Lutherans have a subdued tradition.  At the beginning of the church service, there is a “Brief Order of Confession and Forgiveness.”  Early Sunday morning, we are forgiven of our sins.  Less than a minute.  Bing, bang, boom.  All clean.  That simple.

Today, as the Pastor was reading the portion announcing our fresh start, I turned to my 9-year-old son Sam and said with a smile, “Hey, you are free from any sins.”  He responded with a wry little grin as if to say, “Dad, be quiet.  You are embarrassing me.”  Well, I could not let that grin pass so I continued, “Now make sure not to sin the rest of the day.”  Sam responded with the same grin, this time appearing to say, “Dad, please stop it.”

Turns out in the spur of the moment, my worst mistake was not the embarrassing of Sam.  That was a perfectly acceptable “Dad Move.”  My worst mistake was my emphasis.  You see I should not have emphasized the avoidance of future sins.  None of us will ever succeed at that.  I should have emphasized something more important.  Now that you are sinless, smile, go out, do good.  Be so happy that your joy is contagious.  Do such good that others will see the beauty of God within you.  Be a light.  Shine.  You have been forgiven.

Rare jam session footage of Martin Luther and his band “Gnade Gottes.”

With Charlene out at a meeting, I decided to head out for a late breakfast with our three boys.  One of my favorite things, playfully adventuring out with my kids.  Enjoying life, spending carefree time with them.  Their complete faith that I will only lead them to fun.  My boys supplying me with joy.  The perfect give and take.

Finishing breakfast, I spied a tiny independent coffee shop across the street.  The perfect detour on our excursion.

Crossing the street, I chatted with my boys.  Not worried too much about anything at all, we ventured on.  I reached out and opened the door to the coffee shop.  Together, we stepped in.  One problem, the door I had opened led to the stairs of an apartment.  I was momentarily stunned.  My boys looked momentarily shocked.

Stepping backwards, I looked at the apartment door somewhat confused.  My boys looked to the right and with giggles all around, they pointed out the coffee shop door, which happened to have a sign for the coffee shop directly above it.  Well, that makes sense.

That’s when I realized, in one split second I had gone from a loving father to a creepy dude opening random apartment doors.  Ugh, how quickly life can turn.

Don’t worry, I’m not a creepy dude or a creepy clown, but I must say that my creepy clown costume is a winner, as well as a Joker.

The call came at 1:20 PM.  My 7-year-old son Ben was sick and would need to come home from school.  My plans for a productive afternoon were shot.  It was shaping up to be a bad day.

A few hours later, I picked up Ben’s older brother Sam from school.  He quickly rattled off the day’s events, which were punctuated with the news that his friend James got really sick.  Sam continued with the details, “James kept throwing up and I even had to hold the trash can under him, as he threw up all the way to the office.”

Correction, I did not have such a bad day.  My son Ben, who got sick and was sent home from school, had a bad day.  My son Sam’s friend James, who could not stop throwing up, had a bad day.  The winner however was Sam.  Anyone who is left holding the traveling trash can of another’s vomit had the worst day.  No contest.

Driving toward work, I had my eyes on the horizon.  Today was going to be a great day.  I had a plan to get a lot done.  I was going to rock my to-do list.

Approaching an intersection, I looked up and saw a yellow light.  My mind pondered the question, “To go or not to go,” that was the question.  Then from the corner of my eye, I spotted a wild card.  Something that would play a deciding factor.  A police car off to the right, who was waiting to cross the intersection.  “Risk a ticket or not to risk a ticket,” that was now the question.

Weighing the risk for a long second, I applied significant pressure on the breaks.  All of the items on my passenger’s seat flew to the floor below.  The hair on top of my head shifted forward.  My eyes focused on the light.

Coming to a complete stop barely within the crosswalk, the light turned red.  The police car proceeded across the street.  I knew that the ticket had been ready to be written.  My fate most certainly would have been sealed with paper and pen.  I could feel it.  I had resisted the crime.  I had avoided the punishment.  I had made the right choice.

Now, it was time to exhale, relax, and wait for green.  My to-do list could wait a few seconds more.  No need to race ahead.  Best not to run the yellow.

The other day, I was leaving the library, when I saw a Pokemon display.  Picking apart the display, I selected a DVD and some books for the boys.

A few days passed and it was time to take back the DVD, so I collected all of the library goodies and dropped them off.  Bing, bang, boom.  What a good library patron am I.

