From everything I’ve researched and read (and admittedly I’m not a genealogist, so I could be completely wrong), the first Spooners to arrive in America landed at Plymouth in 1637. Ann Spooner (born in Nottinghamshire, England, in 1598) arrived with her young sons William (my ancestor, age 16 at the time) and Thomas (age 14).

Ann was a widow, her husband John having died in 1628. They were part of the early Puritan movement that left England in protest of the Church of England in 1608-1610 and settled in Holland. Born in Buckingham, England, in 1594, John took up the trade of ribbonmaker once in Holland. (Many of the Puritans worked in the textile industry, which was extremely difficult labor.) John was in the same trade as early American settler Jonathan Brewster, son of Mayflower passenger and Pilgrim leader and preacher William Brewster, and John and Jonathan were often partners in various transactions. John, a widower himself who lost his first wife Susanna in 1616, married Ann Peck — a fellow Pilgrim from England — later that year, and they had two sons, William and Thomas, both born in Leiden.

In 1637, Ann and her sons boarded a ship for the Plymouth Colony. It’s not clear exactly which ship they came over on — there were quite a few ships arriving in Massachusetts from London at the time as the Pilgrims began flocking to the new colonies — but the first record of William on this side of the ocean was on March 27, 1637. Ann, a widow with two young boys, was undoubtedly very poor when the three of them arrived in Plymouth, and William came over as an indentured servant of a well-to-do citizen named John Holmes of New Plymouth. Indentured servitude was a common practice at the time, an arrangement whereby the servant agreed to work for his master without pay for a set period of time in exchange for transportation, food, and lodging. It was likely the only way William could’ve afforded to make his journey to America.

After arriving in Plymouth, Ann and Thomas settled in Salem (yes, the same one where the Salem Witch Trials were held in the 1690s), while William was transferred to Colchester, in Essex County, and then to New Plymouth. Typical of the time, William had very little formal education, but as an apprentice to John Holmes, he was considered to be a faithful and competent steward and was entrusted with the administration of his master’s estate and the custody of his children. In August 1643 he was also mentioned as one of “all the males that are able to beare arms, from xvi years old to 60 years with in the several townships.” On June 7, 1653, William was put forth for consideration to be set free from his servitude, and a year later was officially declared free. About the same time, William was appointed Surveyor of Highways, and he also served on the Grand Enquest in 1657 and 1666.

William married Elizabeth Partridge (born ca. 1622 in England) in 1642. They had one son, John S. Spooner, born in 1644 in Plymouth. Elizabeth died in 1648, and William remarried a few years later to Hannah Pratt (born in 1630 in Plymouth) in Dartmouth, Massachusetts. He and Elizabeth had five children: Isaac (1652-1709), Sarah (1653-1720), William (1654-1735), Samuel (1654-1739), and Martha (1657-1717). I descended from Samuel.

William and his family resided in Plymouth until 1660, when they moved to the settlement of Ascushnet in the Dartmouth purchase. He held land in his own name and interest in the purchase. His land and grants made to his sons and grandson were situated near “The-Head-of-the-River” northeast of modern-day New Bedford, Massachusetts. He and his sons built the first mill in Dartmouth, which is located in what is now the village of Ascushnet, and he died on March 8, 1683/1684, in Dartmouth.

Over the years, the Spooners would migrate to Albany, New York, and then to Ohio before reaching Texas shortly after the Civil War. And that’s where I’m from, a proud Texan, but also thankful for my Pilgrim heritage.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Previously:
Thankful for the Pilgrims
Red, white, and blue states
Remembering my grandfather

As a father I’ve tried to prepare for the delicate, difficult, and even sometimes embarrassing questions that my kids will inevitably ask. Ask me anything related to religion, morality, or the human anatomy, and while I may not have all the answers, I’m at least not surprised to hear the question. But nothing — and I mean nothing — could’ve prepared me for the question Megan asked me last night:

“Daddy, what would you do if I went to Texas A&M?”

After I regained consciousness, I explained as sweetly as I could that I would have to disown her but that I would be absolutely heartbroken about it.

