Three-in-one

Yesterday, I joined the teeming millions of Americans who were returning Christmas gifts that did not fit, or weren't the right color, or were just the wrong thing. Similarly, I'm now catching up on this blog. The Christmas season was going to be fun. I had a series planned dealing with the Christmas season. But instead, like those after-Christmas sales, you ramblers get a three-for-one deal.

December 25th, Christmas Day

One thing I am always struck by is the amount of charity at Christmas-time. At what other point in the year is it not weird for a person to stand outside Wal-Mart, bell ringing to implore you to give to a worthy cause? At what other point in the year do Marines stop and collect toys to give to needy children? When else, do we look back at the past, let family pull our heart-strings, sing corny songs, throw parties, buy gifts?!

None other time comes close.

"For unto us this day, in the city of David, a child is born..." "And He will be called Emmanuel, 'God with us.'"

Yeah, I know the church picked this time of year to coincide with Mirtha and Saturnalia. But, whom do we celebrate? This isn't a "reason for the season" post. In fact, that's an honest question. Did you know? Black Friday is called such, because it is the day when most retail goes "in the black" for the fiscal year. Maybe we celebrate us. Our buying power. Our consumer culture. Where social standing is defined by possession. Parents put themselves in debt to satisfy their children. A pseudo-religion. The indebtedness is a near perfect analogy for the self-flagellation and sacrifice required by ancient religions. The consumer gods are satisfied by our self-inflicted wounds.

It makes me think, is the reason we are so charitable, because we feel so guilty. We empty some of our pocket change into red kettles. We buy a cheap toy so that every child can open something on Christmas morning. At Christmas, does our consumerism become so apparent, does the disparity between the haves and the have-nots become so clear, that we cannot help but be guilted into charity?

Is there hope from this cycle? Yes, because the promised gift of Christmas is freedom from the rat-race. Jesus begs us to stop shepherding, stop looking at stars, and visit a small child who will change the world.

December 26th, Feast of Stephen

You may want to listen to this during this post. Growing up, my brother and I always made fun of the day after Christmas. The calendar called it 'Boxing Day,' and it was for Canadians. I mean what are they doing hitting each other? Bwaahahahahah!

Well actually, it's the day that the poor would put out boxes and and collect alms. It is the feast day of Stephen. Stephen was one of the first deacons, charged with feeding the poor of Jerusalem. It is the day we honor his memory as martyr by continuing his work. Stephen engaged in his work so thoroughly he caught the attention of the Sanhedrin. When asked for a defense, he began with Abraham and preached the gospel to them, indicting them for working against God. He was then stoned.

When you work for peace, you will always be persecuted by someone. But in His last Beatitude, Jesus called those blessed and promised them the kingdom of Heaven. And, as Stephen's life was extinguished, Jesus stood from His throne and welcomed him.

December 28th, Feast of the Holy Innocents

The Twelve Days of Christmas is more than a silly song with a bunch of useless gifts. It's a collection of feast days of the church leading up to Epiphany on January 5th (or 6th depending on your tradition). On this day, we remember that Jesus' birth was marked by Herod killing a generation of boys. Boys whose crime was being born at the wrong time. Today, we still feel the effects of this massacre. Not necessarily Herod's, but there is a massacre of children today. Where their innocence is stolen by for them into the sex trade, or fighting wars, or gang violence.

But we can help. We can fight back. We can comfort Rachel's weeping.

"There is hope for your future, declares the LORD,

and your children shall come back to their own country."

Jeremiah 31:17

namaste

DIOS le bendiga

Morton Square

Today I found out that I have a cracked and bruised tibula, bruised femur, radially torn meniscus, partially torn MCL, and a fully torn ACL. This reminds me of an old saying...

"When it rains, it pours."

It's this idea, that if one bad thing happens, a bunch of bad things happen. You know like, you never feel one raindrop. So here it is my rainstorm...

I have pretty crappy insurance, because I'm young and healthy. It pays for when I have a cough or something, not major things. It's a $3000 deductible. An MRI to tell you what's wrong with your knee cost $580 (it's not covered by my insurance). I'm going to have a brace made for my leg, and surgery to repair my ACL. I don't know how much that will cost yet.

"When it rains, it pours."

