Author Archives: Neal

About Neal

An expressive writer, talker, rapper, and kazoo player; passionate about the expression of wisdom, love, sports, and grace in today’s world.

Happy Birthday, Burger! (A Letter to My 1 Year-Old Daughter)

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Little Casey,

Five minutes ago, I found out that you were inside mommy’s tummy – or at least that’s what it feels like! But it’s actually been a whole year! Everybody was right when they told me how fast your first birthday would come, and the truth is, I like it! Now, you are turning into such a real live human being!! You already have 3 teeth – with the potential for having many more. :)

You are 27 inches (nice and tall like your mommy) and have a huge forehead with little hair (like your daddy).

You love animals (like daddy) and from all we can tell, they seem to love you too (like your mommy). Don’t worry about Mia though, she’s not capable of loving anybody, but we’ll talk about that when you’re three.

You light up at the sound of music (daddy) and are working on palming your first little basketball (mommy). You eat lots of fruits and vegetables (mommy) and shove them in two hands at a time (daddy). You sleep through the night and love to be babied first thing in the morning (frankly, that’s both of us).

For this entire year, you have been the type of baby that tricks suckers like me and your mommy into thinking that we might be able to do it again.

And just recently, you have become very good at leveraging your tantrums to get your point across. This doesn’t bother me, but it is different than your first several months. You really only cried when you needed something, which in your case was either a bottle or a nap.

But now, when you want something you can’t reach, or something I’ve taken away, you’ve become very good at producing the full sound of crying without a single tear. To your credit, it’s usually a matter of seconds before you’re on to your next adventure/obsession.

So here it is, burger, it seems like our task for the upcoming year is to focus on the difference between wants and needs. And I mean both of us.

This past year has been both the most joyful and the most cumbersome year of my life. I’ve had the best problems: great wife, great family, great job, great community, but words can’t tell you all about the hard time I’ve had remembering the difference between wants and needs.

I want more money. I want to be the best youth minister. I want to discover what I’m supposed to do to provide for my family so that you don’t get stuck for what you didn’t sign up for. But I need to be a good daddy. And I need to be a good husband to your mommy. And I need to enjoy all that I am blessed with now before I worry about the future.

We both know that at times this past year, I have confused my wants and my needs.

You see, it’s not that I need to be with you all of the time. Matter of fact, you’re going to need for me to be off doing “daddy’s thing” before I come home to do the daddy-thing a lot of time, as much as I’m going to want to be with you every waking second. It’s just that I’m going to have to work on making sure that I’m not always home when I want to be, but that I am always home when I need to be.

And it’s not that it is a bad thing to want things. Like you may want your B-Ball Bunny or an extra snuggle, or even a little bit of personal space (although that one is gonna hurt at first). I’m going to want things too. It’s just that you and I both are going to be a lot more free when we can identify what we want and what we need.

I want to raise you under the assurance that God’s greatest blessings are those around us. I want you to know the peace and freedom of having everything you need. I even want you to have a few of the things that you will want in this life.

And I need you to know that you and your mommy comes first.

So let’s do it, Burger. Let’s figure it out together.

But now, you’re up from your nap and it’s time for me to join you as we begin your 1st birthday party.

Because that’s what I want to do.

And because that’s what I need.

 

With All My Love,

Daddy

 

P.S. Next time you do something cute, will you remind me to take the camera from mommy so that SHE could get in the picture… it would sure make for a prettier photo!!

 

How I’d Improve the Presidential Election Process

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At 29 1/2, I’m barely old enough to vote. But as a young adult, registered independent, in Florida, if my vote is really as important as all the pundits say, here’s what I would do to make this whole election process more appealing to people like me:

10. Get-to-Know-You Games in the Line of Voting Precincts

Maybe it’s just the youth minister in me, but I see this as a win-win. With a long, necessary wait, we all need something to pass the time that is more productive than typing “Gee, these lines are so long…” on Facebook. Also, by November, we should all be ready for a holiday season full of “Forced Family Fun”. One more wouldn’t hurt, especially with our neighbors on both sides of the aisle.

