J. Michael McDade

Honest, open and sometimes courageous conversations about freedom, life, love and God.

Chipmunk Roommate

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I woke up early this morning full of energy and ready for a long weekend. I have a shop behind my house where I work on cars and do other projects, so after I finished my morning chores I headed down to the shop to piddle around. When I opened the door I noticed a big chipmunk darting from the middle of the floor to some pallets I keep in the back. Now if you know me well you know that anything that closely resembles a mouse is my nemesis. I told him, “Buddy, you are going to have to find a new home.” I did not give the comment or the chipmunk another thought after that, and I started working on my mustang. I finally got my car running, so I let the top down and hopped in and sped away for a much-anticipated ride in my convertible.

A few minutes into my ride I remembered I don’t have insurance on the car, so I headed home. As I arrived, I noticed the back door was slightly open. I didn’t think anything about it until 30 minutes later.

I was frying eggs on the stove when Sandra stumbled down the hall from her slumber. I am a morning person and she is a night owl. She looked at me with this confused look and said, “there is a chipmunk in our bathroom.”

What???

I asked her, “Are you sure?” Which was a dumb question because I live with Dr. Doolittle. She knows what a chipmunk looks like.

I told her the story about what happened in my shop that morning. I told her that I told him he was going to have to find a new house. She said back to me, “Well, it is not going to be my house!”

We sat down together and devised a strategy. She would wear the leather gloves and try to catch the beast, and if it got by her I would catch it in a small garbage can. What happened next you couldn’t have scripted better (a very funny comedy). She reached down calmly and the chipmunk darted between her legs and straight at me. Instead of putting the garbage can down on the chipmunk I squealed like a little girl and he ran right over my feet into our bedroom. Sandra said, ” What the hell, you are suppose to catch him in the garbage can.” He darted in the closet and then under the bed. That is when we knew we were in trouble.

After a few minutes of wondering how we were going to solve this dilemma, for some reason he darted back into the bathroom. My guess was he thought he could escape that way. We repeated the same process we had devised originally, and I was able to put the can down on top of him and capture the beast. Needless to say my anxiety level is pretty high as I write this morning. We slid a piece of cardboard under the garbage can and turned the can over. We walked outside and we let him go in our backyard.

The moral of the story is:

I haven’t a damn clue!!! Someone please tell me!

 

 

Rock Star

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A Blues guitarist jammimg on stage with stage lighting.

Recently I pulled into a strip mall in North Atlanta to get a Subway sandwich for lunch. Pearl Jam’s song Jeremy interrupted my mission, forcing me to sit and reflect as I listened. I love the lyrics of Pearl Jam’s music; it stirs the deeper regions of my soul.

Soon my thoughts took me back to a time in my living room back home in Mississippi. Me and my best friend at the time and two girls from our high school were home alone jamming to Aerosmith. With tennis rackets in hand, we danced around the room jumping from the furniture like we were on stage at Madison Square Garden. Our guitar solos were blistering as we leaned back until we fell to the floor playing our hearts out on our homemade Fender guitars.

I think the girls thought we were crazy, but for me this was serious business. Deep in my heart I really wanted to be a Rock Star!! I longed to be the front man like Steven Tyler or Robert Plant. I longed to be recognized as someone special. My insecurities kept me from ever taking the stage.

The longings to be a rock star seemed selfish and prideful: my culture, my upbringing, and especially my religion told me that these longings were not godly.

God loves to be worshipped doesn’t He?

Is He selfish?

The tears streaming down my cheeks that day listening to the vocals (lyrics) of Eddie Vetter touched my heart strings, and they made me realize that these longings are not ungodly.

The longings to be appreciated, affirmed, trusted, admired and maybe even worshipped are a deep seated piece of all of us, and maybe even how we project the image of God. I know when I speak in front of a group of men sometimes I walk off the stage and have to ask others what I said. It seems that God just takes over. I become his mouth piece. My glory is His glory. Mine is not as big, but somehow they are connected. Don’t discount the Rock Star who lives inside of you!

I am a “Rock Star”, and so are you!

The Construct of Time

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One of the first albums I purchased in my younger years was Chicago’s, Chicago Transit Authority. It was one of the first albums I got through that special offer by Columbia House, twelve albums for a penny. I think I bought it because I knew my dad liked them, but there was one song on the album I loved, “Does Anyone Really Know What Time It Is?” The line that haunts me in this song is a part of the chorus, “Does anyone really know what time it is? Does anyone really care about time? If so I can’t imagine why. We’ve all got time enough to cry.”

I guess we all have to admit we care about time.

What is time?

I know I have less time left in this old life of mine than I have already lived. These days I wish I didn’t understand time. Throughout the ages, we as humans, have defined time in measurable units: years, months, days, hours and minutes. We do this so we can control our lives and fall in line with cultural norms.

Calendars and schedules help us reach our goals based on time. We define our success yearly by how much money we make. Time seems to be a construct of keeping score basically, a way of making sense of our lives through a man created system. Time tells us if we are old or young, late or early and even when we were born. It even tell us when we were married, when our kids were born and even our anniversary.

