They call it the millionaire’s family. One boy, one girl. I do not have the million but God blessed me with a son and daughter. Most recently he added another daughter to my family.

At my son’s wedding this summer, I became emotional as I watched my son’s beautiful new wife dance with her loving father. The way he draped his paternal arms around her as she melted into them is a memory I will never forget. In that moment I glimpsed the first time she was hurt, heartbroken. I felt all the years he worried about her. I imagined the day she took her first steps to him. I saw a father’s and daughter’s love. As the dances ended I walked over to my daughter’s table and pointed at her, “You and I are doing that one day.”

“No we are not!” She retorted.

“YES, we are.”

This was not something she expected. I have never been the warmest Dad. But I love my children as much as any other Father.

Brooklyn, along with her brother are my world. She is beautiful inside and out. She has always been a light for me. She fights for the underdog. She comforts those that feel alone. She seeks out the hurt ones and tries to ease their pain. I could write a thousand things I love about her, her talents, but these traits are the things I am most proud of.

Most of us do not understand what daughters need from us. I am starting to figure it out, but it is coming very late. I can only pray not too late.

Who am I to tell anyone anything? No one. But if I could say something to fathers I would say our daughters need love, safety and strength. We need to listen. I never listened to my son or daughter enough. The Killers have a song called Heart Of A Girl. It has a lyric in it:

Daddy daddy daddy, all my life, I’ve been trying to find my place in this world…..

Baby baby babe, I got all night, to listen to the heart of a girl.

We need to be someone they feel safe opening up their hearts too.

If I could say something to daughters, I’d tell them we are different. We do not often understand things that your mother just gets. We get a lot wrong, but we adore you. We love you more than you could ever know. Some of us, many of us, well we just are not good at knowing how to make you feel it. But trust me its there.

For all the daughters out there that feel unloved, I am sorry. You know who you are. Your fathers are too broken and lost to show it or perhaps they feel unworthy of you and choose to love you in pained, lonely silence. I am willing to bet most of them if not all would lay their life down for you in a second. I have met many men over the years who are estranged in varying degrees from their daughters who cannot hold back tears at the very mention of them. I know there are daughters everywhere that feel unloved who have a father that has a giant hole in their heart that was once filled by them. You are deeply loved. Know that. If not by your earthly father, then most certainly by your heavenly Father. The Creator of all magnificent things. The Creator of you.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris

Well its been a while. There’s a mood I get in when I want to write, and it has eluded me for a while. I don’t really know if its happiness, sadness, peace or turmoil, but maybe the best way to describe it is a sense of peace during turmoil, bittersweet.

Its been a season… My son stepped up and married the woman he loves, setting an example I hope to follow one day. My daughter got her first stripe and is soloing in our skies. My niece, who I could not admire more, became my roommate and brightened up my home.

I learned to fly fish. I have hooked one fish, two birds, my hound Bauer, and more bushes and trees than I can count.

I bought my first 2 rifles. A Winchester .30 .30 and a left handed T bolt Browning. I considered becoming a hunter but have decided despite being a meat eater I have no will to take the life from an animal. If one could eat cats, I might reconsider. Every time I step in one of Hope’s hairballs I have Hannibal Lector worthy thoughts.

I have made some new friends and unfortunately let distance come between old ones. I have gone to and avoided church. I have been up, down and everything in between. I guess what I am saying is I am just being. As I age I find myself with new questions about my old answers.

Tonight I am hanging with my dog, listening to Ray Stephenson thinking about how excited I am to fish with my son and his wife this weekend, how happy I am my daughter is safely on the ground after her evening flight, and how good God is.

I hope whoever might read this had a happy summer.

If you read this far, Thank you.

Tris

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If you have read this page, you know I hold my family in high regard. I am not always on the best terms with everyone, but my family is amazing. Do we have flaws? Oh yes. But we are the first to point them out. it will always be my honour to to write about them.

Nathan is the oldest of my two younger brothers. I would dare say there is no one on earth greater than Nathan. It will be very hard to express in this medium just how great he is. I would need some beer and a few hours to really do him justice.