9. Amendment Voters Must Demonstrate an Understanding of Said Amendment

I am scared by Amendments entitled, “Amendment to Love Puppies” that then begin with “Whereas the prohibition of this amendment will prohibit the prohibition…” because it always leaves me unclear as to whether or not said amendment is actually saying puppies are good or bad. Therefore, any person who wishes to vote on an amendment may do so after proving that they know what it says.

8. Candidates Must Say Five Nice Thing About The Opposition

Courtesy of Sarah Lund

Don’t start your victory speech with a call for bi-partisanship, START your campaign with one. My parents used to implement this rule when my little brother and I would fight, it seemed to work okay.

7. Any Political Facebooker Must Yield Equal Time to Opposite-Minded Friends

You know, we’ve been hearing about the cyber-bullying that comes as a result of one-way, near anonymous communication. And this is another example in a grown-up (sorta) environment. While these posts are not annonymous, too many of us have been posting without accountability to those wishing to disagree in dialogue. If it’s not worth a dialogue, save it for a debate. It’s far too easy to be disrespectful and impractical when we’re talking to a screen and not a human.

6. Veri-Sign Ability to Track Our Votes

Unfortunately, we are living in an age where it is appropriate to question the integrity of EVERY process. If I am able to track my Ebay orders from door to door and everywhere in between, I oughtta be able to track my vote to make sure it counted. Don’t ask me how? Not my job. I’m too busy changing the world here…

5. Greater Emphasis on Fact-Checking

Courtesy of Huffington Post

Please people, instead of covering every corner of my TV during the debates with charts and graphs about who’s happy and sad and which candidates facial tic is saying what, show me a + or -, is what he saying fact/crap? That’s what I wanna know.

4. Anybody Who Asks Me Who I Voted For is Subject to a Punch in the Face From the Same Lady Who I Once Asked, “How Much do You Weigh?”

Remember when it used to be rude to tell me how to think and why I was wrong if I disagreed? Yeah…

3. If You Aren’t Allowed to Vote for a Certain District, You Should Never Have to Even Watch the Commercial for Either Candidate

Living in Vero Beach, I’ve been watching the West Palm feed of Allen West vs. Patrick Murphy in what is the most grotesque political battle I’ve ever seen! Each side claimed the other was an absolute jackweed. And they were right. But after hours and hours of research, I picked the least jerkier of the two. I can’t even tell you how pissed I was in the voting booth when I realized that these yahoos weren’t even on my ballot. By my estimation, that’s 497 commercial breaks I will never get back.

2. Jon Stewart Moderates ALL Debates.

For the love of God, we need to start having a sense of humor about these things, it was the only thing that saved professional wrestling… Seriously though, Stewart’s liberal bias is no more than the same liberal bias put on all media and Stewart has a good record of following-up, clarifying, and not backing down from his questions, even with those he disagrees with in a way that is still polite and fair. And Number One…

1. MORE FREAKING STICKERS

I have a colleague who saved her “I Voted” sticker from early voting and retaped it on her blouse. How awesome is that?!

Bigger stickers.

Shinier stickers.

What says America more than pinning a brand name to your clothing.

Courtesy of houstonpress.com

Stickers! Stickers for all!

I’m Neal Watkins and I approve of this message.

 

One Week After Sandy: A New Kind of Power

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Donna Schaper is a friend of mine who I met when I was far too young to understand her brilliance. Sometimes, I worry that I am still too young to understand her brilliance.

She is a pastor at Judson Memorial Church on Washington Square in New York City. Recently Donna has been posting updates about her experiences in the first several hours after Sandy. You may read them here.

The other day, after leading a community vigil, Donna shared these thoughts.

Hear the brilliance in the grief and hope she shares:

Many Different Kinds of Power

Last night at Judson about 20 of us gathered, along with one dog, to light candles, sing a few songs and say a few prayers. We also walked the giant canvas labyrinth, which was easy to put out in the dark. It has white stripes. We observed what our hearts know: there are many different kinds of power. Too many people are saying they are “out of power,” or “powerless.” More precisely, we are without electrical power.