So what is time really?

Is time definable?

It is 7:42 on Thursday, March 16, 2017 as I write the first rough draft of this piece in a Waffle House in Destin, Florida. There are six measures of time in that one sentence. Time may not be definable, but apparently we have perfected the art of measurement of it.

The real question is “What do you do with your time?”

Do you spend most of your time at work, or are you able to spend time with your family?

Do you spend your time on a great cause or idea?

Do you spend time alone? Do you embrace the time you spend seeking internal enlightenment?

Do you spend hours on Facebook, or in front of a TV?

Time is a really deep subject when you begin to peel it back. Remember, you never know when it may be your time.

What is time?

Seeing through the Eyes of my Heart

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7227The human experience sometimes can be heartless. Everyone can remember the pain of being rejected by that first girlfriend, or the death of a close friend. When our emotional world is torn down to our fiber we understand a lot more about how we really feel about love. Most of us have allowed callouses to grow over our hearts, and they become hard towards others we are suppose to love. Some people become like the Tin Man, completely without a heart.

Those of us who have opened our hearts to experience life realize that love has ebbs and flows. Ups and downs if you will. Your life seems to become more painful when things are bad, and more exhilarating when things are going well. To others it can look almost bi-polar, the ability to express such deep emotions on a daily basis, both good and bad. But it is freeing to be able to allow your emotions and your thoughts to be in a parallel dimension with each other. People with open hearts love more deeply, kiss longer and enjoy the minute details of life.

People with hearts embrace pain and suffering and learn to express it. They don’t allow it too set in and become their identity. One of my favorite movies is Finding Forrester. In the moves Sean Connery plays a man who has allowed the pains of life to define him. His fears keep him from even leaving his home. This is someone who has allowed the pain and suffering to take away his life. People with open hearts can’t live this way.

I started writing blogs about seven years ago because I wanted for people to understand how to see God in every day life. As I have matured with my thoughts and emotions, I have realized I was writing more about my love for people. I realized I have a natural curiosity for watching the goodness in the world. I love exploring the unexplored recesses of the mind that people miss because of the ridiculous pace we live at.

I have called these experiences God.

I have called them love.

God is love? Love is God?

Is this right?

Are my experiences a filter that I have created to see the good in everyone?

Is it real? Perception? Is love real? Is God real?

Am I the only one who has these questions?

There is one thing in my life that is true, when I take the time to wrestle with myself and write my emotions, thoughts and experiences I find truth. I become focused. Writing an online journal started off being extremely scary for me, exposing my deepest thoughts, addictions and desires for everyone to see; wondering what others would think of me?

Some days writing is healing, other days it is painful, but it is always true because it forces me to sit with the person I should love most in this world-myself. It forces me deeper into this being I call me. Writing helps me to peel back the external influences and test what I truly believe. Most people have no idea what they really believe. Most people cave to the pressures of society, others become convicted about an idea or cause, while others believe because it is what they have been taught. Are any of these reasons right or wrong?

I don’t know, but I don’t think so. Truth has to be experienced. Open your eyes!

Woe is Me

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homeless_bicycleYou know the kind of day when nothing seems to go right?

The kind of day when everything you touch just falls apart!

I had one of those days this past week. First, my wife and I got in a fight before I left for work. Then while on the way to work two people called in sick. Great, now I have two operational people out during the busiest week of the month. This forced me to work twice as hard all day long. Then my boss chewed my ass out about something I had nothing to do with, and it was minuscule in the grand scheme of my job. Then the kicker, my air conditioner in my truck quit working. I wanted to just keep driving and never come back.

Here is my internal dialogue when I finally left for home that day, “Damn, I can’t catch a break. I hate my job, and my boss. I swear I don’t even know if I want to go home. My wife pisses me off so bad. God why can’t I catch a break lately?”

Sound familiar?

What happened next was both a God-ordained and humbling experience. As I pulled up to the first intersection after leaving my office, a bike rode past me on the right-side shoulder. It was a man with a Goodwill uniform on riding a blue three-wheel bike with two baskets on it. The baskets were full of his clothing and all of his worldly possessions.

He slowly made his way up the hill to turn right at the intersection, and I could see he was struggling to make it. He had to put all of his weight from his slim frame on the pedals just to move at all. He literally had to stand up. It was dreadful. I sat at the light and watched his plight unfold, and  I felt sorry for this man deep in my soul.

Well he finally ascended the hill and made his turn and headed right down the highway. The light turned red, and I took a right and proceeded to pass the man on the bicycle. When I passed him I looked in my passenger side mirror to get a better glimpse of his face; I was blown away-HE WAS SMILING!

It was 100 degrees, he was pedaling a bike on a gravel shoulder on a major highway and he had nothing but the shirt on his back, and he was smiling. What gives?

As I drove home, I realized the little man was for me. God had orchestrated a reminder that in the grand scheme of life I have much more than my share, and I should be grateful. The tears I shed loosened the grip on the anger I allowed to control me all day. God bless you little Goodwill man, because you blessed me today!

What do you need to be grateful for?