Your Meal Meant the World to Me

The power of a meal is amazing. In the early days, a family would break bread with friends as a genuine showing of true love and affection.  The traditional meal wasn’t what it has become today where everyone makes a brief appearance at the coffee table for a few bites only to run off minutes later.  Friends would eat at a table and spend hours together in celebration.  I love this traditional view of a meal shared with others.  I think about that whenever Heather and I hang out with other families.  

This brings me to another point.  We have been blessed to have numerous families deliver meals after every one of our babies were born.  I never knew this tradition existed until Ivy (our first) was born.  I remember receiving a bunch of calls from friends asking if they could bring us dinner.  I didn’t understand what was going on.  As the days [after the birth] rolled by and our bodies went into zombie mode, I started to understand the priceless gesture that many were willing to extend.  I would have rather secured a few minutes worth of sleep then throw a corndog in the microwave.  It all started to add up.  

Those meals were delicious.  It also felt like those who brought them were sharing an important part of their own lives.  Many took the time to make traditional family recipes.  Others brought burritos and items from our favorite restaurants.  I could sense a feeling of fulfillment as they passed the trays over to us.  And if any of you are reading this, I wanted to tell you that every last scrap was consumed in full.

As a new parent [three times], these particular acts of kindness stand out in my mind.  The impact has been so great, that Heather has signed up to bring meals to new parents on multiple occasions. 

Numerous churches have sign-ups available for the delivery of meals to new parents.  If you have the ability to make a good meal, or even buy an amazing burrito, I would encourage you to sign up.  The value of this particular act can be measured in the eyes of the new parents when you make your delivery.  

Elden's Broken Heart

We brought our little guy home from the hospital today.  He was born on Sunday, August 11, 2013, at 9:50 PM.  Elden is the third and final addition to this little family of ours.  If you ask me, I’d say he rounds it all out perfectly.  My little man.  

Whenever people used to ask me if I wanted a boy or a girl, I would always say that it didn’t matter, as long as he/she was healthy.  I even wrote “Healthy” on the {Wish List} board in the delivery room.  All of the tests and monitoring suggested that it would be so.

The pediatric doctors discovered a murmur.  Murmurs are quite common among babies who arrive a little earlier than scheduled and are also quite common amongst newborns in higher altitude areas.  Their words were reassuring and I did my best to stay away from the Google search page (WebMD).

To be on the safe side, the doctor ordered an echocardiogram (ultrasound) for Elden to ensure that the issue could be nailed down as an innocent murmur.  I learned something new today during the scan.  Doctors have the best poker faces ever. 

We learned that God built Elden’s heart a little differently than other babies.  Elden has Tetralogy of Fallot which means that there are four abnormalities, or defects, in his little heart.  This includes an enlarged aorta, a thickened muscle wall (right ventricle), a hole in the muscle wall separating the right and left ventricles, and a narrow outflow tract.  Essentially, the heart is working harder to get blood where it needs to go.  

As I mentioned above, the doctor had a great poker face but his voice couldn’t help but break as he revealed that our little guy would have to have open-heart surgery in the near future to fix the abnormalities flashing before my eyes on the ultrasound scanner.

I can handle a lot of things.  Stress, pain, loss, defeat, or whatever.  It takes everything in me to hold it together when it comes to harm or pain as it relates to my children.  As a dad, I feel as though I should be able to fix anything as well as protect my children from any harm that might come their way.  I hate feeling completely helpless.  So as I stood in front of the doctor, I felt as though he might see all the worldly definitions of what it takes to “be a man” falling from my face into a dusty pile right at his feet.  At least that is what my face felt like.

The human mind always defaults to the worst-case scenario.  Mine did today.  How could it not?  This happens to five out of every ten thousand babies.  We are a part of the statistic. 

I’ve had a chance to sit on this for most of the day.  Although this condition isn’t what you would normally like to discover as you’re waiting for your discharge papers, I don’t really think I’d have it any other way. 

