I Don’t Feel So Good…

As most guys do, I continually seek to maintain a fairly high score on the macho-o-meter (although the fact that I’m only five foot six and embarrassingly scrawny doesn’t help matters). I like to give off the impression that I’m a pretty strong guy who’s got things together. However, these masculine ideals were tossed out the window last week when I caught a virus and completely self-destructed.

My family just moved into a transitional apartment in anticipation for our move to South Carolina at month’s end. I was excited! Living in such close quarters would be a great way of family bonding! I envisioned card games filled with laughter and movie nights with popcorn! However, I thought the rapture had come the way people started leaving! Mom – Saskatoon to visit sister, Dad – Alaska for work, Sister – off to summer youth camp, girlfriend – Vancouver to find apartment. Guess it’s just me and my dog, Chevy, bacheloring it up this week! However, this dream...

Putting The ‘Pig’ In Pigskin

The anxious crowd rose to their feet in hushed anticipation. The perfectly spiraled football soared over the field in a majestic arch. A titanic duel between rival teams had come down to an epic finish. Trailing by one, mere seconds to play, our quarterback had heroically marched his soldiers down field with pin-point precision and clutch execution. Staring at the end zone and an improbable win, it was all-or-nothing time…It was Daniel time…

The church college ministries from my city annually rent the professional football stadium and battle for the prestigious spray-painted golden football. The only problem is that, well, I’ll never be mistaken for Tom Brady. Football was not my sport as a child, and my body has failed to maintain its gazelle-like agility since then; having been quickly replaced by twenty “college-pounds.”

The day before the tournament, my brother offered to toss the old pigskin around for practice. I kindly thanked him but informed him I would prepare mentally instead, then proceeded to...

Running Club Inc.

I’m not exactly renowned for being someone who makes “health-conscious” choices. This character flaw traces back to my childhood. As babies, my brother and sister crawled—I rolled. Perhaps this was due to my cheeks, which served as constant anchors, dragging two or three feet along the floor behind me. This globular physique carried into teenage-years due to a growing addiction. When I was cut, I bled McDonald’s grease. After surpassing yet another ‘milestone’ in weight, I knew it was time for change. It was time for Running Club Inc.

As club president and founder, I vowed the evil forces of calories would no longer run rampant throughout my body unchecked. My club’s motto was simple: Calories don’t take days of—and neither should we.

I designed the official Web site and commenced recruiting. I quickly drafted my sister Carrie and offered her the lucrative position of vice-president and special events coordinator. With my executive team in place, we invited the masses to apply for available...

My Teeth: A Tragic Tale – In Seven Acts

Recently I received notice from my dentist that I was past due for my annual checkup. Reluctantly, my younger sister Carrie and I booked appointments. We’ve had very different track records with our teeth. On one hand, Carrie’s never experienced a cavity. Having shared a sink since birth I’m painfully aware of why; athletes have completed Olympic triathlons in less time than she spends brushing. I, on the other hand, got about a one/per appointment ratio going. But this time I was determined things would be different.

Sure enough, Carrie finished her check-up with her perfect record intact. The dentist called me in next.

Now, I’ve always hated dentists; how they insincerely ask scripted questions about your life, then jam mini-vacuums halfway down your esophagus while you attempt to gag out replies. But what gets me most is that with every cavity they re-demonstrate state-of-the-art brushing techniques while slowly reciting some brushing jingle like I’m five. Is anything more humiliating?!

This...

To Nap, Or Not To Nap…Is There Really A Question?

Throughout history there have been many dynamic duos: Batman/Robin, Pinkie/The Brain, Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie. But the most deadly duo of all? My buddy Robbie and I. That’s deadly as in, “from the perspective of our camp counselors.” Oh yes, Rob and I terrorized many youth camps in our day. That is until the unthinkable happened, we got old.

Let me tell ya, once ya hit seventeen the ol’ body doesn’t hold up like it did back in the “Glory days,” when we were the ripe, tender age of sixteen. I remember the day clearly, as if it only happened several years ago, when camp events took entirely new meanings, like stepping into a bright new world. Free time came to be mutually redefined as ‘nap-time.’ Come to think of it, so did recreation time and class time and often lunch as well, and well, you get the idea.

God blessed us that year, as we joyfully discovered our dorm counselor shared the same sacred adoration and devotion to napping. A friendship soon blossomed, and many naps were had.

During one...

