humc is weezer
(and that's not an altogether good/bad thing)


once upon a time, there was a band called weezer. in 1994 (my junior year of high school), weezer burst onto the scene with their self-titled album and their hit single, "undone - the sweater song". weezer was unique in the midst of the angst-y, self-important early nineties for several reasons. they didn't look like rock stars, in so many words. rivers cuomo and his thick-rimmed glasses looked like fifty guys that i would walk past in the hallway at school. when they played music and made music videos, they looked out and into the crowd and the camera versus staring at their shoes like so many of the scene grunge bands of that era. their songs had an edge to them, but they were poppy as all get out, immediately accessible and fun. cuomo's lyrics were incredibly self-deprecating (and still are), removing the pretense from whatever criticism they would inevitably receive from "making it". on the strength of "...the sweater song", "buddy holly", and "say it ain't so", weezer (the blue album, to fans) went multi-platinum and weezer was everywhere.

a couple years later, weezer would follow the blue album with their masterpiece, pinkerton. not nearly as accessible as their debut, pinkerton found cuomo at his dark and witty best. the songs took several listens to conjure up the same magic as their previous effort, but, once ingrained, you couldn't let them go. pinkerton, to this day, remains one of my top ten favorite records ever, and i can't imagine enough records coming out and into my "old dog" consciousness to knock it from that perch.

a funny thing happened to weezer, though, after pinkerton failed to make their record label mounds of cash. commercial success pulled cuomo in directions he was obviously uncomfortable moving, and his band was asked to change. over the last ten-plus years, weezer has spent record after record trying to recapture the mythical glory that was their early years. over the course of their last four or five records, the band finds itself in an unenviable place. they are a cover band, a weezer cover band that has spent the last several months on tour for two nights in each city they've visited, one night playing the blue album on the whole, the next night the same with pinkerton. don't get me wrong, as a fan that has written off five of their last six albums as "totally not pinkerton" (i gave maladroit an good, honest shot. still don't like it.), i would've loved going to one of these doubleheaders. but, in the end, i would've been sad for a band that i once loved whose "adoring" public had refused to let them move forward and mature into something more than that band that makes me feel better about being a teenager/college student.

as i sat around yesterday thinking about weezer, i started wondering and worrying about the place that my church currently finds herself in.

for years now, probably since before i came on staff in 1999, our congregation and her leaders and her pastors have been busy, maybe/maybe not intentionally, repackaging what was our blue album. in the late 80's and early 90's, we wrote a figurative album that many, many people found accessible and enjoyable and relevant.

nowadays, we are still very relevant to the majority of the group that has stuck around through thick and thin, but we can't quite figure out a path to our future. i wish on most days that we could forget about our past, stop talking about being 140 years old, and just pretend that we happened upon 200 or so nice people in the middle of huffman that were interested in establishing a united methodist church in the middle of a community that could use some tender love and care. having said that, i realize that wouldn't be fair. you can't ask people that have been around the church for way longer than my 30 years served to forget about our history and tradition any more than you could ask weezer to erase the blue album and pinkerton from their catalog. we will always carry that part of our identity with us.

the question remains, what good is it to us now? it is just a cause for celebration, that we've been able to survive for 140 years, or somewhere buried in all those years can we excavate and discern a map that points us toward 2100 a.d.?

our long range planning committee resumes its work this coming sunday, out from underneath the constraints of natural church development for the first time in months. here's hoping we can renew our energy and focus from this time last year and help create a vision that will energize our congregation to become something we didn't know we could be.

if we can't, i worry our 140th anniversary celebration in october will feel less like a party and more like a viewing, full of characters from our past gathered to pay their final respects to an old friend.

#whatwouldjesusdo

"i know you are hoping it's a boy"
(hannah and caroline and the little kumquat and me)
((part two))


cancer is everywhere.

especially if you are looking for it. i don't actively try and look for it as much as i did sixth months ago, but there is still a subconscious part of me that jumps into hyper-aware mode as soon as i read or hear a story of someone struggling with some form of it.

just today, i hopped into the car heading out for a brunch and a run with a friend and i turned on espn radio hoping for some mindless analysis of the nba playoffs or some "expert" to tell me why the braves offense (heyward included) currently makes me want to hide my eyes. instead, what do i get? pat williams, gm of the orlando magic is introduced by colin cowherd's sit-in, brian kenny, and they start off with a short anecdote about pat's son running in the boston marathon yesterday. why was pat's son running in the race? because his dad his fighting something called multiple myaloma. i don't even know what that is, nor am i going to google it because i will then be sure that i, too, have multiple myaloma. pat williams, while talking about his malady, could not have been in better spirits, though. it was unbelievable. he knew he was in for a fight, he admitted it, talked about how proud he was as a dad to have his son run in his place in the marathon that he trained all of two months for (really...that's not even fair. i've been running for three months now, and i am just up to four miles.), and then they rapidly changed subjects to dwight howard and his kind-of impending free agency (he will be after next season). i was floored. i was like, keep talking about the cancer. i need you to talk about the cancer so that it can ruin my day completely. but, they didn't. they spent 90 seconds on it and then moved into exactly what i was looking for. mindless talk about sports.

closer to my life, local, i have 3 friends that have spent time in and around limbo who are in different places with their respective father's battles with the disease. matt and stephanie have been told that they are in their final days with their father here on this earth. rachel's dad is beginning his radiation therapy today. all i or anyone that cares for these people would want for them is take their dads' pain and anxiety and confusion and illness away, but we can't take it away. we are forced to sit idly by and offer our prayers and our support and hope that, in some way, it helps. (i love you, guys.)

in one of my weaker moments a couple weeks ago, i looked around and found that percentage-wise, humans have a 1 in 3 chance of fighting with some form of cancer. cancer is everywhere. if you are looking for it.

in the last couple of weeks since sarah and i officially let the kumquat out of the bag, there is one comment that has been made more often (to me, at least) than any other aside from "congratulations".