Elden was made from the best parts that Heather and I could muster.  God formed every moving part within Elden’s little shell including his unique heart.  God also made minds so brilliant that they will be able to delicately place tools into his chest and fix all of these abnormalities.

My son is perfect, broken heart or not.  He is perfect to me.  He is perfect to Heather.  And he is perfect in God’s eyes.

Although the prognosis is good, we are scared.  I guess that is sort of a natural reaction, right?  Heather and I are asking for your prayers.  We serve a very powerful God and place all faith in His plan for our little boy.  We would appreciate prayers for healing and for peace until we walk out of the hospital from a successful surgery.

[As of right now, we don’t know when the surgery will be.  We have to watch for specific warning signs and will be attending monthly check-ups.  The doctors would like to stretch it out for as long as he can go.  They’d like him to have as much strength and weight as possible before they do the surgery.  Until then, we pray, and we shower him with love.]

Thank You.  Sincerely. 

Steven S. Press 

The Story of These Tattoos (Part 1) - Love and Heartbreak

I collected my first tattoo around 1999.  I had been in the band for a very short period of time and felt that the next natural step in the right direction would be to secure a music themed tattoo.  I suppose I should be talking about my first tattoo since this is my first entry but I simply wasn’t in the mood to write about the subject matter.  So, instead, I am going to cover my Love/Heartbreak pieces.

Most of my work has come from one of my best friends, Chris Winn, out of Los Angeles, California.    The four pieces I will be speaking of today were amongst the first tattoos I received.  All of these pieces hold a vast collection of memories.  None represent a single instance or experience.

Love and Heartbreak: Birds and Defeated Birds  

I know I have spoken of these things before so I’ll try not to beat a dead bush. 

“Love” and heartbreak were ever-present in my younger years.  I think I had been involved in a few relationships where I put forth a lot of effort and it never seemed to pay off.  I remember being overly nice, probably to the point of being annoying.  Cards, flowers, surprises, dates, presents, poems, and on and on and on.  In retrospect, I think I was an overachiever because I wanted someone to adore me in return.  Unrelenting adoration (from a girl) was something I had never experienced and I felt that this feeling would complete me in some way.  I remember one of those relationships ended in infidelity (on her end), and the rest just seemed to dissolve for whatever reason.

I remember, as time went on, I lost interest in putting forth a sincere effort to be the nice guy.  I adopted the attitude that “nice guys finish last” and began to enter relationships without putting much on the line.  If I didn’t throw all my cards on the table, then I’d still have a better hand when the girl decided to fold.  My losses would be minimal.  In my mind, at the time, I had already suffered enough.

This season brought about a newly found confidence and cockiness that I had never held before.  It probably helped that I was in a band that was doing really well at the time.  The increase in confidence brought about a whole different caliber of women into my life.  While some might have been jealous or even proud that I was able to hang out with some of these people, I found that these new relationships tended to be completely meaningless.

The temporary relationships that I entered as a cocky, confident young man were based solely on physical attraction and Southern California glamour.  Personality wasn’t in the back seat; it was in the trunk hidden under a blanket.  The relationships existed because of who I was or how much fun we could conjure up in Hollywood on a Saturday night.

I remember one particular evening we were hanging out at the Skybar after we had just showcased for some majors at the Viper Room.  I approached an attractive lady and asked if I could buy her a drink.  She immediately asked me what kind of car I drove.  This very instance was what drove me away from superficial relationships.  I remember being stunned.  I told her that I drove a ’71 Ford Pinto.  Darin was unable to contain the mouthful of drink he had just swigged and it all ended up on one of the cushions by the pool.  I walked away laughing in amazement.

This particular instance was really the end of the story as it relates to these four tattoos.  I would later go on to become a bigger screw up and then the luckiest man on earth when I met and married my wife Heather.  For those of you who follow my blogs you know of what it is that I am speaking of.  

In a nutshell:

A heart and two sparrows holding a banner containing the word “Love.”  

