Percy burst into our lives like an F-5 tornado. But then he vanished. And I never saw him again.

It was the Summer of 2011 when I first met Percy. Holly and I had recently moved into a new place in South City, St. Louis. We lived at the corner where the Botanical Gardens meet Tower Grove Park. Our place was decent, but our location was divine.

St. Louis is a city with a bad reputation. But if you stand at the corner of Tower Grove Ave and Magnolia, where we used to live, you would see that there is still beauty in that city.

Our apartment complex was in the shape of a horseshoe. We occupied the unit on the first floor facing Tower Grove Ave. The apartment across from us was empty.

That is, until Percy moved in.

Percy was in his early 40’s when I first met him. He’s a tall black man living in the body of what could have been a former NFL player. He was losing his definition, but he still had a rather intimidating presence.

Percy moved in with Sandra. I never quite figured out if they were roommates or lovers or a mixture of the two. Percy’s love life was a topic we never discussed.

I introduced myself to Percy as “Mark.”

“What is your last name?”

“Dodd.”

“Very nice to meet you Mr. Dodd.”

He never called me by my first name. I was always “Mr. Dodd.” Holly was “Ms. Holly.”

The most distinguishing feature of Percy is that he’s LOUD. Thunderingly loud! Like, our wall frames would shake when he would laugh loud. Sometimes I wondered if he had a built-in microphone. His voice could fill an arena.

There are two vivid memories I have of Percy. The first memory is when he came to church with us for the first time. The second is when we saw The Conjuring together.

When I invited him to church he accepted my invitation by shaking my hand with both of his hands.

“Yes, Mr. Dodd! That would be lovely!”

Holly and I were helping a new church get started in the city. I invited him to attend on our very first Sunday. And oh, Percy made sure it was a Sunday I would never forget.

I woke up that Sunday morning and got myself ready. Then I walked across the hall to get Percy. His door was wide open and there was a sound that came blasting into the hallway.

It was the song, ‘Orinoco Flow’ by Enya. It was LOUD!!

“LET ME SAIL. LET ME SAIL. LET ME ORINOCO FLOW! LET ME REACH, LET ME BEACH ON THE SHORES OF TRIPOLI!!”

“Percy listens to Enya?” I thought to myself.

I walked into his apartment and he was pacing back and forth in his living room, lifting his hands in prayer with Enya as his guide.

“HEY PERCY, ARE YOU READY TO GO TO CHURCH??!!” I yelled.

He turned down the music.

“Yes, Mr. Dodd. I have been waiting for this moment all my life.”

“Ok.”

“I’ve been preparing all night for this, Mr. Dodd.”

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Yes, Mr. Dodd. I slept in the spirit.”

“Okay then.”

And off we went. Percy had the excitement of a child going to Disney World for the first time. He hadn’t been to church in a while. This was his coming back to Jesus moment.

By this point, Sandra and Percy weren’t living together. It was just Percy, and apparently Enya.

When we got to church, Percy insisted we sit in the front row. I hate the front row, but I obliged.

The real fun started when the sermon began. Remember reader, Percy is loud. Everyone in attendance was about to discover that for themselves.

Within the first couple minutes of the sermon, when Percy heard a nugget of wisdom that he agreed with, he stood up from his chair, clapped his hands obnoxiously loud and exclaimed,

“AMEN PASTOR!!”

And he did this several times during the sermon. He might as well have been in attendance at a State of the Union address.

And that was the only time Percy came to church with us, not because I didn’t invite him back. He just never wanted to go again. I’m not sure why.

The second memory is when Percy and I went to see ‘The Conjuring’ together.

The movie was released in the summer of 2013, right before Holly and I moved to Austin. I knew that Percy loved horror movies. When I invited him to see the movie with me, his eyes lit up…

“Yes, Mr. Dodd! Thank you, Mr. Dodd!”

We saw the movie at the Moolah theater. On that particular night, I was the only white guy in the audience. Everyone else was black.

And let me tell you right now, if you have never seen a horror movie with a black audience, you have not lived. It is easily the most fun I have ever had at the movies in my entire life.

The Conjuring is a scary movie. But when you watch it with Percy, it becomes hilarious. There’s a scene in the movie that occurs in the first act. The tension has been building in the movie to the point where you know something terrible is about to happen. In the scene, a little girl slowly sits up in bed in the creepiest way possible. As she sat up on the screen, Percy literally stood up from his chair, pointed at the screen, and in unison with everyone else in the theater shouted,

“OH SH*T!!!!”

Everyone immediately burst into laughter.

The scene that everyone was supposed to be freaked out by produced the kind of laughter you would expect at a Kevin Hart show.

I laughed so hard I could hardly breathe.

And that was the last time I remember Percy laughing. Things went downhill after that.

On one occasion, Percy was acting really strange. He stormed out of his apartment and ran into the middle of the street and started undressing. He was shouting every curse word under the sun.

I ran after him to try to help.

“Not now, Mr. Dodd!!”

That was my last memory of him. We didn’t see him in his apartment much after that. Holly remembers running into Percy one night when she was walking out the door to meet up with friends. Percy was hungry and asked her for some food. She told him she would bring him food later on.

She dropped a bag of Chick-fil-a in front of his door. He never picked it up.

He was gone. We never saw him again.

