Category: Stanglin Family (page 1 of 15)

It Runs in the Family

We pass on to our kids the things we’re passionate about. It’s no accident or surprise that kids really love a lot of thing their parents love. You ask a hunter why he loves hunting and he’ll probably say, “It just runs in our family. My dad took me hunting, my granddad took him hunting, and I take my boy hunting. We’re just a hunting family.”

Why do you like Classic Rock? Why do you listen to Led Zeppelin and the Eagles and Van Halen? “My dad loved Classic Rock. That’s all we listened to growing up. He took me to my first Aerosmith concert when I was thirteen. We sang Tom Petty songs in the car all the time. It just runs in our family.”

Carrie-Anne and I are very passionate about Texas. We love Texas, we love being Texans. We want to talk to like Texans and think like Texans and act like Texans and eat like Texans. And our kids are the exact same way. Why? Because we took them to the Alamo and bought them all Davy Crockett coonskin caps when they were little. We took their pictures in huge fields of Bluebonnets every spring. We celebrate Texas Independence Day in our house every year. Carrie-Anne taught the girls how to make guacamole and how to make chili — no beans! And we only put mustard on our hamburgers — not ketchup; and never mayonnaise! When Valerie and Carley cross the Texas state line going to or coming from college, they call us and sing the Texas state song over the phone. Why? Because we did that together on all our vacations and road trips. It runs in the family.

Being Texas Rangers fans runs in our family. My dad took me to Rangers games at the old Arlington Stadium and Carrie-Anne’s parents took her. And we got our kids to the Ballpark as fast as we could. Sure, early on, they only went so they could get pink cotton candy and a Lemon Chill. But we kept going. Dozens and dozens and dozens of hot, sweaty, miserable, summer nights. But today our girls know who Nolan Ryan is and they know Johnny Oates and Rusty Greer and Adrian Beltre and they know Kenny Rogers’ perfect game and they know Nellie Cruz misplayed that ball in right field. Our kids are Rangers fans. Why? You can ask them. It runs in the family.

We pass on our passions. We transmit our treasures.

We all have dreams for our kids. We have goals we want them to achieve. We buy the school supplies at Office Max because we know our boy is going to be a rocket scientist. We buy the special ruler so he can be a rocket scientist. Of course, he uses the ruler to fling spitwads across the room when the teacher’s not looking. We try so hard with our kids. We want so much for them.

But when it comes to our faith and Christianity and our single-minded devotion to the Lord, some of us back off with our kids. We don’t want to push it. You want them to chart their own course and make their own decisions. You want them to have their own faith. You don’t want to force anything on them.

Well, let me tell you something: You’re the only one who doesn’t want to push something on your kids!

Everybody’s teaching your kids and they all have an agenda. The entertainment they consume, the iPhones they use, the designers of the games they play, the textbooks they read, the advertisements they see, the sports they play, and the cultural air they breathe — everybody’s pushing their agenda and their worldview onto your children and grandchildren. You’re the only one who’s not.

What you want — and it takes effort and hard work and commitment — is somebody to ask your kids, “Are you a Christian?” And they answer, “Yeah, of course. It runs in my family.”

Peace,

Allan

March 2 in Oklahoma

Carrie-Anne and I are spending Texas Independence Day in the state of Oklahoma. The timing’s not great. I should be on Texas soil today, with Texans, breathing Texas air, listening to Stevie Ray Vaughan, eating tacos, and reading a Larry McMurtry book. We’re in a state today where the citizens are so proud of their heritage they declare on their license plates that their home is “OK.” Gives me chills.

It’s Spring Sing time at OC. Valerie’s in charge of Theta’s makeup, she’s singing and dancing on the front row of Theta’s patriotic show, and she’s helping Gamma Rho with their Grinch fingers.  Carley is Theta’s self-proclaimed “play-pusher.” I didn’t know what that was until she explained she’s the one who pushes “play” to start their soundtrack. My nephew Asa is in Delta and their lifeguard show is hilarious. We’re staying at my sister Rhonda’s house, getting caught up on family stuff, eating her homemade chili, and getting ready for the show and the awards tonight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, Happy Texas Independence Day from Oklahoma.

To scratch your Texas itch on this most wonderful of days, click here for a 601-word history of our great state. And, maybe, put another dozen or so slices of jalapeno in that chili.

Howdy,

Allan

After Delivery

My Aunt Alice finished her race yesterday. And she ran well. She ran very well. In honor of her, I’m posting the following short story my Uncle Gerald shared with me a couple of weeks ago. This story has come to mean so much to both of them in helping to articulate the hope and the reality of everlasting life after death in the presence of our heavenly Father. Uncle Gerald has asked me to read it at Aunt Alice’s funeral this Friday in Kilgore. I’m honored. And I share it with you today, praying it encourages you, too.

