Somewhere Between REM and Reality…

There’s a place in our mind where we linger,

perhaps too long,

maybe not long enough;

somewhere between REM and reality.  

It’s not a dream, but it’s the place of dreams.  

It’s not reality, but it’s absolutely real.

It’s a place where we see how it MIGHT be;

how it COULD be;

how it MUST be! 

It’s where we keep all we wish to BE.  

It’s where our favorite song plays.

It’s where we resolve the troubles of the day.  

It’s a place where we find HOPE;

And HOPE lingers…

Somewhere between REM and Reality.



You know how you get a great thought and you have to share it with the world (or the handful of people that read your blog)!?

Well, I didn’t have one.  However, I did come up with a new title for my blog:

Lingering Between REM and Reality…

It’s the title of my next entry and I felt like it needed used more than once.

OK, so it’s not a HUGE change, but it is a change none the less.

Same author; same obscure observations; same reluctance to hit PUBLISH.

Maybe it’ll get all our creative juices flowing a little freer.

As always,  any and all comments are welcome .

Thanks for stoppin’ by!!


Public Display of Disgusting!

I’m not completely sure of the proper etiquette for a community sink, but i’m pretty sure it’s being violated by the guys I’m currently sharing space with.

I’m in a far away land where there’s a bit of a war going on (not Detroit), living in an international community (not the east side of Cleveland).

I’m on a base in Afghanistan, sharing my living space with UN troops from all around the world.  They all seem to be pretty good guys, but there are a few with some bathroom issues.

The living arrangements are OK and I’m not complaining, but there has to be a few rules for using a community bathroom sink.  Simple rules like, ‘turn the water off when your done’ and ‘clean up after yourself.’

Remember, this is not YOUR sink, but the one you are using among the eight in the bathroom.

Is it too much to ask to maintain a little decorum in our community bathroom?

Now if we can implement some simple rules of war – ‘Don’t shoot women and children, don’t blow up the hospital, etc.’… then surely we could implement a few simple rules for the use of a public sink.

The major violation and the prompting for this writing is the throat and nose clearing that I have witnessed in this international bathroom.

The first disconcerting element performed in this toe curling, nauseating ritual is the guttural hack which involves gathering the crud in the throat in preparation for the expectoration.  This is followed by the deep nasal in-hale that causes the performer’s  nasal passages to vibrate and the adjoining sink user to gag.  Finally, and most disturbingly, the substance is deposited in the sink.

Another version of this is the snot extraction.  Not into a paper towel or some toilet paper or, dare I say it, a handkerchief; not even a single nostril snot rocket – I’m talking into the hand, with a rinse in the sink.

The amount of effort expended in this nasal exercise is mind-boggling.  First of all, where did they get all that…SNOT STUFF!?  Secondly, and more importantly, why do they have a need to put it in their hand and then rinse it in the sink?  The public sink!?

Now I’m pretty easy-going and I think I give people a lot of room for freedom of expression, but this crosses the line!

I know it’s a bodily function and all but I can’t be gagging on my toothpaste every morning as I’m forced to witness this ritual!

I saw a guy this morning, I think he was Croatian, who I swear was attempting to extract something from his bellybutton, via his throat!

The first time I heard it, I assumed there were enemy bullets involved and I screamed for a medic and ducked for cover!

We have international standards of conduct for various things in the military and I’d like to propose a UN Resolution of my own.  We’ll call it UN Resolution #201264 concerning Nose and Throat Clearing in a public sink.

For the sake of international clarity, I’ve had this UN Resolution translated in the following languages.

Italian:  “Lasciami in pace!”  or  “Vai a quel paese!”

German: “Verschwinde!”  or “Raus Hier!”

Swedish:  “Ta det utanför istället!”

Spanish: “Largo de aqui!”

Bosnian, Croatian, Serbian:  “Ne Ovdje, Napolju!”

So next time you’re in a war in a foreign land, sharing a sink with the international community and you witness a Nose and Throat clearing that causes you to gag – Kindly, in a non-confrontational, international, UN kind of way, remind them of UN Resolution #201264:


Free T-Shirt! A Runner’s Story


   I’m in Afghanistan doin’  the ‘War Thang’ and I get an e-mail announcing a 5k in Kabul with FREE T-SHIRTS for the first 200 finishers!

 I fancy myself as a bit of a runner, so I sign up for this 5k, extra motivated by the free t-shirt!

 It’s a Las Fallas run, sponsored by the Spanish contingent, celebrating St. Joseph’s Day which is March 19th.  Apparently this week-long festival is huge in Valencia,  Spain. (Of note, it’s my namesake day and my birthday – so it’s a little bit special).

Runners will pay just about anything to add another t-shirt to their collection by signing up for a race.  Had the Spanish exploited this, they could have made a small fortune!  Thank goodness for all that NATO good cheer!

I sign up a few days before the race and the Spanish guy tells me there are 92 names on the list.  (He actually didn’t speak very good English, so he pointed to the computer screen).  That leaves me plenty of slack, so I shouldn’t have any trouble landing a shirt.