Neighbors come and go. But when they vanish, it leaves a sting. We love Percy. We miss him. It’s still painful not knowing what happened to him.

“Is he okay? Is he still hungry? Is he alive?”

I hope he’s making people laugh. I hope he’s blasting Enya. I hope he’s not hungry. I hope he’s alive. I hope.

Percy, if you ever read this, I love you. My neighbor. My friend.

 

Things don’t always go according to plan.

I learned this in a rather dramatic way. On the morning of July 2, 2016, my wife and I both woke up with a terrible stomach virus. In our eight years of marriage, we have never been sick at the same time. Except for that day.

And at this point, you may be shaking your head thinking, “Yep, things don’t always go according to plan.”

But friend. Oh dear friend. You don’t even know.

I woke to the sound of Ivy crying in her nursery around 7am. I knew immediately that I was sick. It’s a dreadful feeling. Holly awoke around the same time and it was clear she was not feeling well either.

Taking care of a toddler when you have a stomach virus is a fool’s errand. It felt like all the energy had left my body, but somehow I had to muster the strength to change her diaper and feed her breakfast.

Ivy cried all the way through breakfast. Normally I’m able to respond to her needs quickly, but I was moving slow that morning, and Ivy could tell. She wasn’t happy about it.

I turned on Netflix and played Ivy’s favorite movie at the time, Curious George. She was finally content and I passed out on the couch, trying to get as much sleep as I could.

Curious George ended at 8:30am and Ivy began to cry. By this point, Holly and I were both laying down on couches in our living room. We were arguing about who should help Ivy.

Tensions were running high. We were not communicating well. But when you have a crying toddler and a mom and dad both infected by stomach viruses, it’s hard to remain calm and rational.

We realized we needed help, so I texted some of our friends and explained the situation. People were quick to respond and asked if we needed anything.

Shortly after I sent that text, I threw up for the first time that morning.

Not long after that Holly had the case of the double dragon (stuff coming out both ends). It was a morning from hell.

At this point, reader, I imagine you reading this, maybe even slapping your knee saying, “Well brother, things really don’t go according to plan.”

You still don’t know the half of it. Because up to this point I have left out the most important detail. On July 2, 2016, Holly was 37 weeks pregnant.

After a morning game I like to call, “Who Can Throw Up the Most?”, we decided that we needed to ask one of our friends to come over and watch Ivy for the afternoon. Holly and I desperately needed rest.

Our friend Elle came over and brought us some Sprite and Gatorade and took Ivy out for the afternoon.

Around 12:30pm, Holly and I fell asleep, finally with some peace and quiet.

I remember Holly waking up around 1:30 in pain. She was having contractions every 3-4 minutes. We decided to call the doctor for advice. The doctor suggested Holly drink as much water as possible to try to slow the contractions down.

I started texting my friends asking for prayer: “Please pray that the contractions slow down.” I couldn’t handle the thought of welcoming a child into the world on that day. Please Lord, any other day.

Holly couldn’t keep her fluids down. She went to the bathroom around 2:15pm. Holly was clearly in pain and her contractions were not slowing down. It was obvious that our baby girl was coming that day, so now it was a matter of getting into the car and racing to the hospital.

I started collecting random things to take with us and Holly screamed from our bathroom, “CALL 911!!!”

My whole life flashed before my eyes.

In my head, I thought, “Oh no. No, this is not happening. This can’t be happening!!”

“Holly, what’s going on???”

“This baby is coming out of me RIGHT NOW!!!!”

I called 911 immediately.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

(I was in such shock that I didn’t really know how to answer that)

“Ok, you are not going to be believe this!! My wife and I both woke up with stomach viruses this morning…”

Holly screamed, “JUST TELL THEM I’M HAVING A BABY!!!!”

“Oh, also, my wife is having a baby right now!”

(Good job, Mark)

The 911 operator responded, “Where is your wife right now?”

“She’s sitting on our toilet!”

“OK sir, I need you to get your wife on the ground and get her comfortable. Grab a pillow and a towel.”

I obeyed like a dog who’s ‘Best in Show.’

The operator then asked me about Holly’s symptoms: “How is her breathing? What is her pain level?”

“Uh, uh…”

“Can you see the baby’s head?”

I took a peek.

“Yes, I can see the head.”

Then she said the most terrifying words any human being has ever spoken to me…

“Sir, now I’m going to walk you through the step by step process on how to deliver your baby.”

My life flashed before my eyes again.

(I will say, by this point, I didn’t feel sick anymore. I was running on pure adrenaline. So if you are wondering what the cure is for a stomach virus, try delivering a baby).

The 911 operator was barking directions at me: “Make sure your wife is laying down on her back! Make sure she is comfortable!”

“Okay!”

“Now grab a shoelace and a safety-pin. This will be to clamp the umbilical cord when the baby is born.”

I found the nearest shoe and frantically was trying to pull out the shoelace. I looked like one of those ‘Minute to Win It’ contestants who has absolutely no chance of winning.

I asked, “Is there an ambulance coming!!!???”

“They will be arriving soon.”

Within minutes, I could hear sirens in the distance, maybe the greatest sound I have ever heard.

The woman on the phone instructed me to go to the front door and leave it open. I moved a couch out-of-the-way for EMS.

EMS arrived within 6 minutes of placing my 911 call. It all happened so fast, but 6 six men were all the sudden in our bedroom, getting ready to help my wife deliver our baby girl.