"i know you are hoping for a boy."

yeah...

i know where the comments are coming from. if i've shared the story once, i've shared it a hundred times. one of my biggest regrets with our pregnancy experience with caroline was how visibly shaken and disappointed i was when we initially found out she was a girl. for weeks leading up to that special day and ultrasound, i joked with andy and kiker about the idea of having a boy. little league. soccer. pee-wee football. star wars. bmx bikes. hot wheels. we would sit and eat ribs and wipe bbq sauce on our faces and tim allen grunt and i just knew i would have my boy that would carry on the o'kelley name and give our house some macho to balance out all the pink and flowers and gymnastics that hannah sported proudly. alas, it didn't happen. caroline was a girl and sarah didn't have to look hard or long at my face to know that i was bothered.

i am proud to say that i was only bothered for a couple days. i adjusted my expectations. i started mentally preparing for another princess and on august 23, 2007, out she came looking just like, what do you know, me! what we lost in macho-balance we did gain in "hannah looks just like you, sarah and caroline looks just like kevin." yay! i could claim one! caroline looks like me and, today, at three years-old, well, she acts just like me. she's stubborn. i mean really fucking stubborn. she's strong-willed. she's not afraid of anything other than tiny bugs. she doesn't like london on suite life on deck. and she needs the remote...at all times. she and hannah, both very much girls, are both very much my girls, and i wouldn't have it any other way.

when i hear the comment, "i know you are hoping for a boy", i hear what people are saying. they know me. they know my boy name is just waiting to be used just like it's been waiting for the last ten years. they know i'm a freak about sports. they know i would be that dad at the ballpark, but really, this go around, ...

i couldn't give a shit.

i am being honest. i don't daydream about a boy the same way that i once did. what i daydream about is health. and love. and showing my children impactful ways to affect their universe. to not be rude for the sake of being rude. to be caring. to try really hard at always doing their best. to be kind to their mommy. to learn to love guacamole. you know? the important stuff. and i can do that with a girl or a boy. it makes no difference to me.

you probably don't believe me. i don't blame you. it's a shift in the paradigm that is me. that happens, i suppose, when life reminds you of your mortality.

cancer is everywhere. if you are looking for it. and i do, still. i look for it in moments. not to let it scare me. i look to let it ground me and remind me that little league isn't as important as i once thought it was.

i no longer play church basketball or church softball "to win the game". i play to finish the game and find a lesson somewhere wrapped inside the end result.

come boy. come girl. it makes no matter.

i am praying for you, matt. and you, stephanie. and you, rachel. and your dads.

come what may.

hannah and caroline and the little kumquat and me
(part one)


sunday morning, we were heading into firehouse off of highway 11 when sarah's dad, bill, shook my hand and said, "congratulations". i am paraphrasing the next part but it went something like this..., "there is no truer symbol of hope than bringing a child into the world."

i wasn't sure how he meant the comment.

it could've been just from the baby angle. baby=symbol of hope. a new life. completely innocent. completely unaware of how truly fucked up the world is. parents, entirely aware of how truly fucked up the world is, make the intentional decision to create a new life anyway. in the baby growing inside of the mommy's belly is not only a life, but a metaphor. the parents telling the world that they feel that all is not lost, not only for their current children but this child, too, and they are not afraid for this child or this child's future generations. the baby represents optimism, a moment in time flip of the bird to the cynic inside all of us, an expression of belief in the potential good of our fellow man and the goodness of our creator that allows miracles such as human creation to be within our reach and control.

it could've been from the kevin angle. at least, there was a part of me that heard it that way. there have been few people that have been as in tune with my every day anxieties over the last 18 months as sarah's dad. sarah's dad is a doctor, so any time anything odd happened to me, he was one of the first we talked to. a weird feeling i had never noticed or paid attention to before? will you call your dad? an experience relating to my expelling of bodily waste that worried me? will you call your dad? my being dizzy for several months post-operation? will you call your dad? something i read on the internet? i am pretty sure i just found my cause of death on webmd. will you call your dad? each time, he patiently (from what i am told) heard sarah's retelling of my most recent malady and responded back to her in a loving and educated and rational way. he didn't make fun of me (from what i am told). he didn't tell me to sod off (from what i am told). he just told me in so many words the same mantra that my therapist did. is it possible that little bump on your head that has been there as long as you can remember will end up killing you? maybe. is it probable? um, no.

more than likely, some of both of those sentiments were captured in bill's words and, however he meant them, i appreciated it.

in spite of all the clean scans, positive test results, return to health, and encouraging words, there have been many days in the last eighteen months i was certain my fate was in immediate peril. after my late january scan, i put my doctor on the spot.

dr. wade. this is unfair of me to ask you, but you have gotten to know me and my anxieties pretty well over the last 18-20 months. i have two concerns with the idea of having more children. one, i want to be relatively certain that, barring something unforeseen and unrelated to my having kidney cancer, i would like to be around and a part of that child's life for a long time. two, i also am worried about my children now and in the future-tense being at greater risk for having the same issue.

dr. wade: (smiles) that's not how this kind of cancer works. you shouldn't worry about that.

(here's the unfair part) so, if i were you, would you, you know, not try again?

dr. wade: (smiles) i think you should feel good about going on and living your life in whatever way you want to. we're going to see each other for a long time.

the rest, as they say, is now history.

"there is no truer symbol of hope than bringing a child into the world."

sarah is pregnant. twelve weeks on thursday. the due date is one week before my own birthday, october 23rd.

let's do this.