Eight days, seven nights, six souvenir T-shirts, five suitcases, four corners, three cliff dwellings, two canyons, one blog post. Yes, these are vacation pictures. A ton of vacation pictures. My family and I have returned from a nearly two-thousand-mile drive together to the Grand Canyon and back. Our trip included the tram ride to the top of Sandia Peak, an all-day visit to the Painted Desert and the Petrified Forest, climbing all over the lava flows at Sunset Crater, a hike down to the bottom of Walnut Canyon, the ruins at Mesa Verde, and rafting the Lower Animas River in Durango. We even took some pictures on a Sunday afternoon standin’ on a corner in Winslow, Arizona. But, settle down. It’s not like I’ve invited you over for dinner and then set up a big screen in the living room with a projector and forced you to look at all 450 of my slides and listen to at least 400 stories about them. These are just pictures and brief captions. You can click on each pic to get the bigger size. Or you can ignore this all together. I’ll never know.
Category: Stanglin Family (Page 16 of 25)
Yeah, it’s a Skip Bayless headline, but it’s the best I’ve got today on just four-and-a-half hours of sleep.
It was a rock-and-roll night in Amarillo, starting with the 70+ mph winds at 5:00 in the evening that downed a huge billboard on Western Street, to the tornado warnings and funnel clouds spotted at 45th and Soncy, about a mile and a half from our house, to the five or six minutes of intense wind and hail that drove all five of us to the closet with our pillows and cell phones. Neither of last night’s two tornadoes — the one near our house and the one near downtown — actually touched the ground. But the hail and the high winds did plenty of damage to the Sleepy Hollow and Puckett neighborhoods of southwest Amarillo.
The tornado warning was issued for Randall County at just before 11:00 last night. I woke up Carrie-Anne and we started getting the closet ready. I moved Whitney’s truck as close to the northeast corner of the house as I could, locked all the doors, and closed all the shutters. I grabbed the weather radio out of the garage, a flashlight, and one more Diet Dr Pepper, and headed back to the TV in our bedroom to watch the radar. It was definitely coming our way. In fact, John Harris, the guy on channel four, drew the path of the storm and said, “It’s going to travel east right between 45th and 34th.” He may as well have drawn a little house on his map and said, “Right there, the Stanglins’ house, that’s where it’s going to hit!” The sirens started sounding in our neighborhood at about 11:10, prompting us to wake up the girls and herd them down the hall to the closet. 
While they were hunkering down, I kept my radar vigil in the bedroom until they announced the tornado at 45th and Soncy. It was dark, of course, and I couldn’t see the sky. I had no feel for what was really happening. So, for the first time in my life, I actually got in the closet with Carrie-Anne and the girls. Whew, it was hot in there. All five of us with our pillows and blankets and more than a little anxiety and stress. Yuk. I left the door cracked just enough so we could get a little bit of air and still listen to the TV. I texted with John Todd, who had experienced the storm first in Bushland and came out OK. I talked briefly to Greg Dowell, whose family had already fled to the safety of Doug Hershey’s basement. Declan called to tell me that he and some friends were determined to stay outside through the storm. (Way to go, Declan!) And the girls were all texting their friends, too.
Then it hit. Hard. Loud. Scary. Five or six minutes of high winds and heavy hail. Almost an inch-and-a-quarter of rain. Our house was just getting pounded. And then, in an instant, it was over. Almost too quickly, it was over. We hesitated to come out. Is it safe? Is it really over? Are we in the middle of something and about to get slammed by the back end of it?
Then I heard John Harris freaking out on the TV. They got a visual of the downtown funnel just down the street from their studios and they were scrambling. The on-air guys were yelling for everybody to get in the bathrooms. They were knocked off the air for about thirty seconds. And I couldn’t stand it anymore. I jumped up to watch and, once I got a look at the radar, realized we were in the clear. It was time to go outside and check the property.
It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. I assumed our four sky lights were going to be smashed, but somehow they made it OK. The only broken glass was on the north side of the house where the hail broke through two of our game room windows. Thankfully, those windows are double-paned, so all the weather stayed outside. And one fence post was blown down along the driveway in the back. The ping-pong ball sized hail stripped our flowerbeds and scattered leaves and twigs all over the yard and street. The hail was stacked up in big drifts in lots of places and was spread out like snow in others. But, other than that, there’s just going to be a lot of raking and sweeping over the next day or two.