I would argue that Nathan is the rock of our family. With a big family comes fellow siblings that have hit hard times. Almost all of us have gone to work for Nathan if we needed a job, employment. Nathan is the first to help anyone out who is struggling.

I was partners with Nathan years ago. it was his truck we used to get started. We framed our first house together in the late 90s for Stepper Homes for 3250 dollars. I have often felt I made a mistake by not remaining his partner. We argued about everything from electric cars to forklifts. Nathan if you read this, I would just like to say electric cars are everywhere, and you own 2 forklifts.

He has probably framed over 500 homes. Recently he helped me sheet a roof. I was overwhelmed and asked him for help. He came and got more done in 4 hours than I can do in an 8hr day. He has lent me his equipment numerous times. When I have been slow, he has let me frame with him. Everyone in my family will tell you a similar story.

Nathan is the humblest man I know. He is the most selfless man I know. No one comes close. He has recently started working with leather and within a week of me mentioning to him that I wanted bracelets for my Bible group I am a part of he had them done. They look amazing. He will tell you they are awful. He is one of Calgary’s very best framers, and if you spoke to him he would genuinely tell you he is surprised anyone would hire him.

One of my favourite nights of the year is going to the Oilers-Flames pre-season game with him. The one where the prospects no one wants to see play and the Dome is empty. Every year I buy two cheap tickets, and he buys me food, beer, parking. At the end of the night he profusely thanks me for a night that he paid for, and he means it. That’s my brother Nathan.

Nathan is not only a truly great person, but he is also the toughest man I ever met. I have seen him hit in the head with a hammer, stunned….and then start laughing and carry on. Doesn’t convince you? Well then how about this:

We were framing a walkout wall in a basement. It was at least 24 feet long and we had just stood it up. We, and by we I mean me, had forgot to prepare braces. One of us had to let go to get the braces. Nathan said he would hold the wall, and as I left my side started to come down. Nathan being Nathan refused to let go and the wall came down on top of him. Brutally, his finger was caught between the concrete side wall and the falling 24’ wall. It sheered his finger right off. The only thing holding his finger on was the skin. I was panicking and rushed to get the truck to rush him to hospital. Nathan was calm. I couldn’t figure out why he was walking around.

“Get in the truck!!” I screamed.

“I am looking for Alfie.”he calmly said.

And sure enough there he was, blood pouring out of his hand, slowly walking around calling his dog. He was not going to leave his dog behind. We gathered Alfie, and off to the hospital we went. I think he would have bled to death in the waiting room if I had not made a scene. I do not know what he said to the triage nurse but she seemed to think he had just nicked his finger.

Nathan, we call him Nuff, likes to understand things. He reads a lot. He has a knowledge of history that would rival a history professor. If he doesn’t know something, he soon will. He will tell you he knows nothing. He is my favourite follow on Twitter. He goes by the name Laddertopper. It’s a picture of a man standing on the very top rung of a step ladder. It’s bloody brilliant and everything he says on Twitter is pure gold. My favourite comment he made was to the Weather Network as they were warning of climate change. He simply asked them how they could predict the weather 10 years from now if they couldn’t seem to get Friday’s forecast right on Wednesday. As a man who has worked outside his entire life, from walking seismic lines to snowy roofs in January, he has earned the right to ask that question.

Nuff, Nathan, Ladder-topper, it doesn’t matter. What he is is the greatest brother a man could ask for. I love him very much. He is without a doubt one of the greatest people I have met. I don’t say this because he is my brother. He has helped so many people. He will never turn his back on his family. He will never turn his back on anyone, no matter how much we might deserve it.

If I could wish something, my wish would be that Nathan was as good to himself as he is to me.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris.

One of my favourite movie scenes is from Forrest Gump. Lieutenant Dan perched on the top of the vessel, angry at the world, holding God responsible. The storm was whipping him, soaking him as he screaming into it, “IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?”. Are you familiar with the expression ‘suicide by cop’? It’s when someone puts a police officer in a position where he needs to shoot them, intentionally. Well I always felt Dan, a Vietnam War vet who was in so much pain that the physical discomfort and the fear of death was less than the emotional pain he was in. I have lived there.

