with the name tag that says “Dave.”

Now that we got that straight, carry on.

There’s just something so opposing, a legions of parents sit stationary for hours on cold aluminum high school bleachers, as we wait… and wait… and wait some more to see our children run track for about one minute tops. Okay, if we are lucky twelve minutes.

I guess being cryogenically frozen is not such a bad thing. As if I had a choice.

With a smile, my 10-year-old son Ben asked, “Dad, what would be your spirit animal?”

Without hesitation, I answered, “The villain from ‘Terminator 2.'”

Looking disappointed, Ben replied, “No seriously.”

Thank goodness for a son that grants second chances.

Editor’s Note – I do actually run like the villain in T2, so my response was only half joking.

Oh, if I really had to pick a spirit animal? A squirrel, duh.

This evening at dinner, my 10-year-old son Ben offered an unsolicited review, “Your blog is funny sometimes.” Hmm, “sometimes.” I needed to explore further.

Asking him for an example, Ben provided an instance of blog funniness, “I liked the elevator story” (http://cookiesbydave.com/quick-exit/). Yep, that one was pretty decent.

Still needing something more to dispel the negative connotations associated with “sometimes,” I asked, “What would be my blog’s percentage on ‘Rotten Tomatoes?'”

Ben got a worried look on his face. “They are pretty rude in their scoring.” Fine, fine, I know. What would my score be? Ben considered the question and provided a score, “93%.”

Wow! 93! That’s great! I was thinking more like 73 or less.

Then, I suddenly became concerned. I didn’t have any material today worthy of a 93% approval on Rotten Tomatoes.

I would need some outside help, so today I provide to you this awkward yoga illustration.

I find it blog worthy, since the author made a point to include a belly button.

Yep, 73% does seem more appropriate.

Looks like Sam’s socks are planning on making lefse. How Norwegian of them.

A few days ago, I posted a riveting story. A story about my dog. My dog and some stolen underwear. That story can be found here… http://cookiesbydave.com/underwear-buried-there/

Well, hold onto your, er, underwear, because here is the exciting conclusion.

Easter Sunday was gorgeous. A sunny beautiful Spring day. We went to church, had breakfast, hunted for eggs, and enjoyed the day. I figured that it was so nice out, I would wash my car. Not exactly an Easter tradition, but still a good activity for a sunny day.

Returning home, my wife waited for me at the door. She had news for me, Kirby had arrived at the backdoor with my long lost underwear in his mouth. What was even more amazing was that they were perfectly intact. No holes. A good washing and they would be fine. I smiled. It was an Easter miracle. The most unlikely of resurrections. Perfect ending and perfect comfort.

Dear Reader (all six or seven of you),

I wrote this post several months ago and shelved it.  I just was not quite ready to post it.

Well, the storms that I referenced in this post passed long ago and Easter Sunday seems like a fine day.  A fine day to celebrate a living God.  A God that lives in each of us.

Enjoy and Happy Easter!

Your Friend,

Dave

—————-

Last week was one of those weeks where you feel like life has punched you in the gut.  The details don’t really matter.  Just one of those weeks where you are simultaneously filled with shock, anger, sadness, and resolve all at once.  A stew that life prepares for everyone at some point.  It happens, you just never know in advance when.

Well, I followed the script.  Again, the details don’t matter, because we all go through such moments.  My family has seen worse.  We will be fine.  I knew what to do.  Let love overshadow anger and above all else take care of yourself.  In my case, that meant sweat.  A lot.  As much as possible.  The YMCA was my friend.

So there I was exiting the Men’s Changing Room at the Y, when I passed some wall art.  Art that I have seen hundreds of time before, but this time it stood out.  It spoke to me.  It reassured me.  I smiled.

“Positive Future.” Yep, this too shall pass.

The next day, I worked out more sweat and frustrations.  I exited the Y and there was another reminder.

“Endless Possibilities.” Yes, indeed there are.  Life is full of opportunities.  This would be another.

Then I was reminded of a friend’s philosophy.  A belief that God speaks to us in subtle ways.  A smile from a friend.  A reassuring thought.  Something to make you laugh, when you need it most.  My friend calls them, “God Winks.” Well, I don’t know for sure how my Lord acts, but I do believe that we are all capable of God-like selfless love.  Kind deeds that can ripple well beyond our knowledge.

I’m sure the Y had a staff meeting at some point to select positive phrases meant to inspire.  Inspire when members need a boost.  I had passed those phrases plenty of times, but my eyes finally focused.  Opened, when I needed that boost.  There is indeed a positive future that awaits and I look forward to living those endless possibilities.

Thanks.  I needed that.

Epilogue – As I write this post, I am waiting for my son’s basketball game to start.  Sitting in a cold and unfamiliar Middle School gym, just waiting.

I even began to question my premise of a new level of divinely inspired observation, when you need it most.

Then I looked up and paused.  I looked up, saw this, and smiled.

“It’s not whether you get knocked down.  It’s whether you get back up.” – Vince Lombardi

Thanks coach, I needed that.

Okay God, point made.

Easter Saturday. The original version. The disciples had no idea what was about to happen. They were mired in sadness, hopeless, unsure of what future awaited.

Really, we aren’t much different. Mired in our daily lives, unsure of what the future holds.

Well, smile. Smile, because we are all God’s children. Smile, because God has a plan for each one of us. Something wonderful and most likely unexpected.

So be ready, you never know. The tomb might be empty. God might have a surprise in store. Something wonderful, expected, and just what you need.

The complaints were registered in rapid fire fashion. “Dad, the side gate to the backyard won’t latch.” “Dad, the back gate is broken.” Really? Two gates broken. A backyard full of boys. I suspected foul play.

Grabbing my tool box, I headed back. As I tightened bolts and bent metal back into shape, I smiled. My dad had done this for me. Many times. He had also made repairs. Countless repairs of items that I had broken in my carefree youth. Plus, I never remember him complaining. I never remember him saying, “David, you knucklehead. What were you thinking?” I just remember him fixing it. No blame. No guilt. Just making it right again.

One time, I had broken a second story window, while throwing snowballs (okay, more like ice balls) at the house. If ever I deserved a what for, that was it. I deserved to be taught a lesson. Looking back however, I just remember him fixing it. Fixing it and moving on.

As I repaired the mysteriously bent fence, I smiled. I smiled and just fixed it. I love my boys, just as my dad loved me. It was time, time to move on. My dad had done a good job, I had learned my lesson well.

The recognition happened quickly. As I walked into office in a perfectly tailored Spring wardrobe of a dress shirt, tie, and heavy sweater, I was dressed for any weather. Turns out that my coworkers also felt that I was perfectly dressed to be a college professor. When I put on my reading glasses, it sealed the deal, I had missed my calling.

Now to determine what class I could teach. I felt, “Mid American History – Revolution to Reconstruction,” whereas my friends were split between Sociology and Geography. Well, one thing’s for certain, I don’t remember professors being quite this sexy (apologies to all professors reading this, I don’t mean you, because each and every one of you are just as sexy as me, peer reviews prove that).

Oh and a quick warning, this teacher’s so bright, you’re gonna need shades.