Well, and I may want to think about adding a ceiling fan to that closet.
Peace,
Allan
(The opening paragraph with all the meteorological details is for my dad because… well, because he’d be extremely disappointed if I didn’t. Of course, mom, you’ll have to print this off and hand it to him.)
It’s official! The National Weather service measured an even nineteen inches of snow at the airport today, falling just three-tenths of an inch shy of the all-time record for snow in Amarillo during a 24-hour period which was set way back in 1934. While achieving close-but-no-cigar status on that all-time mark, today’s snow dump did set a couple of other records worth noting. It breaks the all-time February 25th record of ten inches and the all-time record for any day in February, twelve inches set back in 1893. If you want some real perspective on the grand scale of all this, consider that the Donut Stop was closed today. First time in nearly forty years. So, yeah, this doesn’t happen all the time up here. Not even close. What we’re enjoying here is downright rare and even historic. 
The snow stopped at about 2:00 this afternoon and the winds died down from the 50-55 mph range (a top gust of 75 mph was observed at the airport! That’s for you, too, dad.) to about 15-20 mph and the clouds actually cleared out enough for the sun to shine through for a couple of hours. Carley and I did venture back out in the mess to do a little more exploring and tackle a couple of building projects while the other three girls in the house drank hot chocolate and watched “Lord of the Rings.” (Help me.)
Carley and I buried each other in the snow, made snow angels with disproportionately small heads in the four-foot drifts in the alley, shoveled the front walk and half of the back drive, surveyed wind damage at a couple of spots in our fence, visited with neighbor Joe and his precious little girl as they cleared their driveway, and talked for a while with neighbor Warner and his little dog, Charlie, as they braved the elements for a much needed walk. As for the building projects, we attempted to dig a long tunnel under the massive drifts in front of the house (failed), build a snowman (failed), build a snow flamingo with a super long neck (failed), and construct a very sophisticated igloo / fort (jury’s still out on the fort; it got dark before we finished). Valerie did venture out once this afternoon to collect enough snow to make some delicious snow ice cream. It was treacherous for her as Carley and I bombed her with snowballs as she scrambled back to the door. The ice cream is excellent!
I’ve spent a good deal of the in-between time today reading a new book, Lombardi and Landry. It’s written by Ernie Palladino, a long time beat writer for the New York Giants back in the 50s with the Journal News. The whole book tracks the beginnings of the Hall of Fame careers of Tom Landry and Vince Lombardi, when they both worked together on the Giants’ staff of head coach Jim Lee Howell. Can you imagine that? Lombardi running the offense and Landry in charge of the defense. It was said at the time that Howell was just in charge of blowing up the footballs during those championship years. It’s a fairly decent read so far, all of it written from the Giants’ perspective and, in my view, a little Lombardi heavy. I was surprised to read Palladino giving Landry credit for suggesting the Giants move Kyle Rote from halfback to flanker and changing Sam Huff from an offensive lineman to the first true middle linebacker in football history. Of course, the rest is history with those two legendary players. But I’ve never heard Landry credited with those obviously important decisions. I read Huff’s autobiography a couple of years ago, and I don’t remember reading anything about that. Anyway, it’s an OK book. I’m almost halfway through it. I’m up to the 1956 championship season, Frank Gifford’s breakout year. 
School has already been cancelled for tomorrow. Again. It’s supposed to get down to nine-degrees tonight with wind chills below zero. So, no alarm clocks! Maybe we’ll finish the fort tomorrow. Maybe it’ll be OK after lunch to try to get out on the road, see a movie or something. Maybe I’ll just throw another few logs on the fireplace and keep reading.
Peace,
Allan
It’s almost noon Monday, there are thirteen-plus inches of snow on the ground, 36-plus-inch drifts here and there around our house, and it’s still coming! Sideways! It’s supposed to keep snowing until maybe 5:00 or 6:00 this evening, and the winds are still supposed to be blowing at a sustained 40-45 miles per hour with gusts of 50-55 miles per hour until Tuesday night. The National Weather Service “Blizzard Warning” remains in effect for all of Amarillo until 3:00 tomorrow morning. And we are stuck. I mean stuck big time. We’re not going anywhere today and maybe not even tomorrow.