OK, I didn’t really tell her I’d disown her. But is it that unreasonable to ask that your first-born child change her last name before moving off to college? I don’t think it is.

Clearly I have failed as a parent to properly educate her on the ways of the Texas Aggies. How smart, well-grounded young men and women move to College Station and become brainwashed into the Cult of the 12th Man. One day they’re well-mannered, intelligent adults, the next they’re shaving their heads, building structurally unsafe bonfires, and “Whooping” every five minutes. And then when they get older, they have little Aggie babies with maroon diapers emblazoned with a broken longhorn logo and “Saw ‘Em Off” written in burnt orange Comic Sans. And no grandchild of mine will be humiliated like that!

Megan’s new-found affinity for A&M, thankfully, isn’t due to indoctrination but rather her dream of one day becoming a veterinarian, and practically speaking, there aren’t that many vet schools in Texas. I could try leading her to a new dream, for example the exciting world of Information Technology, but frankly I can’t bring myself to crush her soul like that. Or I could try to persuade her to look outside the state for another vet school, but then I start thinking about out-of-state tuition costs and my head starts hurting. My only saving grace is that she’s is only 10 and a lot can (and will) change between now and high school graduation.

Of course, I’ll continue to love her unconditionally and support her no matter where she goes to college or what she does with her life. She’s my daughter, and I’ll always be her dad. And nothing will ever change that. Even if she does end up going to, well, let’s just not think about it.

Previously:
I hope they follow me
On dragons
The circle game

Of course, I know I won’t. But maybe I need some time away, an extended break from that online world that may or may not be reality.

Truth be told, I’ve been struggling lately. I touched on some of it in my last post, but honestly, that’s just barely scratching the surface. I feel like I need to talk about it or at least vent some of my frustration, but Twitter isn’t the place to do that. And really this blog isn’t either. So I’ve been kinda quiet lately, not wanting to say something online that I’ll regret or that could be misinterpreted.

Withdrawing is a natural response for me. It’s what I do when I get depressed or stressed out. I shut down. I’m a private, introverted person anyway, but I become even more so until I’m able to work through my emotions. That’s probably not too healthy, and I know it gives my wife fits. But I guess it’s better than erupting or overreacting. Or maybe not, I don’t know.

Anyway, the point is, I don’t necessarily need to be on Twitter during times like this. When I try to post something of value, it usually just comes out wrong, and it’s not like anyone really gives a rip about what I have to say anyway. Except for a few people who follow me, nobody on Twitter knows me in real life. They’re not actual friends, and my presence or lack thereof has no bearing on their lives. To pretend to be more significant that I really am would be foolish and extremely egotistical. At the end of the day, I’m nobody, at least as far as the Internet is concerned.

I matter to my family, and I’m thankful for that. I’m thankful for my wife and kids who love me. That’s real life. That’s reality.

Twitter isn’t. So for now, maybe I need to set it aside. It’ll still be there if I decide to go back.

Previously:
Drought
One thing
Happy New Year
Who are you following?

It was like the day was burning
Everywhere he turned, he saw the fields on fire
Captive by the wire

Home fell like breaking china
Fear was the only thing they shared at all
Bearing every soul

Oh, give me rest tonite

– Hoi Polloi, “Rest Tonite”

Texas is in the midst of one of the worst droughts in the state’s history and suffering through one of its hottest summers. Here in the DFW Metroplex, we racked up 40 days straight of triple-digit high temperatures in July and August, two days short of tying a record, and have so far had 57 days total over 100 degrees, with that number climbing daily. Further south, it’s much worse. Austin has already had 69 days of 100 degree-plus weather and much less rainfall. Losses in crops and livestock due to the drought have cost Texas $5.2 billion, and much of the state is under severe water restrictions.

And there’s no sign of relief any time soon. While the temperatures will eventually subside in a month or so, meteorologists are saying we’re probably in for another drier-than-normal La Niña winter. Which means things will probably get a lot worse before they get any better.

Not that I want to go back to the ice and snow we had back in February that all but shut down the Metroplex for a week, but I’d like to at least go outside without the fear of spontaneous combustion. Is that too much to ask?