Last Sunday I innocently preached about the need for new folkways, new rituals, and new ways of being. I actually said, “For most of us, the major ritual of our lives is to remember to plug in our cell phones.” I pontified, “Wouldn’t it be great if we kept a good Sabbath with such rigor or also prayed intentionally before we ate or before we slept? Not to mention how great a Jubilee, an automatic normalized forgiveness of debts, would mark our political economy?” Well. Since Sandy hit, we have been wandering around with cell cords in hand in lower Manhattan, looking for a plug that had power. No lights, no traffic lights, no hot water, and no working plugs: that is the reality post Sandy. It is dark outside and sometimes also dark inside.

To keep from being a complete fibber, we just had to do a service. We had to remind ourselves that there are different kinds of power than the kind we don’t have. There is people power and candlepower, physical power (you can’t volunteer for the Red Cross if you can’t lift 50 pounds or stay for 12 hours), magical power, the kind that makes you think the A train will be humming again soon. There is the power to hear words anew: infrastructure, nature, air, wind, fire. There is the power to recognize, as the labyrinth shows, that in every end there is a beginning. New York will never be the same. We know that. Worship helps us say what we know out loud. The word Katrina came to mind. We have known for a long time about climate change and aging infrastructure. Now we know that we know, in a different kind of power, the kind that moves people to change.

As we went back to our dark homes and our meager food, we didn’t forget to give thanks for the Sabbath we had just had because nature had demonstrated astonishing infrastructural failure.

Reflections from Donna Schaper: Days One and Four

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“Through Earthquake, Wind and Fire, the Still Small Voice of Calm”

The first thing that happened this morning at 7 a.m. was that my seven year old neighbor, Zoe, ran out to visit me in my car, where I was charging my cell phone with my car charger and getting what news I could off the radio. Zoe said, “Let’s go to Stuy Town and see my friend. Her car was floating last night.” Zoe thought this w

as good news but since Stuy Town is two blocks away, in “Zone A” and we live two apartment buildings in from Zone A, in Zone B, I declined. I We could go tomorrow after the cars stopped floating. The high tide was due at 8 a.m., the sun was peeking through the clouds, and the streets were littered with much more debris than usual plus leaves, leaves, leaves. Will the wind ever stop blowing? That was Elmo’s question just now on a blessed NPR broadcast, and I didn’t care whether Big Bird was there to answer or not. Now writing later on Tuesday, which normally would be the day before Halloween, the wind has stopped, the rain has picked up, and we have survived the 8 a.m. high tide, at least on Second Avenue and 18th Street.

Before I could post this, by driving to my daughter’s in Brookyn, where she has email, I drove through and past Stuy Town. The FDR was closed, dozens of cars had trees on top of them, much of the river’s throw-up remains on the street. There are no traffic lights downtown, a unique courtesy on the road, and long lines outside the few open Bodegas. Pedestrians abound. I may also visit my grandchildren in Brooklyn, one of whom is three and announced on facetime this morning, “Bube, I can’t be a good boy any more.” To say that this storm has been long anticipated is to misunderstand what it’s been like Friday through Monday night. I can’t be a good girl any longer either and thus drove across the bridge the second it opened.

My mother called. She had clearly been watching too much television. We posted on the church site where the pastors would be, how to reach us and how ill advised it would be for people to come to us. Two nurse friends of ours moved in, early, to our apartment because they thought they would be pulling double shifts at NYU Hospital up the street. They brought their partners. They live in Brooklyn and couldn’t walk in on subways that had closed or bridges and tunnels that closed right after. “No man is an island,” they like to say, but right now Manhattan is more than an island than imaginable, 24 hours earlier. The NYU Hospital generator failed so they were sent home, and all the patients moved to another hospital. They had tested the generator on Friday and it was working then.

At the height of the storm, we had to take a walk. Three of us made it arm and arm in a four-block circumnavigation; two of us made the full eight blocks. The streets were vigorous. The avenues strenuous. The W hotel lobby was jam packed with people aggressively using their cellphones. Our partner who left us was standing in the foyer, praying for our safe return.

