Inspire: Character is who you are when everything changes.

Working an event tonight - a concert, to be exact. And the concert that was on paper a week ago looks nothing like tonight. It bears some resemblance to the concert that was rehearsed last night, but not overly much.

My first reaction is to lash out - alright, who didn't have their stuff together? Except, in my head, it's rarely "stuff" I'm thinking. My first instinct is to judge - who is it that's wasting my time by not supplying me with the information I need to do my job? I know my bit - please, please know yours.

But then I sit and ask what I'd like - what I've needed, time and time again: Grace. Because I don't come to the table with all the answers, either. In anything worth really working at, I run into wrinkles and creases, refinements, re-dos, and even the occasional complete removal.

What do you look like when your plans get changed or run over or ignored? Can you forget what you do... to remember who you are?

Imagine: Practical Guides

Love is a treacherous ocean
Storms from midst of
Clear blue
Reefs to wreck
This tiny ship
Lest not we be swamped
On shores hostile
Oh, save this soul.

In the ocean, reefs are marked by charts. Danger is signaled by buoys. Experienced navigators and pilots help guide the helm of ships in tight places where the captain doesn't know the terrain.

I need a pilot right now. Someone to help me navigate - because I've found myself on shoals. I don't know where they are, my chart seems to have washed up on the shore sometime mid voyage, and the crew are threatening mutiny.

It would be easier not to love. Then I'd still be safely bobbing at anchor.

But ships are made to travel - and that travel involves peril. Lord, bring me safely through.

Imagine: Stumbling blocks

Imagine that you work for a company and that you have flown across the country to launch a project for them. The project means a lot to you personally and the company is convinced of the project's validity. You're ready to launch, when upon sending out the first group, you realize that there is a major problem. How did you not see this before now? What was the missing link? Ok, you find the missing link but you're not able to fix it. Ok, maybe those in charge can fix the problem quickly so that you can continue. Each day you hope that today the issue will be resolved, only to be let down. One week later, the problem gets fixed (or so you think). You step out to raise the flag again, but you quickly find that there is another snag that is insurmountable. This new problem reduces the applicable audience for this project to about 50% of the originally intended reach. Ok, rally. What can you do? You work with what you have left, despite the wary spirits that surround you. You push on. The project may not roll out as seamlessly or as well as anticipated, but finishing well, even despite loss along the way is crucial. When the dross is burned away, the truly valuable gold remains. We must never give up.

Imagine: Turnkey.

There's something magical... when everything just works. Salesmen call it turnkey. It's the reason you pay extra for a Honda. It's the reason you're willing to go over your budget for that perfect house. In the event industry, we call it complete production.

I got two of the best compliments someone in my line of work can recieve - on Friday "I made a phone call, and it just happened." and on Sunday, setting up - "Wow - this system works - everything I need is here!"

In a world where people fail to come through on their promises, are you a turnkey person? Does what you've promised happen, on time, on budget, without unnecessary theatrics? And I'm not just talking providing services - what about relating to your co-workers, about your relationships with family, friends... can you be trusted? How important is it that your life just work?

There's hours of unseen labor that goes into making a turnkey product. Everything is refined, smoothed out, tested, guaranteed. Are you willing to put in the hours to make your life turnkey? It's aggravating, sweaty, thankless work. But it's the most vital thing you'll ever do.

RMOJ: This Is Your Captain Speaking

"This is your captain speaking. We'll be arriving downtown shortly. It's currently 11 degrees out there, with a forecast high of 11 degrees. It was 11 degrees when I came into work this morning at 4 am, so I hope we can do better than that. The forecast calls for a chance of light flurries this afternoon, with the temperature dropping to 4 degrees overnight - so keep those winter coats handy. Thank you for riding Calgary Transit, and have a wonderful day."

That's what I heard on my way into work last week on the train. I think everyone went to work that day with a smile on their face.

Happiness, its nothing you accomplish, its something you decide. I have realized that God really just gives us the option to be happy, filled with joy, no matter the situation! I mean, i have been sick for two days, out of order, and i am not looking forward to what i have missed in the real world and what im going to have to catch up on, but in the long run, its not that bad! I just have to keep on telling myself that because it is simply true.
So my point is, be happy. As stoner-ish as that sounds, we just have to, God wants us to love everyone around us, and my goodness, is it ever great! i see the hate within my friends and acquaintances, and the stress that is caused within them because of simply not being happy, and it is not worth it! so my main message in this blog is just live for the best, with the glass half full.