As bad as the weather is, though, it’s something you expect living in North Texas. Triple-digit heat for weeks on end in summer is perfectly normal, and anyone who’s lived here more than a couple of years knows how to deal with it. What’s debilitating, however, is the other kind of drought, the one that doesn’t come with maps, charts, and rainfall records.

It’s the physical drought, emotional drought, spiritual drought, financial drought. All of which I’ve been dealing with lately. More than just being in a rut, it’s the sense that nothing is ever going to get better, that relief from the current stresses and struggles is never going to arrive.

I haven’t been sleeping well. My back has been killing me due in part to the horrible bed we have, and I toss and turn at night only to wake up just as exhausted as I was the night before. I haven’t been eating right or exercising, which of course hasn’t helped the situation. And the financial hardships we’ve faced over the past several months have weighed heavily on me, not that I’m bothering to pray about them like I should. I have been reading my Bible, still on track to finish my year-long commitment to read the Bible by the end of September. But often I squeeze in my reading on my lunch break just to get through it and cross it off my list, not taking the time to reflect on what God is trying to tell me through His Word.

The result is that I’ve felt drained all the way around. Stuck. Worthless. Hopeless. Even though I know that just as with the months-long drought, the situation won’t last forever. Even though I know I can actually change some things on my own now, even if the changes are incremental.

Costa Rican missionary Jamie Wright recently wrote about a neighbor who, unable to sleep for weeks on end because of another neighbor’s barking dogs, has repeatedly begged for the barking to end, desperate to get some rest: ”PAZ SEÑOR, PAZ POR FAVOR….necesito dormir. NECESITO DORMIR… HAGA ALGO…”

“PEACE, SIR, PEACE PLEASE… I need to sleep. I NEED TO SLEEP… DO SOMETHING…”

And that’s exactly how I’ve felt. Tired, sore, beaten down, and desperate for rest.

There was a tinge of disappointment when our 40-day streak of hundred-degree heat was briefly broken a couple of weeks ago. If we were gonna suffer through so much heat, then we wanted some kind of recognition for it; we wanted to be Number 1. But I think there’s something significant about the streak only lasting 40 days.

In the beginning of His ministry, Jesus went into the wilderness and fasted for 40 days. During that time He was tempted by Satan, but the Bible says Jesus also became very hungry. Knowing how long that 40 days of heat felt like (somewhere around an eternity), I can’t imagine fasting for that long. Something tells me “very hungry” would be a drastic understatement. And yet that’s how long He was out there. Did He feel tired? Beaten down? Desperate? I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure there was a reason He did it. Jesus was about to begin a three-year ministry that would end with His death on a Roman cross. He knew the road ahead of Him and knew how difficult it would be. But it was necessary, and He needed time alone with His Father before it began.

Of course, there’s a big difference between a fast and a drought. Jesus chose to fast; we didn’t choose to have a drought. Yet both are hardships, and both bring pain. Hebrews 5:8 says, “Even though Jesus was God’s Son, he learned obedience from the things he suffered.” There’s no question Jesus suffered during His 40 days in the wilderness. But through that suffering He learned obedience. In the midst of pain, you essentially have two choices: You can grow up or you can give up. Jesus didn’t give up. And neither can I.

This past Sunday our pastor talked about James 1:2-4:

Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.

When you’re going through the troubles, the pain, the drought, he said, you’re not gonna feel joy. You’re gonna hurt. You’re gonna mourn. But the joy comes in the fact that your faith is being tested, that it’s being proven real. It’s easy to have faith when it’s never tested, but if it’s never tested, how do you know you can really depend on it? Only through putting it to the fire can we know that it can withstand the flames. And for that reason, James says, we should be joyful.

So that’s where I am: in the middle of the fire. Tired, beaten down, financially broke, spiritually broken, desperate for rest. And yet somehow full of joy and thankful for the drought.

Previously:
Who is your Elihu?
Look for the search lights
What, me worry?
Who’s in your mine?

