tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340462812024-03-07T17:00:31.533-07:00Michael Gray ~ Uncensored, but Spell-CheckedMichael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.comBlogger129125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-51046726416076556112009-05-14T22:39:00.001-07:002009-05-14T23:03:56.167-07:00I Finally Made the SwitchDear Readers,<br /><br />I have finally been able to get my own website address with an all-new blog hosted there. This means that you will no longer be able to see my new posts here on my Blogger site. If you follow my blog, I would appreciate you taking some time to <a href="http://michaelsgray.com">visit my new site</a> and updating your method for following me.<br /><br /><ul><li>If you subscribed via email, you can do so again by entering you email address on the sidebar of the new page.</li><li>If you are an RSS subscriber, please be sure to point your reader to the new site's RSS page.</li></ul><br />If you like my writing and think that someone you know might be interested in reading my random thoughts, I would appreciate a referral.<br /><br />Thanks everyone! See you on the other side!<br /><br />www.michaelsgray.comMichael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-89370969547932005922009-05-01T23:28:00.007-07:002009-05-02T01:04:27.457-07:00Consensus Kills LeadershipConsensus is a popular word in today's culture. Somehow, the idea of getting <span style="font-style: italic;">everyone </span>at the table to agree on <span style="font-style: italic;">everything </span>under discussion has become the ideal achievement of teamwork and the truest evidence of great leadership. The only problem with this notion is that true consensus is an ever-elusive destination, and the journey toward it often results in frustration and wasted time.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-o6FkSba0g39F7J0DI1uuuv7pgRhDthxCgcDVS3hWa93ErGHv0FnH3vFbqSvq1bOUy5cZZN_iOYvDDuWqRI0a7yppWvtnVorLm1M8x2KzBNNeICchJzg3q_w3Hozvex9XLeX2UA/s1600-h/Consensus.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-o6FkSba0g39F7J0DI1uuuv7pgRhDthxCgcDVS3hWa93ErGHv0FnH3vFbqSvq1bOUy5cZZN_iOYvDDuWqRI0a7yppWvtnVorLm1M8x2KzBNNeICchJzg3q_w3Hozvex9XLeX2UA/s400/Consensus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331134084799127218" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />While sitting in a meeting today, I experienced this wild goose chase first-hand. This last-minute gathering should have lasted one quarter of the time it did, but the inane quest for consensus made it a painfully drawn-out ordeal.<br /><br />A small minority of people at the table raised relatively minor concerns about an event that had already been planned, approved, and communicated to the public. Those concerns were valid and had every right to be voiced, but despite the fact that the majority of those in attendance saw no reason to alter the already-scheduled event, we as a team were still expected to come to an eleventh-hour compromise. Because consensus demands that everyone leaves the meeting in agreement, each side spent a great deal of time trying to convince the other side of the worthiness of their cause.<br /><br />After more than an hour of seeking consensus, our only achievement was a roomful of unnecessarily bruised egos and a cut-and-paste compromise that left neither side feeling content. The only real reason we reached any semblance of a "consensus" was that we were all tired of talking about the issue and we just wanted out of the room.<br /><br />As I drove home, I thought about the fact that no one person in the meeting had leadership over the decisions surrounding that particular event. We were all equal members of a team, and each held equal sway over the others -- a recipe for disaster.<br /><br />Leadership requires one person who will ultimately set a pace and direction that others can follow. Leaders should be eager to listen to concerns, advice, and ideas from the team, but eventually the final decision falls on them to make. Leaders don't often have the option make everyone feel equally validated, but they do tend make choices based on what's best. Consensus, on the other hand, typically results in frustration for everyone and produces a mediocre result in the process.<br /><br />I've come to learn that the only people who can hold a position of leadership and also manage to achieve overwhelming consensus are brutal dictators. If true, effective leadership is desired in an organization, consensus should never be a definition for success.Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-42500141276106636472009-04-22T20:27:00.002-07:002009-04-22T20:35:09.282-07:00See for Yourself<p>If you have followed the Miss California vs. Perez Hilton saga, you probably won't be surprised to know how frustrated I am with all of it. I could go on and on about the things I think need said, but <a href="http://dennisprager.townhall.com/">Dennis <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Prager</span></a> hits the nail on the head <em>many times over</em> in this debate on Larry King Live:</p><p><object height="364" width="445"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EczIRpJkVZM&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&border=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EczIRpJkVZM&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object></p><p><strong>Whose argument to you find most compelling?</strong></p>Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-5977779815923687482009-04-22T03:49:00.005-07:002009-04-22T05:18:57.758-07:00The Travesty of Earth DayToday, public school children all over the nation will take time to celebrate Earth Day. They will plant seeds in potting soil in the hopes that their budding tree will grow big and strong and, one day, replace the ones cut down by money-hungry corporations. They will create "artwork" using items that would normally be discarded and sitting in a landfill somewhere. They will sit in school-wide assemblies and have adults warn them of all the things that we should be doing to in order to prevent an impending environmental crisis. They will hear of hybrid cars, carbon footprints, and climate change. They will learn that it is our moral imperative to reduce, reuse, recycle.<br /><br />And on this day when teachers work to instill in them a deep respect for Mother Earth, many students will continue to show disregard for their fellow human beings.<br /><br />They will take the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">styrofoam</span> lunch tray from the cafeteria workers and think about how best to discard it for the good of nature, but -- just like every other day -- they will neglect to utter even a word of gratitude to the person who got up early this morning to begin preparing the lunch they are about to eat. They will brainstorm creative ways to reuse their plastic grocery bags, but they will still be deeply reluctant to be kind and give one of their pencils to a kid who forgot to bring his. They will wonder with disappointment why their family doesn't drive a hybrid car, but they won't give a second thought to the fact that Dad just worked a 10-hour shift and still made time to drive them to soccer practice in that evil, gas-guzzling Chevy Cavalier.<br /><br />I am a public school teacher, and my class will be taking part in some of today's Earth Day activities. And even though I want my students to appreciate the environment, I want them to appreciate their parents even more. While I want them to look for ways to reuse resources, I much prefer that they look for ways to show kindness. I want them to step over that piece of garbage on the floor to go help out a classmate pick up the books she just dropped all over the hallway. Instead of using their words to express outrage over environmental pollution, I wish I saw more students express outrage over the polluted language used in the hallways between classes.<br /><br />For me, celebrating nature and preserving the environment is nowhere near as important as teaching kids to live lives of goodness. We celebrate Earth Day, but we don't have a day set aside to celebrate kindness, generosity, or gratitude.<br /><br />And I think that's a travesty.Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-89477207824516400672009-04-09T22:45:00.013-07:002009-04-23T18:22:14.947-07:00Don't Judge the Objectum SexualsWhen exactly did the mainstream television news outlets lose their minds?<br /><br />As I think back on my childhood, I very vividly remember school days that began with a generous bowl of Lucky Charms and the calming sounds of Joan Lunden and Charlie Gibson on Good Morning America echoing through the house. Breakfast would vary on occasion -- some days we'd eat bacon and eggs and on other days my mom made waffles -- but the television was always tuned to Good Morning America. It was the American way.<br /><br />Now I get the sickening feeling that the very show I watched every day as a kid has become nothing more than an pseudo-intellectualized version of the Jerry Springer Show. Take a moment to see what passes as relevant news on GMA now:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://abcnews.go.com/video/playerIndex?id=7287506" target="_blank"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjll8EJHrg8YqeSx4NU3AGRTh19CBCtCcvymyMVupoc4sM-xeqtOAB2gZIpIBjl-8f7_KhX-kJ6GfqYErv7DJWJ9dan-vL7bX1bfF9E5CmG_XZ4s6xNaOGCbgEuMhV-xOWwmSybWQ/s400/GMA.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322943387010270338" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'm just counting down the days until some college professor or coked-up movie star calls me a bigot when I say that I don't believe that an adult woman has the right to marry an inanimate French landmark.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">What do you think:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">Did Good Morning America legitimize this "new sexual orientation" by airing this piece? If not, then what was the point?