God Bless Everyone,

Tim :)

Transcend: The Host

You’ve been planning for months. You’ve been waiting and working for weeks. When you go to bed at night, you dream of it. When you’re awake, you can’t wait to get some free time to work on it.

What I’m speaking of is, of course, the party. You’ve all been to one. Those amazing parties, that end the next day... or the next night... or the next week. Where stories are told, where people whisper about the legendary things that happened. Everything is magnified a million times under the influence of the people, the music, the night.

And now, it’s your turn. You’re hosting the party. The party to end all parties. You finally got a new place, and you’ve been working, working. The place is spotless - even though you know it’ll be a dump the next day. The invitations have all been sent out - Facebook friends, emails, old acquaintances, work buddies - and everyone is coming. Even your old friends from across the country are flying in to say hi.

You’ve got the food and the drinks, and the music playlist, and gone out and scraped pennies together to get more hangers for your front hall closet so you can fit everyone’s coat in. There’s wood for the firepit in the back yard, spare rooms ready for those friends that need to sleep over, and you’re ready to go.

You put on the music and sit by the front door - not wanting to appear too eager, but wanting so much to see your friends - some you saw yesterday, and some you haven’t seen for years. You're sweaty and nervous, even though you wouldn’t admit it to anyone.

The first guests arrive. It’s your best friend and his girlfriend. Then more show up. Old friends. New friends. You’ve barely said hi to the last group when the doorbell rings again and more come in. People bring gifts - for the house, for the party - food, and fun times. The girls take over the front room and start swapping stories. Some guys go out back and get the fire started. A spontaneous round of singing West Side Story breaks out. And there’s still more guests coming. Everyone’s here. Friends have invited friends. You’re bursting to the rafters, yet there always seems to be room for more. When you’re about to run out of food, someone comes with a trunk full.

The night carries on - swapping stories, having fun - this is the place to be, everyone agrees. You can’t get more then three feet without someone stopping you to give you a handshake or a hug and say “great party man!”

You go outside to say hi to the folks around the firepit. They’re all having a great time - people coming in, coming out. Suddenly, a burst of people come flooding out. “You have to see this! You haven’t seen this amazing room this guy has! Hey, is it OK if I show them that killer rec room?”

You nod, ecstatic. This was your ace up your sleeve. No one has been over and seen the room - designed for parties, for the best of the best. Games of all sort, music playing, the coolest couches anyone has ever seen - you redid the whole entire basement into the ultimate party lounge.

Everyone runs downstairs - you finish up, putting out the fire, smiling to yourself. You can’t help but do a little victory dance. There’s no way this night could be any more perfect.

You reach the door to go back inside and open it up. You open it up. You try to open it up. It’s locked. And your keys are inside, in your room.

Someone must have locked it accidentally. Oh well, someone will walk by - it’s a glass door, after all, and you can see through it. Or you can call someone... with your cell phone... also in your room.

You tap on the door, trying to get someone’s attention. No one notices.

You bang on the door, trying to get someone to notice. No one’s paying attention. The music in the party room is so loud that no one can hear what’s going on outside.

Ah well, sooner or later someone will notice you’re not there and come looking. So you pull out a lawn chair, and grab a seat.

Fifteen minutes pass by.

An hour passes by.

Two hours.

Three.

You fall asleep.

You’re awoken by a raindrop on your cheek. It’s 3 am, and it’s raining. There’s still lights on inside - the party is still going strong. And you’re locked outside your own house, getting soaked in the rain. You run to your neighbor's house and ring the doorbell, but no one comes. They’re already asleep.

Finally, around 3am, you give up. You fall, dejected, into a corner by the garden shed where there’s some shelter from the rain. Your body shivers with cold. Eventually, you drift off, not really into sleep, but simply because you don’t have any energy left to fight anymore. You slump down into a pile of flesh, a lonely man framed against the dark agony of a moonlit night.