Pine Box Derby Faith

The Scouts have this annual event of carving out and decorating a pine box car to race in a Derby.  The local Cub Scouts had theirs this Saturday.  We registered his car on Friday night and weighed it, even gave it a few trials runs.  I could tell it was running better than I expected, but there were lots of fast cars so I wasn't getting my hopes up.

Then came Saturday morning and the big races.  Of course I tried to reassure Caleb beforehand that it was okay if he didn't win a trophy.  But in his mind he was convinced that he would.  I kept trying to get it through that he might not win and that would be alright, he would still get a patch or a ribbon or something.  He just kept on talking about a trophy.  Finally I gave up, and consoled myself with the fact that if Caleb didn't win, maybe he would learn how to lose graciously. 

Way to have faith, Dad.

Then we started racing and Caleb's car came in second on it's first run.  Not bad, I thought.  Then they ran the same four cars, but switched lanes.  He came in second again.  Then on the next two races, his car actually came in first.  I was beginning to believe that he just might walk away with a trophy after all.

But instead he walked away with two.  He took second place in his age group (Tigers).  Then somehow, the favor of God is all I can ascribe it to, we also were awarded the 'Most Original' car.  Here are some pictures of the big event.

The cars all ready.  Caleb's is the red and blue one in the second lane from this side.

A shot during the races.  Caleb's is in the lead.

Caleb, learning how to win graciously.  That's the second place trophy in his hand.

The track.

Caleb, pushing the button that will start the race.

Caleb and his number one fan, affectionally known as Grammy.

In the winner's circle, surrounded by family.

All the cars that raced.

Caleb, right before the big race, awaiting his destiny.

Caleb and his trophies.  That's the second place trophy, the blue ribbon, a pin for his shirt, and the 'Most Original' trophy.  We are running out of space on his dresser!

There you have it.  A day of fun and lessons in faith for Dad.  Thanks to all the leaders and Scouts that made this possible.  Y'all are the best!

Full Moon at perigee

If you think tonight's Moon looks unusually big, you're right. It's the biggest full Moon of 2010. Astronomers call it a "perigee Moon," some 14% wider and 30% brighter than lesser full Moons of the year.

So it says on spaceweather.com.  Now if the clouds would just get out of the way.

My name is Resurrection

So I'm reading The Master's Artist, a collective blog, and see the post by Madison.  Go check it out, great stuff.  (Basically Madison is admitting that this isn't her real name.)  Anyway, a lot of what she said in the post got me thinking about my own name.

When I was born back in 1968, my mother, then 18 years old, decided to name me after an actor, James Stacy.  Except she names me John Stacy since my daddy's name is John.  Not bad, I suppose, especially considering some of the names bestowed by very young mothers (and dads of course).  I mean, I could have been named Rufus and almost was (but that's another story altogether).  Okay, I'll go ahead and tell you that story too: when I was born I came forth with red hair; Rufus means red-haired.  So my mother contemplated that name for me.  It soon fell out and was replaced by blonde hair, which has since turned brown and fallen out, to be replaced by nothing.  Anywho, thank you James Stacy (which is, ironically, not even his real name) for being such a riveting actor.

Only problem is, the name Stacy also becomes a popular girl's name around the same time that I'm born and for a few years afterwards.  So I grow up with this androgynous name, which is often mispelled - actually to this very day.  (I still have the morning's work assignment to prove it.)  It doesn't help that a lot of folks called me Tracy, another androgynous name.  And add to that the fact that it is my middle name, and the whole world seems to insist that you provide this little piece of biographical data in the form of a mere initial, and then proceeds to inaccurately assume that the name you are called by is 'John'.  Long story short, all this confusion caused me to come to loathe my own name.

Until I found out, many years later, what it means.

I'm not sure when, but sometime in my late twenties or early thirties, due to the internet, I learned the literal meaning of my name.  Resurrection.  How cool is that!

The name comes from the Greek Anastasis (which is where the female name Anastasia and its male counterpart Anastasios come from).  Anastasis is composed of the words Ana (up) and stasis (standing), or to stand up.  The literal meaning being Resurrection.

I found all this out long after becoming a Jesus follower, so it just made me really really like my name again.  (So much so that I married a beautiful girl named--you guessed it--Staci).  Add this to the fact that my first name is John (God is gracious), and I can't think of a more apt name for myself: 

God is gracious, Resurrection, Worth.

So, whether I'm called John Stacy, John, Stacy, or Skeach-a-roid (Skeach being the shortened form of Stacy Keach (another actor), and a-roid being one of the many modifiers to that oh-so-creative nick-name) I am quite satisfied with my name.  To loathe your own name for years and then discover that it was a prophetic word over your very soul, is beyond awesome.  It is a redemption.  Like I was called by my Saviour, named by Him when I didn't even understand the power of that name.  Which, you do realize, there is a whole lotta power in a Name.

So then, as I make my way into my destiny, pulled toward it by my name, much like Jacob/Israel, Simon/Peter, and Saul/Paul, I know that at some point all this naming business will culminate with a white stone, handed to me by the Maker himself, with my most special name of all written upon it.

It may not be Resurrection, but at the moment I can't think of a better one.


Then again, wouldn't it be a riot if it were Rufus after all.

It's that time of year...

...for the blogging to slow waaay down.  It already has of course, but I'm still alive.  Outage will start soon and I will be working night shift for about a month and a half.  Right now, it just seems that life is so busy.  Doesn't seem to be very many days when something isn't going on.

I guess what I'm saying is that life happens, and right now I'm just too busy and tired to blog.  I apologize to my legions of fans.  The millions who must be reading my blog by now.  Rest assured, however, that like all things, this will prove to be cyclical, and I will someday be back better and stronger than ever.

Until then,
Peace.

Hope everyone's holidays were as FULL as ours.

So here we are in 2010.  Wow.  We slept in the new year here at the Worth house.  Then last night, me and Caleb went to his first lock-in at church.  It was crazy.  I'm pretty sure he had a blast though. 

As far as 2010 goes, I don't really have any resolutions.  I do have some hopes for this year, some things I want to do different.  But to label them resolutions just seems wrong to me.  Almost as if I would be ensuring their defeat, as that seems to be what happens to most resolutions.

Anywho, I'm going to go spend some time on  the couch with the wife, watching re-runs of LOST and just generally unplugging my mind.  Oh yeah, and I painted the bathroom today.  A very, very pretty shade of yellow.

Peace.