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">What are your thoughts on the sexologist saying that an objectum sexual's love is "no more and no less of value than other romantic relationships"? Who are we to judge, right?</span>Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-52082120183778381422009-04-04T23:38:00.018-07:002009-04-05T00:25:20.311-07:00RootsI have been out of the church graphic design business for quite a while now, but I recently had the chance to get back to my roots and create some graphics for my current church (pastored by Heidi's dad). Thanks to the opportunity I had to work with two of the top designers in the industry, I've picked up a few tricks along the way. Here are some of the highlights:<br /><br />Key graphic for one of the messages of the current series, "I AM":<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDQb0GTARi0YYFO6h2v2uvny4RcwaolfE4oDaSjZrPMVsaMmfUr2J8eaOlwgXdGpvgW1ezdQCHJjQOpoQVilzxG7Lv2lOJJfvzCfPrKulEsbfSjksgtowaAGVy0E_5yjtZW_cCIQ/s1600-h/4.12.Resurrection.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDQb0GTARi0YYFO6h2v2uvny4RcwaolfE4oDaSjZrPMVsaMmfUr2J8eaOlwgXdGpvgW1ezdQCHJjQOpoQVilzxG7Lv2lOJJfvzCfPrKulEsbfSjksgtowaAGVy0E_5yjtZW_cCIQ/s400/4.12.Resurrection.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321094213649174738" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Standard-issue promotion slides that rotate on-screen before service:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmIkiW5WHsiujBe8sO_37uL8L3qFiX_DkBdNXHFSe03YYIvrHQxGQJAg7D7A7XxKiUYE6BGIEe0I-beWaSncKqR3W_fb5T6D7EVr8XhdLRm8eWUMzdZ_BMOTjL8mDG7vPMyw0nA/s1600-h/Welcome2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 307px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmIkiW5WHsiujBe8sO_37uL8L3qFiX_DkBdNXHFSe03YYIvrHQxGQJAg7D7A7XxKiUYE6BGIEe0I-beWaSncKqR3W_fb5T6D7EVr8XhdLRm8eWUMzdZ_BMOTjL8mDG7vPMyw0nA/s400/Welcome2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321095181886432226" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9cCMr5aiLXyBDgAfYxi6w3yE_1Yq4FRmZ-XTgNxvg80bTO7QtOyNNJZMZlli_WjNuC7ZgukjzzNisjgvYc3OKdqqXhQ002tBDyhvsdIQu3xMYvyxJ1v2u1-L_iWn5gHZ2bd3gag/s1600-h/Prayer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 307px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9cCMr5aiLXyBDgAfYxi6w3yE_1Yq4FRmZ-XTgNxvg80bTO7QtOyNNJZMZlli_WjNuC7ZgukjzzNisjgvYc3OKdqqXhQ002tBDyhvsdIQu3xMYvyxJ1v2u1-L_iWn5gHZ2bd3gag/s400/Prayer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321093847406380450" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRhYewyYjII8cC6AbMoIgoZ-UfylKjxnqfiQ8G-FHOR5VMD_UqHU8IZqCNFXzffCtZh4KNDl2IPkLOux_fdCBP4AgKrFrD3kaKxpaQRAyxesDoHCX4MKVKrFcXowQrxFmAQM19A/s1600-h/Children.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 307px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRhYewyYjII8cC6AbMoIgoZ-UfylKjxnqfiQ8G-FHOR5VMD_UqHU8IZqCNFXzffCtZh4KNDl2IPkLOux_fdCBP4AgKrFrD3kaKxpaQRAyxesDoHCX4MKVKrFcXowQrxFmAQM19A/s400/Children.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321093437925859266" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBtLZoUSHvjJgNm6oxm0VMnAXtqe5yXRu6IILWtmv1NWdpIwkgSagOIwCyKySe3pNbQex2sXR6wwJ9GcFbo3_fXRjhT84dFnESf68lo3WXv9sFhsaz6yfKVgvYtGKGll2LbNVaMw/s1600-h/Nursery.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 307px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBtLZoUSHvjJgNm6oxm0VMnAXtqe5yXRu6IILWtmv1NWdpIwkgSagOIwCyKySe3pNbQex2sXR6wwJ9GcFbo3_fXRjhT84dFnESf68lo3WXv9sFhsaz6yfKVgvYtGKGll2LbNVaMw/s400/Nursery.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321093736508840114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I fully admit that this next slide is a complete plagiarism of CCV's Class 100 graphic. In the epic battle of <a href="http://cameronsmithblog.com/innovation-vs-duplication/">innovation vs. duplication</a>, duplication inevitably gets a win from time to time. I figured the gods of design would forgive me as long as I copied the best.<br /><br /><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 307px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZMJAp20-wjQCFrsEL3rUSE6AbGEO60kvue0oFq_yuvGKn55TRws-F-4qfBWUwOFrTbgW0RkC9sN_-SDLsfMAU68aCYgW2xP4gRPIiTUVVXpMKUkMji4D9eCGMHvLKmHWb30CMw/s400/New-Member-Class.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321093958579525266" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I am especially proud of this last graphic because its an original piece by <a href="http://thegrayfam.wordpress.com/">my beautiful wife</a>. She's come a long way in her ability to visualize and create things in Photoshop, and I felt that this design deserved some public recognition.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5f2jAvcHv6f9DgCMebJ_xnvqq3JfmH9jEg0VyhSTJa23UIKG9tNnRRi1aGuWUZMgQ0lQtZJv9nm07jF6yf_Hu5Ig1ofwPtELrDxyfuaybMSQsBvNFsT8q100FiODuZcF_MeUfaQ/s1600-h/Easter-Egg-Hunt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5f2jAvcHv6f9DgCMebJ_xnvqq3JfmH9jEg0VyhSTJa23UIKG9tNnRRi1aGuWUZMgQ0lQtZJv9nm07jF6yf_Hu5Ig1ofwPtELrDxyfuaybMSQsBvNFsT8q100FiODuZcF_MeUfaQ/s400/Easter-Egg-Hunt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321094415740078450" border="0" /></a>Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-28705426654549881722009-03-30T16:37:00.010-07:002009-03-30T19:05:04.305-07:00Sellout<a style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9l0IPiUuZqCpV2Z5F0PxHCjlEEQcQJf2aJbecbxPAyDKmAWf4C5QBXx-g_DwJLDvcv3dguMoamQRuGoRm9vkZiu-UBppHOhcNsch6NrRWKDVRmQdo5hnPmgLfeUM4kfL4WGr3OQ/s1600-h/Twitter.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9l0IPiUuZqCpV2Z5F0PxHCjlEEQcQJf2aJbecbxPAyDKmAWf4C5QBXx-g_DwJLDvcv3dguMoamQRuGoRm9vkZiu-UBppHOhcNsch6NrRWKDVRmQdo5hnPmgLfeUM4kfL4WGr3OQ/s400/Twitter.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319159580795016930" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">After a long journey of disconnected solitude, I have decided to jump on the Twitter bandwagon and go for a little ride. Those who have gone before me frequently and fervently sing Twitter's praises -- almost as if the little bird in the logo was the very dove that brought the olive branch back to Noah's ark. By all accounts, I must prepare for the miraculous.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">To be quite honest, I'm doing this for one purpose alone -- to experiment and see if this technology truly does make me more connected with others. I am very much a face-to-face kind of guy and I have a hard time seeing how Twitter will give me anything even resembling the sort of connectedness that I get in a personal friendship.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Since its unfair for me to say I don't like Twitter when I have never actually used it, I figure its worth a test drive. If you want to follow my 140-character-or-less musings, my Twitter name is </span><a style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-weight: bold;" href="http://twitter.com/MichaelSGray">MichaelSGray</a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">. </span>Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-90213976871547126222009-03-12T20:07:00.005-07:002009-03-12T20:28:45.393-07:00There's More Than One Way to Castrate a LambYou've got to admit, the title intrigues you; it mysteriously draws you in and makes you want to keep reading, right? Well, that's because you have a sick mind and a twisted sense of entertainment. But don't feel too guilty, I fell for it too when I originally watched the video below on <a href="http://www.jonedmiston.com/?p=372">Jon's blog</a>.<br /><br />I love it when blog posts, books, magazines, and/or speeches challenge public perceptions of reality -- when they cause people to think a second time about a long-held assumption, or look at an issue in a completely different light than ever before. This speech by <span style="font-style: italic;">Dirty Jobs </span>host Mike Rowe does just that. It's a lesson on finding out just how wrong we can be, even when we feel most confident that we are right.<br /><br /><object width="446" height="326"><param name="movie" value="http://video.ted.com/assets/player/swf/EmbedPlayer.swf"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><param name="bgColor" value="#ffffff"> <param name="flashvars" value="vu=http://video.ted.com/talks/embed/MikeRowe_2008P-embed-PARTNER_high.flv&su=http://images.ted.com/images/ted/tedindex/embed-posters/MikeRowe-2008P.embed_thumbnail.jpg&vw=432&vh=240&ap=0&ti=477"><embed src="http://video.ted.com/assets/player/swf/EmbedPlayer.swf" pluginspace="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" bgcolor="#ffffff" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="vu=http://video.ted.com/talks/embed/MikeRowe_2008P-embed-PARTNER_high.flv&su=http://images.ted.com/images/ted/tedindex/embed-posters/MikeRowe-2008P.embed_thumbnail.jpg&vw=432&vh=240&ap=0&ti=477" width="446" height="326"></embed></object><br /><br />On a completely different note, what do you think of my new, wider layout? I realize the header image needs to change and I'll get to it when I can. I just got tired of having to resize all my linked videos to make them fit my post.Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-45619357982850562172009-03-03T22:13:00.010-07:002009-03-03T23:59:02.737-07:00I Hate That Word<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi44SKD-WBubp8RAK9sKzPku-tYOrbVKTspQewtxBu8XFzXrks1t3YRvM8HFRvax21mOUo24oCmHydFicAX_K7O2s8JZ-5QjPkuwJLWX2cIT1xwLSEaP3F5YCuox3SrDMO9mk27Kg/s1600-h/That-Word.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi44SKD-WBubp8RAK9sKzPku-tYOrbVKTspQewtxBu8XFzXrks1t3YRvM8HFRvax21mOUo24oCmHydFicAX_K7O2s8JZ-5QjPkuwJLWX2cIT1xwLSEaP3F5YCuox3SrDMO9mk27Kg/s400/That-Word.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309223139103619058" border="0" /></a><br />This evening, Heidi and I walked to our community park to let Harrison play around a bit (his new favorite thing is going down slides). We also wanted to take an opportunity to get out of the house and enjoy some of this beautiful Phoenix weather. Unfortunately for us, our trip of fun and family time was contaminated by a particular behavior that I believe has gotten out of hand in America: public cursing.