They literally transformed our bedroom into a delivery room in two minutes.

Those six men will forever be heroes in my eyes. They were calm, and helped Holly get as comfortable as possible. They were all light-hearted and upbeat.

Holly was freaking out though.

Understandably.

“HAVE YOU GUYS EVER DONE THIS BEFORE!!?”

(Totally reasonable question to ask six strangers)

“Yes ma’am. Between all of us, we have delivered over 30 babies.”

“Ok, ok.”

They kept telling my wife how awesome she was. They really were amazing. I felt calm and relieved for the first time that day. I knelt down next to Holly, grabbed her hand, and said, “Let’s do this babe.”

Holly pushed twice and our daughter was born.

At 2:50pm, Beatrice Paige Dodd was born on our bedroom floor. Holly had a fully natural birth. No pain meds. No nothing. All natural.

All of us in the room marveled at Beatrice. She was perfect. Holly and Beatrice were lifted onto a stretcher and taken to the ambulance. I followed shortly behind, not caring about all the discomfort of the day. Just in awe of our little girl.

EMS drove us to the hospital and they stayed with us until we got checked into our room. I took a picture of them all hovering around Holly and Bea.

And that was that.

On July 2, 2016, I didn’t expect to wake up with a stomach virus. I didn’t plan on almost delivering a baby. I didn’t think I would be holding my daughter that day. 

But things don’t always go according to plan. And that’s alright.

When the clock struck midnight on January 1, 2019, I was checking into a hotel in Ardmore, Oklahoma. In other words, it was maybe the most uneventful way to ring in a new year.

My wife and I got our 3 kids settled into our hotel room (wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles) and it finally hit me while laying on my bed that 2019 had arrived.

“Thank God,” I thought to myself.

Not that there’s anything magical about the start of a new year. It’s just another day in the life. But I suppose it does signal the end of one thing and the beginning of something else. And I welcome that.

Because here’s the reality: 2018 was hands down the hardest year of my life. It’s not even close.

I’ll get back to that in a moment.

I have to confess that I’m not a big fan of ‘The Highlights of 2018’ posts. Sorry. Some of you are reading this and you posted something like that. I’m not secretly judging you. I still like you. It’s okay.

But here’s my beef—life is not a series of highlights strung together. That’s not how it works. I could put together a top 10 list from 2018 that would look like this:

1. JJ was born!
2. We got to see our families a bunch
3. We paid off a car
4. Ivy turned 4
5. Beatrice turned 2
6. Holly and I went to Orlando
7. I got to drink butter beer at Harry Potter World
8. We hosted a small group from our church in our home
9. Holly started her career as a psychiatric nurse practitioner
10. I started a blog

I could post that on Facebook and say, “2018 in the books! Bring on 2019!”

And you would read that and think, “Wow! 2018 was a great year for the Dodd Squad!”

That’s partially true. Some really great things happened. But man, some really hard things happened too. If the end of a year is a finish line, it felt like we army crawled to it.

Sometimes the power of positive thinking just doesn’t cut it. You with me?

On the flip side, if all I did was complain about how hard my year was, I would be committing the same error I am ranting about.

Life is really hard. And it’s also really amazing.

Those two realities are a constant tension in my life. And I would bet money you feel that tension too. This is why I struggle with end of the year highlight reels as if everything is peachy. Because it’s not. You probably experienced some hard stuff in 2018.

Where am I going with this? I’m not sure. Let me keep writing and we will figure this out.

I’m a big fan of March Madness (just hang with me for a minute). One of my favorite moments during March Madness is the “One Shining Moment” video that plays after the national championship game. I love how the video walks you through the tournament, the highs and the lows. They never just show the winning shots. They show you the tears. The pain of losing. The almost moments.

If we are talking about highlight reels, that seems more true to life. Celebrate the victories. But also don’t gloss over the pain.

It’s okay to include the hard moments in your highlight reel. It’s okay to even be thankful for the trials. That’s where God meets us. In the broken places.

As I look ahead to 2019, I see many trials on the horizon. But I see the sun. And I keep pressing on.

 

I didn’t choose golf. Golf chose me.

It all started on my birthday in 1997. I received a long rectangular box.

‘To Mark’

‘From Grandma and Grandpa Franzke’

I opened the box and pulled out what I thought were sticks. “It’s a stick! Oh look, another stick!”

“Those are golf clubs, Mark.” My mom was quick to correct me.

“Oh, neat.”

The set came with a driver, 3 wood, 5, 7, and 9 irons, and a putter.

I learned that I would be taking golf lessons that summer in Topeka, Kansas. My grandparents were members of Shawnee Country Club (SCC). I didn’t know it at the time, but some of my favorite memories happened on that golf course. My favorite golf course. But we will get to that later.

During the summer at SCC, they had a junior golf league. My cousin, Tim, was also going to be taking golf lessons that summer. We both lived in the suburbs of Kansas City. Topeka was an hour east. We had some early mornings that summer. We would carpool together to Lawrence, KS to meet Grandma at the Liz Claiborne outlets, the halfway point. Grandma would drive us the rest of the way. We would stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s house for a night or two, our days full of golf.

I expected to hate golf. I didn’t know how to swing a club. I knew how to play miniature golf, but this was the real thing. It was intimidating.