It’s so cool!
We knew something was happening. They had issued the Blizzard Warning late Saturday afternoon. But when we walked out of Ruby T’s after church at 1:00 yesterday, the skies were clear, the sun was shining, winds were calm, and it was 65-degrees. Carrie-Anne and Valerie went to the store to grab a few things for small group and came home reporting long lines, huge crowds, empty shelves, and near chaos of apocalyptic proportions. It was like Russia near the end of the Cold War. The front hit about an hour later and it snowed a little bit between 6:00 and 7:00. But when we left the Bentleys’ house at about 8:00 it was all gone. No snow.
Until 10:00. That’s when it really started pouring. And it hasn’t let up since. 
We had just settled in to watch the news and Carrie-Anne spotted it first. I wasn’t really looking for it, I wasn’t expecting it. But she saw it on the little crawl at the bottom of the TV screen. “Did that say Amarillo ISD?” I rewound the beginning of the local news a couple of clicks on the back button (Thank you, DVR!) and oh, my word, there it was! Amarillo ISD classes canceled along with almost every other school district in the tri-state area.
Those of you reading this post from outside the panhandle don’t fully appreciate the magnitude of this development. I really didn’t, either, until I had exchanged a few texts with Kim, a local principal here and a great friend of ours from Central. Yes, we’re in the middle of only our second winter up here, and, yes, we’ve only experienced a couple of bad snows. But school has not been canceled one time for weather. Not for a seven-inch snow last year and not for a three or four inch snow two weeks ago. According to Kim, this is only the second time in the past forty years (!!!) that Amarillo ISD has cancelled classes for snow the night before the actual event. Whoa.
After Doppler Dave and Prowlin’ Allan and all the other local weather men assured us that, yeah, this one’s going to be for real, I made the decision to head back up to the church building and get all my stuff for Wednesday night’s class and next Sunday’s class and sermon. Just in case. I had about a half mile visibility to and from the church building. And I was the only one on I-40. I didn’t see any other vehicles the whole way there and back. By the time I got home at 11:00, it was on. For real.
We stayed up another hour or so watching the snow pour down. We went to sleep with the consistent howl of the north winds as a background track and woke up this morning to snow like I’ve never seen in my life. Three and four foot drifts and snow blowing so hard I couldn’t see our back fence from the back door. The snow plows weren’t even running because of zero visibility. This is a real-deal blizzard! All the highways are completely closed: I-40 in and out of Amarillo is shut down; I-27 between Amarillo and Lubbock is closed both ways; 287 is also closed both ways. There’s no getting in or out. Some of the drifting in the middle of our alley and down Roxton is 24-inches deep. I couldn’t get anywhere in this if I wanted to.
And… I kind of want to.
Carley and I were the only ones to brave the outdoors this morning. The other three women in the house are enjoying the blizzard wrapped up in blankets on the couches watching “Fried Green Tomatoes.” Wimps. So my youngest daughter and I bundled up and explored the property, plowing through almost waist high drifts, marveling at the cool snow sculptures shaped by the wind around our eaves and fences, and taking a lot of measurements and pictures.
We’re going to do a little more of that later today, maybe after lunch. There’s a big pot of chicken and dumplings on the stove and, once we’re sufficiently warmed back up, Carley and I will get back outside.
All my appointments and meetings have been canceled for today and tomorrow and we really are stuck here at the house.
I can’t imagine that anything will happen until Wednesday or Thursday. It really is a mess out there. My sister, Rhonda, told me this morning that I’d better watch it or I’ll start feeling like Jack Nicholson in “The Shining.” So, you might pay attention to my blog. If I write, “All work and no play makes Allan a dull boy” over and over again, call somebody.
Peace,
Allan
As the father of three teenage daughters (OK, technically Carley turns 13 next week), I have a lot to fear. I fear the boys. I fear the proms and the weddings. I fear the drama. I fear the things I don’t understand and can never relate to. And, did I mention, I fear the boys. But I also have another fear. I fear that one day one of my daughters may tell me she’s not interested in my religion.