<br /><br />The playground at our park is within earshot of the basketball court where a dozen or more kids -- I'd say between the ages of 8 and 18 -- were hanging out and shooting hoops. It was not difficult for Heidi and me to hear most of their conversations, and I'll be honest in saying that I was shocked with a lot of what I heard. The language these kids used was disgusting, and they had no reservations about making their voices heard, despite the proximity of younger kids and other families.<br /><br />I tried my best to ignore the language and to focus on enjoying the time with my family, and I was doing pretty well -- that is until I heard the word "nigger".<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I hate that word.</span><br /><br />My ears perked up and I listened more intently to what was going on. Just for the sake of clarity, it's important to note that all of the kids in the group were black, so this was not a matter of a person from one race referring to someone of another race using a hateful term. The word was uttered at least a dozen times inside a minute and was said in the same casual, conversational tone you might expect to hear from people at the local grocery store. No one was being picked on, no one was trying to start a fight, they just used the word as if it were a punctuation mark -- and they punctuated loudly.<br /><br />Harrison is not old enough to understand or repeat the words he hears (and I doubt seriously that he heard them anyway), but I decided after hearing it a dozen times that we were done. I don't want my child exposed to foul language no matter what his age and "the n-word" threw me over the top. I gave very serious thought to going over and expressing my opinion about them using that word with such abandon, but I am a product of modern American society, and society basically says that a middle-aged white man better never utter the n-word around a black person, even if he's asking them to stop using it because he finds it so vile. I fear now that I missed an opportunity to stand up for what is right out of concern for how I might have been perceived.<br /><br />As we walked home, I told Heidi how bothered I am by the fact that <span style="font-style: italic;">by far </span>the place I hear the n-word the most is from the mouths of black people. I know of no one in my circle of acquaintances that ever uses that word, and I can't tell you the last time I've witnessed a person of any other race say it publicly. Sadly, I do hear it all through the black culture -- especially in rap/hip-hop music -- and it's disturbing for me to think that the primary reason that word is still a part of our lexicon is because many of the very people to whom the term is so offensive have nurtured it and allowed it to become a common and acceptable part of their everyday language.<br /><br />Well I say shame on them.Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-48015246556645839282009-02-28T12:05:00.008-07:002009-02-28T12:38:34.921-07:00Mormonism's Search for Acceptance<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJ_RdEAoZCBnq5U6g2bgE8VEWV4FBbpJbuVGIZrr25LmHxHUEPN71cCJhlBhurdt7rY6166CRMizkWlJlSndCKuTZXK36UOQrlpzyJiLWisRaZZ4gW4nZoTYFa0Dn9UgZQrPKbg/s1600-h/Joseph-Smith.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJ_RdEAoZCBnq5U6g2bgE8VEWV4FBbpJbuVGIZrr25LmHxHUEPN71cCJhlBhurdt7rY6166CRMizkWlJlSndCKuTZXK36UOQrlpzyJiLWisRaZZ4gW4nZoTYFa0Dn9UgZQrPKbg/s400/Joseph-Smith.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307933496683761170" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">This post is in response to a gentleman who commented on a previous post of mine. As many of you know, Mormonism intrigues me. I’m fascinated with its interesting and uniquely American history. I share almost identical social values with Mormons. I supported Mitt Romney in the run-off for the presidential election. I grew up in the epicenter of LDS influence. My family has strong Mormon roots. I have known many Mormons and would gratefully call them my friends. Despite all these things, I still have serious objections to LDS theology and take particular issue with the claim that Mormonism is just another Christian religion.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Before reading my response, </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://michaelsgray.blogspot.com/2008/12/mormon-temple-tour-photos.html">please take a few moments to read Mr. Madden’s original comment</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">. As always, I welcome additional thoughts from either side of this issue.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">Mr. Madden,</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">Thanks for taking to time to read my post and for feeling free to comment so honestly. I always appreciate people who challenge me to defend my beliefs further because it truly makes me think more deeply and more completely through where I stand on the issues I blog about.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">Let me start by saying that I try very hard not to disrespect those with whom I disagree. Though you found deep offense to some of the things I wrote, please know that I am saying nothing with the intent to offend, just in a spirit of openness about what I believe about Mormonism. I think you would agree that – mixed in with the things you found offensive – I also made some very kind comments about Mormons. If you will agree to take no offense where no offense is intended, I’ll agree not to be offended that you think my thoughts make me sound “kind of ignorant and not-really-very-well-educated” :).</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">You challenged me to “come up with a definition of ‘Christian’ that leaves Latter-day Saints out, but manages to include all the other denominations that [I] would consider to be Christians.” For the sake of simplicity I’m going to forgo all the theological citations and links to various Reformed creeds and confessions, and give you a very tangible reason why our two religions cannot <span style="font-style: italic;">both</span> claim the name of Christianity. Ironically, the answer is found at the very point of Mormonism’s conception.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">In Joseph Smith’s first vision, he asked “the Personage” of Jesus Christ which Christian denomination he should join – which one was right. The following answer comes directly from Smith’s account as listed on <a href="http://www.lds.org/library/display/0,4945,104-1-3-4,00.html">www.lds.org</a>:</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51); font-style: italic;">"I was answered that <span style="font-weight: bold;">I must join none of them, for they were all wrong</span>; and the Personage who addressed me said that <span style="font-weight: bold;">all their creeds were an abomination in his sight; that those professors were all corrupt</span>; that: "they draw near to me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me, they teach for doctrines the commandments of men, having a form of godliness, but they deny the power thereof."</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">In one hand, Mormons hold to Smith’s founding prophecy that theirs is the one true church and that all others are corrupt abominations; in the other hand they hold the olive branch of Christian brotherhood. If Christians consent to Mormonism’s plea for acceptance, then we must give equal consent to the belief that all our creeds and practices are disgusting in God’s sight. By accepting Mormonism, Christianity must reject the very faith that they practice. Basically, this whole issue boils down to the fact that Mormons are seeking the acceptance of the very people they have deemed to be unacceptable.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">I think the real challenge before us is for Mormons to come up with a definition of Christian that leaves Latter-day Saints in, but also manages to include all the other denominations that Joseph Smith was told were an abomination in God’s sight. Is any Mormon ready to claim that Smith’s founding revelation was wrong? If not, then I’m not sure it’s fair to characterize Christians as the ones who are not accepting.</span>Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-25934573998414797852009-01-29T21:56:00.004-07:002009-01-29T22:01:39.466-07:00A Revealing Insight<object width="384" height="236"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qyfmtUjNJEk&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qyfmtUjNJEk&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="384" height="236"></embed></object>Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-15059011309717447682009-01-23T20:14:00.012-07:002009-01-24T08:59:47.306-07:00Despising the Prodigal Son<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLzSoIHZus7hR4J5K-IczeCMczt0aLn37Vw4mAdLcbzmwmUJuYkFFWcbI7lY7j2Q9OPSSYjZipiCJX4LhfCOO6cO-7mVoxAmli1Tp9gQSb1jqpF-GGHvKSpFHI6G9t3Uqg-baLNA/s1600-h/Prodigal.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLzSoIHZus7hR4J5K-IczeCMczt0aLn37Vw4mAdLcbzmwmUJuYkFFWcbI7lY7j2Q9OPSSYjZipiCJX4LhfCOO6cO-7mVoxAmli1Tp9gQSb1jqpF-GGHvKSpFHI6G9t3Uqg-baLNA/s400/Prodigal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294737436040390722" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I am writing this post to express my feelings on a particular spiritual issue that has been festering away inside me for years. In many ways, I imagine that what I have to say will generate some pretty strong opposition, and I welcome any challenges or thoughts you may have about this post. For what it's worth, I have heard probably a hundred sermons on this topic and none of them have brought me to a resolution that makes me comfortable.