For the junior league, they would split us into groups of four. Depending on your age, you would either play 3, 6, or 9 holes. I was in the 6 group my first summer.

Each group of four was accompanied by a walker who would keep score for you. Grandpa was often the walker in my group. I was terrible at first and most of the kids had been playing a lot longer than I had.

But I stuck with it that summer. I got better. I actually kinda liked it.

I played the next summer. And the summer after that. And the next. I became a halfway decent golfer. I graduated to the 9 holes group. I came in 4th place at a tournament one summer.

My sister took lessons too, but she didn’t take to golf like I did. She started in the 3 holes group and she would shoot in the 60s. She hated it. She only lasted one summer.

But I fell in love with golf. At least I thought I did.

Then on June 20, 2001, Roger Franzke, my grandpa, died of cancer.

Golf would never be the same for me after that.

So let me back up and tell this story the right way.

In May of 1997, I received my first set of golf clubs as a birthday present from Grandma and Grandpa Franzke. It was one of the greatest gifts I have ever received because my Grandpa loved golf. He wanted me to share in his love for the game.

Shawnee Country Club was a beautiful course back in the day. It was well maintained and lush green. It is my favorite course because it’s where I learned to play the game grandpa loved.

I wasn’t the only grandchild that took to the game. Several of us learned how to play. This delighted him to see his grandkids playing the game he loved. But he gave us so much more than the game of golf.

Grandpa would make you feel like you were his favorite. I’m sure my sisters and cousins would say the same thing. There was a genuine love he had for all his grandchildren. He had nicknames for us too. I was “Sport.” My sister was “Toots.”

As I got better at golf, Grandpa and I would play a full 18 together. I never beat him. But I didn’t care. Being on the course with Grandpa was the reward.

I remember hitting shots right down the middle of the fairway. Grandpa would lean in as my ball spun through air and say,

“Oh Mark, you’re gonna like that one.”

He would yell at my ball when I hit bad shots too:

“SIT! SIT! SIT!”

I remember sinking some long putts. Grandpa would celebrate like he had just won the lottery. He had a spirit that was electric. You couldn’t help but light up when you were around Grandpa.

From my perspective, Grandpa’s electricity extended far beyond the golf course. You could feel it at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, whether we were going for a swim or watching Johnny Carson reruns. Family gatherings were full of laughter (and they still are).

But even more than that, it felt like Grandpa was the very soul of Topeka.

When he died, it felt like part of Topeka died with him. And the game of golf was never the same for me after that. I’ve played at Shawnee Country Club a handful of times since Grandpa died. The course feels empty without Grandpa walking by your side.

I continued to play golf in high school. But I missed that whisper when I hit a great shot. I missed his laughter lighting up the course.

After high school, I decided I was done. This was partly due to the fact that I couldn’t afford to play golf. But it was mostly because when Grandpa died, it felt like the game died too.

I went years without playing golf. It drifted into my past. I got married and went to grad school, which meant I really couldn’t afford to play golf.

But not far from my school, there was a beautiful 9 hole course. I needed a summer job. I started working at the course in the summer of 2012. One of the perks was I could play for free, whenever I wanted. I thought about it, but couldn’t bring myself to play.

That is, until Vinny showed up. Vinny came bursting through the doors of the golf club like the Hulk. He was in his early 70’s, well built and full of energy. He would talk my ear off, but he was funny. We struck up a friendship. He would come into the club every day and we would talk about nothing of significance, but we were always laughing. In the back of my mind, I knew Vinny reminded me of Grandpa.  

It wasn’t long before he asked me to play a round with him.

“I’m rusty. It’s been a long time since I’ve played.”

“Get your ass out on the course with me!” he demanded.

I couldn’t say no.

I started playing golf with Vinny every day after my shift. It was rough at first. But when you play every day, you start getting halfway decent.

I loved playing with Vinny. We would laugh the whole round, give each other crap when we hit bad shots, and give each other the respectful nod when we hit the good ones.

I hit the best shot of my life playing with Vinny. It was on hole #5, the only par 5 on the course. I hit a great tee shot right down the middle of the fairway. Then came my second shot. I pulled out my 5 wood, still a good 200 yards from the green. The green dog-eared to the right and was out of my line of vision. I knew the course well enough that if I hit my shot over the tree line just right, I had a chance to land my ball on the green.

I stood over my ball, visualizing the shot, took a deep breath, and swung. As I watched my ball sail through the air which would land on the green and lead to a birdie, Vinny leaned in and said,

“Oh, that’s a beauty, Mark.”

Vinny even hugged me because it was such a good shot.

I felt like it was Grandpa hugging me. And that was the moment I knew I could still enjoy the game.

*************************************************

One other thing you need to know about Grandpa is that he was a watercolor painter. He had a particular fondness for lighthouses. But his favorite thing to paint was his grandchildren.

At Grandma’s house, there is a wall full of Grandpa’s paintings of his grandkids. Unfortunately, he did not get to paint all of us. I’m sure he would have finished if he had lived longer. He probably would have painted all his great grandkids too.

I’m not a painter. That is one thing Grandpa did not pass on to me, though others in our family have that gift. But I hope this tribute to Grandpa has given you a portrait of the man he was. At least, the man I knew him to be.

Love you, Grandpa. Thanks for teaching me to love the game.