Later that day, I received a call from the library.  One of the DVDs were missing.  Who even knew that Pokemon came in a box set?  Returned home, grabbed DVD, returned it to the library.  Somewhat a problematic patron, but I meant well.

Today, I received an email from the library.  Turns out their computer said that I owed “Pokemon the Movie.”  Over lunch, I returned to the library and pleaded my case.  I was sure that I had returned the DVD.  They were adamant  that I still owed the item.  They asked me to look at home and see if I had it.  I hesitantly promised that I would.

Coming home, there it was “Pokemon the Movie – The Book.”  The book of the movie.  Yep, they actually wrote a book about “Pokemon the Movie.”  Who knew?  Not me, but apparently I had checked it out, because there it was resting in my hands.  Oh yes, in a few short days, I had gone from being a good library patron to a argumentative high maintenance clueless one.  Way to go, but I guess that’s at least progress or something like that.

As our fourth grade son Sam prepared for Friday’s Student Council election, he expressed a legitimate concern.  Given that his class has a lot more girls than boys, if a girl runs and gets all of the girls to vote for her, Sam would not stand a chance.  The numbers were working against him.  He faced a steep demographic hill to climb.

Then I suggested a possible “Road to Student Council.”  If Sam could convince another girl to run and split the “girl vote,” then Sam would stand a chance.

Sam looked at me with skepticism.  Ugh, never a kingmaker in your own land.

Spending a lovely evening enjoying wine and conversation, I’ll admit that I was getting a little sleepy.

Conversations drifted from topic to topic.  Kids…  backyard pests…  travel plans…  jobs…

Suddenly, I piped up, “Voles.  Voles are bad.” Uh thanks Grandpa Dave, but we moved on from the discussion of backyard pests five minutes ago.  Oh well, no bother.  Fill up my wine, get me a warm shawl, and I’ll be fine.  Five minutes late, but fine.

Also, whatever you do, watch out for those voles.  I hear they’re bad.

After a great weekend with family and friends, our trip was nearing an end.  The car was packed, the kids were all in their places, we were ready to go.  Ten hour drive home, here we come!

I started the car and drove a hundred feet down the road, when a young voice echoed from the third row.  “I cannot get my seat belt buckled.”  No worries, that’s that kind of things dads are made to fix.

Pulling over, I circled the car and walked over the grass that was wet with morning dew.  Climbing into the second row, I shimmied my big man sized body halfway over the seat, so that I could help the child in the third row.

My body still draped over the second row headrest, I identified the problem.  The belt needed some additional slack by pulling on the top of the seat belt.  I tried to pull and the seat belt resisted my effort.

I hoisted my body up, positioned my foot on the seat for leverage, and reached once again for the seat belt.  Resisting again, I pulled harder.  That’s when my shoe, wet with morning dew, slipped on the seat.  With the combined force of my body and gravity, my frame crashed into the rear headrest.

Striking under my left rib cage, I felt like Rhonda Rousey had just kicked me in the chest.  My ribs felt like a bag of chips, popped, and freshly crushed.  My heart and lungs yelped.  I let go of the seat belt, faintly gasped, and slouched onto my knees.  I was terribly short on breath and my vision was cloudy.  Pain throbbed from under my ribs.  My mind raced, “Dear God, is my heart palpitating?  Is a rib sticking out my back?”  The family initially chuckled after my strange noise and apparent antics, then suddenly they realized I might really be hurt.  A chorus of concerned questions of “Are you okay?” mixed with an uncomfortable silence emanated from all corners of the car.

“Get a grip, man!  You have a job to do!”  Although I still could not really breath or talk, I waived off concerns.  I yanked the seat belt free and buckled in my child.  Holding my gut, I stumbled around the car and got behind the wheel.

Turning the ignition, I saw through the pain and only the road ahead of me.  I’m a dad.  I drive.  It’s what I do.  Ain’t no broken rib nonsense gonna derail the Dad Train.  100 feet down.  10 hours of driving to go.  Vacation was over and this dad had to do what a dad has to do.  Drive.

Looks like someone needs a special friend…

Oh well, his brothers will have to do for now…

On the bright side, the Paulsen Family will have three eligible bachelors in a few short years. #BeforeYouKnowIt

Oh, it looks like the boys have left the toilet paper dispenser empty, but somehow were able to dispose of the cardboard roll.

Looks like just a few more feet from the trash can to a fresh roll.

You can do it, kids.  I believe in you.  Cross that invisible barrier.  Change the roll!  Change the roll!