In a mother’s womb were two babies. One asked the other: “Do you believe in life after delivery?” The other replied, “Well, of course! There has to be life after delivery. I believe we’ve been placed here to prepare ourselves for what will be later.”

“Nonsense,” said the first. “There is no life after delivery. What kind of life would that be?”

The second said, “I don’t know, but there will be more light than we have here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat with our mouths. Maybe we will have other senses that we can’t understand now.”

The first replied, “That is absurd. Walking is impossible. And eating with our mouths? Ridiculous! The umbilical cord supplies nutrition and everything we need. Life after delivery is not logical.”

The second insisted, “Well, I think there is something else and maybe it’s different than it is here. Maybe we won’t need this physical cord anymore.”

The first replied, “Hogwash! Plus, if there is life after delivery, why has no one ever come back from there? Delivery is the end of life. After delivery, there is nothing but darkness and silence and oblivion. It takes us nowhere.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said the second, “but certainly we will meet Mother and she will take care of us.”

The first replied, “Mother? You actually believe in Mother? That’s laughable. If Mother exists, where is she?”

The second said, “She is all around us. We are surrounded by her. We are of her. It is in her that we live. Without her, this world would not and could not exist. And neither could we.”

Said the first, “Well, I don’t see her, so it’s only logical that she doesn’t exist.”

To which the second replied, “Sometimes, when you’re in silence and you focus and listen, you can perceive her presence and you can hear her loving voice calling down from above.”

God bless Aunt Alice. May he receive her into his faithful arms. And may God bless Uncle Gerald and our whole family with his merciful blessings of comfort and peace and joy.

Peace,

Allan

Christmas Vacation

We are back home today after spending a wonderful four days snow skiing with the entire Stanglin clan up at Wolf Creek in Colorado. Mom and Dad got the condos, we all shared the cooking, Rhonda planned the games, and nobody died.

Carrie-Anne and Whitney didn’t brave the slopes, opting instead to hang out around Pagosa Springs and do some shopping and, mainly, chilling. Carley got a massive migraine halfway through our first day of skiing and so it was really just Valerie and me swooshing down the mountain together with my three siblings and all their kids and the one in-law. It snowed the whole time we were there — no wind, just perfect skiing conditions. And we just had a blast.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I regret not skiing for the past 29 years. I totally forgot how much fun it is. And it was so much more fun sharing it with my family: watching Isaac and Paul pick it up so quickly, re-living high school ski trip memories with Rhonda, listening to Keith curse the hill at the top of Windjammer, secretly reveling in the fact that there is one single specific thing  — one part of one slope — I can do better than Caleb, marveling at the first aid kit / pantry / pharmacy that is Sharon’s coat, sharing candy bars and beef jerky on the lifts, and laughing out loud with everybody about almost everything.

And I didn’t get hurt. The only times I fell was when I was trying to keep up with Valerie. I gave up on that after the first day; that little girl can ski! Well, also, the times I was just standing there on flat ground talking and got my skis and poles crossed up and took a couple of people down with me.

I wish we could have stayed another three or four days. I completely forgot how much I love skiing. Here in Amarillo, we’re only four hours away from New Mexico skiing and we’re just as close to the Colorado mountains as we are to Dallas. It won’t be another 29 years before I do this again. It might be Spring Break.

Peace,

Allan

Carley: Peace, Out!

Our youngest daughter Carley graduated with honors and a dozen cords around her neck from Canyon High School Friday night. The ceremony at West Texas A&M’s United Bank Center was preceded by a Tex-Mex feast at our house attended by most of our scattered family and Central covenant group and followed by Ping-Pong doubles and more Blue Bell afterward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The weekend will go down in family lore as the time Keith brought the Griff’s cup, when Carley forgot her gold National Honor Society tassel, and when Calico County couldn’t quite handle fifteen for breakfast.

 

 

 

 

Thank you so much to everyone in our immediate family and our wonderful church family who have made the past couple of weeks so memorable for Carley and us. Thank you for taking the time and energy to share your love and pour yourself into our daughter.

Peace,

Allan

Recreating the Laundry Hamper Pic

The first picture was taken twelve years ago when Valerie and Carley were six and eight-years-old. We were living in Kyle and Marti Futrell’s rent house on Mission Hills Road in Marble Falls while I was going to grad school in Austin. The laundry hamper in the master bath was a favorite hiding spot and they played in there often. I have no idea where the ivy on the counter came from.

The second picture was taken today, right after lunch, just before Valerie headed back to OC. Valerie and Carley are eighteen and twenty and they don’t fit in tight places the way they used to. The ivy is twelve years older, too.

Peace,

Allan

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