I have to wait for the bone to heal before I can have surgery. Because of the type of fracture, I'm non-weight bearing for six weeks. Otherwise, I'll crush the bone and develop arthritis. The earliest I can have the surgery is the first of February, which should get me off crutches to walk down the aisle with my bride. But, will kill any hope of the day hikes we wanted to do on our honeymoon.

"When it rains, it pours."

My Jeep has a broken oil pressure sensor, bent radiator, faulty windows, the passenger door lock is only manual, and has three blown speakers. And, its the only transportation I have, since I won't be able to ride a bike 'til June or so.

"When it rains, it pours."

This year for Christmas, I will/have received a pair of bike shoes and pedals for my mountain bike. I ordered a helmet two and a half months ago that arrived last week. I was given a nice CamelBak to ride with by a friend. And, I was finally feeling like I wasn't dying when finishing the trail that I hoped to race on it May. All of that stuff is useless now.

"When it rains, it pours."

This year, at the GCSC Halloween party, Abbie dressed as the Morton Salt girl. You know, the cute girl in a yellow slicker with an umbrella carrying an upside-down box of salt. The slogan for the Morton Salt company is, "When it rains, it pours." You see, when salt is exposed to moisture, it cakes. It forms lumps and you can't shake it on your food or pour it out of the box into the measuring spoon. Morton Salt solved this by adding an anti-clumping agent to their salt. Now whenever it rains, Morton Salt will still pour. It takes a phrase that smacks of pessimism and gives you hope. The Bible is full of salt metaphors, Elisha salting the water, salt of the earth, and so on. Maybe this is my salt, when it rains, the salt still pours.

I have a loving and supportive fiancee.

When it rains, it pours.

I have a loving and supportive family.

When it rains, it pours.

I have a loving and supportive church.

When it rains, it pours.

My future in-laws are concerned and caring.

When it rains, it pours.

I received a $500 check in the mail that will cover my MRI.

When it rains, it pours.

I received a free liturgical prayer book to boost my prayer life.

When it rains, it pours.

My fiancee has finished her degree, is looking to set up a studio for herself, and will be marrying me April 2nd.

When it rains, it pours.

I serve a risen Savior. Praise GOD from whom all blessings flow, praise Him all creatures here below, praise Him above ye heavenly host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

When it rains, He still pours out His blessings and my cup over flows...

with salt.

namaste

DIOS le bendiga

Get Home

Had a weird experience Saturday evening.

Setting: QT in Lawerenceville 11:45

Characters: Young Minister & Anonymous Female (white, late teens-early 20's)

Young Minister gets out of vehicle

Anonymous Female approaches meekly

AF: Excuse me do you have any money? I've run out of gas.

YM: Yeah sure hang on.

AF: I hate to ask for money its so embarassing

YM: Don't worry about it.

YM hands AF a large bill (well large to the YM)

YM: Here you go.

AF: (looking astonished) Do- Do you need some change?

YM: No, get home.

AF: Ok.

AF leaves scene.

I don't know where she went. I didn't see her enter the store. I never saw her pump gas. It's possible there was no stalled gas-starved car, no home she was trying to get to, no good reason for needing money. Perhaps I should have followed up, by offering her a ride to her car or going in a paying for gas to ensure the money was used truthfully. I could have given her one of my cards, letting her know I was one of the good guys.

But maybe, this is the way GOD treats us. He gives some money when we ask Him. He tells us, "Get home." Because He knows its late and the wolves are prowling. He sees the trembling fear in our eyes. He knows the intention for our gift. So we take the money. Maybe, we put it in the tank, but don't drive home, not yet. Maybe we go next door to the McDonald's parking lot and buy whatever chemical pleasure we can afford. Few of us take the money by the gas and go home.

But still, GOD gives generously and says,

"Get home"

namaste

DIOS le bendiga

Walking Alone at Eve

Went on a walk tonight by myself. Athens is suprisingly quiet at 10:30 on Thursday in 5 points. You can hear the jingle of a belled cat, the crack of falling acorns, and the din of motors on the main roads. I take these walks because I'm blessed with a predisposition to melancholy and reflection. I choose to blame genetics all the way back to County Antrium in Ireland.