<br /><br />I dare say that just about every person who has been to church more than three times in his life is familiar with the story of the prodigal son found in <a href="http://youversion.com/reader.php?startverse=Luke.15.11">Luke 15:11-32</a>. To sum it up for you, a son goes to his father demanding his inheritance early, squanders it all on whores and partying, goes flat broke, realizes that he never had it better than when he was back home, returns to his father, and receives the celebration of a lifetime when he walks through the door. This is an incredible parable that Jesus tells to illustrate the fact that, no matter what happened in a person's past, God is waiting with open arms to accept him and forgive him.<br /><br />But the story doesn't just end there.<br /><br />The prodigal son had an older brother who stayed behind and continued to work faithfully for his father while the younger son was livin' la vida loca with the large inheritance he so selfishly demanded. After the younger son returned, this is what Jesus says went down:<br /><p style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span id="Luke.15.25"><strong> <span style="font-style: italic;">25 </span></strong><span style="font-style: italic;">“Now his older son was in the field; as he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;" id="Luke.15.26"><strong> 26 </strong>So he summoned one of the servants and asked what these things meant. </span><span style="font-style: italic;" id="Luke.15.27"><strong> 27 </strong>‘Your brother is here,’ he told him, ‘and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’</span></p><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span id="Luke.15.28"><strong> 28 </strong>“Then he became angry and didn’t want to go in. So his father came out and pleaded with him. </span><span class="highlight" id="Luke.15.29"><strong> 29 </strong>But he replied to his father, ‘Look, I have been slaving many years for you, and I have never disobeyed your orders, yet you never gave me a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. </span><span id="Luke.15.30"><strong> 30 </strong>But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your assets with prostitutes, you slaughtered the fattened calf for him.’ </span></p>I gotta be honest, I feel for the guy; on some levels I really relate to him. This parable is used over and over again in churches as a reminder that we as Christians need to be about the business of reconciling others to Christ, and I am completely on board with that. Where my biggest hang-up arrives is in the fact that this ungrateful punk <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">already knew </span>the life his father could provide and <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">left it anyway</span>.<br /><br />I can see how the church would rejoice when a non-believer comes to Christ -- no matter his or her background -- but it kills me to think of the church equally celebrating the return of a believer who knew God <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">before making the deliberate decision to live for the world</span>. In my mind, this sort of person is welcome to return to grace, but not by way of a ticker-tape parade. It seems to me that stories like these typically end up as tear-jerking video highlights or moving on-stage testimonials, while the stories of faithful Christians who struggle each day to deny themselves are ignored completely.<br /><br />I know that my disdain for the prodigal son is probably a bit off-base theologically, but its difficult for me to celebrate the deliberate disobedience of someone who I believe should know better. I have seen this story happen over and over again since I was in college, and it only gets more difficult to deal with each time I witness it. I guess if I had to boil my thoughts down to its simplest form it would be this: <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I'm not bothered with the forgiveness in this passage, but I am bothered with the fanfare. </span><br /><br />What do you think?Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-36163259070102161622009-01-20T19:37:00.003-07:002009-01-21T22:33:44.657-07:00He's My President<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpWtB1cTlL2xcbfzkCbAU_3OysJAByRq-DzSyFfY9YuwyAelC7iiNWNvwVuLgd7GbtLQ06cOXVkdXM_MpSVsA-llO1huGNvRAfAPFvHWbZ2dW7N4bqcPw8jQSFRQ1V7zQDVS8hEw/s1600-h/Obama.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpWtB1cTlL2xcbfzkCbAU_3OysJAByRq-DzSyFfY9YuwyAelC7iiNWNvwVuLgd7GbtLQ06cOXVkdXM_MpSVsA-llO1huGNvRAfAPFvHWbZ2dW7N4bqcPw8jQSFRQ1V7zQDVS8hEw/s400/Obama.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293975451577464114" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Even though I did not cast my ballot for him, President Obama has my respect.<br /><br />I always got sick of people saying that President Bush was not their president just because they disagreed with him or didn't vote for him. I have seen such despicable behavior and heard such disrespectful language coming from the mouths of bitter dissenters over the last eight years, and I have long-since vowed never to be so vile toward someone in leadership over me (whether I put them there or not). I will definitely feel free to disagree, but I will never publicly disrespect my freely-elected president.<br /><br />Many of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Obama's</span> social and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">political</span> views bother me. So does the fact that almost every celebrity in America endorses him (definitely not a group I put much stock in). It also rubs me wrong when I hear <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Obama's</span> name mentioned in some churches with more frequency and excitement than the name of Christ himself. But most of that is pure, unadulterated hype, and when it comes right down to it, President Obama now holds the reins of the greatest nation in history, and no amount of celebrity endorsement or child-sung anthems of allegiance or media anointing will take away the importance of the task before him now.<br /><br />My prayer is that President Obama seeks Godly wisdom, leads with just and resolute determination, walks in quiet humility, and wakes each day with a deep passion for preserving this country and defending its <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Judeo</span>-Christian values.Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-9043397785626933122009-01-08T21:27:00.011-07:002009-01-08T23:31:45.173-07:00With a Grateful Heart<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazw_XpWWDayS4lL_1DpM3P7LGX4TuHluu4t4XoDFdtwLQ9SB5Mc5LN1YvZzDcACrRRDb9XJ7RhNL53afm7Mwgy628UFdrfhzKY3YOC5zF0FoHOxJ-76niNbNnu_2RXnNHLPCdEQ/s1600-h/Adoption.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazw_XpWWDayS4lL_1DpM3P7LGX4TuHluu4t4XoDFdtwLQ9SB5Mc5LN1YvZzDcACrRRDb9XJ7RhNL53afm7Mwgy628UFdrfhzKY3YOC5zF0FoHOxJ-76niNbNnu_2RXnNHLPCdEQ/s400/Adoption.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289177403041262706" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Though our hearts have known him as our son since the moment he was born, on December 19, 2008, Harrison Michael Gray became our legally adopted child. As I look back on 2008 -- a year that will be forever seared into my memory -- I can't help being floored by the vast debt of gratitude I owe to so many who were involved in this process.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">God - Thank you for your grace.</span> Despite our uncertainty, fear, anger, and impetuous desire to be in control of conceiving a child, you showed us unfathomable grace by giving us a better gift than we could ever have imagined or achieved on our own.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Heidi - Thank you for being faithful.</span> No matter how hopeless things seemed, you never gave in to bitterness. Your ability to give things over to God both astonishes and encourages me. I am honored to call such an amazing and beautiful woman my wife, and I'm excited to see you now as the mother of my son. I love you.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Birth Mom - Thank you for your selflessness.</span> I cannot comprehend the physical, emotional, and spiritual struggle you endured to make the decision to entrust your firstborn child to a couple you barely knew. Please know that we recognize the enormity of your gift and that we will strive each day to raise him to be a man who earnestly seeks the heart of God. We will never forget you, and we will constantly remind Harrison that you gave him to us not because you didn't love him, but because you loved him so much.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Barbara & Frank - Thank you for your dedication.</span> Without the two of you, this could never have happened. Barbara, your persistence, clear-headed guidance, and endless patience amazed me. Your ability to give so freely of yourself and ask nothing in return is a shining testament to the love of Christ that I know lives in you. Frank, your office made the call that started this whole thing -- thanks for picking up the phone. Also, your expertise made it possible for us to focus on what was most important and avoid the hassle of all the legal <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">mumbo</span>-jumbo.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Family - Thank you for your support.</span> You guys were the shoulders we cried on and the ones we called when everything felt like it was falling apart. Thanks for encouraging us and for fasting and praying for us day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute. We definitely could not have made it through this without you.