"I just learned that farting at the dinner table is OK."

I attended a men's retreat last weekend and came away gaining some new truths about manhood. The weekend involved:

• 86 guys gorging on 24/7 snacks;
• 86 guys bundled as roommates in an inharmonious symphony of snoring;
  
• 86 guys playing selected guy games: dodge ball, sumo suit wrestling, human Foosball and a variety of fantasy role playing board games;
• 86 guys singing together praising God;
• 86 guys grappling with the concept of Grace;
  
• 86 guys sharing stories of life, faith and what it means to me a man.

During the closing session we were invited to stand up and share important takeaways from the weekend and, transparently and vulnerably, to ask for personal support and prayer from the fellow warriors. That's when one guy shared the following:

"I was glad to learn from one of my fellow sojourners that it is acceptable for men to fart at the table during meals."

So, whether this is a fact endorsed by the Society of Social Etiquette and Good Manners it gave me pause. What's the deal with guys' obsessive expressions about odoriferous gas, toilet moments and other body parts? Granted, I admit that the famous campfire fart tournament scene in Mel Brooks' Blazing Saddles is an all-time favorite and that I can't resist sharing a good burst of tasteless humor with the guys. Still, there must be something more with this natural event than meets the senses. Some research into the gaseous matter reveals accepted cultural uses in language, such as:

• "I was just farting around." (nothing serious)
  
• "Oops, I just had a brain fart." (forgot something)
  
• "Hey soldier, roll up your fart sack and move out." (sleeping bag)
  

So, if it is such a common and seemingly nontoxic expression, why then do we avoid it with responses like:

• "Timmy, did you just have a fluff?" (why a pillow reference?)
  
• "Wow, that guy just let loose a raspberry." (come on, fruit?)
  
• "OK, who let fluffy off the chain?" (animal bondage?)

Farts have been elegantly used in literature by such greats as Chaucer, Ernest Hemingway and Jonathan Swift...and DID NOT even make the cut for the late, great comedian George Carlin's famous list of Seven Dirty Words.

In summary: Language is rich with meaning, expression and emotion. Language uses words to create dialogue and enhance human interaction. God created man. He gave us a sense of humor to help cope with all the serious stuff life puts in our path. I take being a man, life and my path of faith seriously... and I have a gas any time I get to poke fun at how we tend to make too much about things that are really nothing more than a lot of hot air. So, go ahead, let it rip.

But what do I know; I'm just an old fart.

In the embrace of the brackets - (b)

*If you'd like to read more of my personal expressions... visit www.HImpact.me.

"My New Year Revolution: 'This happiness thing is over-rated.'"

To my male readers: You are likely anatomically familiar with the shrinking feeling and effect on our bodies when we jump into cold water, right?

To my female readers: You are likely familiar with the (generally) caveman-like behavior of the male species, so you can probably imagine the aforementioned effect, right?

(Hold that thought.)

This is exactly how I felt during a recent plunge with my counselor-therapist-coach-mental antagonist, Jim. On the backside of a separation and subsequent divorce from my 25-year marriage, I had returned to Nashville. I had lived in Minneapolis as a part of my solitude. In no way meaning to minimize the wounds associated with this profound loss, I was blessed by the men, women, books, writing and reflection time I had to process and grow through this tumultuous season of change. And, for first time I can remember since my post-teen years I was feeling “happy” as the cumulative effect from:

· Living alone for four years and finding I actually liked myself;

· Getting out of seemingly insurmountable debt;

· Purchasing a car by myself;

· Purchasing a condominium by myself;

· Traveling globally and experiencing “God Sightings” in the mission field;

· Rebuilding damaged relationships;

· Building new relationships;

· Writing three books.

· Starting this column

Jim began our meeting with the characteristic question I hoped he would ask.

“So, how are you doing, Brian?”

I felt my chest puff up and my feathers spread open with majestic flourish. I took a deep breath, allowing my peacock smile to amplify.

“Jim, I am so thrilled to tell you that I have never been happier in my entire life.”

There it was. I had finally crossed a decade-old therapeutic battlefield and was still standing. Scarred, muddied and shrapnel ridden, but nonetheless blissful. I had made it to the other side of what had felt like an endless battle and was reporting “mission accomplished” to my commanding officer, feeling triumphant. Jim delivered his response without pause.

“This happiness thing is over-rated.”

Splash. Brr. Shrivel.

Jim allowed just enough time for the icy impact of his statement to eradicate any semblance of my ecstasy before continuing.

“You see, essentially there is not a lot of difference between the extremes of happiness and sadness. Both are temporary. They come. They go.” A chilling pause allowed adequate penetration of this mental enema. “Might I suggest another word that might be more appropriate for what you are feeling? How about ‘content?’ Contentment acknowledges the presence and fleeting qualities of happiness, sadness, joy and despair; however, it gives you healthy context in which to embrace life’s ambiguities.”

Curious, I consulted the dictionary:

con•tent [kuhn-tent]

Adjective:

1. satisfied with what one is or has; not wanting more or anything else.

I am content with that.

