Shawn D. Congleton's Blog, page 4

In honor of an old “friend” (nemesis) – a wrestling excerpt from Ch. 19 of NEVER SETTLED

    “Ricky was a young boy. He had a heart of stone. Lived nine to five and he worked his fingers to the bone,” sang Skid Row through my headphones connected to my Sony Walkman. The sound of jump ropes and fans yelling in the stands filled the gym. I was busy staying warm and getting psyched up behind the bleachers by jumping rope and listening to my latest favorite band. There were just a few more matches in the heavyweight rounds taking place to determine who would be in the finals. The gym smelled of sweat and hope as everyone watched in anticipation. 

    I spent the afternoon wrestling my way through my first varsity tournament after getting a bye in the first round and then winning my next two matches – both pins. I was filled with excitement, and fear, since I knew my best competition was coming up. Ty Freel wrestled for our rival school from the next town over and had developed quite the reputation already. People called him dangerous and nasty. He had this great finishing move that was called by some – a headlock, but by the wrestling community – a head and arm. His first two matches, after his first round bye, resulted in first period pins with the head and arm. 

    I had paid close attention since I was warned by some of my teammates that he was probably the best wrestler at my weight and had earned the number one seed. His head and arm were deadly, they said. In his first match he wrestled, he smacked the other kid around a bit at the beginning causing the wrestler to get frustrated and annoyed enough to let his guard down. Once the other wrestler let his guard down, Ty took his right hand that grasped the back of his opponents head as they faced each other, then slid his hand and arm around the head completely where he grabbed the deltoid of his unsuspecting opponent. At the same time, he rotated his hips around in a counter-clockwise motion sinking them deep inside of his opponent’s space causing his body to slide over his hips and on his side. The other wrestler’s feet immediately left the mat as Ty pulled him over the top and raised his right elbow high, throwing his opponent’s shoulder blades straight to the mat. Ty immediately pulled up on the arm that stayed in the air and his opponent’s head, sitting his butt out as far as he could. 

The look of determination and arrogant pride showed on his face as he smiled, knowing his win was imminent. Not two or three seconds went by when the referee that had been on his feet quickly followed the action to the mat, sliding down on his own side and rotating his head around so that he could view the opponent’s shoulder blades now firmly pressed against the mat. SMACK! came the sound as the referee hit the mat with his open hand. Ty wrenched on his opponent’s head one more time for good measure before letting go and jumped to his feet. That same smile of pride and disgust of his clearly inferior opponent resonated on his face at the same time. He lifted both hands up and then punched his right fist into the air, while circling around to the center of the mat where he met his opponent once again. They shook hands and the referee grabbed Ty’s hand and stretched it high into the air indicating he was the winner.

I watched again a few hours later when the same match repeated itself almost identically with a different opponent. While I had pinned both of my opponents that day, the first was quicker and I had used a typical, basic single leg takedown followed by a half-nelson pin in the first period. My second match was a bit more challenging as we went three periods, but I was finally able to get the pin with that same basic half-nelson. My mind replayed Ty’s matches over and over as I listened to Skid Row belt out their latest album through my headphones. He’s not gonna put me in a head and arm, I told myself. I watched his set up and knew not to get too close or to press back knowing that he would try and catch me off guard while I was focused on the wrong things before he would throw me off my feet.

“Let’s go!” Luke yelled as he smacked me on the shoulder. Luke, our one hundred and forty pound wrestler notified me that it was time to line up for the finals…

Recording my first podcast…

About a week ago, I sat down to record a podcast with a friend of mine, Rick Lee James. We had both been youth pastors about the same time and Rick has moved on to become a recording artist, worship leader, speaker, podcaster and author in his own right. We have both stayed local to Springfield, Ohio, but our paths have only crossed in the past few years for an important event such as the premiere of a Spider-Man movie.

It was great catching up with him, talking about my book NEVER SETTLED. While we both knew each other fairly well, much of my early life was a surprise to him. It was a great conversation and I hope you will listen in here at Rick’s substack page or here at Apple Podcasts.