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Friends - Thank you for your prayers. </span> Whether you are close friends and co-workers we see on a regular basis, a friend of a friend of a friend who heard about our situation, or a guy who lit a prayer candle for us in Jerusalem, your prayers meant the world to us. Thank you for lifting our struggles and desires up to God. Thanks especially to those at Christ's Church of the Valley, Palm Valley Church, Southeast Baptist Church, and Christ Presbyterian Church who gave so much of themselves through prayer, encouragement, gifts, baby showers, financial support, airline tickets, and about a hundred other generous things.<br /><br />We are overwhelmed by the number of people who were involved in this process and will never forget the amazing out-pouring of support we received. We didn't deserve what you did for us, but we will be forever grateful.<br /><br />Thank you.Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-545554436622745872008-12-27T00:12:00.004-07:002008-12-27T00:26:04.878-07:00Put Your Fist in the Air!My youngest brother's girlfriend Adrienne bought him the entire <span style="font-weight: bold;">Guitar Hero: World Tour </span>game for Xbox this Christmas. Needless to say, we rocked out to many-a-song in the days after Philip opened up that wondrous box of musical fusion.<br /><br />Even though Harrison is still too young to play the game, he got into the fun in his own little way. Check out this video of our biggest fan:<br /><br /><object width="382" height="319"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uc8ZaVcOsnk&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uc8ZaVcOsnk&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="382" height="319"></embed></object>Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-15725888751779052462008-12-19T17:19:00.016-07:002008-12-21T23:48:19.636-07:00Mormon Temple Tour PhotosI admittedly have a deep fascination with Mormonism. Growing up in Salt Lake City, I have been around the religion for most of my life. I'm definitely not someone who agrees with their theology or their claim that they are a Christian denomination, but this American-grown religion's short, volatile history and their modern-day people and practices are definitely interesting.<br /><br />Last week, my family and I took Heidi and her parents (who were in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">SLC</span> for Harrison's adoption hearing) downtown to Temple Square for a tour. Here are a few photos of that trip:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzPVZ3sTmjFIS-Cf7Nwayls9DMzxlPzV69iuOW7nP3gDVJeqbq4TEM5lroxtfqXYF9Os0U0qePsflJD9Pvs_UybRVtKB-L6FgmkewiTmx1tDEdFWyFink-gQfLUQy62kX6UPoew/s1600-h/1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzPVZ3sTmjFIS-Cf7Nwayls9DMzxlPzV69iuOW7nP3gDVJeqbq4TEM5lroxtfqXYF9Os0U0qePsflJD9Pvs_UybRVtKB-L6FgmkewiTmx1tDEdFWyFink-gQfLUQy62kX6UPoew/s400/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281662308318148578" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Temple construction began within days of the Mormon pioneers settling in the Salt Lake Valley. It took 40 years for this intricate building to be completed. Its walls are nine feet thick and the outside is detailed with numerous astrological symbols (including <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">earthstones</span>, moonstones, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">sunstones</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">constellations</span>, and the lunar phases).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAy__bKyDYJxj7Bcs2IgvQBfEKWASpFqIL-9BYbue2VKyiDUg0etpyL62BRoeQCz96MaNK4Xg0CJqsv-DR_QH20XTzbWhJ_i4ZwyDuTL-dYRmqoLH3rgH8lvhrSowaHZaI-pajbw/s1600-h/5.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAy__bKyDYJxj7Bcs2IgvQBfEKWASpFqIL-9BYbue2VKyiDUg0etpyL62BRoeQCz96MaNK4Xg0CJqsv-DR_QH20XTzbWhJ_i4ZwyDuTL-dYRmqoLH3rgH8lvhrSowaHZaI-pajbw/s400/5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281660737933710610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />One thing I find particularly fascinating is the architecture of the buildings are at Temple Square. The fact that these simple pioneers were able to design and build such detailed and ornate structures is amazing to me. This six-spire, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Gothic</span>-style building is the largest of all the temples worldwide (over 100).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4U4RaC5xvZ8KHJECdfs0yeYU-uswNvXFQOJ5j1_LS90w_EJco2Ma8pb2A5tR35A9z4ql4dJ0EudWWel50vLNEa2wdQ9_frjoEeX0b_iVqsihZm0spTY4Ns3n6foXjSlehsBW_A/s1600-h/6.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4U4RaC5xvZ8KHJECdfs0yeYU-uswNvXFQOJ5j1_LS90w_EJco2Ma8pb2A5tR35A9z4ql4dJ0EudWWel50vLNEa2wdQ9_frjoEeX0b_iVqsihZm0spTY4Ns3n6foXjSlehsBW_A/s400/6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281662841023057970" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The granite used to build the temple was quarried from Little Cottonwood Canyon 20 miles away. It took days for each block to be hauled from the canyon to the temple site. Though construction on the Salt Lake Temple was the first to get underway, it was the fourth one completed.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV1NNDrRDvNZku7X6Rlwihfl4zuQXnN6R8T6e6Pdx-EY6D5keWQXmCX64ldJvqIzIP6UZMtFjDdAwQesGQJyIr2nZmcXR6HchbOyVA3bNan1qirUCHivOBjZA2OJVPJ7WRLHyTMQ/s1600-h/3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV1NNDrRDvNZku7X6Rlwihfl4zuQXnN6R8T6e6Pdx-EY6D5keWQXmCX64ldJvqIzIP6UZMtFjDdAwQesGQJyIr2nZmcXR6HchbOyVA3bNan1qirUCHivOBjZA2OJVPJ7WRLHyTMQ/s400/3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281662485962876354" border="0" /></a><br /><br />One particular change I have noticed in the tour since I first took it is the fact that most, if not all, the tour guides are young women. The temple guides have been called to do their two-year mission in Salt Lake City (much like other faithful Mormons are called overseas). Our guides were Sister Meyers from Albuquerque and Sister <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Arnquist</span> from Dallas.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UceHFH6z7_Eg41tuR69JA18zlExMiQ9ey5qZxDHxXBNeO5cnm_YLds3mLC1Ct135w4C8hv77a-9oeVkMSlpHQk95SAhkxHtyAd8fb9Z-hSazNhtXzhyphenhyphen0L2_tubtyuKcQ_DykKA/s1600-h/9.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UceHFH6z7_Eg41tuR69JA18zlExMiQ9ey5qZxDHxXBNeO5cnm_YLds3mLC1Ct135w4C8hv77a-9oeVkMSlpHQk95SAhkxHtyAd8fb9Z-hSazNhtXzhyphenhyphen0L2_tubtyuKcQ_DykKA/s400/9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281662184896388626" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The Assembly Hall was the first building at Temple Square to be completed (1877). It was built using small scraps of granite from the temple construction. This meeting place was where Mormon pioneers met for church in the early years. The building is now used for regular community concerts.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjyOvAWNxDV22D-tAY7u3sX1kC6LmcHp6xbMpcv4CAgXgVH221_haBitP2zEVNo5ORvjd3IkWPSsjlqnJ2tpqd5WamwpSkXYztsEQWduKdk0fQdgz0JxrAw8bKlKnjNWUs72Fu6A/s1600-h/2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjyOvAWNxDV22D-tAY7u3sX1kC6LmcHp6xbMpcv4CAgXgVH221_haBitP2zEVNo5ORvjd3IkWPSsjlqnJ2tpqd5WamwpSkXYztsEQWduKdk0fQdgz0JxrAw8bKlKnjNWUs72Fu6A/s400/2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281662382649450114" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Inside the North Visitors Center, tourists will find huge, detailed murals of popular Old and New Testament stories and a large, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">interactive</span> model of ancient Jerusalem. The centerpiece of the building, however, is the 11-foot marble <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Christus</span> statue which stands in the middle of a gigantic mural of the universe. I'd be lying if I said it didn't creep me out a little.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJbOgQcX7KGhjCDwOhWuNIVedVmHZxBXp-dGDl27CY7VxXDFiEq9nkJXs0yMadJY5bYIvFYw97yOrb1SSjMj4wrCBE6jG6gRtkksLJC83OHlHi8eimRmLvcFgbClwiHkwRNzdM_Q/s1600-h/4.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJbOgQcX7KGhjCDwOhWuNIVedVmHZxBXp-dGDl27CY7VxXDFiEq9nkJXs0yMadJY5bYIvFYw97yOrb1SSjMj4wrCBE6jG6gRtkksLJC83OHlHi8eimRmLvcFgbClwiHkwRNzdM_Q/s400/4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281662751843661074" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Directly north of Temple Square is the new 21,000 seat Conference Center where large meetings are held (you've seen their painfully boring bi-annual television conferences, right?). This is also the building where the Mormon Tabernacle Choir performs. Mormon financial records are not made public, but the estimated cost for this building is over $240 million.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUBqNYNnRVovlv5hH6N-t4oiwTtBRap70rGk5gjn9trMjqpkO2wMGZoc7YaNSwcRlQU5nokOoltJ7oU0f1EsDvzE0aQQGR8frldonIvB2sn27VxcewxerqWKcPNAfc2jLJs2veg/s1600-h/7.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUBqNYNnRVovlv5hH6N-t4oiwTtBRap70rGk5gjn9trMjqpkO2wMGZoc7YaNSwcRlQU5nokOoltJ7oU0f1EsDvzE0aQQGR8frldonIvB2sn27VxcewxerqWKcPNAfc2jLJs2veg/s400/7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281662943044695746" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The Joseph Smith Memorial Building is east of Temple Square and was formerly the five-star Hotel Utah. This statue of Joseph Smith sits in the lobby. Mormonism's founding father is a very interesting figure. Descriptions of this man range from prophet of God to storyteller to philanderer. Despite his murky reputation, he definitely was a man of great influence and charm.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfAdmRUo7X5Vqr_VcQd3-ig6GXFfRtECReUQoBKoQos4yT_FZxGkJnUWRmOmdohDyfyczPT6Dhrieu57G7YwF4o-YGS2d0ry-LLtzE_d2HDD41nzba0QNMY71TErnSDaQEogZ55w/s1600-h/8.