Look at this baby in a manger
Heaven’s treasure, earth’s stranger
Born unto a virgin child
Sinners, see! Be reconciled!

See him in a Hallmark store
He can be yours for $9.94!
Set him up by your tree
This is why he came, you see

Look, the wise men! Gifts they bring!
See the shepherds! Songs they sing!
Read the prophecies of old
The King is here! Look! Behold!

Check out this deal on Amazon, son!
2 day shipping. Click. You’re done.
I think I may keep checking this feed
To buy more things I surely need.

The Son of God is lying there
Breathing in the Bethlehem air
So much pain. So much night.
So much hope. So much light.

This Christmas Eve, come to church!
And don’t forget to buy our merch!
We’ve got everything you want and more!
Isn’t that what church is for?

The Son of Man, from David’s line
Born into the world to shine
To rescue sinners from the grave
He took on flesh. To die. To save.

The presents under the tree are nice.
Thank you, Jesus, for paying the price!
What a Savior! He’s the man!
You’d think he was American.

The long awaited Messiah, here!
Rejoice! Rejoice! Turn from fear!
Turn from sorrow! Turn from pain!
Christ has come. To rule. To reign!

Follow me on Instagram
I promise not to send you spam
Thanks so much friends, you’re the best!
God is so good! #blessed

Come and worship Christ with song!
Praise the one who rights your wrongs.
Awake from slumber. Arise from death.
His grace sustains your every breath.

Feeling lonely? Don’t be grieved!
If you hustle, you’ll achieve
You can live the American dream
If you join my pyramid scheme.

The Prince of heaven, a servant to all
At his feet we all will fall
Confessing that he is the Christ!
Apart from him, we have no life!

I’ve got to run. So much to do.
Email. Shopping. Facebook. News!
Don’t get me wrong! Jesus is great.
It’s just that all my stuff can’t wait.

I’ve always been a huge movie fan. Being a member of the Blockbuster generation, it was almost inevitable. I miss the days of perusing the aisles, searching for that 2 or 5 day rental I would take home with me. Sweet bliss!

My dad and I watched all the classics together growing up: John Wayne westerns, Hitchcock thrillers, the Rocky movies, James Bond, Batman, Indiana Jones, Star Wars, Jurassic Park, Hoosiers. You get the picture.

The first PG-13 movie I saw in theaters with my dad was Batman Forever. The first R rated movie we watched together in the theater was ‘The Patriot.’ Mel Gibson for the win! That hatchet scene though. Yeesh!

Anyhoo…

One day in 6th or 7th grade, during recess, a friend told me about the scariest movie of all time. He said, “It’s called ‘THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS.’” I had seen the VHS box at Blockbuster with that creepy looking moth covering a woman’s mouth. What was that all about? He told me about a character named Hannibal Lecter, the most terrifying villain of all time.

I was intrigued, to say the least. Like a curious little puppy who’s up to no good, I decided to ask the person I watched movies with about it…my dad.

I will never forget this conversation.

“Dad, have you heard of a movie called ‘The Silence of the Lambs?’”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Yes. Mark, listen to me. You are forbidden to watch that movie as long as you live under my roof.”

(Darn)

“But Mark, I will tell you this. The way Hannibal Lecter escapes in that movie is UN-BE-LIEV-A-BLE.”

He emphasized every syllable as if he were a pronunciation coach. That was the moment I knew that I could not go to my grave without seeing ‘The Silence of the Lambs.’ My fate was sealed.

Side note: If you tell a child they are forbidden to watch a movie, don’t tell them in the same breath that it’s unbelievable. It will become their life’s mission to watch said film.

OK, back to my quest.

The next trip to Blockbuster, I could practically hear the VHS box taunting me. It became my holy grail, the thing I so desperately wanted but had to journey to find.

How could something that is forbidden also be unbelievable, you know? It reminded me of the way Christians talk about sex. Before marriage, it’s absolutely forbidden. But once you get married, it’s the best thing ever! That was ‘The Silence of the Lambs’ for me.

Years went by. I would occasionally ask my dad if we could rent it.

“No.”

(Darn)

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And listen, I know what you’re thinking. This is a really intense, violent, and disturbing film. If you were to ‘Ask Pastor John’ if it’s okay for a Christian to watch this movie, he would probably give you 7 compelling reasons why you shouldn’t watch it.

But I was on a quest. Not even John Piper could stop me. I decided to gather as much information about the movie as possible. Here is what I discovered:

-The film was released in 1991. I was 4 years old at the time. It was released on Valentine’s Day. How poetic!

-The movie would go on to win 5 oscars in 1992, including Best Picture, Best Actor (Anthony Hopkins), Best Actress (Jodie Foster), Best Director, and Best Adapted Screenplay.

-The only film I had seen Jodie Foster in was a family-friendly movie called ‘Candleshoe.’ It remained a mystery to me how a childhood Disney star would later star in the movie my father had declared “Forbidden!”

-According to the American Film Institute, Dr. Hannibal Lecter is the greatest movie villain of all time, beating Norman Bates, Darth Vader, the Wicked Witch of the West, and the Joker. He’s a bad dude.

-The movie has a run time of 1 hour, 58 minutes. Anthony Hopkins appears on screen for just over 16 minutes. The greatest movie villain of all time was on screen for SIXTEEN minutes.