Let me know what you think and please share with others!

Thank you for listening to Voices In My Head! Blessings, Rick Lee James

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Return of the Jedi, Riding Bikes with my Bro & a $100 Reward for YOU! (Lessons Learned from Ch. 4 of NEVER SETTTLED by Shawn D. Congleton)

Photo by John Guccione http://www.advergroup.com on Pexels.com

We Lost Jimmy (1984) was a two story chapter—a story within a story. The main portion of the story was a move we were making from Indiana back out west. As we were loading the car, I noticed my brother and his bike were missing. Then I begin recollecting one of the reasons my big brother was my hero.

I recorded a podcast this week with an old youth ministry friend who is now a worship pastor, musical artist, author, and podcaster extraordinaire, Rick Lee James. (Lee added to remove confusion with another Rick James) Rick asked me about that fun story within a story where my brother and I rode our bikes fifteen miles over to the next town to exchange food stamps for actual coinage that could be spent on audio tapes for my dad.

The rules about food stamps and how they were used in the 80s differs a bit from today. Food stamps were actual printed money that were allowed to be used on any food item only. When you purchased a food item, the change from the purchase was given back to you in actual coinage that could be used on any item. Our goal as kids was to get the most coinage for our dollar without being suspected of food stamp malpractice. (This particular method has been corrected, at least in Ohio since they now use EBT cards that do not give change back.)

We took about $30 in food stamps to that larger small city in Indiana. Our goal was to buy $20 in audio tapes with the change for Dad and of course, the best part was we got to keep whatever was left over. A typical purchase consisted of a small candy bar, which at the time was around twenty-five cents. That was fine, but that also meant only a 75% exchange rate and a greater potential for being caught in our scam. 

We discovered a better method. If we purchased an onion, just a single onion, the exchange rate was much greater and the potential for being caught was reduced. A single onion might cause somewhere around ten cents, giving us an exchange rate closer to 90%. Of course, onions weren’t as tasty as a Butterfinger, but one could only eat so many Butterfingers anyway. 

After riding our bikes to Columbus, Indiana, exchanging all of our food stamps, and buying Dad’s audio tapes, we were headed home when we passed by the theater and noticed that Return of the Jedi was debuting. Our eyes lit up after seeing the original Star Wars on television a few weeks prior. We were caught up.

We spent the next few hours watching laser beams, ewoks, and The Rebellion overcome the Galactic Empire. When the movie ended and the curtain closed, it was 9:30 pm and the sun was going down quickly. We still had fifteen miles to head home on the two-lane highway back to our town. I was ten, my brother was fourteen and we didn’t have a cell phone to call home.

Rick and I laughed about that story and what happened next. I hope you have an opportunity to listen when the podcast is released on Wednesday at Voices In My Head (The Rick Lee James Podcast) – Episode 420 – NEVER SETTLED with Shawn D. Congleton (rickleejames.substack.com). 

As for Lessons Learned from this chapter, they are obvious once you read the chapter. 

Never leave a family member behind when you are moving. This was one of the most challenging factors that affected me growing up. I lost one of my heroes (my brother Jimmy) and I quickly became the oldest in the family and garnered all of the responsibilities at only eleven years old. Don’t inappropriately use government funds meant to help your family survive on frivolous items such as candy, audio tapes and movies.Okay, well maybe one candy bar a month. If you’re ten years old and have a two or three hour, fifteen mile bike ride home, don’t go watch a movie at 7 pm because when it is over, it will be getting dark as you are just heading home and it is not safe on a two-lane highway with no lights (nor reflectors, probably). Also, it gets cold at night in the summer too.

 Until Wednesday, have a great week. Summer is almost here!

Visit https://www.rickleejames.com/ & his podcast at https://rickleejames.substack.com/

By the way, the loaded car depicted in this chapter was a sight to see. We’ve lost all pictures of it. However, it was captured a few times and published in a newspaper. I’ve been unable to find said picture in any archives. If anyone else finds that picture, I am offering a $100 reward/finder’s fee. Somewhere around summer/fall of 1983 in Washington, Indiana & Missoula, Montana was our best guess.