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfAdmRUo7X5Vqr_VcQd3-ig6GXFfRtECReUQoBKoQos4yT_FZxGkJnUWRmOmdohDyfyczPT6Dhrieu57G7YwF4o-YGS2d0ry-LLtzE_d2HDD41nzba0QNMY71TErnSDaQEogZ55w/s400/8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282500516852890754" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This final photo was taken from the top floor of the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. I think with a little work, this could <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">easily</span> be used as a postcard. If you are ever in Salt Lake City, I recommend that you spend a few hours to take the tour. I can guarantee you'll discover some things you never knew about Mormonism.Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-82955213859606265692008-12-12T14:10:00.005-07:002008-12-12T16:09:05.798-07:00I Might Be AddictedI was sick last week and couldn't do any of my half-marathon training, but this week I have been feeling much better. In celebration of the end of my bad cold, I ran 3 days for a grand total of 1 hour, 54 minutes, and 7 seconds over 9 miles of this earth (3 x 3 miles). Don't bother trying to figure out my average time per mile -- it's still pretty crummy.<br /><br />In the past I never did much running for running's sake, but I think this may become a permanent routine in my life -- and I think I may be starting to enjoy it. Today, I ran to the point of bleeding through my shoe. Please, no jokes about me bleeding pink.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrmNMNASRXDsgjtG2Jm10CY4RRZe3_TAI6OedvyNEgoeN3_B7vGt7Heocgw-FKyk6IyMdNlo6pqyKvu_D9opB30PBrPqECJqTRWwNW2XwZ1oJmW4mEB9Uj2nfFQM3UeoofHzh1w/s1600-h/Bloody-Shoe.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrmNMNASRXDsgjtG2Jm10CY4RRZe3_TAI6OedvyNEgoeN3_B7vGt7Heocgw-FKyk6IyMdNlo6pqyKvu_D9opB30PBrPqECJqTRWwNW2XwZ1oJmW4mEB9Uj2nfFQM3UeoofHzh1w/s400/Bloody-Shoe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279038846930167394" border="0" /></a><br /><br />D-Lo ran with me again and this time he brought a beanie for me too. Here we are making pre-run poses that far exceed our actual badness level:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0T7Mh-cVkBlHFEtEFh9tFUHKDlRcxdQnCqfY7Q-ofxtiPnu5QFGogGRT0o5SleGJceq0RMIIJIRfGo5S1MtYvYWCfra1wggiv5P3Oxf6RUzUWLRV63yoYMIB_hcHXc3ypq9zjMg/s1600-h/Beanies.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0T7Mh-cVkBlHFEtEFh9tFUHKDlRcxdQnCqfY7Q-ofxtiPnu5QFGogGRT0o5SleGJceq0RMIIJIRfGo5S1MtYvYWCfra1wggiv5P3Oxf6RUzUWLRV63yoYMIB_hcHXc3ypq9zjMg/s400/Beanies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279038931504549394" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Both times we have run together, Derrick has come to my side of the tracks, but next time, we're going to hit the streets of Dreaming Summit and see what sort of damage we can do there. I'm looking forward to a change of scenery.Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-10941215956362375392008-12-01T23:26:00.019-07:002008-12-02T18:19:03.263-07:005K - A Photo Essay<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwazgaPNw6Ib61mOI8_9b3IQYBcEvlWFs1tq_c9gki0tpIzqipRMZwprDZOsD3XGR3xTKce0DUoxwGGp02-nZCt6Cxdrhx9T_Mel6FPjDBAOsco51hb1JfzS_NL7cATNWnNunBNg/s1600-h/5K-1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwazgaPNw6Ib61mOI8_9b3IQYBcEvlWFs1tq_c9gki0tpIzqipRMZwprDZOsD3XGR3xTKce0DUoxwGGp02-nZCt6Cxdrhx9T_Mel6FPjDBAOsco51hb1JfzS_NL7cATNWnNunBNg/s400/5K-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275085995982438962" border="0" /></a><br />I spent the month of November training for a 5K race that took place on Thanksgiving Day. This picture of me flexing has nothing to do with that training, I just think it's a cool photo. Plus it's sure to be intimidating to all my foes (you know who you are).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ1HK172dRHMVt3uNt4NpljWhCPTJ8sgIKFX5QtezoBaVuUXHEZYpen8m7juFDPPSqmFU2NrZ3C8O7kA8SNN42soRbCTfSNEPlu22gVf8L32bBUJRdsSj9KK8ZjjJKLPs8GOHvBA/s1600-h/5K-2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ1HK172dRHMVt3uNt4NpljWhCPTJ8sgIKFX5QtezoBaVuUXHEZYpen8m7juFDPPSqmFU2NrZ3C8O7kA8SNN42soRbCTfSNEPlu22gVf8L32bBUJRdsSj9KK8ZjjJKLPs8GOHvBA/s400/5K-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275085937826990098" border="0" /></a><br />These are the shoes and the new pedometer I bought prior to training. The shoes help me grip the pavement, and the pedometer shows me just how much time it takes me to run such a short distance. I'm pretty sure it makes fun of me when I'm not around.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOA-OGajQ6PQyOSJn3y9PTvEivODXEAN2XiLgsR04badTrTAxecSyLlrnklD_OtU6mWVj92vscZ9L7l_3KxGb8hOF-otox7zdSI-wZw4Q7_2uQyam0fE-Wq0UoCTJIegmLwpVs0A/s1600-h/5K-3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOA-OGajQ6PQyOSJn3y9PTvEivODXEAN2XiLgsR04badTrTAxecSyLlrnklD_OtU6mWVj92vscZ9L7l_3KxGb8hOF-otox7zdSI-wZw4Q7_2uQyam0fE-Wq0UoCTJIegmLwpVs0A/s400/5K-3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275085854099933602" border="0" /></a><br />This is my one-time training partner D-Lo. He was kind enough to join me one Friday for a run. I'm not sure why he wears that beanie -- he's already got a full head of hair to keep his dome warm. Maybe I should get one.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnJbpQrTsolH7aviq9nMJAK1j8DRCb0_OtZ4hgvB9MMzNGXQNM2lEi73l5XaV7_jkxNIPIk1gpkt2NJBiETXBHFfOT5tRad3hxI1JJYxXJFnx9DDkHO9IKgyeL5OkLR2oMaLL5w/s1600-h/5K-4.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnJbpQrTsolH7aviq9nMJAK1j8DRCb0_OtZ4hgvB9MMzNGXQNM2lEi73l5XaV7_jkxNIPIk1gpkt2NJBiETXBHFfOT5tRad3hxI1JJYxXJFnx9DDkHO9IKgyeL5OkLR2oMaLL5w/s400/5K-4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275085770143796434" border="0" /></a><br />The 5K race took place in Fountain Hills, AZ at 7:30 on Thanksgiving morning. The whole night before, it poured down rain and only let up an hour before the race. It was a beautiful day for a trot.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7RT-0lNDMLkwq1GPOx36Clb2cDPamdVCFR8q8cbvEk8ypVaOtF0NTG59_azdmNZoUSnHWe9IbbtBqxK6x5r-WwZlOZ43NCt08lo6BrD0oPd55_05j-DjYNi_5GDTcblBMCva8dw/s1600-h/5K-5.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7RT-0lNDMLkwq1GPOx36Clb2cDPamdVCFR8q8cbvEk8ypVaOtF0NTG59_azdmNZoUSnHWe9IbbtBqxK6x5r-WwZlOZ43NCt08lo6BrD0oPd55_05j-DjYNi_5GDTcblBMCva8dw/s400/5K-5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275085686088553874" border="0" /></a><br />Heidi and her sister Heather did the 2K fitness walk on the same day. This is us posing with the turkey mascot before the race began. That smile on my face is real.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-eUViKrmtpbvrHCbgKxW2yXyT0R-tLkQQAiIChruoY9ALzeb7F5GXQeRCMb0EIlMVMctmKCb2pvH9nEioh5TYkJ1M22RYRUgNIQvwoPhnCSKBHNZYDIBpurq2HDfMan-lTv7KLw/s1600-h/5K-6.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-eUViKrmtpbvrHCbgKxW2yXyT0R-tLkQQAiIChruoY9ALzeb7F5GXQeRCMb0EIlMVMctmKCb2pvH9nEioh5TYkJ1M22RYRUgNIQvwoPhnCSKBHNZYDIBpurq2HDfMan-lTv7KLw/s400/5K-6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275085615312032034" border="0" /></a><br />This is about 1/3 through the race. At this point, I am still surrounded by a good handful of people -- the little 10-year-old girl running with her dad is not too far ahead of me. The only reason it looks like I'm running perpendicular to the crowd is because I am getting into position for my next photo.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCUek82rcuuu6flLLd2IJio8MWec30Qt-EhynWpTUZIQs3yQLvog5NqKPeOuwcVhhyphenhyphenU5q9dORDTmAXCQcM3HU7nnLCVI-0UwSN53tpKWGFtmJWC7a_Ko7M2-oho_TtZTQbSgwyBg/s1600-h/5K-7.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCUek82rcuuu6flLLd2IJio8MWec30Qt-EhynWpTUZIQs3yQLvog5NqKPeOuwcVhhyphenhyphenU5q9dORDTmAXCQcM3HU7nnLCVI-0UwSN53tpKWGFtmJWC7a_Ko7M2-oho_TtZTQbSgwyBg/s400/5K-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275085515252384290" border="0" /></a><br />This is the money shot. I love the look of determination on my face, my fists raised victoriously in the air, my gut and man-boobs flapping violently in the breeze. Unfortunately, this slight photo-op detour has put the 10-year-old and her dad out of my reach. The old man behind me, however, is going down!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQucV1Ukswk117O6S5evIy1YKVEmt9LS69MvejGfXmdLrzGUnpHhmJnjzW9rcges9_8TLVgi0BxFqmZQsQEjvq_3_mkp-04LTIfNlrsDFOYnxnoxCI95yxAPGMTfcRWCRaHrnbkw/s1600-h/5K-8.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQucV1Ukswk117O6S5evIy1YKVEmt9LS69MvejGfXmdLrzGUnpHhmJnjzW9rcges9_8TLVgi0BxFqmZQsQEjvq_3_mkp-04LTIfNlrsDFOYnxnoxCI95yxAPGMTfcRWCRaHrnbkw/s400/5K-8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275085445556597362" border="0" /></a><br />This is the final straight-away. To my dismay, the old guy blew by me at about the half-way mark and I never really saw him again. At this point, no one is even running with me. The people on the left finished their race long ago, completed a full after-run stretching routine, downed some bagels and juice, took a dozen photos with the turkey mascot, and are now heading back to their cars.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdd7-7rOSJj2v_-wzoHmIilnP1JHBWHLW27nhCshLdTJC2VgWTVX3WZxg12MPsQrR6hPG8n4E9nINlVDpCpb-ANdJxfINO0JZvfoCZ5OrtONMw91Bi4M8k4Dyink7vVUrSUi47w/s1600-h/5K-9.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdd7-7rOSJj2v_-wzoHmIilnP1JHBWHLW27nhCshLdTJC2VgWTVX3WZxg12MPsQrR6hPG8n4E9nINlVDpCpb-ANdJxfINO0JZvfoCZ5OrtONMw91Bi4M8k4Dyink7vVUrSUi47w/s400/5K-9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275085387103686242" border="0" /></a><br />Just a few strides away from the finish line at this point. Heidi is there cheering me on yelling, <span style="font-style: italic;">"You can do it Michael! Give it all you've got!"</span>. She told me later that she thought I would have kicked it up a notch on that last leg. What she didn't know is that I <span style="font-style: italic;">was </span>giving it all I had. The remaining race-watchers were nice enough to shout some encouraging words to me while they waited for their 85-year-old wounded war-vet grandfathers to round the corner in their walkers. I could definitely feel them breathing down my neck that last quarter mile.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPmBxQR768ayvOGtO_Vfz8lKyR2zys_ti9k3EM3Pl-EhMdbYkUhCErCBeTCBUFhoEF6yLgoMVXdVqFazbamj5iktkzFeD2L-MiIpKba2TmW2NlRih9SPwHyLgLsD-TzP4vbQXjjQ/s1600-h/5K-10.