Of course, trivia buffs know that the first video ever shown on MTV was The Buggles’ “Video Killed The Radio Star”. But the first video I ever saw on the basic cable network (you know, back when they actually showed music videos), was “Centerfold” by The J. Geils Band.

That was in late 1981 or early 1982. Which means I was 7 at the time and in 2nd grade. My dad had moved into an apartment across town and had gotten cable, which was amazing in and of itself. I remember going over there one weekend and him showing off all the dozen or so channels, which were changed using one of these. I was hooked instantly. And I wanted my MTV. (It was also at his apartment where I first saw “Monty Python and the Holy Grail”. While eating Taco Bell. I’m not sure why I remember that, but obviously it made an impression.)

Now, would I ever let my 7-year-old watch a video about a former high school crush-turned-Playboy model? (A song, by the way, that contains probably the best lyric ever: “We’ll take your car, yes we will / We’ll take your car and drive it / We’ll take it to a motel room / And take ‘em off in private”.) Um, that would be a no. But strangely the thing I remember most about that video isn’t the girls prancing around, it’s the drum filled with milk.

Hey, I was 7. What do you expect?

Our house backs up to an undeveloped greenbelt, and we have a 4-foot wrought iron fence along the back. Because the HOA wouldn’t do any landscaping behind our house (like they were supposed to), we had a hard time keeping the grass trimmed along the fence, so I took matters into my own hands and decided to trim it myself, which required climbing over the fence because we didn’t have a gate at the time. While Christy was busy studying for school and the girls were watching TV, I climbed up onto the fence and hopped over. And that’s when everything went to hell.

I landed on the uneven ground wrong, hyperextending my left leg as I fell. Hearing a pop from my leg, I knew instantly I had hurt myself pretty bad. Nothing appeared to be broken, so I tried standing to see if I could put any weight on it. Nope. Back to the ground. A minute or so later, Christy came out and asked if I was OK. I think I said something, but I don’t really remember.

After making it to the ER, the doctor initially diagnosed it as a sprained knee and told me to follow up with an orthopedic doctor if it didn’t improve. Obviously, it turned out to be quite a bit worse. I spent the next two weeks on the couch with my leg immobilized. The orthopedic doctor determined that it was an in fact a tibial intercondylar eminence fracture and that we’d have to wait to see if it would heal on its own. It eventually did, but not before I developed a blood clot in my leg.

Turns out I’m positive for Factor V Leiden, a common hereditary disorder which increases your chance of developing blood clots. (My mother, sister, nieces, and at least one of our daughters have also tested positive for it.) I spent three days in the hospital to be treated for the clot and was then on Coumadin for another nine months.

Today, I’m off the medication and the fracture has long since healed, but I still deal with a lot of pain in my knee. I’m also much more paranoid about reinjuring it or developing another blood clot. And I’m also still paying off the hospital bill, which will probably linger for a while.

The moral of the story? Obviously, don’t do anything stupid. Easier said than done, I suppose. And if you have any family members who’ve had issues with blood clots, get tested for Factor V Leiden immediately. Had I known I was positive, I could’ve gotten on blood thinners immediately and would never have had to go to the hospital.

But I think the deeper lesson is this: Sometimes things just happen. I blamed myself for a long time for causing the injury and all the misery and hardship to my family that came with it. Heck, the blood clot itself could’ve been fatal. But at the end of the day, it was just an accident, and I had to learn to let it go and move on. I was having a crappy summer up until then, mostly due to work, and had I not gotten injured, I probably would’ve bitched about my workload for another couple of months. Instead, I ended up coaching my daughter’s soccer team just a week after leaving the hospital. (I actually showed up to the first practice still on crutches and spent the entire season with a leg brace on.)

I’m gradually getting better and hope to eventually run (or at least complete) a 5k with Christy. And I’ll likely be back on the sideline coaching my girls’ soccer team this fall. I may not be 100% by then, but at least I won’t be on crutches.