Would I go or would I stay? – Lessons Learned from NEVER SETTLED (Ch. 3 – NOT MOVING)

Would I go or would I stay? Chapter 3 – NOT MOVING was a pivotal point in my journey. My family moved nearly 80 times and I lived in almost 20 states before I graduated high school, yet at this point in my life—the spring of my junior year of high school—I was done moving, regardless of what my dad was going to do.

Becoming a highly competitive high school wrestler drove me to success and a sense of personal pride. It helped me belong and have hope. My dad was about to take that away from me again and I was resolved to dig my heels in. Sports—particularly wrestling—had become my life. I wasn’t about to lose it.

Yet, I didn’t want to lose my family either. My older sister, Terri ran away from home at thirteen and finished high school with a foster family. My older brother, Jimmy also ran away at thirteen and finished high school with a friend’s family who took him in. When they left, it broke my heart. I missed them dearly. I had three younger brothers and a younger sister, as well and I didn’t want them to go through what I went through, yet I felt like I had no choice.

What do we do when our family wants something different than us?

How do we handle the conflict?

I cannot begin to tell you the depth of what this chapter ultimately means in my life.

I moved into Springfield, Ohio after serving in the Marine Corps in 1996. I have lived there ever since. At first, I loved it. The people were so much nicer than those in Small Town, Colorado. The grass was literally greener without even having to water it. The trees were large and full of enormous, lush leaves. I loved the biological contrast from my days out west where everything, it seemed, was dead.

The people I met in Springfield—primarily those at High Street Church of the Nazarene—had taken me in as family. They loved me. They accepted me. They even admired me.

Yet, in the years to come, I began to truly hate the weather in Ohio. It wasn’t the clouds and rain, though I did notice that and have been annoyed by the lack of sunshine from time to time. It was the cold and bitter winters. I know, I know, the winters were not much different than Colorado. 

It’s not that I grew up in the warmth, but I had the most difficult, depressing winter when I was deployed on a Med Float in the Marine Corps. My wife was pregnant during that time with medical complications and I was half-way across the world from her. 

Winter has depressed me ever since.

I have wanted to move south for more than twenty years. My wife and I have discussed it and even made plans to do it a few times, yet never felt like it was the right thing to do at that time. Ultimately, we stayed for the benefit of our girls.

My dad wanted to move and did so many times for selfish, personal reasons. Yet, when he made the decision to move (oftentimes on a whim), we simply did it—at a moment’s notice. 

I resolved to never treat my family like that. My wife and I have had many, many discussions on potentially moving and ultimately, we have stayed because we were never on the same page to move at the same time. 

I believe, in my heart and with everything that I know, that we have made the right decision for our girls. I believe we made the right decision for our marriage. I hope that they know that I have continued to live in a climate that contributes to my winter blues for their benefit. I hope they know it is because I love them, I have been willing to sacrifice for them. That’s what a parent should do. That’s what a husband should do.

Here are the lessons learned…

Communicate: When big, important decisions come into play in our lives, we must communicate with those we love before we make decisions. We must know how it will impact them and how they feel about it. We must ask and we must listen. They may not make the decision for us, but we need to know how it will impact them.

Sacrifice: Great leadership requires sacrifice. No one taught this better than Jesus, simply by the way he lived his life and ultimately his death. “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” John 15:13 If we are to lead our families well, we must be willing to sacrifice for their benefit. This is the type of leadership that Jesus demonstrated and the type of leadership that best benefits the whole family.

I know that my time will come and it is coming soon. I can’t wait to tell you about it. 

But for now, know this. 

When big, important decisions in your life come—talk to your family about them. Listen to them. And make the decision about what’s best for the entire family, not just yourself. Be willing to sacrifice, if necessary.

