Today is May 4th… National Star Wars Day: “May the 4th be with you.”

I think of Star Wars every time I give my youngest daughter Cheerios. When I open the box and smell the distinctive mix of oats and cardboard, I think of a Star Destroyer.

I was four years old when the original Star Wars was released. It is the first movie I remember. My mom took me to see it first, then my dad a second time, and then my granny. I can still remember sitting next to her as Ben Kenobi gives Luke his father’s light saber.

When I was four the only cereal I my parents fed me was Cheerios, and they had a special Star Wars poster folded up inside.  One morning my mom let me dig through the box and I pulled out my poster of a Star Destroyer.

It was like having the movie come alive at the breakfast table.

The next Christmas “Santa Clause” left me the original twelve Star Wars figures lined up in front of the tree (along with the mini-version Tie-fighter, X-wing fighter and Millennium Falcon. I was a little bummed because I asked him for the really really big ones, but it was still the best Christmas ever).

But my greatest Star Wars memory? Easy.

I was in second grade, and my mom woke me up for school like she did every morning. But this morning was different. “You’re not going to school today,” she said. “We’re going to go see the new Star Wars movie.”

Telling me there was a new Star Wars movie was far more important than saying I didn’t have to go to school.

“And we get to meet the Jedi Master.”

Best. Day. Ever.

I still don’t know why she kept  me from school and didn’t  take me to the movie later. Whatever the reason, when we went to the “The Empire Strikes Back” it solidified her as the best mom in the galaxy (and I still don’t know if she ever told my dad she kept me from school).

So when Darth Vader confessed he was Luke’s father, my whole world came undone. I remember grabbing my mom’s arm and not breathing for a few seconds. There was just no way. Every toy and picture book and re-enactment with my friends confirmed he was evil, but now…

I would spend the rest of elementary school discussing, dissecting and debating if Vader really was Luke’s father on the playground, at sleepovers and in Cub Scout meetings until “Return of the Jedi” three years later (and in an age of limited cable tv, few VCRs and no internet, how many times you had seen Star Wars was a badge of honor).

Star Wars is the greatest story of my generation. How many other movies and tv shows have some sort of Star Wars reference? How many words and phrases from the script are a part of our lexicon? Even the greatest commercial ever didn’t use dialogue. Just a music score with a kid in a black helmet, and most of us knew what was going on.

Star Wars ignited and sustained my imagination from four years old until, well… today (quick quiz: how many of you can mute one of the movies and quote all the dialogue verbatim?)

Now another generation is on board. Our neighbor’s five year old wears the same style Star Wars t-shirt I wore at his age. And my three year old daughter plays “getting the dragon” with a lightsaber… while making the standard whooshing/hum sound.

I’m okay with it. George Lucas may be doubling his money with our kids, but I appreciate their exposer to the imagination, the good vs. evil and the real story of Star Wars: redemption between a father and son.

So… “May the force be with you.”

And the people respond: “And also with you.”

Let us pray.

What’s your favorite Star Wars movie, moment or memory?

I am a writer who doesn’t write.

“A writer writes,” my friend J.D. keeps telling me.

I’ve got lots of stories and ideas, but I also have a wife and two little girls and a house and a job and friends. All these come first and there is so much to do with each of these… and then the beast creeps in: perfectionism. It doesn’t look or sound or feel exactly like I want it to or imagined it would.

So I don’t know where to begin and now I’m overwhelmed which leads to paralysis so I just turn on the t.v. and end up doing nothing.

And it’s not just writing that suffers. I’m also a pastor who doesn’t pray much… a father who doesn’t play enough with his kids… a husband who forgets to just shut up and cuddle with his wife more often… every part of my life, relationships, work and talents becomes “running to stand still.”

I tell J.D. I can’t get it all done. So he shares this story:

A young boy went to spend the summer working on his grandfather’s farm. The grandfather took his grandson to the back pasture, which was covered with brush, trash, and old farm junk. “Your job this summer is to clean up this back pasture so we can till the soil and plant some seeds,” the grandfather said.

After the old man left, the young boy looked around at all that needed to be done and became overwhelmed. There was no way to do this right. The pasture seemed so large, and the brush and junk so deep, that he had no idea where to begin. Completely overwhelmed, he sat down in one spot and spent the rest of the day trying to figure out where to begin.

The next day he walked back out to the pasture and was again overwhelmed by the amount of work to be done and how to do it right. He again became paralyzed by not knowing where to begin, and so again he picked a spot, sat down, and spent the rest of the day thinking of what to do. This became the young boy’s routine every day for the next several weeks.

When it was almost time to plant the seeds, the grandfather went out to the back pasture to see what the boy had done. He was astonished and confused to see his grandson sitting on a pile of brush. None of the trash and junk was cleaned up, and the brush was thicker. “What happened?” the old man asked. His grandson became ashamed. “I didn’t know where to begin,” the boy replied, and he went on to tell his grandfather about being overwhelmed and not knowing where to start.

The grandfather looked at his grandson and said, “If you had just cleaned up the spot you sat on each day, your work would be done.”

I love this story because, as a young boy, I would spend parts of my summers (and most of my holidays) working with my grandfather on his farm.

I also love this story because I’m trying to clear out a few pastures (my office, desk, inbox) and plant some seeds (write some stories, be a present husband and father, pay the bills on time).

Then J.D. brings it all home with this:

“Great is the enemy of good enough. Renounce perfectionism.”

So here is this new blog, even though it is far from perfect and I don’t know where to begin sharing stories. I’ve got to start somewhere, so I’ll start with this story today and clear out that spot.

What spot do you need to clear? What are you doing good enough where you can renounce perfect?