Walking at night is funny. Walk away from a streetlight and your shadow stretches and grows into a giant before softly fading away. Only to repeat itself again under the next light. I once heard someone complain about when he asked someone what was wrong, the reply was "Life." Life. His discontent was centered on how ambiguous and off-putting the answer was. Yet, if I had replied the same thing the next question would have concerned school. Why? Because my life was school and if something was wrong in my life causing a state, the obvious next direction is life. The shadows of our lives stretch and grow and soon eclipse the beauty that is the world. All the sudden life is the problem. The oppressive feeling where we maintain functionality just above completely shutting down. Where every step feels like its through wet concrete, slushy snow, or chocolate pudding.

Life. So often I give the short answer because the long one requires too much digging into places I have covered over. The scraping of unhealed scabs.

"How are you?"

"Fine, yourself?"

"Fine."

I'm walking out the door and "Fine" can faintly catch up to my ear. I shouldn't ask how people are doing if I don't want the truth, or if I can't slow down to care. Perhaps I should be honest more. Frankly, I'm often not fine. My life isn't in crisis, but there are always challenges. Heck, I'm getting married in a few months. I have a job no one (including myself) understands. I experience things no one else.

"Not fine."

My life reels back and forth and I don't want to take the time to explain it all. People probably wouldn't understand it anyway. Maybe it's hubris or bravado. Maybe I don't understand myself like I should. Whatever it is, I'm going to only ask "How are you?" when I have the time to listen.

namaste

DIOS le bendiga

Cold Air, Hot Shower

It's finally here.

In the name of efficiency and environmentalism (yeah right, I'm a cheapskate), we don't have any climate control in our apartment. We just open the windows. This morning the apartment was chilly. As I went to take my shower, I turned the water up to hot and prepared myself for what would happen next. That painful feeling of hot water meeting cold skin. All my nerve endings shrieked as they violently adjusted to this new sensation. Though painful my brain does not shirk away from the steaming stream, but forces me into this little spinning dance to quickly warm my body with the water so that it adjust to the new-found warmth.

As I've written before in my "Spiritual Dump" post, I feel the bathroom is the best place to think. (As does Daron) It's been a tough row to how the last month or so. Most of it self-inflicted. (By the way, I'm sorry I haven't posted since July. There have been so many post that I've let slip through my fingers like the proverbial sand.) I don't want to call it depression, though it did have the symptoms, because I feel those with depression deserve to call it their own and don't need whiny brats like me to claim their condition when it's really just me not doing what I'm here to do. Back to the shower. This morning my mind began to warm up with my body.

I've missed blogging, more specifically writing. Writing is a very intelligent thing, especially this free-flowing kind that is recently coming back into favor with the advent of blogs, yet being destroyed by the frenetic twitter. It's also cliche because I want to sit in Jittery Joe's typing, just so people know I'm writing (very conceited and snobbish, I know).

So here it is on the eve of the eve of All Hallow's Eve, I want to recommit to this offbeat blog. (Get it because, its beats 2 and 4 ... haha... groan) But, I don't want to recommit without support. So get out the vote. Comment away. Let me know what you think. Invite other people to read. Yeah, there might be stuff you don't agree with. There's stuff on this blog I'm not proud of. I will not delete it because I want you to see my mistakes and flawed logic. The controversy creates conversation. There's no guarantee it will be daily, or should it? Help me make this a blog people want to read. Do you want pissed-off ramblings? Journal entries? Daily devotional thoughts? All the above? Let me know.

namaste

DIOS le bendiga

Is that Bill Shakespeare!?

Ok, so this is me thinking through some of Donald Miller's book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. In the first line of chapter 12 Don writes, "If the point of life is the is the same as the point of story, the point of life is character transformation."

Now you can break down stories into two big categories: tragedies and comedies. Earlier in the book, Don says the easiest way to tell the difference in Shakespeare is; tragedies end in a funeral whereas comedies end with a wedding. I also think there is another way to define the difference, character development.

My two favorite Shakespearian plays are "Hamlet" and "The Taming of the Shrew," a tragedy and a comedy. I think in tragedies such as "Hamlet" and "East of Eden," the character development is almost bell shaped. As Hamlet and Cal progress through their stories, they change until an event brings them plummeting back to where they began. In essence an unchanged being. Katherina, however, is much more amiable at the end of play and marries Petruchio (or if you've seen 10 Things I Hate About You, July Stiles dates Heath Ledger). The character changes, and change promotes a positive moving story.