I fell in love with 80s music—an excerpt from Ch. 15 of NEVER SETTLED

Initially, when we moved back to the plains of Colorado, we moved to a very small town called Deer Trail. Deer Trail is the Home of the World’s First Rodeo if that tells you anything about the kind of town that it is. Most of the streets in the town were dirt. Not gravel, but dirt. And dusty. The rodeo grounds sat at the northwest outskirts of town and the K-12 school sat at the southwest edge of town. We settled down just a few blocks away from the rodeo grounds in a small trailer court nearby. This was where I first began to become a big fan of music myself, as I finished out the seventh grade here.

Deer Trail was a small, public high school that housed a community swimming pool. I only had eight total classmates in my grade at Deer Trail, so coming by friends was a bit more difficult. These small town kids were only into cows or basketball or both. I was not. They had all grown up with each other for the past eight years of school. I had not. However, the one area I may have been able to connect with them was music. Due to my dad’s influence, my musical tastes coincided a bit, as my favorite artist was Glen Campbell and I loved the song, “Rhinestone Cowboy.” That is, until my older sister, Terri came home.

Terri graduated high school with her foster family the year before and spent the following year at a community college in Indiana. She decided that wasn’t for her after her spring term was complete and she returned home to live with us in Colorado for the first time since Christmas of her freshman year of high school. I continued to be the family chef, but Terri helped out also; making pizza and brownies as her specialty. Another of our family favorite meals was sausage gravy and biscuits, but Terri introduced us to her version which included chocolate gravy instead. I hated it, but others in the family enjoyed it. 

“You’ve got to listen to some better music!” Terri exclaimed. She hated my Glen Campbell. He wasn’t so popular in southern Indiana in 1985 when she graduated high school. 

“Well, what else would I listen to?” I responded, not really knowing many artists or band names.

“Johnny Cougar, for one!” she said proudly. “Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, and Bryan Adams,” she continued.

“Well, put them on. Let me hear ‘em.” We had been making pizza for dinner and Terri had just placed the pizza pan in the oven and was getting ready to put some brownies on the upper rack. She placed them in the oven and ran down the hall of our trailer. She went back to her room that she shared with my younger sister, Shelby. She returned with her boombox and a few tapes. She slid a tape in the cassette slot and pressed play. The boombox erupted with, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper and she started dancing all around the kitchen. 

Terri had this way of just letting loose. She could fully live in the moment and enjoy music or the company of friends. I couldn’t believe the years we had lost without her and I was loving getting to know my sister again. I imagined how much fun she was to hang out with as a friend in high school. She often talked about her friends from that time, confessing stories of their parties and activities. I wished I had been there to experience it with her. I also wondered what it was like to stay in Loogootee and experience a somewhat normal life for four years. The song ended and she stopped dancing. 

“Here’s another great one,” she said as she pulled the tape out of the boom box and replaced it with another. “Summer of 69” by Bryan Adams filled the room.

“I got my first real six string…” Terri began playing air guitar and rocking around the room, singing every word. “Bought it at the five and dime… played it ‘til my fingers bled… was the summer of 69!” 

Her boombox blared at the top of its lungs. That was the only way to listen to music in our house. We didn’t just want to hear the music, we wanted to FEEL IT! And feel it, we did.

Terri continued to exchange tape after tape, introducing me to John Cougar Mellencamp’s “Pink Houses” and Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” and Rick Springfield’s “Jessie’s Girl” and Toto’s “Africa.” We jammed and laughed and had a great time. Suddenly, we noticed smoke coming from the oven. We were having so much fun we didn’t even notice the burnt smell of pizza and brownies emanating from the kitchen. 

“Oh, crap!” Terri yelled.

“Dad’s gonna kill us!” I screamed back.

Where My Storytelling Started – an excerpt of Ch. 14 Growing Up Quickly from NEVER SETTLED.