Now we pray for a few more things. First, can we find a way to live without power? Of the electrical kind? Second, what will happen with this many people being without goods or services? We already know to walk the avenues, not the streets, from now on, due to the inevitable need for people to pick pockets and steal from each other. How will we ever mourn the loss of the New Jersey Shore line? Is the Atlantic City Boardwalk really no longer with us? What will happen to the subways? Who was thinking about infrastructure anyway? How much of it is gone, as in gone, I mean gone? What will happen next October? Last October it snowed. This October, the East River moved to First Avenue. What will we tell the children about the floating cars? Is there really an environmental and economic opportunity in a crisis as inconvenient and comprehensive as this one? Maybe now we can think about nature and the economy in new ways. Imagine being grateful for Sandy!

The pleasures are as large as the worries. My next-door neighbors on both sides agreed to help bail, if we needed bailing. My upstairs neighbor came down to ask what she could do. One of the nurses brought a chicken. Amid things crashing and trees touching their toes in the street, there is an odd “I told you so”, a validation of the midnight thoughts of both heart and mind. Nature always trumps technology. And electrical power. And political power. That great sense that we are living wrong, too addicted to plugging in, too soft, too dependent on the wrong things or at least undependable things, has increased. Maybe after the storm is cleaned up, we will do more than buy generators or better flashlights. Maybe we will bridge and tunnel our way to deeper connection with each other and with what power really is. For now, these questions are too large. The smell in the street is increasing, as the sewers back up. People wonder whether to drink what water there is coming out of faucets. There is an odd and full freedom in these moments. I have the cleanest Tupperware drawer in Manhattan. My sock drawer is sorted, and I have matched last year’s orphaned gloves with each other. Later, I will sweep the street and kiss the trees that didn’t fall and go to my friend’s house, where she has power

Day Four:
So the sounds of the fourth day: many whistles from cops who are makeshift traffic lights, the whirring sounds of generators, outdoor grills firing up, then quiet, quiet, quiet. People don’t’ even bother tooting their horns. No where to go, nothing to do. The scale we are using is bonkers/bananas/ or the bonkers/banana combined metric. Personally I am an 8.5 on the combined scale…and I know

 people who are doubling that. The only people left in the village are schizophrenic people, addicted people and pastors….and the first two groups are faring much better than the third. Yes, Bellvue evacuated…but today in the lobby no one seemed to know where the patients had gone. “Where is my brother?” said one man in, the hard way, from Jersey.

Happy SoundTech Appreciation Day!!

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Some of us have jobs where we never get noticed… unless we screw up.

Last night, during the 7th inning stretch of what will be the last baseball game for 6 months, what first sounded like bad music, turned out to be a faulty sound production.

 

 

That’s right, half of the microphones weren’t working…like, the half that had the melody.

 

I implore you tonight, to find your SoundTechs, the people who cover your butt, and tell them thanks. Thank them for making sure your worst day never winds up on YouTube.

A Dad’s Prayer for the Day

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My daughter thinks that when I wake up, I’m excited to meet the day; she thinks that I value the health and happiness of my family way more than the stresses of work.

My daughter thinks that even when it feels like it’s time to cry, her daddy still laughs; she thinks her mother is our hero and that it’s my job to support her in any way I can.

My daughter thinks that I love to play much more than I love to worry; she thinks I’m patient and full of grace.

My daughter thinks that everything I say is sincere and honest; she thinks that I’m the hardest worker she knows.

Yesterday I managed to fool her. Today, may she be right.

Amen.

What I Wanna Be When I Grow Up

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I’m living out what I always wanted to be when I grew up.

I wanted to be a person who worked to empower students and liberate adults to be able to empower even more students.

Even though I haven’t grown up yet – sorry mom – I’m thankful every day that I have the opportunity to do the only thing my dad ever asked me to do: get paid to do what I would love to do for free.