Also from film, in "Stranger Than Fiction," Will Ferrell's character is instructed to look for clues to if his story is a tragedy or a comedy. Dismally, he realizes the tragedy of his story.

Whether you accept it or not, we are all living a story. Yours may be a history (dry, dull, boring), a tragedy (exciting, but woeful), or a comedy (strife, change, reward). Whatever it is, you can change it. Comedies are hard because of the change part. But at the end of all comedies is a wedding or a date with Heath Ledger (RIP) or Maggie Gyllenhall.

"One of the things that gives me hope is that, even with all the tragedy that happens in the world, the Bible says when we all get to Heaven, there will be a wedding and there will be drinking and there will be dancing.

namaste

vaya con DIOS

What do you think?

Think on this: "How you treat the creation, reflects how you view the creator."

3:14

Exodus 3:14 "GOD said to Moses, 'I AM WHO I AM.' Or rather, "I WILL BE WHAT I WILL BE." This rather simplistic description of GOD Himself has confused me for most of my life. After all I am who I am, right? I don't think so.

As you look at the world, look at all the things vying to influence and change our opinions. I think at first most people will accuse politics and the press for being bigoted and unbalanced. While this may or may not be a fair assessment, these scapegoats are whipped too often and blamed for much of our intolerance. Rather, I think back to my days in elementary and middle school (painful as it were). I attended an elementary school where trend and fashion were closely observed. For a while it was pogs, another was surplus military berets, as well as Airwalks. I was never able to quite follow on these fashions quick enough. The only surplus store was in Brainerd and I couldn't justify a new pair of sneakers when my old ones still fit and had a full sole. But hey that's the point right. You're not cool unless you buy this product. I really don't have a problem with people purchasing products for their life and ensuring they look good. But, here's what happens, we create teams, us verses them. The OG's beating back the poseurs. Alienation for thinking differently or not adhering to collective thought. Heck, even thinking the same can be thrown in your face as a bad thing. Progressives being pissed that conservatives don't walk fast enough, conservatives irritated that the progressives move so fast. It all the same.

Here's the kicker, we revel in this steaming pile of crap. We celebrate it. We love it when two people bicker back and forth over something. Pretty much every network runs of this thought, from MSNBC to Fox News, MTV to ABC, any reality show, any comedian, any sport. It's all about bullying the other guy to see your point. You may say, "That's the way its always been, and always will be." If so, I challenge your faith in GOD and redemption. Case in point. If anyone calls me a "ginger" or tells me I "have no soul," I cannot be held responsible for what happens next. South Park has staked its success on telling people they are not ok. Christians, Muslims, interestingly not so much Jews (too many of them are lawyers), homosexuals, metrosexuals, and of course... redheads. Seriously!? I realize some people choose to believe certain things and others are trapped by tradition. I know there's a debate about whether or not homosexuality is a choice or genetic. But, people don't choose to be redhead, or blonde, or brunette, or white, or black, or Asian, Indian, Hispanic.

They are born this way.

They are who they are.

God telling us He is Who He is shows us how we should be comfortable and productive in the restraints of our bodies He created. I like to think I've been a free spirit most of my life, but I see the scars that it brings. I've been bullied and ridiculed, my self-esteem pulled from under me like a rug for others entertainment.

I once commented to a friend, "I wish I were normal." She asked why anyone would want that. I looked at her. She was pretty, popular, and quirky in that way that attracted both guys and girls to her, and I realized how she didn't understand the statement. I was uncomfortable with the me that was. The me that couldn't be taken off like a dated garment.

As we are asked to be like God by God, He says to us, live out of your heart not your closet.

And, "Be you who you are as 'I am who I am.'"

namaste

Vaya con DIOS

Keep Your Front Wheel

There are many maxims in mountain biking:

"Brakes make you faster"

"The faster you are downhill, the faster you'll be uphill"

"Momentum is your friend"

But the two that have taught me the most are: "Don't watch a tree," and "Keep your front wheel."

Both are about direction. Your bike follows your vision. Wherever you look thats where you will steer. If you don't want to run into tree, DON'T LOOK AT THE DANG TREE! A lot of it has to do with fear. Sometimes we look at the things we're afraid of most and wind up steering ourselves right towards destruction. When we take our eyes of the trail how can we expect to stay on it and ride clean and safe.