Movies were such a huge part of my life, probably beginning here in Bailey as much as anywhere. We bought a second Beta VCR while we were here for the sheer purpose of recording the movies that we rented. We had to drive a couple of towns over to Aspen Park to rent movies, but when we did, we made it worth our while. Movies cost about a dollar on Tuesdays and we rented about six movies at a time. We went home, connected one Beta to the other with the audio-video cables and recorded two to three movies on each blank Beta tape. This also began our movie collection process that was formalized into notebooks years later. Similar to Dad’s record collection, the movie collection grew as we recorded movie after movie, though always much smaller than his record collection.

Horror movies were my favorite as a kid beginning from when I was about seven years old. I don’t remember where we lived at the time, but I remember sneaking into the living room underneath where my parents lay on the sleeper couch watching The Shining with Jack Nicholson. I was so scared, but I was hooked. I watched Halloween II in similar fashion also about the same age. I was enamored with horror movies during this phase of our lives. We rented them and watched them together as a family quite often. While slasher movies like Friday the 13th and Halloween were fan favorites during this time of the 80s, the movie that most gripped me with fear was when we brought Nightmare on Elm Street home. I remember vividly how Freddy Krueger could come from anywhere at any time. He wasn’t even limited to our dreams. There was no escaping Freddy!

My infatuation with horror initiated the beginning of my writing career, as well. Just before school started the following Fall, we moved again about ten miles from Bailey to a trailer in Grant, Colorado. We remained in the same school, but my mom added ten more minutes each way to her daily commute. At the beginning of seventh grade, I was able to add a Creative Writing class where I wrote short stories. My first story was a horror narrative entitled, The Missing House. In my story our house went missing from one day to the next. It just disappeared. I imagine that may have come from the many houses in our lifetime that went missing from one day to the next as we moved throughout the country. 

My second story was titled, Slumber Party and depicted a familiar teen romp where these girls decided to have a slumber party and were visited by a vicious killer. Not long after that, we found the movie Slumber Party Massacre at that local video store and added it to our collection. I had just missed my chance at stardom by a few years! The majority of my stories were horror themed, but one story that garnered me some attention was not. 

Our middle school was named after Jesse B. Fitzsimmons who grew up in the area as a rancher and farmer in the early 1900s. During our time there, Halley’s Comet was going to be visible in the night sky. Halley’s comet was only visible once every seventy-five years. I wrote a tall tale about how Jesse B. Fitzsimmons lassoed Halley’s Comet for our first annual creative writing contest. Amazingly, I won the contest and received a major award for it. This was the beginning of truly believing I could be an author some day.

Where My Storytelling Started – an excerpt of Ch. 13 Growing Up Quickly from NEVER SETTLED.

Movies were such a huge part of my life, probably beginning here in Bailey as much as anywhere. We bought a second Beta VCR while we were here for the sheer purpose of recording the movies that we rented. We had to drive a couple of towns over to Aspen Park to rent movies, but when we did, we made it worth our while. Movies cost about a dollar on Tuesdays and we rented about six movies at a time. We went home, connected one Beta to the other with the audio-video cables and recorded two to three movies on each blank Beta tape. This also began our movie collection process that was formalized into notebooks years later. Similar to Dad’s record collection, the movie collection grew as we recorded movie after movie, though always much smaller than his record collection.

Horror movies were my favorite as a kid beginning from when I was about seven years old. I don’t remember where we lived at the time, but I remember sneaking into the living room underneath where my parents lay on the sleeper couch watching The Shining with Jack Nicholson. I was so scared, but I was hooked. I watched Halloween II in similar fashion also about the same age. I was enamored with horror movies during this phase of our lives. We rented them and watched them together as a family quite often. While slasher movies like Friday the 13th and Halloween were fan favorites during this time of the 80s, the movie that most gripped me with fear was when we brought Nightmare on Elm Street home. I remember vividly how Freddy Krueger could come from anywhere at any time. He wasn’t even limited to our dreams. There was no escaping Freddy!

My infatuation with horror initiated the beginning of my writing career, as well. Just before school started the following Fall, we moved again about ten miles from Bailey to a trailer in Grant, Colorado. We remained in the same school, but my mom added ten more minutes each way to her daily commute. At the beginning of seventh grade, I was able to add a Creative Writing class where I wrote short stories. My first story was a horror narrative entitled, The Missing House. In my story our house went missing from one day to the next. It just disappeared. I imagine that may have come from the many houses in our lifetime that went missing from one day to the next as we moved throughout the country. 