-The movie was received well by critics, except for Roger Ebert, who called the film, “A star-studded freak show.” Easy now, Roger.

Armed with this new knowledge, I was more determined than ever to watch this movie. But how?

Enter college.

When the day came for me to go to college, I said my goodbyes to my family. Tears were shed. The whole shabang.  And then they drove off. I sat in my dorm room missing them, thinking about what my life would be like without them around every day. I thought about all those movies I watched with my dad growing up. My movie buddy was gone. And then it hit me!

“I don’t live under my parents roof any more! I CAN WATCH SILENCE OF THE LAMBS NOW!!”

Within my first week, I huddled into a dorm room at Wheaton College in Fischer 4E, lights turned off and all eyes glued on the most thrilling movie ever made, ‘The Silence of the Lambs.’

I watched in amazement as Hannibal Lecter escaped from his cell. My dad was right about it being unbelievable. I savored those end credits which signaled, “Congratulations! You have watched this film in its entirety.” The only thing missing was a cake to commemorate the occasion.

It’s been 12 years since I graduated from Silence of the Lambs University (Go Cannibals!). Has my quality of life been improved as a result of watching this movie? Not in the slightest. But for the past 12 years, I haven’t had to wonder what is so unbelievable about this movie. I’m living in a post-Silence of the Lambs world, and ladies and gentlemen, it feels good!

Dad was right. My children will never be allowed to watch Silence of the Lambs under my roof. They’ll have to wait until their first week of college for that.

Until then, ta ta! I’m having a friend for dinner.

 

There’s a question that haunts me from time to time. It’s such a simple question that I’m embarrassed to speak it out loud. But it’s a question that I keep coming back to: “Does God really love me?” Or, to phrase it another way, “Is he pleased with me?”

The reason why I am haunted by that question is sometimes I’m afraid the answer might be “No.” There are days when I wake up and I’m afraid to talk with God because I picture him as a Father with his arms crossed, wondering why I can’t get my act together.

And you may be thinking, “Dang, Mark must have daddy issues.” Honestly, I don’t think so. When I think about arms wide open people, my dad is one of the first people who comes to mind for me. I love my dad so much it hurts.

But when it comes to God, I often see him as someone who wants nothing to do with me. I’ve processed this with counselors. I’ve wept over this.

I feel ashamed that maybe I’m not doing enough with my life. I compare myself to other people. Maybe God would be more pleased with me if I was more like that guy over there. Maybe God would love me more if I was a better friend. A better husband. A better dad.

On my worst days, I believe that I have to earn God’s approval. And the way to earn it is to not screw up. On days like this, even the smallest mistakes can make me feel like a colossal failure.

Some days it is a battle for me to believe that God approves of me. That he loves me. That he is for me.

What’s harder for me to wrap my head around is that there is literally nothing I have to do to earn his love. Jesus has done everything that is required to secure my right standing before God. But embracing that truth is hard. I feel like the prodigal son in the mud with the pigs thinking, “There’s no way my father will ever take me back.”

Maybe you can relate.

Here’s the thing though—that image of God the Father with his arms crossed—it’s an illusion. It’s a mirage in the desert. It’s not real because it’s not true. There are moments when God overwhelms me with the truth about who I am and who he is.

It happened when I was holding my son, JJ. I love holding him and whispering in his ear how much I love him. It is such a joy to be his dad.

As I was holding him, I sensed that God was telling me to hold on tightly to the love I have for my son. Then I started to pray and ask God what he wanted to show me.

While I was praying, I was reminded of a game I play with my daughter, Ivy. She says this to me all the time, “Daddy, I love you all the way up to the moon and back THREE times!”

Then I say, “I love you to the moon and back FOUR times!”

“FIVE times!”

“TEN times!”

And on and on we go until she runs out of numbers.

So there I was, thinking of how I love JJ all the way to the moon and back 10 times.

I tried to multiply my love for JJ by 100. I started to tell God what I was feeling.

“Lord, I feel like my heart may burst out of my chest now.”

Then 1,000.

“Lord, I can’t even begin to comprehend that kind of love.”

Then 10,000.

“Lord, can anyone fathom that kind of love?”

I then tried to multiply it by 1 million. I couldn’t.

“Lord, can the earth itself understand that kind of love?”

Then 1 billion. Impossible.

“Lord, not even the universe itself could contain that kind of love!”

And I felt the Lord speak to me, “I love you more still.”

If you struggle, like me, to believe that God is pleased with you, consider this: all the galaxies in all the universe cannot begin to contain the love that God the Father has for you.

Friends, God the Father is an arms wide open God. Come to him. He will never turn you away.

The reason I can state that with such confidence is because of Jesus, the demonstration of God’s infinite love for us. Jesus clothes us in righteousness and presents us before the Father clean. God loves us so infinitely because when he looks at us, he sees Jesus.

Friends, that’s good news. Breathe easy. The Father is pleased with you. And with me.

 

Have you ever watched the show ‘What Would You Do?’ You know, that show where people find themselves in the middle of a conflict and they don’t realize they are being filmed. But the conflict is never real. It’s all staged. In one episode of the show, a pregnant woman is throwing down drinks at a bar (she’s not really pregnant, but the other patrons don’t know that of course). The point of the show is to capture on film the brave individuals who speak up and tell her not to drink as well as the cowardly fools who don’t say anything to her.