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPmBxQR768ayvOGtO_Vfz8lKyR2zys_ti9k3EM3Pl-EhMdbYkUhCErCBeTCBUFhoEF6yLgoMVXdVqFazbamj5iktkzFeD2L-MiIpKba2TmW2NlRih9SPwHyLgLsD-TzP4vbQXjjQ/s400/5K-10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275085321926671138" border="0" /></a><br />I'm now across the line. As I strain to fill my lungs with much-needed oxygen, the lady in blue takes a moment to check me out in my sexy, form-fitting red running shirt. I swear, sometimes a guy just wants to have a workout where no one ogles his rippling abs and rock-hard pecs. Am I nothing more than a piece of meat?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1CPpjeIErMqJgst1PisFw_C0jW-DDe4dfEMhp45WjO1PFlhkYt3WDPy-LnTJt5fWU1o0wbUyjjvtYfklLTWfcbCEpFafz3I1JpOJhDp3C5H_OJ9w4nrz0XThLzIzfpK_RAqOjg/s1600-h/5K-11.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1CPpjeIErMqJgst1PisFw_C0jW-DDe4dfEMhp45WjO1PFlhkYt3WDPy-LnTJt5fWU1o0wbUyjjvtYfklLTWfcbCEpFafz3I1JpOJhDp3C5H_OJ9w4nrz0XThLzIzfpK_RAqOjg/s400/5K-11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275085232718212626" border="0" /></a><br />This close-up shot clearly shows the agony that I endured to get to this point. I had finished my first 5K run in 40:07 -- certainly not record breaking, but a steady 13.3 minute mile pace (pretty good for a fat guy). As my body began to recover, my eyes scanned the parking lot for the on-site ambulance and EMT team -- just in case.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZW3ZjuMZ0ozf02ZJGDjdJy_Plzyq7Kz7DS__6DQVscmnz79Qph1RzxMYyomWe5_N8lo6naJG8gdFjDdd8RVrPm8-tbTJWI0yPiVNuCLi-Lp1qh8isKfmy5fNlor7MidrLflcEw/s1600-h/5K-12.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZW3ZjuMZ0ozf02ZJGDjdJy_Plzyq7Kz7DS__6DQVscmnz79Qph1RzxMYyomWe5_N8lo6naJG8gdFjDdd8RVrPm8-tbTJWI0yPiVNuCLi-Lp1qh8isKfmy5fNlor7MidrLflcEw/s400/5K-12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275075828858401378" border="0" /></a><br />As soon as I was certain that no medical intervention was going to be necessary, I stopped to take an after-race photo with my beautiful wife. I love that she was there with me, but that smile on my face is very forced. It took every last ounce of strength I had left to have my brain tell my facial muscles to make a smile. What a day!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXJBOPxawQokUZKeJtVh8F05pZfb0TcH3APioEwSWe9WcBiJhYpEuyQ23f496_HfVx2dNOeQ3FZ9tDUqPG8fQyMlYEvqzK9ODpQDn1hNKUhWcsJ906SGtjbwXrmW-snfWW4GuHQ/s1600-h/Marathon.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXJBOPxawQokUZKeJtVh8F05pZfb0TcH3APioEwSWe9WcBiJhYpEuyQ23f496_HfVx2dNOeQ3FZ9tDUqPG8fQyMlYEvqzK9ODpQDn1hNKUhWcsJ906SGtjbwXrmW-snfWW4GuHQ/s400/Marathon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275341932415272306" border="0" /></a><br />Well, the first hurdle toward my ultimate 2009 resolution has come and gone. While I'm not terribly impressed with my 5K run, I think it marks an important milestone and showed me that I can improve. The idea of running 13.1 miles by next September seems daunting, but then again, so was the idea of running three miles by Thanksgiving.<br /><br />Disneyland, here I come!Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-39536499694037506742008-11-22T19:22:00.002-07:002008-11-22T19:43:35.220-07:00More Peas Please<span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">I usually leave the family posts to </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);" href="http://thegrayfam.wordpress.com/">Heidi's blog</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">, but I had to share another fatherhood first with you (if you don't remember the first first, then </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);" href="http://michaelsgray.blogspot.com/2008/10/father-son-time.html">click here</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"> to read it).</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Sin-sen and I got to spend two entire days together while Mom was at a women's conference. In addition to the usual fun we have during father/son time, we got to try a new dish for lunch and dinner - PEAS! Other than baby cereal, the only thing we currently feed him from a spoon is avocado and green beans. Based on past experience, a distaste for peas is part and parcel to being a child, so I wasn't sure how this new cullinay experience would fare.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">When lunch rolled around, Harrison must have been extremely hungry because wasn't even in the mood to play with his pre-meal toys. The initial bad mood made me wonder how this whole thing was going to end. Instead of boring you with words, I think I'll just show you how it all went down:</span><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBtmk28EIZ8Vhymnm8RFDdkMWPTVCJOwS5NrUUn_jD-76h4EPqFu4bAMzGuyKylGpyhi3mcAtFiuevGe4Jo6Oasc8K7AMCjfHcbnju-XJnLMjKe88jcCBvByJEOPCZSwP5k2P4Tg/s1600-h/Peas.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBtmk28EIZ8Vhymnm8RFDdkMWPTVCJOwS5NrUUn_jD-76h4EPqFu4bAMzGuyKylGpyhi3mcAtFiuevGe4Jo6Oasc8K7AMCjfHcbnju-XJnLMjKe88jcCBvByJEOPCZSwP5k2P4Tg/s400/Peas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271672941030924002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">I think the kid likes peas.</span>Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-39920004209390615992008-11-14T23:41:00.004-07:002008-11-14T23:57:39.839-07:00Christmas Gift Idea<span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">As part of a recent process of brainstorming various ways that I could earn a bit of extra money this Christmas, I thought up a t-shirt idea, designed it, and then published it on </span><a style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);" href="http://www.cafepress.com/the2grays">CafePress.com</a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">, an online company that specializes in custom-printed clothing. Here's my final design:</span><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.cafepress.com/the2grays"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_0sItdN-cZF74Xb5Bfuo-TKFbws6Ox0ByMoo4i9oXW5rJIJQ6u1Ybqm6mVQ9ZXsQZOxK2UDb0mkFE0XKPESZUNRHbFOSlr6DTLLKi-TKkG3b0jDA_XI-6jMOUtA8_DlreuA_Mg/s400/Obama-Tee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268770937542669938" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">If you or someone you know is a political junkie (or just likes wearing cool, custom-made t-shirts), please pass along <a href="http://www.cafepress.com/the2grays">this link </a>along to them. I earn a small amount of profit for each item sold, and that money will definitely be helpful in paying Harrison's final adoption fees (December 19 is the official date!). Any additional traffic you can drive to <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">www.cafepress.com/the2grays</span> will be much-appreciated!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Happy shopping!</span>Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-89372265411595760422008-11-07T08:04:00.006-07:002008-11-07T08:22:38.796-07:00Running for our Lives<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16cYR44jcZlLK40mBE5XymVxjvmAk-fCdGmHCz6Y1LNnUZtuzNAdHH_cWfsT8lJu2U3uP2fUhDXzIbqIeHBNrrTOUFHNiWqopye6hnD3b3NtUZHz_p7HFjoKnzP3QHSegickqEg/s1600-h/Running-with-DLo.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16cYR44jcZlLK40mBE5XymVxjvmAk-fCdGmHCz6Y1LNnUZtuzNAdHH_cWfsT8lJu2U3uP2fUhDXzIbqIeHBNrrTOUFHNiWqopye6hnD3b3NtUZHz_p7HFjoKnzP3QHSegickqEg/s400/Running-with-DLo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265932768909609986" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I just returned from a Friday morning run (read: lumbering jog) with my good friend D-Lo. Since he has Fridays off, he was gracious enough to drive all the way to my house early this morning to join me in 2 miles of self-inflicted torture through the chilly streets of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Avondale</span>.<br /><br />The photo above was taken just before we started. If I had taken another afterward, I would look like death warmed over and he would look pretty much the same as he does in this picture. Jerk. He makes it look so easy.<br /><br />Hopefully, we can continue with this Friday tradition, and one day I may be able to keep up with him the entire time. If anyone else wants to join our running group, just give me a call. Maybe we can turn this living hell into a fun and challenging Friday mini-mini-marathon.Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-71305926519860983492008-11-06T07:10:00.000-07:002008-11-06T07:11:01.652-07:00The Aftermath<embed src="http://www.theonion.com/content/themes/common/assets/videoplayer2/flvplayer.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowScriptAccess="always" wmode="transparent" width="400" height="355" flashvars="file=http://www.theonion.com/content/xml/89632/video&autostart=false&image=http://www.theonion.com/content/files/images/NOTHING_TO_TALK_ABOUT_article.jpg&bufferlength=3&embedded=true&title=Obama%20Win%20Causes%20Obsessive%20Supporters%20To%20Realize%20How%20Empty%20Their%20Lives%20Are"></embed><br/><a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/video/obama_win_causes_obsessive?utm_source=embedded_video"></a>Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-34922449051573213192008-10-30T22:01:00.006-07:002008-10-30T22:06:08.758-07:00Change We Can Believe In<div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbKj0bE0eJeYswm_xNaDf9tc7sozzOTltq8g15vwzzc3N-0_c6fyWkeLklSF5AL70GeNnGMS6LUHXw_c8Sdzm9WzYZBK31fi0M1An-AQtSZs9s1Fx_WsFqg_S78EKSA3mS2_ReA/s1600-h/Obama-Redistribution.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 187px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbKj0bE0eJeYswm_xNaDf9tc7sozzOTltq8g15vwzzc3N-0_c6fyWkeLklSF5AL70GeNnGMS6LUHXw_c8Sdzm9WzYZBK31fi0M1An-AQtSZs9s1Fx_WsFqg_S78EKSA3mS2_ReA/s400/Obama-Redistribution.