Keeping your front wheel is important. Your front wheel is what your front brake acts on. It is 70% of your stopping power. Oh, and your front wheel does the steering. Ok, I know I just said your eyes steer the bike, but your eyes tell the front wheel where to go. Now if you try to apply more than 70% brake to the front wheel you risk locking up the front wheel. Remember back in high school physics when we talked about friction, and how ABS is better than standard brakes because rolling tires are better than sliding tires. Alright, now when you lock up the front wheel on a bike, you lose the ability to control how fast you're slowing down, and where you're going.

Tonight, for kicks, I tried to lock up my front wheel. I don't have a rear brake currently because my rear tire is goofed. When your, front wheel locks up, imagine the direction you want to go in, and you will go in any other direction. The front wheel washes, and you go high-side, low-side (if you're lucky), or over the bars. But there is another choice: let go. Let go of the brake. Ignore the instinct to hold onto the lever for dear life. Loosen your grip and let blood flow back into your knuckles. The wheel will roll again and you will have control. You may be going faster than you want, but keep you eyes on the trail. The faster you go downhill, the faster you will go uphill.

namaste

vaya con DIOS

Life is Plagiarism

A few weeks ago (when I meant to post this) I attended a Saturday morning Bible study. Well, Bible study isn't the best term. The idea of the group is to allow the college guys to interact with men from Campus View and learn what it looks like to be men of faith. The advantages of this model are superb. Rather than a book espousing loose ideologies of what it means to be man, there is direct, rubber meets the road interaction of what happens when you are a working father, husband, spiritual leader, friend, brother.

Eric Johnson spoke with us, and didn't do the most of speaking. First, he wanted to know where we were in life, where we came from, where we were going. The second thing I noticed about Eric was his notes. Instead of the standard (for me) lists with subjects and bullet points, Eric had a map, a diagram. I still don't understand how he works from that because I think in orders, alphabetically, numerically. There was the standard guy talk stuff, find a woman you love and loves you, find a job you love and makes you feel like you've done something whether you make money or not, find God and hold to Him dearly. It's not that this time was boring or bad, but it pales in comparison to what happened next. In order to understand what this group was about, Eric asked the origins of the group's name, "Band of Brothers." He then recited from memory the quote from Henry V. Then, he told us each man should have a personal bible. A list of quotes that inspire you, or describe you station in life. That which makes you feel human, divine, sorrowful, joyful, passionate, triumphant.

I thought about this, and realized that all life is plagiarism. My life is based of the lives of those that have gone before me. The writer of Ecclesiastes lamented, and maybe rejoiced, there is nothing new under the sun. Everything I think has been thought, everything I do has been done. There is no originality. The Ph.D's of world add the volume of thought and inventors produce new products, but they stand on the shoulders of giants.

I like how the author of the latest book I'm reading treats this idea. Stephen Chalke writes in his introduction that he has given credit where credit is due for any idea not his own. He then wrote that any story or idea not credited, did not mean it was his, but he is only presenting it.

In my life, I hope people know that my ideas are not my own. I may claim them but any idea I have has been shaped, watered, and grown by those things I read, hear, experience. Even this blog.

namaste

vaya con DIOS

Tuesday...

Tuesday night was one of those nights that restores your sanity. When you read a lot of books, listen to a bunch of sermons, and interact with college students, you get the feeling that all the world is just a bunch of big ideas. You fret over whether you are a part of those big ideas or if you have found the right big idea. When that happens, I begin to get frantic. The pace of my life speeds up, and all the sudden I have less time than I can manage. The world begins to blur because you can't focus fast enough from thing to thing.

Tuesday night reminded me there's more to life than being successful. Life is: a run and dinner with your girlfriend, a haircut from a friend, a time to relax watching a baseball game, reading a book until you are too tired to keep your mind on the page.

Abbie had a wonderful talk. We neither complained nor griped about our lives, stayed mostly away from talking ministry, and focused on how each other was doing. Jim came home and inhaled a tuna melt, and I asked him for a hair cut. What followed was a mundane scene that struck me as hilarious. (Wes Anderson take note) We had a chair in the kitchen where my hair was cut. If you had walked in kitchen after that you would have seen me with no shirt, covered in my own hair clippings, trimming my goatee, Jim squatted like a frog cutting his hair, and an empty wooden chair. I don't know why, but that scene resonates in my soul as something that makes sense.