Previously:
About nothing in particular
I signed up for WHAT?!
August, you suck too
Goodbye, July

I will no doubt miss her terribly. Her antiquated West Texas slang, her amazing homemade peach cobbler, and even her constant nitpicking and borderline anxiety disorder. She bought me my first Bible (King James Version, naturally) and then threw a fit when I announced one Sunday that I was wearing jeans to church. (The horror!) But as much as I’ll miss her, I can rejoice in the fact that she is a Christian and that she’ll finally be going home to her Lord and Savior.

As I was thinking about her and what the next several days will bring, I opened the liner notes of Flyleaf’s Remember to Live CD and read the letter printed inside. And I couldn’t help but to appreciate the timing of it:

My daddy died in the war. At the funeral, I couldn’t take my eyes off the beautiful script tattooed on his hands. “Memento” on his left, “Mori” on his right. That was the first time I understood the words he had always spoken to me whenever he felt like I was being reckless with my time… or when I pitched a fit of anger over something petty… or when I went around discontented and depressed because of circumstances over which I had no control…

“Memento mori, my favorite one,” he’d say. “We must remember that each day of each life is a gift. We must not waste the opportunities we have to be alive and to truly love.”

I had wasted so many moments with my daddy because of my selfishness. I would wallow in my own problems and make them the center of my life. All the while, my daddy was fighting to show the world that if we would be selfless and love, then we could actually make the world a better place.

I heard him tell young soldiers who were deeply depressed, “You must take your eyes off of yourself and put them on others.” There was such a gentle love in his voice when he said this, never discounting the suffering in the heart of the soldiers while encouraging their caring for one another. He is the only one I ever knew who could speak with such bold truth and compassionate love at the same time.

The day after the funeral, I embroidered a patch on my coat that I committed to wear every day with the reminder that because I will die, I must remember to live, to be alive, and to do what I can while I’m still breathing and always choose to love with joy and grace. Also, when someone I love wants to live like they are already dead, the patch reminds me of my love for them and that I should not forget to pray for them to remember to live.

I embroidered the words “Memento Vivere” in the same beautiful script that once had read “Memento Mori” across my daddy’s hands. I know I will die, so I must remember to live.

Maranatha Pearl
Daughter of the Commander

Previously:
Remembering my grandfather
A different checklist
The circle game

About a week ago, we finally got around to seeing the animated movie How To Train Your Dragon. It’s a great movie, and the kids loved it. Of course, when it first came out, I couldn’t help but to joke that it looked nothing like the book, that book being Donald Miller’s To Own A Dragon.

Interestingly, though, I think there might be some thematic similarities between the two.

Miller’s book, subtitled Reflections On Growing Up Without A Father, deals with the subjects of manhood and fatherhood and the difficulties of coming of age without a father. Fatherhood is likewise a driving theme of How To Train Your Dragon. In the movie, a scrawny, bookish boy named Hiccup tries to win the approval of his battle-hardened Viking dad Stoick, but the distant and cold Stoick cannot accept his son unless he becomes a fierce warrior like himself. When Hiccup refuses to slay a dragon, he’s rejected, left alone while his father leaves to wage war without him.

Miller reflects on that sense of rejection in his book:

There was a book with pictures of a boy riding a dragon through the clouds, smoke and fire coming from the creature’s nostrils, the boy leaning in as the dragon ascended over a pleasant village. And I remember wondering what it would be like to own a dragon, to lie across the monster’s spine, inching toward its neck as the beast jolted into flight, thrusting through the milky pretext for heaven that glows over Houston, up and above the weather where my dragon and I could watch lightning fight itself into exhaustion.

I bring this up because in writing some thoughts about a father, or not having a father, I feel as though I am writing a book about a dragon or a troll under a bridge. For me a father is nothing more than a character in a fairy tale. And I know fathers are not like dragons in that fathers actually exist, but I don’t remember feeling that a father existed for me. I know they are real people. I have seen them on television, and sliding their arms around women in grocery stores, and I have seen them in the malls and in the coffee shops, but these were characters in other people’s stories, and I never stopped to question why one of these characters wasn’t living in our house. I don’t say this out of self-pity, because in a way I don’t miss having a father any more than I miss having a dragon. But in another way, I find myself wondering if I missed out on something important.