But just to make sure I’ll qualify for the free t-shirt, I start tearing down flyers I see announcing the race.  I’m actually just trying it keep the place tidy.  There are lots of old flyers stuck on doors and walls around here, and I’m just doing my part.

Then, the day before the race, there is this mass e-mail with the flyer attached!

I quickly hit delete hoping no one saw it over my shoulder.  Somehow I believed that if I hit delete, maybe everybody else will do the same.  (There’s man logic in there somewhere.)

The next day I show up for the race, and there are well over 200 people!

Who are all these people and when did they sign up!?  A closer examination of one of the flyers (apparently one I overlooked) states – Sign-up available the day of the race – What kinda nonsense is that!?

With my t-shirt in jeopardy I start looking for the slackers that I know I can out run.  To my dismay I’m seeing young, athletic looking guys and gals from nearly 20 different nations, well equipped to run and wearing Spandex!  (what’s with the European guys and their need to parade around in skin-tight clothing?)

In broken English, the host announces it’s time to race.  I position myself on the outside, about middle of the pack.  It’s always total chaos at the start of the race with a lot of non-runners thinking it would be exciting to be first in line.  They’ll cause no less 15% of the racers to have a near collision within the first quarter-mile.

Adrenalin and the need to demonstrate your running mettle sometimes causes you to start way too fast.  If you don’t temper the start, you’ll be seeking an oxygen tank after the first quarter-mile.

At the start, I take to the outside to pass a few slackers and joy runners, trying to find an opening in the middle of the road to settle in.

A half mile down the road, I’m breathing way too hard as I try to assess the traffic in front of me.

Are there more than 200 people up there!?  I’m not sure! They turned a corner and I’m too busy trying to find my pace and catch my breath!

Then it happens!  Someone passes me!

I think I’m gonna hyperventilate!

It’s a fat guy (‘heavy set’, my mother would say) who’s sweating way too much for a 5k, but he’s not slowing down and I can’t keep up.

Then another guy, runner type, long stride, good apparel, barely breathing, passes me like it’s an Olympic trial.

Then a couple more guys, older, but definitely seasoned in the running arena.  They float past, seemingly without effort.

Of course, I don’t dare look back.  It’s a total sign of weakness and sure to reveal that they’re all either right on my tail or ahead of me!

Then a guy in a black and lime green pair of shorts (with matching t-shirt) goes past me like I’m running the other way!  Obviously, he’s doping.  I make a mental note to include it in my complaint to the Spanish Racing Commission (or the starter guy with bad English).

The runners that passed me may have put me beyond the 200th spot, so now I’m slightly annoyed and realize I’ll have to pick-up the pace. I didn’t plan on working this hard for a T-shirt!

Ahead I see a couple non-running types. It’s now the second lap of three and I’m wondering how they’ve held out so long.  They’re obviously not runners.  Baggy sweat pants and a baseball cap on one guy from Mongolia; and another short, chunky guy with basketball shorts possibly from Croatia.

I can’t catch either one. I suspect they are cheating some how, but it may require an investigation.

Just ahead, on the left side of the road, there’s a young, skinny Belgian in Spandex (of course!) who has to stop to tie his shoe.  Thank goodness the Belgians are not familiar with the double knot.  I blow past him.

There’s another guy limping – looks like an ankle.  ‘Sorry ‘bout your luck pal, but there’s a t-shirt with my name on it!’

Next, I pass a couple of Jack Rabbit starters who just discovered how thin the air is in North Kabul – From the greenish tint on their faces, I can tell they haven’t been in country too long.  Acclimation and Elevation (over 5,000 ft. in Kabul) are a…female dog!

A half a lap to go and I get passed by two young European guys in tight little shorts and French cut t-shirts.  I choke back a dry heave following that visual.  That’ll cost me 10 seconds!

Then I get passed by an old guy who’s running like it’s his first lap.  In fact, I think it his first lap!!  I have no proof, mind you, but he’s way too smooth and un-fatigued to be on the final lap.  If he puts me at the 201st spot, I’m definitely filing a formal protest.

I cross the finish line without fanfare and realize there is no timer nor did I time the run.  My lungs are bleeding and my legs are aching and I feel like I ran pretty good. I’m gonna call it my best 5k ever based on that assessment!

All I really want to know is what’s my number!?  Did I finish in the top 200!?  Where’s the FREE T-SHIRT guy!?

I quickly scan the area and see a long, single file line of runners moving toward a table – the FREE T-SHIRT TABLE!

I refuse a bottle of water knowing that opening and then drinking could allow a runner THAT FINISHED AFTER ME to get ahead of me in line.

As I get closer, I see bags of t-shirts on the table!  The t-shirt is literally ‘in the bag!’  Unless of course, there’s some natural disaster or war event that stops me from getting to the front of line to claim my prize!  I utter a quick prayer, asking the Lord to delay the inevitable disaster, at least ‘til I get my FREE T-SHIRT. (So wrong, I know).