My second story was titled, Slumber Party and depicted a familiar teen romp where these girls decided to have a slumber party and were visited by a vicious killer. Not long after that, we found the movie Slumber Party Massacre at that local video store and added it to our collection. I had just missed my chance at stardom by a few years! The majority of my stories were horror themed, but one story that garnered me some attention was not. 

Our middle school was named after Jesse B. Fitzsimmons who grew up in the area as a rancher and farmer in the early 1900s. During our time there, Halley’s Comet was going to be visible in the night sky. Halley’s comet was only visible once every seventy-five years. I wrote a tall tale about how Jesse B. Fitzsimmons lassoed Halley’s Comet for our first annual creative writing contest. Amazingly, I won the contest and received a major award for it. This was the beginning of truly believing I could be an author some day.

Sharing my God Story

I recently had the opportunity to share my original God Story with our faith community (or my testimony, if you speak Christianese). I have always loved sharing this aspect of my story because it emphasizes how great God is and what He has done for me. There are bits and pieces of the first part of my story in my book, but the last half of this video takes place in the final chapter(s).

SPOILER WARNING: (I’ve always wanted to say that.) If you haven’t read the book yet, you may want to do so before watching the video. Enjoy!

An excerpt from Ch. 13, “From Baby to Leader” of NEVER SETTLED: a memoir of a boy on the road to manhood

For years, I had been the youngest in the family before Shelby was born. Terri was in charge and played a maternal role when Mom and Dad were both working. When anything bad happened, Terri and Jimmy received corporal punishment (up to forty spankings with a belt) while I, at worst, received five lighter spankings. In addition, Terri and Jimmy often blamed things on me because I rarely received discipline during those days. I was viewed as the baby who was always favored. I was also favored because I was both a cute and cuddly kid. My dad loved to cuddle with us. I had a sensitive nature and I’m sure that my dad caught on to that, feeling sorry for me as the baby at times.

    However, after Jimmy and Terri both ran away and began living in foster homes, I was now the oldest kid at home. Shelby, Shannon and Jesse were all born and suddenly I was in charge of three younger siblings at the ripe old age of twelve years. In just a few short years, I had gone from being the baby who could do no wrong to being the leader who could do no right. I was not ready for this leadership role and I didn’t want it. But it was thrust upon me and I paid the consequences for not living up to that role. Whenever Shannon or Jesse did wrong, as little ones under five often do, it was typically my fault for allowing it to happen. 

This changed everything for me. My view of my dad prior to this, was lovable and cuddly, at least when he was happy and not drunk. My view of my dad after this was hateful and angry at me all of the time, especially when he was drunk. It probably didn’t help that I hit puberty right around the same time, amping my emotions and moods.

    We were in Ault for a short time and then moved on to Hudson, Colorado. Hudson is where my memories became much clearer for me. Our moving slowed down considerably as we began to stay at each place a little longer. Mom got a job paying claims for a health insurance company, starting at MetLife which was later bought out several times and eventually became United HealthCare. However, she was able to keep the same job all the way through high school and beyond and worked in the same office every time we moved. This is also why most of our moves during this time remained in Colorado and within an hour or so drive of Denver. Dad had a few manual labor jobs the first few years, as well, but Mom’s job ended up making the most money and was very stable. We only moved ten more times over the next seven years before I graduated high school. 

    In Hudson, my friends began to matter much more. In a weird twist of events, I became friends with two of the most popular kids in my grade, Troy and Tony. I was still the quiet and shy kid, but for some reason they befriended me. Troy was the ladies’ man who all of the popular girls either dated or wanted to date. He was a good looking kid with dark brown hair, feathered to each side and parted in the middle, reminiscent of a young Brian Bloom. Troy had a nice house, seemed like he came from a bit of privilege and had plenty of friends, yet he invited me over and included me as his friend for some reason. 