I have vented to God in recent weeks. Where is the justice sometimes? Where is the fairness? Where are the answers to the simplest of requests. I am not proud of it but I prayed with anger, “Why does everything you do have to be so fucking profound,” Again, I am not proud.

I was angry. I had not asked for something selfish. I had not asked for something that wasn’t good. I had not asked for something that wasn’t just. It was as though God gave me the exact opposite. It was as though he heard my prayer and made the very opposite happen. It reminded me of the time I prayed hard for my Mother to live, only to watch her die replaying a memory that is already crystal clear.

I mumbled and did my best Lieutenant Dan impression all day. I kept telling God, “You have a plan, I don’t know what it is, so I will stop asking for anything and just accept whatever happens is good.” I kept mumbling, “there is no point in me participating, just do your thing, I’m good with it.” And just like that all the wonderful things God has done in my life recently had been forgotten.

A friend told me that God was trying to tell me something. I felt the same but couldn’t hear the message. When I went to my men’s group I asked what I had missed the previous week. I was told we had been taught to talk to God through the Bible. We were to follow a process. Read a passage. Underline what caught our attention. Write out why it did. Pray, and ask God what he is telling us. Write out his message, and write out a reply.

One night I was feeling pretty worn out. I didn’t want to try this new method but felt compelled to try it. I read the passage in Luke about how Jesus went out into the wilderness after healing someone.

Step 1, Underline the part that jumped out at you- What jumped out to me was he went out alone.

Step 2, Write out why- I wrote that I related to Jesus wanting to be alone.

Step 3, Pray and ask God to tell you what he is telling you- I prayed my guts out. I vented again. I finished by asking God what he wanted me to hear.

Step 4- Write out what you felt God said to you. “I AM HERE WITH YOU.” It was a crystal clear thought, it was not “He is here with me.” It was first person.

Step 5- Reply to God: After being overcome with emotion I simply wrote, “I love you.”

The next time I went to Church the message was on how the children of Israel were in the wilderness complaining and demanding water from God. He spoke about how it is in the wilderness that we learn to connect to God, and it is his Living Water that we truly crave and need. What God wanted me to learn was that the more I try to control outcomes, the less I am trusting and resting in him. That all I need is Him. Seek ye first the kingdom of God, all the other stuff can come after that.

I still swear too much and shake my fist at the sky like Lieutenant Dan but I have learned this lesson and am learning to rest in Him during the storm.

If you read this far, thank you. Tris.

I am the kind of guy who leaves things behind everywhere I go. Restaurants I frequent and friends often have a basket specifically for me. Jackets, glasses, any personal possession you can carry have been left behind. I’ve actually lost vehicles but that is a different story.

Earlier this year Alastair and Brooklyn bought me a really great black Car-hart hoodie. I loved it. But as is oft the case I focused on something else, took it off without remembering where, and lost it. I have become very good at losing things and not getting upset. I have donated more jackets to the universe than most goodwill stores. But this one meant a lot to me. I looked everywhere for it and called everyone who I had visited. Nothing. This was when I formed my cunning plan. I would go purchase a new one so my kids would not find out I had lost it. They would never know.

I agonized for an hour at Mark’s trying to figure the the style, cut, and brand of Hoodie. I enlisted the help of the attendant after telling her my story. We nailed it. Black Car-hart, extra large, writing on the sleeve, pockets and labels in the right place. I was proud of myself. I was a bit shocked when I got to the till and realized how much my kids had spent on me and humorously told myself I wish they had purchased a cheaper hoodie now that I had to buy it. This wasn’t true though, I really loved the hoodie. I proudly wore the hoodie everywhere I went. Secretly I was chuffed I had pulled it off. Brooklyn never said a word as I strutted around in it for months. I even bragged to my oldest brother about my deception.

Alas, Alastair came home this Christmas. We went and worked out together after which I offered to buy him lunch. As we were eating lunch he looked over at me:

“Nice hoodie.” he complimented, “where did you get it?”

My mind started racing, “I got it from you and Brooklyn.” I lied.

Alastair looked at me, his eyebrow arching, a slow grin on his face forming, “You trying to pull a fast one on me?” He challenged, now grinning knowingly like a detective with a suspect firmly in his sights.