The common message of both the book and the movie is this: fathers matter to their sons (and daughters). Children want desperately to be loved and accepted by their dad, unconditionally and without fail, to know that they themselves matter, and not just in fairy tales or stories of Vikings and dragons.

Previously:
Why does Donald Miller hate Texas?
(Re)defining ‘manhood’
Lesson One
Defining ‘manhood’

Anyway, I didn’t really have anything in particular to blog about, so I thought I’d throw a bunch of random things into one big post and let you pick out the stuff you’re mildly interested in.

First off, college football. I normally post a lot of college football stuff every year, but I haven’t written anything all season (which is now almost over). So what did I miss? A horrendous year for the Texas Longhorns but another undefeated season for the TCU Horned Frogs for starters. The Horns will bounce back, but not easily. They’ll (hopefully) fire a few coaches (Greg Davis, please?) and be a lot stronger next year. Of course, so will most of the other Big 12 South schools. Tech will be better, OSU and A&M are getting stronger, and OU is always a threat. The days of Mack Brown just showing up and being handed an automatic victory are over, at least for the foreseeable future. They won’t have another crappy season next year, but they won’t be undefeated either. I would say 9-3 is probably realistic. Not that that will appease the powers that be, but whatever. Parity in college football is long overdue.

As for TCU, the big news as of this morning is that the Frogs are jumping over to the Big East as of 2012. I’m not really fond of their decision. Yes, it puts them in a (weak) BCS AQ conference and gives them more national exposure, but that doesn’t make it the right thing to do. It seems like a short-term solution to a long-term problem. A stronger Mountain West conference, bolstered by Boise State, would likely be in contention for an AQ bid within a couple of years, but now TCU will be stuck a conference that sucks in football but dominates in basketball. Of course, the MWC — even with AQ certification — still wouldn’t have the big TV contracts that the Big East does. So perhaps the choice is really between Versus and ESPN. And really, there’s no contest there.

A big plus for TCU bailing on the Mountain West, though: We won’t have to see the Frogs play at Boise State. The Broncos come to Fort Worth in 2011, and then the Frogs will be in the Big East the next year. I’m sorry, but I just can’t watch Boise State games; that horrendous blue turf makes my eyes bleed.

I’m not about to complain if TCU doesn’t make it to the National Championship this year. Playing in the Rose Bowl against a very good Wisconsin team is not a bad consolation prize at all.

This past Sunday was my first week back in the Children’s ministry at church. I had sat out my last six-week rotation due to my leg injury. It was really good to be back. I genuinely love serving there, and I had missed being a part of it. Not sure yet what this rotation will be like. Last year we did a very big and involved Christmas pageant, but thankfully I don’t think we’re doing that again.

Speaking of my leg, it’s doing a lot better. The fracture is healed, and I’m gradually gaining my strength and stability back. Now I just have to pay off the rest of my medical bills.

I mentioned back in August that I had volunteered to coach my daughter’s soccer team. We wrapped up the season at the end of October with a record of 2-5-1. I learned a ton along the way, and I think I’d be much better the next time around. What surprised me most was how emotionally invested I got, and that wasn’t always a good thing. I let my frustration with the players and parents get to me too much, and I had to learn to let it go and just have fun. I think that’s where experience helps.

Also in October, I started a year-long commitment with the rest of my church to read through the Bible in a year. I’m happy to report that I’ve kept up. So far, I’ve read Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers in the Old Testament and John, Romans, Hebrews, and Acts in the New Testament. It’s been very interesting. One of the cool things is how the Old and New Testaments parallel each other. You have the story of Creation in Genesis and then another “In the beginning” in John. The introduction of the Mosaic Law in Exodus and then a contrast between the Law and grace in Romans. A detailed list of sacrifices in Leviticus, and Jesus as the ultimate sacrifice in Hebrews. The beginning of Israel’s disobedience in Numbers, and the beginning of the apostles’ obedience in Acts.

As interesting as it is, though, my faith has definitely been challenged. The more I read, the more questions I have. And the more questions I ask, the more questions that branch off from there. I can definitely understand why someone would read the Bible and walk away an atheist; much of it makes no sense whatsoever by modern standards. I guess that’s where faith comes in. I don’t have to understand everything or have all the answers in order to accept it. And that’s actually a pretty liberating realization.

