutes ago, I was sitting on Denny's recliner wondering what to blog about for the night.  After rejecting the first few ideas (due to copyright infringements), I was getting desperate.  Until something extraordinary happened.

Stephen walked into the room and announced, with no inflection of voice, "There's a dinosaur on the ceiling."  Actually, there was a cockroach.  I would have far preferred the dinosaur.  

By this time, Stephen had left the room and returned with his personal "Bug Stop" spray bottle.  Stopping just below the wretched creature, he paused just long enough for Gregor to dislodge himself from the ceiling and *FLY* in a direct line toward my own speechless face.  Fortunately, his flying powers were not developed enough to make it all the way to my face, so he crash-landed just at my feet and scurried under my chair.

I was up faster than a cuckoo at the strike of twelve, curled up on the sofa just opposite.  Stephen, though momentarily frozen, was back in action and appeared completely unconcerned.  Ben lifted up the chair.  Denny looked on in horror.  Stephen stood armed and ready with his spray-bottle.  Gregor decided this was a good time to disappear.

Of course, none of us were all that thrilled about Gregor's latest decision, so Ben banged the chair down and set him running toward the space just below the carpet.  A clear boot-to-the-floor was in order, but no - that would be too easy.  Stephen insisted on the Bug Stop. 

Spray.  Dash.  Spray.  Shuffle.  Spray. Dart.  Spray.  Spray.  Disappear.

Gregor disappeared once more below another couch.  FAIL.

But Stephen again showed no signs of discouragement.  "He's going for the door."  And sure enough, just as we all gave the boy the evil eye, Gregor appeared again on the backside of Denny's sofa.  The spray war continued - with Gregor consistently leading the way *straight* to the door.

Stephen assured us the creature would leave in an honorable manner.  To the surprise of all the other occupants of the house, Gregor waltzed out the front door as soon as it was opened, leaving nothing but his memory behind.

I'm sure this has some sort of application to everyday life, but I will leave you to figure that one out - the story itself is enough for me.

Update from Stephen and his magical spray-bottle:

"I have secured the perimeter."

Hop on Pop

Pa.

A short name, yes.  But contained within those two letters are years of wonderment and glorious fatherdom.  Yes, it is Father's Day, and yes, that gives me every right to tell you how amazing mine is.

When I detached my skis in the middle of some obscure wooded regions of Vail, Colorado, he did not complain.  Nay - he put me on top of his own skis and within the hour, they were found.

When no one knew if we were really going to make it to Hawaii the next year, He got our hopes up.  Ma:  "Rick, don't get their hopes up."  Pa:  "We are GOIN'!"  Ma: (shakes head)  Childrens: (laugh hysterically)

When Halloween rolled around three years ago, he passed as a genuine harley davidson biker.  Only to be beaten by some foe who decided to wear one of those pre-made Roger Rabbit outfits.

When our love for dinosaurs and bones could not be satiated, he took us fossil hunting all over the States - and we've shark teeth in every cupboard to prove it.

When every other family we know calls their parents Mom and Dad, he let us call him Pa.