My mind sped up even further as I looked down at my hoodie, did I get the wrong one? Was there a mark on the old one, how had I not fooled Ali???

“Brooklyn thinks it’s the one you guys bought me.” I clumsily thought out loud as I tried again to make my deceptive but sinking case.

“Well it’s not, I have it.” Ali said firmly as we both burst out in laughter. I had left it at his home in Edmonton when we moved him up in the fall.

Be sure your sin will find you out.

If you read this far, thank you. Tris.

Have you ever noticed whenever you feel you are at your breaking point there is runway left? We are so much stronger than we realize. But eventually we hit it. It seems to me it’s never something big. The straw breaks the camels back.

There is a peace in hitting your breaking point. Whatever you were trying so hard to hang into, is let go. There is a moment of failure, but the the recovery can begin. The recovery is so much easier than the moments, maybe days, leading up to your breaking point.

We have very little control of our lives. One of my favourite short stories is written by Leo Tolstoy, titled What Men Live By. It talks about three truths. What lives in Man. What is not given Man and what men live by. The part I’m referring to now is what is not promised man. We are not promised tomorrow. We are not promised success. We are not promised health. We are not even promised another sunrise. Yet, we spend all our time trying to shape our fate. Something we really have very little control over. This hanging on, wanting something, is what causes me stress. I am learning the hard way that the best path for me is to wake up every day, ask God for strength, ask him to look after those I love, and then go out and do my best.

Hanging on to things out of my control makes me unhappy. It’s arrogance. Who am I? I am entitled to the path I choose, but I have no right to try to dictate to anyone else what they should do.

To steal a line from a new and amazing friend, “What am I trying to say?” Well I think if myself or anyone else is nearing a breaking point, it’s for their own good. God has a way of being right, and we can try all we like to do things “our way” but you might as well walk over to a cement wall and start banging your head against it. Take it from a man who has had his fair share of headaches.

Bet the farm, go for broke, strive for the things you want, but remember it just may not be in the cards no matter what you do, and this is best recognized by the feeling of an upcoming, and the passing of our breaking points. You didn’t fail, it was not meant to be. It was never promised to you. Accept God knows what’s best, lean on him, and see which great thing succeeds your latest breaking point.

If you read this far, Thank you. Tris.

It’s a pretty simple Christian concept. Are you a tough guy? Fight back. Are you a really tough guy? Turn the other cheek. I fail miserably at this but some don’t. The result of this action is invariably coals of fire.

It was an absolutely beautiful, warm Sunday AM. I was on my way to Tim Hortons for my morning coffee and dog run. Now when I say I run my dog, I actually wind my window down, let him jump out, and drive alongside him. Never mind that though, back to my slow cruise to the coffee shop….

As I made a right turn onto a small paved road and slowly rolled along, a lifted truck with decals passed me at a high speed and subsequently cut me off. This was an inconvenience to me as I was blathering on to my forever bored passenger about right and wrong. I was mildly irritated as I pulled into the Tim Hortons. Not to my surprise the lifted truck was in line. I simply wanted to ask him what his problem was. So I opened my door, my power window has no power, to ask.

I think he misinterpreted my door opening and responded with a fair bit of hostility. He said something like, “Listen buddy if you want to go for a Sunday drive fine, but get the $&@“ out of the way.”

At this point I abandoned all Christian virtue that I freely espouse, but rarely possess and called him a very derogatory term, introduced and closed by some colourful profanity. “You are a blankety blank, you blankety blank blank.”

Christian means little Christ. I was not that. I was a jerk. Not to mention my comment was a derogatory, sexist comment and my passenger was an avowed feminist. I was irate. We threatened each other a few times and then we finally resorted to making faces at each other in the mirror. You can imagine my glee as the man who was apparently in such a hurry stalled his truck twice trying to move ahead. I laughed openly and made sure he saw it. My passenger was not as thrilled. She had her hand on my leg and was trying to de-escalate the situation as always. As quickly as my temper had flared it subsided, and of course I began moralizing again… “You see? If that man was Jesus he would buy my coffee for me!, coals of fire they call it!”

I pulled ahead to accept my coffee and as I stretched my phone out to pay the attendant at the window she said, “Your coffee is paid, the gentleman ahead of you paid for it.”