It Shall Be a Duel…to the Death!

Basement cleaning day….the mere mention can send shivers down a spine. The year was 1994. The setting: a dimly lit basement. The scenario; a young boy, with his siblings, slaving away under the oppressing tyranny of their parents….I was that boy. This is my tale…

Every gloomy Saturday morning we rose at sunup, descended the long sinister steps deep into the basement which, without fail, would resemble a nuclear testing ground. Sweat dripping from our brows, we slaved away until the task was completed, then graciously accepted an entire ONE dollar reward, completely ignorant of the sick and twisted operation our parents were running.

Being a rather lazy six-year-old, however, I put my mind to other things to pass the time. Such as tying my younger sister to the doorknob with rope, and watching her panic when she heard my father’s approaching footsteps, or tormenting my brother repeatedly.

My father, suspecting the hours worked didn’t quite match the progress, began inspecting every so often, with the...

The Time I Almost Got Away With It…

Early on in school I developed an important philosophy. It goes as follows: School is not about how hard you work, it’s about how hard your teacher THINKS you worked. Yeah, just call me Aristotle. I spent years (and several detentions) perfecting this talent of mine. By the time seventh grade rolled around I was masterful. The amount of hours worked in comparison to the grades was something to be admired. I soon learned however, that even a great theory such as mine is not fail-proof.

Sitting at my desk daydreaming, I didn’t even notice my teacher start lecturing. One word violently dragged me back into reality, “Ok, let’s start PRESENTATIONS…”

“Oh no…,” franticly flipping through my agenda I found the date. Written in very mocking capital letters: “CLASS PRESENTATION.” Yep, the same one I’d known about for like three weeks and done absolutely nothing about. We would present alphabetically, so I was up second....

Ready…Set…Wait?

Have you ever had opportunities to see different parts of the world? I’ve been fortunate to have experienced many different cultures. I’ve stood in the shadows of the Athenian Parthenon, gazed down from the Eiffel tower, sailed the Amazon River, and safaried into the African wilderness. But all these amazing places have had one thing in common: hopelessness. Ever seen the slums? If so, you can relate that they break your heart. I’m always filled with conviction, “I need to do something!” I long to rush out and start making a difference. However, God has been convicting me lately of the question, “Who has the power to change this world?”

The disciples had a similar experience. In their day Christianity didn’t exist yet, the Gospel message had never been preached, and Jesus had just been crucified. Talk about a hopeless world! However, Jesus rose from the dead and reappeared among them. They were stoked! I’m sure they wanted to run outside and start saving souls! I envision the scene like my New England...

How’d I End Up Here?

I’ve realized something about myself: I’m a complete sucker for compliments. A couple years ago while doing intern missions in Athens, Greece however, this got me into some big trouble.

I quickly discovered that outdoor flea markets aren’t the best place for me. On my first venture I was bombarded by merchants shouting: “Special price just for the handsome man!” How could I refuse? Ten minutes later my wallet was empty, and my arms were full of useless pots, ugly shirts that didn’t fit, and several Greek souvenirs made in China. Lesson learned…I thought.

I later decided to venture out to the ancient city of Corinth. After a long train ride I arrived. It was such a fascinating place I didn’t even notice when the sun began to set. I realized I’d better return to the station before the last train departed. A voice called out, “Special rate for the attractive young man!” I followed the voice back to a smiling taxi driver. Did he just say “attractive?” I was sold. I informed my new best friend that I needed a...

They Call Me…Batman

My phone rang, interrupting my sleep. Answering it, I was greeted by the barely recognizable sobs of my friend Tracy. She was house-sitting a large country house and something must have spooked her I thought. “Just wait Tracy, I’ll come by.”

Opening the front door I called out, “Tracy, I’m H…” I was cut off by a blood-curling scream, “SHUT THE DOOR! Don’t let any more in!” Quickly slamming the door I spun around, there stood Tracy looking awful. She informed me that while on the computer, “Something had flown past her head.” Assuring her that she was merely letting the fright of being home alone get to her, I offered to inspect the house to comfort her.

I looked in every room – no sign of the mysterious winged trespasser. Tracy agreed she must have just imagined it. Offering me a coke for my efforts we went to the kitchen, but something didn’t smell right. We glanced up at the entryway…

There was a piercing, girly, high-pitch shriek…I think Tracy yelled too. Hanging by its feet was a mammoth, hairy,...