Regardless of how the unsuspecting patrons respond, you can always count on one thing. John Quinones, the show’s host, wants to talk to you about the experience. If you are brave, he will treat you like a god. If you are a fool, he will make you feel like you should have never been born.

So why do I bring all this up? Well, in 2012, I had my own ‘What Would You Do?’ moment.

My wife and I were living in St. Louis at the time. She was a nurse and I was in seminary. Some days I would get out of class early and she wouldn’t get home till late. On one of those days, I decided to visit one of my favorite spots–Art Hill. Located in the heart of Forest Park, Art Hill is a big hill in front of the St. Louis Art Museum. But it’s more than that. It’s the kind of place that invites you to come and be. You can find frisbee throwers, hacky-sackers, love birds on picnics, artists, kids, and dreamers enjoying the warm earth, especially in the Spring after the cold Winter.

At the base of the hill is a tranquil fountain, like something out of a Jane Austen novel. Surrounding the fountain are park benches. That is where I liked to go, mostly to read or to people watch.

It was a Spring day and I found my bench. All was well.

There was a couple that came and sat down on the bench directly to my right. There were children throwing pennies into the fountain. An old woman paced slowly around the fountain without a care in the world. I looked at the couple sitting to my right. The woman was wearing a red Louisville Cardinals sweatshirt. The man was wearing a Tommy Bahama shirt and jeans. They were in their late 50’s.

Normally, I wouldn’t remember details like that. But I’ll never forget this couple.

I started to overhear some of the conversation between this couple sitting next to me. It didn’t take me long to realize that they probably were not married because the man kept referring to the woman’s husband.

Uh oh.

My curiosity got the better of me. I started to listen in on their conversation a little more.

The man spoke. “Are you nervous? Don’t worry about your husband.”

The woman stayed silent. She was nervously playing with her wedding ring. She had a look of torment on her face, as if her future hinged on this moment.

And I was sitting on the bench right next to her.

I deduced that this wasn’t a couple after all. This was a man trying to lure a woman into having an affair with him. And she was right on the edge. Or, this was a married couple into some really weird role playing. But that wasn’t likely.

The man leaned in for a kiss. She turned away.

That’s when my internal siren went off. HOLY CRAP IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING SERIOUSLY HOW IS THIS HAPPENING!!!

Then I had the thought: “Am I on the show ‘What Would You Do?” I searched around for a camera crew. I thought maybe John Quinones was hiding in a bush, watching my every move, ready to pounce on me if I didn’t say something to this woman.

But this wasn’t a TV show. This was real life. And all the sudden I had to make a decision: Do I say something to this woman or walk away?

The man put his hand on the woman’s knee. That snake.

I started to text some of my friends to get their input. I texted my dad too. I had to emphasize in my texts that THIS IS NOT A JOKE THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING!!! I got mixed reviews. Some of my friends told me to walk away. Some of them told me to say something. A couple friends asked, “Could you take this guy if he tries to fight you?”

I sized him up. He was small. I could take him.

Then I started to think about how I would feel if I walked away. Would I regret it? Would I be able to sleep that night? Would I always be wondering about it?

After several minutes of weighing the pros and cons, I knew what I had to do. I had to act. So help me God, I had to act!

I’ll never forget what happened next. I stood up from my bench, took two steps to the right, and turned.

Now I was standing in front of them. And if you feel your heart beating inside your chest right now, multiply that by 10,000. That’s what it felt like. Then I spoke.

“Hey guys.”

(Did I really just say, “Hey guys.” That was stupid. I look so stupid. Why am I doing this? Seriously what is wrong with m—)

“CAN WE HELP YOU?” snapped the man, clearly annoyed that I was interrupting his attempt to ruin this woman’s life. No one has ever looked at me with such disgust.

I spoke again.

“Well, I’ve been sitting on this bench here and I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

(Ok, that’s better–get to the point, Mark. Don’t blow this!)

“It sounds like this is the start of an affair.”

They were both dead silent. They weren’t role playing. I then looked directly at the woman.

“If that is the case, I strongly encourage you to walk away from this guy right now.”

The woman started to weep. She looked at me and said,

“Why would you say that to me?” clearly shocked at what was happening.

I looked at her wedding ring. “You are a married woman. This is going to destroy your marriage.”

She nodded as if to agree with me. And then…I walked away. And I didn’t look back. Oh, I wanted to look back. I wanted to rescue her from that jackal. But I couldn’t. I hope I said enough to wake her up from her trance. I’ll never know.

I like to think it would have been super awkward for them after that. What do you say after a random stranger calls you out for trying to lure a woman into an affair? I don’t know! That would be weird.

Sometimes I imagine running into this woman. She will recognize me as the man who pulled her back from the ledge, give me a hug, say “Thank You” and we will both know what that means. I imagine she went back to her husband determined to do the hard work to repair their marriage and now they are more in love than they have ever been.

I can only hope and pray that she didn’t take the leap. What else can you do?

 

A few years back when I was a church planting resident at Austin Stone, a series of unfortunate events occurred on a day in March 2015. It was a Tuesday afternoon, which is the time we would all gather for staff meeting. I parked my Prius in my usual spot and attended the meeting.