This tattoo represents the relationships I have taken part in from the past.  As I sit here thinking about it, I find it funny how the definition of this word has changed for me over time.  Back then it was something I said and thought I meant.  These days, love is something I do on a daily basis.

A broken heart and two sparrows pierced by arrows holding a banner with the word “Heartbreak.”  One sparrow lying in a pool of blood.

This tattoo represents those same relationships that tore me apart at the time.  There is nothing like the pain of rejection and the severe sting of loss. 

Pin-up girl with a halo and angel wings holding a banner that says “Dreams Come True.”

I have always explained this piece as “You think you meet the girl of your dreams.”

Pin-up girl with horns, bat wings, fishnets, and a dress with flames.  

I always followed up with “....and then she stomps on your heart.”  The phrase “Sadness Prevails” can be seen over the top of her head.  I respectfully borrowed this term from a band called No Motiv.  Their record, “And the Sadness Prevails,” was my favorite at the time.  If you haven’t heard it you need to check it out. 

Again, the two pin-ups are general representations of those girls.

Until next time.

Steven

Public Education v. Homeschooling

There has been a lot of discussion regarding the differences between public education and home schooling.  Many from the religious right are demonizing the public school system as a center for brainwashing our youth. 

I am sure that there are many teachers employed within the public school system who will not see eye to eye with my particular set of religious beliefs.  They will emphasize evolution over creation.  They will not mention God, and they may even side with left-wing ideologies that I don’t particularly agree with.  I think this has always been the case.  It would be safe to say that this occurs more these days than back in the early 1900’s.

I can also say I am certain that the public school system employs teachers who hold the exact same faith that I do.  After all, God doesn’t call every single person of faith to the pulpit or into the mission fields of Mexico.  Driscoll said it best.  [Loosely quoted] “We need less pastors and more people working normal every day jobs within society.”

I’m straying from my point as I always seem to do.  As I mentioned above, the religious right has been emphasizing the need for Christians to either home school our children, or send them to a private Christian school.  I think there are important factors not being considered.

If the parent plays an active role in the lives of their children then the issues brought forth by those who demonize the public school system become void.  How many strong Christians do you know who have graduated from the public school system?  I know a lot.  They plowed through school with honors and hold strong Christian values to this day.  There are others who had ups and downs.  Who doesn’t?  It’s grade school.  I can be included in this statistic.  Most of us regained our foothold.  Others did not.

Secondly, why are we putting undue pressure on parents with circumstances that are far different than those who can either afford to put their children through private school or live off one-salary to support a homeschooling household?  Private school costs are high.  And a one-salary household in 2013?    

Good parents feel enough pressure as it is.  We toil to provide everything our children need (emotionally and financially).  Many times, this means that both parents work to pay the bills with little free time of their own.  In the end, there is not enough time to dedicate to our child’s’ scholastic success, nor is there enough money left over to pay for private grade school education.

So what’s up with the guilt trip?

I don’t have anything against homeschooling or private schools.  I have great friends who have attended both.  If I had the money, I’d love to send my kids to private school.  The fact is that I don’t.  And my wife and I don’t have the time (nor the expertise) to guide our children through middle/high school lessons.  Truth be told, I don’t feel bad about it in any way.  And I am very happy for the parents and kids who are able to take part in such great schools.

For those who insist that I remove my child from the public school system:

Here is a reality.  Sin will follow every human being on this earth.  It doesn’t matter where they go to school.  It is my responsibility as a parent to rear my children under biblical direction.  If I don’t do this, then who is the real failure?  This guy.  Furthermore, how can our children show [this little light of mine] if it is hidden under the bushel we tend to bury them under?

I absolutely refuse to retreat from the public school system as if it were an untamed beast ready to devour my children.  This is why we prepare.  This is why we nurture.  This is why we pray and trust in God to protect the ones we love most.

Retreat simply indicates that we feel God isn’t big enough to handle the well being of our children.  O’ ye of little faith.... 