Yesterday, at the United Church of Christ’s National Youth Event, I had the opportunity to lead a workshop based on a book proposal I am writing: “Becoming a 21st Century Youth Whisperer – Everything I needed to know about youth ministry, I learned from the Dog Whisperer”.

I learned more about youth ministry while researching how to “fix” my Roxy, then I did in years of seminars, retreats and workshops.

Roxy has been rehabilitated, and I have been “Saved”

It was rejuvenating to be amongst over 100 youth ministers, volunteers, and parents who are eager to reach and serve the next generation.

However,

Late last night, I found out that I’ve got the SECOND best job on the planet.

Check this guy out – DISCLAIMER – you will not be able to see his feet move like Gregory Hines, his face sweat like Michael Jordan, and you probably will not be able to distinguish his black velvet shirt (although if you stop watching the video before he takes off his jacket, you’ve missed the point) and you probably won’t see him jump/dance/cue the band like a magician, but, still, you oughtta be able to see why this is my new hero.

I will put his picture on my mirror so that everyday I look for me, I will see him. And on the day I look at him, and see me,… LOOKOUTNA!

Das wassup.

Amen.

PS You can read more about this amazing man, and the program that Vi Higgensen runs that pulls kids off the streets of Harlem and gives them top-notch musical training by going to Gospel for Teens Website or checking out the CBS “60 Minutes” feature on this program.

The “Best Man” I Know

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When I met Drew Angotti, Jamal Mashburn was the Miami Heat’s Small Forward,and along with Alonzo Mourning and Tim Hardaway, the Heat were expected to make it all the way to the first NBA Championship in franchise history.

I was introduced to Drew Angotti at my Papa’s funeral.

I was told he was going to be my new youth minister.

Drew has been sharing the highest of highs, the lowest of lows, and everything in between, with me ever since.

Drew wore his cap backwards, cussed occasionally (just the PG-13 words, Mom), and excelled at everything he touched – basketball, football, art, literature, whatever.

Drew had no clue as to what he was doing as a first-time youth minister.

But there was something about this man, his wisdom, his fresh look on things, his sincerity… he did more than just make Christianity cool, to me and the other hood rats on the Coral Gables block, he made Christianity real.


Despite what he’d say in opposition to this flattery, you could still have a very tough time convincing me that Drew Angotti doesn’t walk on water.

We used to joke about growing up and becoming friends, you know, visiting the Pro Football Hall of Fame, going to Tobymac concerts, and starting a youth -not-for-profit together; and truthfully, I think that was just my hopes at talking about staying in touch at all.

Wouldn’t you know we have stayed friends! It’s been neat to feel and acknowledge God’s movement through the way we’ve grown as individuals, as friends, and as brothers.

Drew was the best man in my wedding. His kids call me “Uncle Neal”.

Drew has since “figured out” what he is doing as a youth minister. He’s led some of the largest youth programming in the country in several different states and has taken several students to different missions in different sectors of the globe including the rainforest in South America and Kenya, Africa.

We feel called to begin a partner-based ministry, “CatchFire Youth Resourcing” (Name Pending), where he and I will seek to together be a presence in the national conversation around youth and youth ministry. And even though we can’t been together in proximity, it has been a blessing to share my ministry with him in spirit from the sands of Vero Beach, to the sand on the floor of the Upper Room.

This isn’t at all to say that we don’t argue. Matter of fact, we argue daily – it’s what makes both of us better. Hopefully, our friendship is a small scale model of what our theology is about; that we stand to grow and learn more from the conversations in between what we think and what we know.

Drew argued that Jesus was a revolutionary and I much later agreed that he was right.

Drew argued that (at the time) 15 years later, Tupac Shakur would still be a legend and nobody would remember who the heck “Master P” was. Years later, I admit, he was right.

Drew argued that there was nothing un-manly about unscented candles in the living room. Again, Drew was right.

In the 15 year span, so much has changed, the Miami Heat have gone from a Big Three of Jamal Mashburn, Alonzo Mourning, and Tim Hardaway walking into the loser’s bracket once again, to a star-studded Big Three led by Small Forward All-Everything-yet-Mr-Bad-Guy Lebron James, just one win away from the franchise’s second championship.