It was a perfectly normal day. You could practically hear Mr. Rogers singing in the cool breeze, “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.”

Except it wasn’t.

Unfortunate Event #1: I forgot to lock my car.

After staff meeting, I bustled out to my car to speed off to an event I was helping out with later that night. As soon as I got in my car, I could tell something didn’t feel right. I noticed that there was trash littered throughout my car. My heart sank. I realized someone had been in my car.

Unfortunate Event #2: I left my backpack in my car. The contents of said backpack included:

-Macbook Air

-Amazon kindle

-My favorite Bible

-Headphones

I frantically searched throughout the car. It didn’t take long before I realized my backpack had been stolen. I got out of my car and began looking around outside. I noticed some of the contents from my car laying in the grass. Most notable was the CD for Green Day’s ‘American Idiot’ album. I sure felt like an American idiot.

Unfortunate Event #3: Holly was taking classes online for nursing school. All of her documents were on that laptop.

Unfortunate Event #4: I had to call my wife and tell her that our laptop had been stolen.

Not a fun day.

I called the police and filed a report. They sent out a fingerprint specialist to gather prints from my car. They told me in most cases, stolen laptops usually don’t turn up. I felt deflated.

I had to go to a church event that night. I can’t remember any of it. I was probably miserable to be around. I imagine people approaching me and asking,

“Hey Mark, how’s your day been?”

“TERRIBLE! MY LAPTOP WAS STOLEN!”

I remember getting home that night, feeling like a failure. I sat down on the couch, ready to soak in my misery.

Then my phone started buzzing.

I was getting text messages…from myself. I felt like Dwight from the Office receiving messages from future Dwight.

Then I remembered that I had iMessage set up on my laptop. I was getting text messages from a police officer from my computer…

“Hello? Is this the owner of a Macbook computer? Call me at this number ____.”

I called the number. I spoke to a police officer who was at a hospital near my house. He asked me to give a description of my laptop, so I did. He told me to come to the hospital to fetch it like an obedient golden retriever.

I remember driving to the hospital feeling extremely confused. How the heck did my laptop end up at a hospital? I met the officer near an info desk and he gave me my laptop. Just like that. But I was still missing stuff. I asked the officer if there was any chance they had recovered my other items.

“Follow me,” he said.

He then took me into a back room to a suitcase which was filled with women’s clothing. But buried beneath the clothes I found my kindle and my headphones. Just hours before, these same items were stowed safely in my backpack. Now they were in a random woman’s suitcase. It was a surreal experience. My Bible was never found.

I then asked the officer, “What happened here?”

He said they got a call about a girl who had overdosed. They found the suitcase in a hotel room where she had passed out. That was all the information I got. And just like that, I got in my car and drove home with most of my stolen contents recovered.

My wife and I even discovered a joint in the laptop sleeve. We didn’t smoke it, mom.

The next day I woke up and decided to look through my internet history. Sure enough, I could see every single site that this girl had visited during her brief ownership of my laptop. Most of the sites she visited were porn sites. But she did log onto Facebook. And she didn’t log off.

I then discovered who this person was who stole my laptop. And it didn’t take me long to figure out this person was broken. Her mom had posted on her FB wall asking where she was. It was also evident she was in a custody battle with her son. I logged off. I got the picture.

I did reach out to her mom and told her what happened. I never heard back from her mom. I also called the police and asked them if the internet history would be useful to them. They said they had the information they needed.

Then I sat and pondered about whether or not I should reach out to this girl directly–the girl who stole my laptop.

What would I say to her?

“Hey! Nice try! Don’t do drugs!”

No, not that.

“I hope you learn from this and never make the same mistake again.”

No, too much judgment.

So I prayed about it. I sensed that if I was going to say anything to her, it needed to be infused with grace, love, and compassion. About a month after the theft occurred, I sent her this message:

Hey _______,

My name is Mark Dodd and I work at a church in Austin, TX. A little over a month ago, my car was parked outside a building called For the City Center and my backpack was stolen. If you were the person who stole my backpack, I forgive you 100%. I don’t hold that against you. I have been praying for you and care about you, even though we have never met. Thanks!

I pressed send on April 11, 2015.  

Days went by, then weeks. I kept wondering if she would respond. It felt suspenseful. Months went by. Then a year. I started to forget about it. 2 years went by.

Then on July 25, 2017, I received the following message:

“Hey wow this is crazy I just read your message after all those years thanks for praying for me it helped a lot since then i went to rehab got custody of my son got a job and moved back home and got my own place.”

I remember sitting in a coffee shop when I got that message. I couldn’t hold back tears that welled up in my eyes instantly.  

I responded, “That’s awesome! Thank you for reaching out.”

Then she said, “I’m so sorry.”

The girl who stole my laptop was APOLOGIZING TO ME.

I responded, “I forgive you and I am so glad to hear you are doing well.”

Her response, “Aww thanks.”

And that was it. I haven’t heard from her since. I don’t know where home is for her. I don’t know what she is doing with her life. But I know it takes a lot of courage to apologize to someone you have wronged. That’s the decision she made. I’m proud of her for that.

I don’t know if I have ever been so excited to say, “I forgive you” to someone. When we speak words of forgiveness to one another, we release the burden of guilt and wrongdoing. And now I look back on that day in March and it’s not so unfortunate after all.

Mr Rogers was right. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.