Take a moment to watch this video from Mark Driscoll.  It is a beautiful depiction of what it means to love a daughter the way she should be loved:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i5mmer1cquw

Thanks,

Steven

My Daughters are Porcelain Dolls

I was watching the new Wizard of Oz movie last night and came across the scene where Oz discovers a broken porcelain girl hiding behind a table in her house.  I couldn’t help but compare this particular scene to my own life and my ability to parent two beautiful little girls.  

(Photo: Disney Pictures)

 

The porcelain figurine can be used as a very appropriate analogy if we think about the daintiness of our daughters.  The similarities are striking.  We mold our children as they grow, right?  We dress them in outfits that we like and we generally push them toward activities we enjoyed as children.  Our children learn through our verbal direction and through the observed actions of mom and dad.

Our children are also capable of being broken.  As a fairly new parent (two children – both under 3), I find that this weighs on my mind the most.  I always tend to dwell on how many different ways they can break.  It takes everything in me to hold it together when they get their shots.  I can hardly even look at the photo of Rielle when she had tubes protruding from her nose and an IV in her little arm.

(Photo: Disney Pictures)

When these things happen, I can’t help but see this little porcelain doll.  It is standing before me and it is chipped.  Or maybe something was broken off.  Oh how I wish the fix was as easy as a dab of glue!  Physical boo-boo’s will heal.  I have a harder time thinking of things that I will not be able to fix no matter how hard I try.  How does a father mend his daughter’s broken heart?  How does a father take away the hurt when his daughter is mocked in front of others at school?  I wish I could block pain from their lives.  I know that I cannot.

I have my faults as a father.  I can be better in so many ways.  I find comfort knowing that the only molding that truly matters comes solely from our Heavenly Father.  He is perfect when I am not.  He will protect, heal, and mend when I am incapable of doing so.   He loves unconditionally, while my emotional responses are varied across the board. 

Heather and I can only do what is humanly possible.  God will do the rest.  And if my little porcelain dolls ever break in an irreparable way, I know I will see them again in perfect form.  I find comfort in these things.

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"People were bringing little children to Jesus to have him touch them, but the disciples rebuked them.  When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.  I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."  And he took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them."  -  Mark 10:13-16

"Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it."  - Proverbs 22:6

Christians: We Have Culturephobia

            I walked into a Tattered Cover book store today and found the 3’ x 6’ section dedicated to Christian children’s stories.  I figured these little books would shed a child-like light on a few of the biggest events seen within the pages of scripture.  As I flipped through the pages with my little girl, I couldn’t help but feel a wave of disappointment rush over my body.

            I’d rather not quote the book directly so, instead, I’ll give you the general idea.  One of the pages says that once we become closer to God, all of our problems will go away.  

        This one statement exemplifies the problem within the Christian church.  How many times have we heard the speaker say, “I became a Christian and my addiction to alcohol just disappeared.  I became a Christian and I received a random check for $4,000 right before the bank was about to repossess my house.  I became a Christian and my cancer just left my body.”  

            Don’t get me wrong.  I believe that God can heal and do anything.  There is no question in my mind.  And I do not reject the stories that I hear.  I take issue with the sales pitch used to catapult the non-believer into belief under the pretense that something miraculous will happen the moment a relationship with Christ is procured.

         So in the case of this children’s book, it feels as though I am setting my girl up for disappointment once she starts to engage culture outside of our little protective bubble here at home.  Essentially, I am telling her that everything is going to be fine and she will never feel pain in her life if she is a Christian.

         Really?  What about the bullies? What about the physical ailments?  What about the boys that will reject her?  What about failed relationships or lost jobs?  What about divorce or a still-born child?  What about sin? 

         I’m not necessarily upset solely at the book and I will continue to read it to her.  I am concerned because it serves as a reminder that we continue to paint the Christian life as some magical balloon that floats high above society out of harms way.

         Newsflash:  When you become a Christian your problems will not disappear.  God probably isn’t going to send you a check and He’s probably not going to hook you up with that Twilight vampire actor?  What’s his name?  Dave, right?  Your problems will continue and you will go through some rough times.  