Maybe, life is not built on the big moments and ideas, but the little ones. We don't have relationships with people unless we spend time with them. We can't deal with life if don't have downtime. We can't impress others if we don't take care of ourselves. And, we will never dream if we don't sleep.

namaste

vaya con DIOS

Culture Shock

It hit me Sunday morning when the deluge from the shower head hit my back like a fire hose. It happens every time and I don't know why. It's as though I hold some self-loathing for those things that I have never had control over.

I rarely get culture shock from going to other cultures, its the coming back that gets me. In Honduras there was little to worry about. I knew I had to wake up at 6:30 in order have enough time to get ready for breakfast, morning devotional, and packing for the day. Each day was hot and filled with many challenges, among which were people yelling at me in a language I barely understood. But, I went to bed every night tired, satisfied, full of spirit.

It started when I got back into Hartsfield-Jackson. The worries I left in America hadn't disappeared, they just hadn't been able to get their passport in time. Slowly but surely, the worries of life and troubles that race through my mind returned. Sunday, I woke up heavy. Yeah, there was two-hour time difference, my bed was more comfortable, and I was dog tired, but I was worried about what would happen this week. As I walked up to the church building, a word escaped my lips that surprised me: "home."

It was strange, I've never thought of CV as home until now, but this is my family where I'm at. It changes the way I think of the members. In the Honduran church, everyone is hermano or hermana. There is a strong familial connection down there, even the gringos are hermanos. When I think of us as family it changes how I view individuals. Everyone has worth, regardless of what they can do for me. And, they have the right to challenge and change the way I think about and approach life.

Unfortunately, the culture shock is the uniqueness of this thought in America.

namaste

vaya con DIOS

The End of Things

Well, just finished the new D. Miller book and once again he has another hit that plucks the heart strings. I often find myself lamenting the end of a book. As a child, I was made fun of a lot and so I retreated to the company of books (thank God I didn't have motion sickness otherwise I would have had to sit very still on the bus, not reading). Books became my friends, they never laughed at me or ridiculed my growing girth and lack of athletic skill. So now, just a few hundred pages into a lovely friendship it ends, with a sweet note of resolution.

I could be melodramatic and say the end of a book is like the death of a friend, but I've experienced that too recently to know it isn't true. Rather, the end of books remind me of a friend I made in Blacksburg. Seth, Crystal, and I knew each other for less that 100 hours. We ate a couple of meals together, I helped them change all four tires on their car and played a little mandolin with them. They took me on a drive just to see the mountains in all their majesty. Later, we said goodbye with tears rimming our eyes and Seth remarked how it felt like we had known each other our whole lives.

Books tend to do that to me, make me want to be a better person. Even if it's about a farmer's family who loves him for being clever and imperfect. It makes me want to take risks I've never thought to do, and I grow sad wondering if I really do have the confidence, the courage to do all those things I want to do. I could start by not watching television, I guess. It gives you a story at it's pace, not allowing you to stop and reflect on the beauty of a sentence.

Eh, it's late and I'm getting sentimental. Gonna hang it up for tonight. I'm looking forward to traveling next week, maybe I'll write about that tomorrow.

Two Brim in a Pond

So, last weekend I went home to go to my great-uncle's funeral. I feel close to him even though we hadn't spoken much in our lives. This closeness is the result of the grace he showed to two young boys. When my grandfather was dying of cancer. Uncle Trin let Grandady (that's how Ralph spelled it), Ryan, and I fish at his pond. We caught two brim. Three weeks later my grandfather died. We received the mounted brim shortly after.

As we walked into the funeral home on Friday, my uncle told me I was getting into a hard business. Thinking I understood him, I responded that I was beginning to know that. I didn't. While I was thinking about the difficulties of campus ministry, and how hard my first year as an apprentice was, Uncle Bubba quickly clarified his statement. He said he didn't want to think of the number of family funerals he'd presided over. His first was my grandmother, his mom. Followed by many others, some kinfolk, some not, but never a wedding. We went to see Uncle Trin at Chirstmas, and before my uncle had crossed the threshold, Uncle Trin reminded him that Bud was to conduct his funeral...