I think you can imagine how sheepish I felt. Now I might sit here and nitpick just a little and suggest he was not a gentleman, but he sure as hell was a lot more like Christ than I have ever shown. I tip my hat to you sir, whoever you are. You are undoubtedly a better man than me. I hope I run into you again one day, or better yet get ahead of you in the Tim Hortons drive-thru. You taught me a lesson I was all to willing to talk about, but never exemplify. Coals of fire, heaped on my head. A fitting crown for a jackass.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris.

These are two things I hate. I hate hope. I hate dreams. They are a skateboard at the top of a hill that you jump on, half way down the hill you have a shit eating grin on your face just before a hint of concern freezes said grin. You lose your balance, and soon you disembark your board, feet flailing trying to match the speed you are carrying before you fall flat on your face, skinning elbows, knees and face. The shit eating grin is gone as you begin to chew.

I think the ultimate lesson we need to learn is how to let go. Not only let go but do it gracefully.

That job that you are killing yourself for trying to get ahead. Let it go.

The new toy you want that you think will make you feel a certain way? Let it go.

That person you love, that deep down you know doesn’t feel the way you do? Let them go.

Let it all go. Give up. Stop fighting. Stop hoping. Stop dreaming.

Be. Be yourself. Be happy.

If you read this far, than you. Tris.

I have not had many teachers. I left school in grade 9 and most of my school years were taught in classrooms that held more than one grade. I’ve had less than 9 teachers.

One of my teachers is retiring and is being celebrated this weekend. From what I hear hundreds of students from all over are returning to celebrate her. This does not surprise me at all. She was a really good teacher. I have many memories of her, and none of them bring anything but a smile to my face. This includes me struggling to not smile as she was strapping me for yet another act of rebellion. I think what I was enjoying was the fact I was given a choice between a strapping or no baseball. As much as I hate baseball, I hate sitting in a classroom even more so a strapping it was.

She was from New York and was direct and blunt like New Yorkers are famous for. I was an English kid. Neither of us were from the area, so I remember both of us being very confused about soccer being played with more than one ball. She was a goalie, and I liked to score goals, so once again we were natural adversaries. I remember in a mini tournament we were on opposite teams. It was overtime and she had saved a ball. She had not yet scooped it up so despite the fact it felt a bit late, I walked up and booted it in. We had a long debate about the legality of the goal, and even though I was right, she used her position of power to overrule me, and called it no goal.

She loved football. I like catching one, but had no time for throwing one. If you have tried to throw that weird ball you know what I mean. She was asking someone to be the quarterback to which myself and others responded with apathy and indifference. We didn’t care. This sparked an interesting day in which she decided to turn the tables and ‘not care’. I remember her having us do penmanship, and then throwing it in the garbage saying, “I don’t care enough to grade them.” As a kid who cared very little about my grades, this suited me.

I was disciplined a lot, but it was always fair. I also learned a lot. Coming from a different background she gave us new perspectives. She shared books with us that she loved, sometimes even reading them to us. Many of the books are with me today. There was one about a hobo that helped out a logging family. I have always wanted to be a free soul, able to help others, and that book has inspired me.

There was cones on the roof, Volleyballs in urinals, and escapes to town during science experiments. There was broken hangers, failures to sing, flunked tests and lines, lots of lines. But somehow as a Gr9 educated person in the world, I have never felt less educated than those around me. My Math is good. I can carry a conversation. I can even write now and then. Well that last part is debatable.

I hope she has a special day. She was a great teacher to me. Of the few teachers I had, she was one I remember well. Fondly.

I think back to a time when I sat at a desk, ate a bagged lunch with my friends, played sports with my teacher, and moved my lips as others sang to avoid punishment. I remember it clearly, and it was some of the best days of my life. I am thankful for Ms Miller and the time she spent teaching me the things she knew. I hope she has the day she deserves.

If you read this far, thank you. Tris.

Life is a mirror of ourselves. When we see faults and flaws in everything, it means there is something wrong with us. When we accuse others it’s often the thing we ourselves are doing.

What if you see nothing? What does that mean?

That’s what I see.

If you read this far, big whoop. It’s pretty short. Tris