            There is no question, however, that your life will change.  Your relationship will begin to drop anchor on His words and some of your prayers will be answered, while many will also go unanswered.  You’ll discover that a relationship with Christ becomes less about what you receive during your time here, and more about where you will go once you have breathed your last.  Our time here is merely preparatory.  So how are you preparing and who are you inviting to come along for the ride?

         Our goal is to reach people the way Christ would have reached people if He was here right now.  I think He’d tell it like it is, no punches pulled.  I think that He’d tell a beautiful, relevant story.

         

Old Man at the Rock Show

Bob Dylan taught me how to play the guitar.  Eric Clapton helped me expand on my very basic knowledge of chord structure.  Guns N’ Roses inspired me to buy an amplifier.  Metallica taught me to turn it up loud.  “Smells Like Teen Spirit” changed my life, and “Longview” made me want to be in a band.  

I know what some of you might be thinking.  The artists that I mentioned might not be indie or punk rock enough for you.  I cared about this perception in 1992.  Now?  I love music.  And the guys that whined “sell out” are the guys listening to the same Fat Wreck and Nitro bands that they were listening to when they were kids.  Their record taste has evolved much like their maturity. 

You know who I am talking about.  The thirty-somethings in the pit at the Face to Face show who can only name the songs from “Don’t Turn Away.”  The guys who spend the entire night on the floor, raising middle fingers to those of us who found seats in the balcony above the band.  The same guys who will be ejected from the show because they chose to swallow a flask of cheap vodka in sixty seconds and then belligerently break unsuspecting necks while East Coast slamming in a non-existent pit.

I digress.

My past musical ignorance was necessary.  My close record store buddies might say that my taste hasn’t evolved drastically.  I would argue that it has.  These days, I can actually laugh about it and we can poke a little fun at each other.  I can tell Chuck that the latest Killing Joke record is a sleeper and he, in turn, can tell me that Recover (Ceci N’Est Pas) didn’t do anything new with their last attempt.  The point is that I am not offended by shots at my musical taste anymore.  And maybe that is my problem.

Remember when you’d hear a song and it would blow you away?  Those artists, from that point on, weren’t capable of producing garbage.  Right?  Songs had such an impact on my life that I can remember where I was when I was listening to them.  I had a walkman when I was younger and I would wear out every cassette single with its torturous inner mechanisms.  I must have listened to “Appetite For Destruction” and “Nevermind” over a thousand times.  Those records (amongst many others) never got old for me, but the cassettes sure as hell took a beating.

Music captivated me in the same way that love did.  I couldn't think about anything else and I couldn't wait until the next (insert artist here) record came out.  There was oxygen, and then there was music.

As I grew older, I have found that I have become a picky music consumer.  I have to laugh at myself at times.  I find myself thinking that bands in my day did it way better than they do now.  Only to remember that the old timers from back then said the exact same thing!  So what is going on?  Have bands been getting progressively worse or has my musical taste taken refuge at the retirement home?  Look at the charts.  You tell me.

I have found myself a little saddened as I compare my current musical participation to that of my younger years.  I am not the kid in the pit or up against the guard rail at the show anymore.  Instead, I am soaking in every moment from a tactical vantage point with my wife.  Hell, by the time the headliner takes the stage, I’m ready for bed.  When I am at the merch booth, I’m not looking for a shirt or a hoodie.  Instead, I am seeking out that ultra rare tour-only 7” that will eventually become a collectors item.  While others are hunting down the band members, my wife and I are making a quick exit in hopes of beating the rush or traffic that will ensue.  

I guess my point is this.  My music consumption has changed much like my taste in alcohol.  When I was young, it was all about gutter punk, King Cobra, and sleepless nights.  These days, I opt for fine imports or a glass of merlot, “Clarity,” and resolve the night surrounded by those who I love the most.  

These are my thoughts as I grow older.  I will always love music.  I have merely learned that this love evolves with every year God adds to my life.

Thanks,

Steven