My wife has asked several times what I want for Christmas. I can think of a lot of stuff that we can’t afford but not a lot of things that we can. When I was growing up, I always had a Christmas list that was ten pages long; nowadays I have a hard time coming up with ten things total. I guess that means I’m getting old.

By the way, get off my lawn!

While I’m on the subject of Christmas, can someone please explain why we as Christians put more emphasis on Christmas than on Easter? We have this huge month-long celebration for the birth of Christ, but His death and resurrection are a much bigger deal if you ask me. So I vote for moving all the pomp and circumstance of Christmas to Easter. Who’s with me?

Previously:
Thoughts on Genesis
I signed up for WHAT?!
August, you suck too
Wait, that was it?!

In fact, truth be told, I’m pretty stressed most of the time. Usually about work or finances or my insanely long commute or the $2000 in medical bills I still owe from when I broke my leg and spent three days in the hospital.

Of course, I’m not alone. You’re stressed, too, admit it. Everyone is. It’s unavoidable. Stress is a by-product of modern-day life in America, and it’s largely caused by one thing: fear. Whole industries are built around this fact. Take the news media, for example. It used to be that the role of the media was to report the news. These days, though, it’s all about inciting fear in order to boost ratings. Think about it. When was the last time you heard a news anchor say, “Coming up, a new report shows no significant link between jet skiing and lung cancer.” No, instead it’s more like, “Coming up, why you’re going to die tomorrow unless you watch our news broadcast right this second. Seriously, YOU’RE GONNA DIE, PEOPLE!”

The media want us to be scared. They want us to worry. They want us to be angry. Just this morning on the way to work, a radio station I was listening to told listeners that after the break, “we’ve got a story about the TSA that will make you furious.” Their exact words. Their story? A 3-year-old girl threw a temper tantrum in an airport because a TSA agent X-rayed her teddy bear and then patted her down while her mother held her.

And why exactly would that make me furious?

OK, so maybe I’m not stressed over airport security. But maybe I should worry about how Obama is turning our country into a communist regime. Or maybe about the meltdown of our economy. Or illegal immigration. Or net neutrality. Or global warming. Or high fructose corn syrup.

You know those commercials where the husband gets a text message from his wife: “Are we going to have enough money to retire on? What if the market doesn’t come back? What’s Plan B?” And the guy doesn’t reply back because he realizes he doesn’t have the answer. That’s fear. That investment company wants you to be scared. They want you to worry. Most of us, however, can’t even begin to think about retirement because we’re too busy worrying about losing our job or our house or our hair.

As Roseanne Roseannadanna used to say, “It just goes to show you, it’s always something.”

Meanwhile, all this chronic stress is wreaking havoc on us physiologically: a weakened immune system, high blood pressure, increased risk of coronary artery disease, increased risk of cancer, greater obesity, depression, anxiety, loss of memory, and on an on. All because we’re constantly on edge about something. (And yes, I appreciate the irony of worrying about being worried.)

Listen, I’m just as guilty of being overly stressed as anyone. I worry about stuff all the time, a little bit of stuff that I can control and a whole bunch of stuff I can’t. The reality, though, is that most of our stress is self-induced. We bring it on willingly, sometimes even invite it into our lives. Maybe because it’s part of our nature. Maybe because we’re just stupid.

But we’ve got to learn to let it go, to not let fear control our lives, to let ourselves be consumed with worry and stress. Obviously, that’s hard to do. But what’s the alternative?

“That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life—whether you have enough food and drink, or enough clothes to wear. Isn’t life more than food, and your body more than clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?

“And why worry about your clothing? Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith?

“So don’t worry about these things, saying, ‘What will we eat? What will we drink? What will we wear?’ These things dominate the thoughts of unbelievers, but your heavenly Father already knows all your needs. Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need.

“So don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.”

– Matthew 6:25-34

Previously:
Who’s in your mine?
What happens next
Defining ‘manhood’