My religion.
I’m human. Oh, my word, yes, I’m human. And as a father, my potential for failure is great. In my efforts to protect them and shape them and provide for them everything they’re going to need to fully function in this world and, at the same time, deny them the things they want that would ambush that process, I’m scared to death of being too strict. And in my sincere struggles to be open and accessible and relational, I’m scared to death I won’t have the courage or integrity to give them the proper structure and rigid discipline they need. My fear is that some day one or more of my daughters, damaged maybe by my failures as a dad, might see some connection between those failures and my religion. It would be easy to do. I’m afraid they could use that as an excuse to leave the Church. I’m not crazy, right? You’ve thought similar things before, yes?
So, I’m determined to teach my girls that my religion is not my religion; my faith is not my faith. It’s much, much bigger than that. I received it from my parents who, in turn, received it from their parents. The Christian faith in our family is deep and old. It belongs to me because I inherited it from them and didn’t throw it away. I’ve held it in trust for my kids. I’m passing it on.
I tell my daughters that rejecting the faith is not simply a matter of throwing away the tastes of their parents; it’s not just chunking my idiosyncrasies or abandoning my methods of control. Christianity is a long held belief about the nature of true reality. Our faith is a way of looking at life and living in this world. It’s been attested to by millions of very different people over many different centuries in a great variety of many different circumstances in countless different ways. It’s not just mine. The faith is universal and eternal. It’s everything.
Yes, my kids will be free to accept or reject the faith. But I’m doing everything I can to make sure they understand that what they choose to accept or reject is not simply their parents’ religion. It’s an old, old faith. One faith. Just one. The significance of the differences among the Christian denominations is made totally insignificant by the great march of time. This one great thing to be accepted or rejected is not my religion, not my family’s religion, not the U.S.A.’s religion. It is the Christian faith. It’s been passed down for over two thousand years. Each denomination has passed it down and transmitted what all Christians everywhere for all time have confessed. It’s one eternal faith.
Any faith that is Christian certainly has the proper pedigree. If it claims Jesus as the Son of God and the only way to the Father; if it claims salvation through the death, burial and resurrection of the Christ incarnate; if it claims Jesus as the exclusive Savior of the World, it goes directly back to the original apostles who saw and heard everything and to whom it was all revealed by the Holy Spirit.
We can’t say the words “my faith” apart from owning a faith that came from others. We all know that. But I’m not sure we teach it enough. This is not a private thing, or even a familial thing. It’s much more than family or denomination or nation or century or era. It is mere Christianity. It’s ancient and universal. And it’s weightier and more worthy than all the faulty expressions we’ve experienced in our churches or in our parents.
Now, I’m still scared. And I’m still very, very aware of my great potential for failure as a dad. But my kids are all going to know that Christianity is not my faith, nor my religion. It belongs to eternity.
Peace,
Allan
Carrie-Anne, Carley, and I are headed to Cheddar’s this afternoon for our last American meal for ten days (I lost; I wanted Blue Sky) before settling in for an almost twelve hour flight to Sao Paulo, Brazil. We’re excited to see Whitney and Valerie and the rest of our Central church youth group. We’re ready to hear the stories and get caught up on what God is doing there with and through our great friends. And we’re very much anticipating the rest of what the Spirit of our Father has in store.
I do know that trips like this, especially all five of us together, will shape us as a family more into the image of our risen Lord. We’re going to see up close what our God is doing outside of our American Church of Christ box. We’re going to experience the Kingdom of God more fully than we ever have before. We’re going to sing and worship, study and pray, laugh and cry with brothers and sisters in Christ who don’t speak our language. And we’re going to come, as a family, to a far greater understanding of the magnificent scope of his redeeming work in this world.
We’re also going to realize that it’s possible to survive for ten days without Dr Pepper. I hope.
The blogging will be sporadic at best for the next week and a half. Pray for the hearts of the people in Brazil — those brothers and sisters we’re going to encourage and those outside the Kingdom we’re trying to reach for our Christ. And ask our God to transform our group from Central, to do more with us than we could ever begin to ask or imagine.
Peace,
Allan







































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