On October 20, 2010, I exchanged covenants of love and life with Lynn while standing in the Sea of Galilee in Israel. In the five years we have come to know each other, we have shared countless conversations about life, love, brokenness, grace and commitment. I have struggled with these issues all my adult life. Don Henley’s song, “For My Wedding” says it all:

"For my wedding, I will dress in black
And never again will I look back
Ah, my dark angels we must part
For I've made a sanctuary of my heart

To want what I have
To take what I'm given with grace
For this I pray
On my wedding day

For my wedding, I don't want violins
Or sentimental songs about thick and thin
I want a moment of silence and a moment of prayer
For the love we'll need to make it in the world out there

To want what I have
To take what I'm given with grace
For this I pray
On my wedding day
On my wedding day

I dream, and my dreams are all glory and light
That's what I've wanted for my life
And if it hasn't always been that way
Well, I can dream and I can pray
On my wedding day

So what makes us any different from all the others
Who have tried and failed before us
Maybe nothing, maybe nothing at all
But I pray we're the lucky ones; I pray we never fall

To want what we have
To take what we're given with grace
For these things I pray
On my wedding day
On my wedding day"

Want what you have.

Take what you're given with grace.

For these things let’s pray.

Content New Year.

Embraced by the brackets -

(b)

PS – Thanks, Jim.

"I'm suffering from constipation."

I have a case of writer's block. I'm clogged, cramped and uncomfortable.

Sure, you might say that moving to write this column entry is evidence to the contrary, however hear me out. I have not posted an entry since August 7, when I had just returned from a weekend of silence at the Abby of Gesthemani in Kentucky (see previous entry). To confirm my suspicion, I sought the bastion of all knowledge: the Wizard of Wiki:

For other uses, see Writer's block (disambiguation).

"Writer's block is a condition, associated with writing as a profession, in which an author loses the ability to produce new work. The condition varies widely in intensity. It can be trivial, a temporary difficulty in dealing with the task at hand. At the other extreme, some "blocked" writers have been unable to work for years on end, and some have even abandoned their careers. It can manifest as the affected writer viewing their work as inferior or unsuitable, when in fact it could be the opposite."

No question; I have it. The cause? Hard to diagnose, since the last months have been filled with fodder for inklings, including:
- My son and his wife are having a second child in April;
- I visited Oregon to celebrate my grandson Utah's first birthday;
- I am working to raise awareness and funding for Rocketown, the remarkable Nashville youth center started in 1994 by the renown contemporary Christian music artist Michael W. Smith - www.rocketown.com ;
- I finished writing my book about innovative leadership and high impact success, Get Out of Your Own Way;
- I committed the rest of my life to Lynn, an amazing woman with whom I exchanged marriage vows while standing in the Sea of Galilee during our 10-day biblical study a month ago in Israel.
- Lynn and I were busted for attempting to smuggle a contraband salami at the Newark airport customs upon our return trip from Israel (story to follow soon!).

There's plenty to write about, but I just can't seem to get unstuck. The pipes are jammed tight with scraps of discontent, doubt, indecision and even a bit of, "Oh crap, I'll be sixty years old in April and I'm still wondering what I'll be when I grow up." A lot of ambiguities. But, this morning something happened that stirred some internal movement; the first signs of an impending disambiguation (great word, disambiguation, meaning "to remove ambiguities").

I was moved while sitting on the...chair in my study. I was reading a wonderful book, Live Like You Mean It, written by my dear friend and mentor T.J. Addington. I met T.J. during a most tumultuous time in my life, when I was close to separatiing from my former wife, Valerie, and the "doom loop" spiral in which I was caught emotionally, professionally and spiritually. He was a client, the leader of the international mission for a Christian movement of 1400 churches and over 500 missionaries throughout the world. I helped him successfully re-craft the story of what became ReachGlobal. The bonus for me has been 1) the chance to travel the world to experience firsthand what we came to refer as GodSightings: evidence of the hand of God and His love at work through people throughout the world in some of its darkest corners, 2) working alongside healthy leaders building healthy environments and 3) to call him a colleague, mentor and one of my most treasured friends.

On December 4, 2007 T.J. checked into the St. Paul Hospital emergency room, having awaken early that morning unable to breathe. That began a forty-two-day stay, thirty-two of them spent in ICU and eighteen days in coma. Diagnosed with MRSA pneumonia, there were countless physical traumas when the doctors were almost certain he would not survive. T.J. is today as busy as ever traveling the world to serve God's call to develop, empower and release healthy leaders that will multiply in building healthy churches. He also finds time to write books, fly fish and spend time with his family. His life is testimony to the power of prayer (hundreds of people worldwide prayed for him during his journey "there and back again")...and what I have come to realize is the power of "if you feel it, do it, now!" One of my favorite passages from this book on this subject (the book's a must read for anyone needing a kick start) reads:

"As individuals, we often live life without much of a target. We respond to the demands of the moment, the job, the expectations of others, and the overwhelming busyness of life. But too many people get to the finish line with a long list of regrets.

We realize we didn't invest enough time in our children or marriage. We're sorry we did not have more time for deep relationships. We wish there had been more time for reflection and thinking. Now there is too little time for those things that suddenly are more important than the salary we pulled down or the ladder we climbed."

So what? I just returned yesterday from a weekend of silence during my second visit to the Abbey of Gesthemani. I guess you might say I was there because I woke up early one morning and couldn't breathe. In the sanctuary of chanting monks, steeple chimes and the snow-icing covered hills of Kentucky I checked out of the ICU: I Can Un-Constipate.

Write on.

Embraced in the brackets - (b)