As I reach the front of the line I realize I failed to assess proper size!!  AHH!   If I make the wrong call here, I could never get back in line to swap it out – I mean it’s free!! You can’t haggle when it’s free!!

Quick assessment – If it’s moisture wicking, no problem – medium.  If it’s cotton, I have a problem.  If it’s 50/50, I might get away with medium but I’ll need to check.  If it’s 100% cotton, then Large is definitely it.

If it’s too big, I might wear it, If it’s too small – I definitely won’t!

Hurry!! Assess the situation!!  All that lung bleeding, hard breathing, heart pounding, muscle aching, flyer tearing and protest filing could be for naught if I make the wrong call here!!

I see it’s cotton!  Can I look at the tag!?

Oh no, they asked me what size (in Spanglish) and there’s a huge line behind me….

The quality looks good, I’m thinking 100% cotton.

“How ‘bout a large,” I say in a non-anxious, non-caring, casual, ‘oh, you get a t-shirt for this,’ conversational kinda way.

They flip me a large.  I double fist clench it and I move away from the crowd hoping that Afghan T-Shirt shop ‘large’ does not mean HUGE!

I quickly examine the tag – it’s 100% cotton!  Great call!  A good washing and a thorough drying will make it the perfect fit.

This FREE t-shirt is embroidered on the left chest with name and date of the race, along with a Spanish and Afghan flag.  I T   I S   A W E S O M E!!

The FREE T-Shirt!

I casually flip the shirt over my shoulder, grab a water and strut back toward the finish line to encourage the rest of the racers.

It looks like the non-shoe tying Belgian made the t-shirt cut. In a show of NATO solidarity and world brotherhood, I think I’ll show him that shoe lace thing.

just for me

i’ve walked through the fields and paused to admire a single leaf and wondered if anyone else had noticed.

I’ve considered the shape of single snowflake and the perfect blanket they cast across a rugged landscape.

I’ve seen a tree so majestic among the many, beckoning toward the sky and offering its branches in perfect symmetry to any passer-by on the ground or in the air.

I’ve witnessed sunsets that gave me pause about the wonders of the universe and the God who created them.

I’ve watched shooting stars that appeared and disappeared in a single breath.

I’ve delighted in rainbows so brilliant that I knew, without a doubt, there was a pot of gold at the end!

I’ve witnessed storms so fierce they unnerved me and rains so gentle they barely bent the blade of grass.

I’ve watched the sprout of a seed in the garden as it struggled to overcome the clump of dirt that weighed it down and wondered if it would overcome.  And then, in the span of a season, ate the fruit it bore.

In each of these moments and in a thousand more, I wondered, “Was that just for me?”

Is it possible, that absent of my existence, these things would never exist?

Is it conceivable that I and only I could witness them?

Did the Creator of the universe cast His gaze toward me and offer me that single moment, witnessed by no other, to the Glory of His Name and the wonder and fascination of my mind?

Getting Through It

Is it just me, or do we spend in inordinate amount of our life just getting through it?    

Moving through the trial of the moment so we can catch our breath and move to the next ‘getting through it’ event.

Not enjoying, not dreading, not really living – just existing through yet another day.

Getting through the morning, the day, and the night.

Getting through the meetings, the phone calls, and the e-mails.

Getting through the hurt, the pain, the insult.

Getting through the boredom, the mundane, the routine.

Getting through life.

Getting through death.

Getting through it all.


It’s a numb existence.


We’re worth way more than that!

Instead of just ‘getting through it’ how ’bout we start GOING THROUGH IT as a part of life’s journey!?

Today, lets find a way, no matter the circumstances, to stop JUST GETTING THROUGH IT. 

Instead,  let’s start sucking the marrow out of life instead of leaving all that meat on the bone!

Mark every day by a lesson learned, a story heard or a smile shared.

Sure, we need to just get through some things, but when it’s everyday, we either need to change our course or change our minds.

Today, let’s find one little thing that made the day or just the moment worth LIVING THROUGH and stop just GETTING THROUGH.

Sliver of Light

Isn’t it wondrous that if you expose a dark room to a sliver of light, the light fills the void?

But if you expose a lighted room to sliver of darkness, there is no effect.

This thought struck me one night, sleeping on a top bunk in a barrack at Ft. Polk, Louisiana around 1997.  Someone cracked the door to the small room I was sleeping in  and the light came flooding in.  As the light poured in on every exposed opening, it struck me how readily the darkness succumbs to the light!

But what if the darkness had the power of light? What if you opened a dark room to a lighted room and the darkness filled the void?  Wouldn’t that be a peculiar sight, seeing the stretch of darkness piercing the light?

Consider the light and the life of the sun, providing its power and dominion some 93 million miles away. Its extraordinary heat and the sensational light, producing all of life for us!

The poor moon produces none of it’s own light. It’s a rock, floating in space.  But the light of the sun is so spectacular and so glorious that even a mere rock reflects enough light to guide us through the darkness!

No, the metaphor did not escape me.  The dominance and victory of ‘The Light On High’ is just as true in nature.  In the end, the light will indeed overcome all darkness!

Glory Be To The Light and The Lamb!