The One You Love

One of the things that I will always remember from my short time in Virginia is the time you spend at night. During the day, I would futilely fill out job applications and drive around to figure out where I was. But, around 5:00 I would get bored until Kyle came home. To stave off boredom, I would cook dinner, and put on music to dance to in the kitchen. I would meticulously plan so that dinner would be finished the exact moment he walked in the door (much to his delight).

One thing I noticed was how fun it was to come home at the end of the day and there not be a dark apartment, but the smell of a warm meal and warm reception. Even now, Kyle jokes about me coming up to be his cook and how I'll make a good li'l housewife one day. There wasn't much in the way of planning. Just buy groceries and cook what you had. Nothing absolutely astonishing came out of the oven, we decided what to eat the night before.

I like living with a dog now. Chester is always happy when I come in the door and it makes for a warm welcome. I think I understand why people have dogs, because whoever gets home first isn't denied a loving hello from someone who misses them.

And in a 'round about way I think of my future family. One day I'll probably open the door and some rugrat will come and wrap itself around my leg, there will be evening plans and I will get to enjoy the love of a family. And today, I realize I couldn't live alone because I need someone to be there, not as a crutch but as a reassurance that I'm not the only soul in this world. That other people smile and hurt and live and breathe like I do except that they live a life separate from mine.

One of my favorite memories is my parents kissing each other three times before they left the house or after they arrived. It taught me to always come home to the one you love, because often times they love you right back.

It's 4:35 on a Monday and now I'm going home to see Chester and hopefully Jim is there already.

namaste

vaya con Dios

What magazines do you read?

Recently, (this morning) I was reading a magazine for Christian ministers. Amongst the articles covering an Assembly of God convention, music reviews, and a touching piece on the lawyer called the "Conscience of China's" disappearance, there were countless advertisements. Books and colleges dominate the purchasers of ad space. Quick note, I'm not accusing Christian magazines of selling out; they need ad revenue to keep subscriptions cheap.

Dominating the wording in the ads were adjectives like extreme, revolutionary, relevant, and the like, all describing how these various books could change your life and the world. Nestled in the bottom corner of one page was an editorial cartoon with the caption, "You say you have interest in ministry, but you don't drink craft beer, haven't seen a Wes Anderson movie, nor have you grown a goatee." All these things are intended as to be relevant to a modern twenty-something culture. The cartoon didn't come down on these things and I realize it is making (a very accurate) stereotype (says the goatee sporting, craft beer snob who recently saw 'The Darjeeling Limited').

But, I guess the thing that gets me is that we, Christians, use this language among ourselves. As if we have lost the meaning of Scripture and need a couple of self-help books and a cool CD to reintroduce the Bible to us. It makes me question why I do the things I do. Why do I say I enjoy the outdoors when I haven't been camping in over a year? I like mountain biking, but my tires are worn from riding miles on the pavement and not the trail. I have a goatee because I can't grow a full beard and Abbie likes it. Why am I pursuing a life in ministry? Do I want to fight making a religion that has never nor ever will be relevant to culture, relevant to culture? The 'Conscience of China' saw the followers of an ancient Chinese religion being tortured, and he, because of his Christian worldview, sued the government; while in America we (Christians) hear about prisoners being tortured in Gitmo and do not demand the government be true to their call to be the last, great hope. No we left that battle to the Left because we were to busy arguing that homosexuals can't call themselves married while half of our followers file for divorce and have unwed mothers.

I guess I want to believe I'm going to be a part of a group that is more concerned about the state of man's soul than the color of walls, order of worship, or style of singing. I want to be a part of a group that will not worry if they are relevant and just be true to their hearts seeking after God.

namaste

vaya con Dios

I Need a Francis Fix

I was asked today whom I was listening to, which doesn't happen often. I live with a guy who introduces me to most of the music I know.

I told the person who asked that Hootie and the Blowfish was one of my favorite bands growing up. Maybe a little bit odd for a kid in elementary school, but it was the 90's and music was better. While most of my friends listened to Nirvana and Marlyn Manson, I listened to 'Cracked Rear View,' 'Fairweather Johnson,' 'Scattered, Smothered, and Covered,' and 'Musical Chairs.' Yeah I bought them all. Later, when I was in college, 'Looking for Lucky' spent an entire month in my CD player.

I started thinking how my taste in music now figure into my taste then. Now, I like decidedly more bluegrass styled music, and Hootie was rock, right? Listen to the later albums. It takes a definite bluesy, grassy shift.

The second thing that remains the same is the passion. Comparing The Avett Brothers' and Hootie's singing, I actually believe their lyrics. The way the song is sung means a lot to me. I want to feel what the artist is feeling, see what they saw, rip my heart out and give it to them. That's one of the reasons I don't listen to a lot of contemporary Christian music. Everything seems canned, polished, ...fake. I'd rather hear someone scream and cry out lyrics of jubilation than to hear someone hit a perfect high C. (Reasons I didn't and don't listen to Celine Dion and Mariah Carrey.)

Some things change and somethings never do.