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263179603501745058" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span class="story_comment_quote"><span class="story_comment_back_quote">This Halloween, be sure to remember that the harder you trick-or-treat, the higher the chance that someone's going to take a ton of your candy and give it to a kid who stayed home and played Grand Theft Auto IV all night.<br /><br /></span></span>Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-9000041230638134512008-10-27T21:17:00.006-07:002008-10-29T21:24:16.606-07:00This is What I Know<span style="font-style: italic;">This is what I know </span>- People make mistakes. Consequences are inevitable and oftentimes they can be painful. When we mess up, we'd like nothing better than to move on, forget the past, and continue living without suffering the inevitable consequences. But that's not life.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This is what I know </span>- My adopted son was a mistake. The day he was conceived, he became equal amounts baby and consequence. As he grew each day in his young mother's womb, the world around him was waging war -- not for land or money or power, but for the heartbeat that pounded life through his little chest.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This is what I know </span>- Some people wanted to eliminate his life. They didn't see his existence as a choice that <span style="font-style: italic;">had already been made</span>, instead they weighed his value in terms of a choice that <span style="font-style: italic;">was yet to be made</span>. They didn't see a self-inflicted consequence that needed to be faced, only an unjust punishment that should be avoided at any cost.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This is what I know </span>- Some people refuse to see beyond the immediate. To these people, the value of my son's smile, his laughter, the way he kicks excitedly when I pick him up from his naps, were once on equal footing with a girl's impulsive decision to avoid the inherent consequence of a choice she already made. Because he was of no value <span style="font-style: italic;">to them</span>, in their eyes, he had no value <span style="font-style: italic;">at all</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This is what I know </span>- We almost lost him. <span style="font-style: italic;">Twice</span>. The constant drumbeat of what some call a woman's right to choose almost cost the world a beautiful child. This young mother sat in the waiting room of an abortion clinic two separate times. Each time she felt a tugging inside -- a voice almost -- that told her not to take the easy way out. We realize now with great gratitude that the tugging was done on our behalf.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This is what I know </span>- Some people saw a promise, not a punishment. Instead of telling her the fairytale that she could make it all just go away, they encouraged this young mother to turn her mistake into someone <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">else's</span> blessing. They didn't remove the consequence, they taught her how to find a way to make the best out of the outcome she brought upon herself. That is what life is about. Before we were ever in the picture, these people saved the life of my unborn son.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This is what I know </span>- In a world where hundreds of thousands of couples long to have the opportunity to adopt and make an unwanted child a part of their family, advocating abortion is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">possibly</span> one of the cruelest social views one can have -- both to the child and to potential parents.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This is what I know </span>- We may never conceive a child. Because of people who could see beyond the superficial morality of our day, and because the birth mom ultimately listened to the tugging inside her, our inability to get pregnant became a non-issue in our journey to have a child. We have been blessed by someone <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">else's</span> biggest mistake -- and we couldn't be happier about it.Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34046281.post-7269533697364993222008-10-19T20:16:00.011-07:002008-10-19T21:58:32.889-07:00Father & Son TimeTonight, Harrison and I got to spend some quality "man time" together with no Heidi around. She was at a baby shower with friends and left the two of us home for the evening. I was excited to have some special bonding time with my son.<br /><br />Because men like to expend energy, we started the night of bonding by participating in a number of fun, physical activities. Harrison started with about 30 minutes of jumping time in his new Johnny Jump-Up. As you can see, he loves it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkOrTPxx-TtJ2s9WdXxKgEL99d_V0A48qha6DRX6KxjIZ5aoMg67S1scOvQXgcASgulrsGsfogTWv7tJhaUIlxdDNaz5A0srug9hseX7dst2wyzGLpBetba9RWK1mzxcOsrMUIg/s1600-h/Jump-Up.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkOrTPxx-TtJ2s9WdXxKgEL99d_V0A48qha6DRX6KxjIZ5aoMg67S1scOvQXgcASgulrsGsfogTWv7tJhaUIlxdDNaz5A0srug9hseX7dst2wyzGLpBetba9RWK1mzxcOsrMUIg/s400/Jump-Up.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259074730540100866" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Though I enjoyed watching him and taking pictures, I quickly realized that he was doing all the exercise and my tubby self was just sitting on the floor. Bonding should never be a one-sided affair, so I decided that I would lace up my new running shoes, put Harrison in the jogger, and pound the pavement for about an hour.<br /><br />I don't have any pictures of us in action, but to prove that I actually did run I took a photo of my shoes and new pedometer. In case you can't read the display, it shows 3.26 miles. It's not much, but for a budding runner who is about 50 lbs. overweight its definitely an accomplishment (especially considering that I didn't fall over dead of a heart attack).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0Y0U-t0O1QtCFZwBA6ir3rrgFoZ56HmFoEpIYUUS5gXuTYqPumMtkS4jCfEN6GC6JtFs-rQObLRgifIuqpl3yGhIMgb-KgGG1XDEKXjkbVMpI1jR9_1DytJ5jpnh63nGykO7gw/s1600-h/Running.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0Y0U-t0O1QtCFZwBA6ir3rrgFoZ56HmFoEpIYUUS5gXuTYqPumMtkS4jCfEN6GC6JtFs-rQObLRgifIuqpl3yGhIMgb-KgGG1XDEKXjkbVMpI1jR9_1DytJ5jpnh63nGykO7gw/s400/Running.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259080976527977122" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We returned and took some time to cool down. I set him in his <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Bumbo</span> and placed it right in front of me as I stretched. He had a bit of a snooze on our run and seemed to be refreshed because he was making a lot of noise and smiling as I talked to him. Our night of father/son bonding was winding to an end and I was happy with the time we'd spent together.<br /><br />As I picked Harrison up to take him into his room and change into his <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">PJs</span>, I realized that he had one more bonding experience planned before we officially called it a night. You remember when I said earlier that men like to bond through physical activities? Well, my son reminded me that men also like to bond through the hilarity of our bodily functions. As a vivid reminder of this fact, he did this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrsuupnm9B-XJqo_5gVOJCNyQGHa6d1pm2la5X6tMdGRoyA49ujUAtX4dkWFb8H3nbd3albEn6zKQXmdmtCC2JF-VDay859IxyPHXoHh1X4fpcHfEWwXnZtKUAV-1poqg7QywVaw/s1600-h/Poop2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrsuupnm9B-XJqo_5gVOJCNyQGHa6d1pm2la5X6tMdGRoyA49ujUAtX4dkWFb8H3nbd3albEn6zKQXmdmtCC2JF-VDay859IxyPHXoHh1X4fpcHfEWwXnZtKUAV-1poqg7QywVaw/s400/Poop2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259075045412673394" border="0" /></a><br /><br />If you think this looks pretty benign as far a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">diaper</span> blowouts go, please know that the other half of this mess was all over my hands and forearms and extended from Harrison's rear up into his hair. I tried to clean him up with baby wipes, but only succeeded in getting poop on everything within a 3-foot radius.<br /><br />I quickly decided that two things needed to happen immediately. 1.) I needed to get the heck out of that room before my vomit became an added part of the mess, and 2.) I needed to get him into the tub because the only thing that would clean this kid properly was the pulsating massage setting on the shower head.<br /><br />After his impromptu bath, I took my freshly-cleaned child back into the room -- which now had a foreboding green cloud billowing from the door -- to get a clean diaper, the baby lotion, and his pajamas. I snapped this photo on my way back out:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJU_005Mb8VU7N4qx_Ig4axz21wo69xi0szs6NPLNxh6ljE-TfF5jpjGywC_1-E5fEpCxkqhBpbxJlSJw26LMzHC7JysPUEG3qSCTaj17S2ZL4UNYlqOd2ejMeQzebjK1SvWxegg/s1600-h/Gag.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJU_005Mb8VU7N4qx_Ig4axz21wo69xi0szs6NPLNxh6ljE-TfF5jpjGywC_1-E5fEpCxkqhBpbxJlSJw26LMzHC7JysPUEG3qSCTaj17S2ZL4UNYlqOd2ejMeQzebjK1SvWxegg/s400/Gag.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259075106334277090" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After this unplanned 30-minute <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">interruption</span> of frantic screaming (me), dry heaving (also me), and joyous splashing in poop-water (that would be Harrison), I finally held my son in my arms, fed him his bottle, prayed over him, kissed his sweet sleepy face, and laid him down for the night.<br /><br />Sometimes the things you least expect make the best memories. I'm sure I will remember this night as long as I live.Michael Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04900322824254648779noreply@blogger.com4