    Tony, on the other hand, lived in the trailer park down the street and his family was Mexican. In Colorado, this was both accepted and not so accepted as numerous Mexicans lived in the area, but, as in many areas, Mexicans were looked down upon by the majority of white people, as poor immigrants. My dad was as racist as any from his generation and hated that I was friends with Tony. He was always on edge when Tony came over to the house and kept a close eye on him to make sure he didn’t steal anything. It’s ironic though, when I really think about it and our friendship. Tony brought way more to our friendship than I ever did.

    I was the new kid in the area and Tony was a popular kid who excelled at sports. He invited me into his life and friendship. Tony had fairly dashing good looks for a sixth grade kid and was well desired by the girls and admired by the guys. We used to play football in the street in front of his trailer park. We also played on the playground at school. Playing football with these guys provided both friends and belonging for me. Tony and Troy made a big difference for me because I was still a small kid and not very athletic, but they included me so I belonged. 

Tony introduced me to “high school style” wrestling.

Encouragement, Meaning & Getting out—Lessons Learned from Ch. 2 of NEVER SETTLED

Kids, particularly teenagers need constant encouragement, even those from the best of homes. They say that it takes ten positive comments to make up for one negative remark. “Chapter 2 – Steve” was a reminder about how important the positive comments and encouragement of my friends and teachers were to me. 

My dad started with waking up late for school from the previous chapter and then showing up at my friend’s house first, contemplating skipping school that day, but ultimately showing up and doing everything wrong. 

I skipped class to play basketball. I wore shorts when they weren’t allowed. I lied to my teacher about where I was going. I ran my mouth to some kids and almost got into a fight. As a school counselor, these types of students frustrate & bewilder me. I tend to shake my head, just like Mrs. Admundson did to me. 

I don’t believe she (nor I) lacked caring, I just think she knew I needed some grace. 

And I did.

My friendships with Steve & Kent were based on their encouragement to me. I had a difficult past and my dad made my life miserable at times. They were my bright spots and always very encouraging to me, long before I gave them reason to be. 

People like this are so important. We never know what someone else is going through. We never know how difficult life can be for someone else. Be an encourager. We all need it. 

Despite my shortcomings, I believe Mrs. Amundson believed in me. If you work with young people, be a believer like her. Believe in people who haven’t arrived yet. Because let’s be honest, none of us have really arrived yet.

Steve and I were searching for meaning in our lives, but at sixteen and seventeen years of age, we were pretty clueless about what that was. I think it’s great for young people to dream about what their lives could mean. I believe it’s important to search those things out, but I also believe that comes with life.

As a man of faith, my walk with Jesus on a daily basis provides the direction for meaning in my life. What am I here for? Why do I exist? How should I spend my time? The answer to these questions come from a good book, The Bible. Even if you don’t know Jesus in the way I do, I encourage you to take a look at it. Start with the gospels. Jesus, was a great teacher (among many things) and had some great philosophy and ideas about living a meaningful life.

Lastly, I found the idea of “Getting Out” interesting as I reread chapter 2. 

First, every little town I ever lived in, people couldn’t wait to get out. They couldn’t wait to leave. I find that so interesting. I lived in nearly 80 places and almost 20 states before I graduated high school. Everyone of them had people who couldn’t wait to get out. The grass is not always greener.

I also find it interesting and ironic because while I was complaining about constantly moving and feared that my dad may move us again at an integral time in my life, I couldn’t wait to get out one day. The difference, I believe, is that I wanted to serve my full time by graduating at Byers and then getting out. I was meant to stay in Byers and it was meant to catapult me to my future. 

Every place we find ourselves has meaning and purpose. Don’t just wait to get out. Use it. Learn from it. Grow. God has us in each place in life for a purpose and meaning. When it’s time, He will give you an opportunity to move on.

These were just a few lessons I learned from Chapter 2 of NEVER SETTLED. What jumped out at you? What did you learn?