We didn't think it would be so soon. When Grandady died, Uncle Trin and the brim were still there. When you're four you think someone who survives something like that, the world ending, you think they will live forever. And, as they age, they aren't dying, they don't even slow down, it's you that's speeding up. I guess I held onto that for the last 20 years and didn't grow out of it.

Everyone one said it was the best eulogy they had ever heard. Uncle Trin's wink and nod were recounted with best of memory. It was beautiful and poetic. It was homey and vintage without all the kitschy trendiness that pervades today's busy society that grasps for its rural roots. The age was real, not like the distressed furniture we have today, but an honest to goodness storyteller showing our favorite memories and thoughts of loved ones. Jack said it was the best eulogy because Uncle Bubba was a real storyteller with a real gift. I think that's true, but part of me wonders if he's had too much practice. Though, he did have good subject material.

Also that weekend, we saw the play 'Our Town.' The last scene shows a dead woman asking the storyteller if anyone really understands, really enjoys, really values the life they live each day. His answer was, "...the saints and the poets, maybe, some of them." The line is sad to me because it rings true. I'm not a saint, I'm not a poet. I watch people living their lives on TV, and read them in books. I think I get something out of life, but I don't get it all. I felt for her husband and motherless son. The girl who became the woman he married and mother to his child was now gone forever...

I don't want to die, not now anyway. During the eulogy, Uncle Bubba read those siblings (he had eleven brothers and sisters) who preceded Trin in death, and we realized as a family that those were the only times we had seen each other in last decade or so. I have a few really cool second cousins that I never knew about. One went to UGA, another teaches art, another is a Biology teacher, and another is going to be a doctor. There was talk of a family reunion that afternoon. It's hard to keep the Wootens down. There was a somber spirit about the place, but there was laughter about getting lost on the way to the cemetery, and how Trin always played jokes. One by one we left that day, Aunt Polly ultimately sleeping alone, missing her husband of 59 years who wrote such a great story.

I hope mine can be just as good

namaste

vaya con DIOS

Waxing Moon

Last night as I was driving to my parents house, I saw a strange moon. It hung low and large. It was dark like a potato chip. As child we would call it God's thumbnail. Driving down Highway 2 God's thumbnail would dip behind the ridges as we dropped into a valley and reappear at the crest of the next hill. It was so low and large, I half expected to see God's thumb resting in the middle of Ft. Oglethorpe. The illusion only broke when we reached Ft. Oglethorpe and God's thumb rested on Lookout Mountain. I don't know why this is important but it seems to be. We were driving towards the moon in 2010 and I expected to reach it if I could only keep driving.

namaste

Vaya con DIOS

What do you need?

While reading a couple of books I've realized (only because its been told to me) that this current generation wants challenge.

You might want to listen to this in a separate window while reading the rest of this post.

I think the words are true. The two books I've read that have convinced me of this both posit that we want to be invited into a story that challenges us. This flies in the face of the easy Gospel where you pray Jesus into your heart. This flies in the face of church on Sunday. This kicks the legs out from under the American gospel of health and wealth. So, why do we suffer from a lack of interest in church?

Church is boring. (insert angry comments directed at me here) We don't have a challenging story. (more angry comments) We don't even like what we or others are doing most of the time. (just be sure to leave my mom out of the comments)

What if we just don't tell the Story the way it was meant to be told? What if we don't tell how challenging the Story actually is? What if we don't engage the Story truthfully ourselves and let It challenge us?

Maybe its time for Christians to be a streetwise Hercules and be a hero the world is reaching back for.

namaste

vaya con Dios

Resoulutions

Well its the end of January, how are you're resolutions doing? Since, my birthday is within the first two weeks of a new year, I usually don't begin resolutions until then.

My are not doing well in some respects, but well in others. As you can see by the number of post in January, my resolve to post more has been lacking. I've posted the same in a month that I've wanted to post in a week. Why do I want to post? Well, I would eventually like to write a book, and I need to improve my writing style. However, the more I think about that the less I want to write. One, there are a lot of books by Christian authors out there. Two, most of those books are crappy. They are written by people who want to write a book like me. If I do eventually write a book, I want it to say something to the world that will actually make a difference, not just fill shelf-space at Lifeway Bookstore for six months. Also, I've gotten a few back issues of Christianity Today from some of the people I work with. Inside are ads for books and colleges that promise to make you into a better person, more able to connect with the current culture, more like Jesus (or their founding theologians), and all for the glory of God. I have this fear that whatever I write will have an ad in these magazines and some snot-nose student will see it and judge me (typical post-modern cynic brat). Also, I've read some really good books by some really good authors, and I've got to admit... I'm intimidated by their success and vision.