Some things have changed drastically

and some things remain the same.

But yesterday, Drew told me that Lebron James does not deserve the hate he’s been getting.

As an avid Lebron-Hater ( I’ve been rooting for the OKC Thunder… even as a MIAMI NATIVE), I rattled off my list of reasons why Lebron James is bad for basketball:

-He’s spoiled

- He broke the “system”

- He whines alot

- He’s too Tim Tebowie

Lebron: TOO Hated?

However, once again, Drew found a way to relate basketball, my faith, and reality, in a way that made it all so clear for me:

Granted, the guy screwed up…terribly! But since then what his been his crime? What exactly has he done wrong? I never hear him speak poorly about the opposition. I never hear him too boastful or proud. He always seems to say the right thing at the right time. He works his behind off. I would not even have a problem if he were someone my son or daughter wanted to listen to or follow.

So at a time where he has played the best basketball of his career, and is on the cusp of winning his first ring (probably as the finals MVP), can we possibly just ease up on the hating…even a little bit. I am not saying that we need to love the guy, but during a time when we seem to be able to forgive sports figures for animal abuse, adultery, drunk driving and domestic violence, can’t we forgive a guy for making a poor P.R. decision when he was barely a grown up?

Forgiving Lebron is something that is going to be good for me – and it represents the type of world I want to live in. And it’s the healthy, fair, (gasp) Christian(?) thing to do.

Do me a favor, head over to Drew’s blog and show him some love for me? (Read Drew’s blog: here)

As for me, tonight, I’ll be rooting for the Miami Heat.

How about you?

The Best Man I Know

A Letter to My 2 Month-Old Daughter

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Dear Burger,

Happy two-month birthday!

I’ve been gone (not home, that is) a considerable amount during your second month. It’s been hard on some days for us to remember that the calling that pulls/leads me away from you for days at a time is the same calling that provides for you and I to be together a lot more than many daughters and daddies I know.

I’m writing this at the shores of the Pacific Ocean. The water is much colder but the sand is exactly the same as back home. It always amazes me how something so far away can be so different and so the same – but I find it happens a lot.
You won’t remember this, but between our mission trip and this conference, I was home to hold your and your mommy for a few hours. It’s incredible how much you changed in just that short time; I wish you wouldn’t do that, but I understand.

Your face seems to have doubled in size, it takes a few more seconds to smother it with kisses. Make no mistake about it, you’re gonna have to let me know three years before you’re ready to stop doing that, it’s gonna take me a while to adjust.

Your cry sounds much different. In a way, it seems much more… Rational(?). Good for you, kiddo! You’re mommy and I are anxious to communicate with you. This guessing what you’re feeling thing is beginning to drive us crazy, even of there indeed are only a few different options.

I want you to know how much I miss being around you, but I also feel responsible for helping you understand how important it is that I not always be with you.

You see, there might be times where you might want or need us, but your mommy and daddy will be working with other kids. This will never be related to how much we love you. It is much more because:

- the time we invest with other students allows us the opportunity to invest more time into our relationship with you. But more importantly,

- we believe God has called us to live a life that is not just about ourselves. Your mommy and I want nothing more than to spend every second of our lives with you. But that wouldn’t behold for you, it wouldn’t be good for us, and it wouldn’t be fulfilling our responsibility. And, if we’re gonna spend our extra non-family time with others, students are a great people to be around. We expect that many of these students will help us love you and grow you in ways that will enhance your life. And perhaps most of all,

- your mommy and I are blessed to be working in the realms we feel called to be in. We could only hope the same for you. We have found our lives to be transformed through the lives of the loving, challenging people that we have known. It is fair, just, and right to attempt to pay that back into the community that will continue to change our lives. We invest what we do away from you on behalf of what we hope for your world to be.

But we’ll work on all that, okay? We’ve got some time.

In the meantime, I’ll see you late tomorrow night. Save daddy a bottle, okay?

Love you always,

Daddy

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