Personally, my resolution for physical betterment is a half-and-half. I have been able to limit myself to one cheeseburger a week (which is a great success), and I have had several days a week where I haven't eaten meat. Abbie and I are running at least three days a week. I guess next up is daily sit-ups and push-ups.

Why do we make resolutions? What is magical about January 1st that makes it seem like we can start over. Its like we can drop all of our baggage and bad habits from last year. Yet, we are haunted by the specters of the past and feel sad when we fail. I think if we realize we have a past and it colors our present its easier to understand where we are going in the future. Doing the same things the same way and expecting different results is foolishness as some wise person whose name I can't remember said. Lets here now resolve to "redouble our efforts and do something with our lives" (as Meriwether Lewis sort of said)

namaste

vaya con DIOS

3:13 Toilet

So I have this toilet, if you aren't careful, the handle will get stuck and the thing will run until you tap the handle and set the plunger. This use to worry me during the drought because the toilet would keep trying to fill itself but would never get full, and it would waste a lot of precious water. To this day, if you aren't careful the handle will get stuck and the commode will run and run until someone fixes it.

I don't know what this means, but it seemed important. Maybe its you and maybe its me.

namaste

Vaya con DIOS

Things Break, Fix Them

As it often seems. After a time away, usually involving spiritual renewal, you get hit in the face with something that is a shocking reminder the world is not where I want to spend eternity.

Today I got back from Gulfcoast Getaway. There, I clapped my hands, spun in circles, tackled strangers, painted my face, cheered for friends, YELLED til my voice was no more, and danced before God. I've never danced before God before. My first year at GCG I watched as a guy just screamed and shook and moshed during worship. My uptight self did not understand this, and I judged him a fool. Later (a couple of years), I regretted judging the guy. I mean he was only responding to Him. Now, I realize my judgement was correct the guy was a fool, except he was being a fool before God. When I realize David was naked before all Jerusalem, a little jumping is nothing.

In years past, I have felt a strong pressure in my chest during song worship at Gulfcoast. Literally, the urge to tear my shirt and chest open to relieve whatever was happening. This, year I resolved to not let myself get in the way of my response to HIM. (Just in case I wore western shirts with snaps) I lifted my hands when I felt like it, I sang soaring tenor parts that would eventually wreck my vocal chords (the long i sound doesn't come out now), I opened Scripture at every mention, lobbied for missions, and ran towards to the stage to dance with and before strangers. That set me up for the last song of Gulfcoast. Based off of Psalm 30 "You Have Turned My Mourning into Dancing" brought out a side of me never seen to anyone that has existed in me from the beginning of time.

Five years ago, I would've hated myself. Literally, I would have existed with self-loathing. What changed? Me? Well yeah. How? I don't know, I've always known something wasn't right. As Jim has astutely observed, I want an answer for everything. I'm not okay with the unanswered questions of life. I don't leave pondering until I come to a satisfactory conclusion. I realize my answers are sometimes (read often) wrong. But I'd rather have a wrong answer than none at all. (Thats pretty dangerous).

Anyway this weekend was about realizing heaven and hell exist on Earth. Heaven is here and now and so is Hell. And you cannot exist in both. Through suffering I know there is a kingdom that is not yet, but joy tells me there is a kingdom that is now.

I get home and I here a hissing sound, turns out my outlet hose on my hot water heater has broken (the intake hose broke a few months ago). Great, I've been home 15 min and I have to deal with this temporary, broken world. The "emergency" maintenance line said it will be fixed tomorrow.

I don't like fixing things tomorrow because it always remains tomorrow. But, if there is a time set, I'm okay with fixing it later. Things break, things fail, the world is broken and there are terrible calamities that befall the most vulnerable of people.

Fix it, fail better, open your eyes to the Kingdom on Earth, and 1600 college students can raise 27,000 dollars to bring water to the thirsty, aid to injured, hands to the fallen, hope to the hopeful, and redemption to every man, women, and child that inhabits this sphere all while dancing before God.

namaste

vaya con DIOS