Life's a flood

It's been 10 days since I've been here. Here being this blog, an ethereal place that can be anywhere now thanks to satellites. I've been here 5 years, here is Athens, first state-sponsored (socialism) center of learning. Named for that ancient, classic city of learning and open-thought. Where Paul conversed with religious men who wanted to honor even that which they were ignorant of. I've been here way too often in my short-life, and shorter-career.

Here is a place of fear and self-doubt that I'm "not supposed to be." What? Just because I'm training to work with the Church and for The King, why can't I be frustrated in my faith. Just because I'm "leading" people I can't have a moments doubt of what direction I'm going. Why am I not entitled to the same emotions and feelings everyone else has. People complain about clergy not knowing what it's like to live in this world. Where do we live, Mars? It seems some people believe the "church men" live on that red planet named for an imaginary warrior. Wouldn't my fears make you feel better now that I'm more like you? No!? People want someone who will kick against the goad with their face to the wind, screaming into the night with fearless bravery. Let me tell you, fear begets courage. Courage, bravery, reckless abandon: these are all words to describe fear that has been choked down into the gut where it rest in a bitter pit. It is ever present and ever painful. And, we are called to accept this because by it we remember the One who was afraid and followed through anyways.

This is picking up in the middle of the story and in the middle of a conversation I'm having with myself. So let's begin with the current story.

Before school resumed I had lunch with a student. He had posted on his Facebook page how much he hated Christians, Christianity, and church. OK, a lot of people hate church, fine. Join the rest of everyone, your not the first. Christianity is a bit of a stretch, in its form as "church," ok, that's just a repetition of the latter, as a moral system, maybe if you hate love. Christians though? Which ones? The televangelists, politicos, talking heads and hate-mongering sign-waving wack jobs? Me too. Or, the family that has loved you for the past two years and has desperately tried to connect to your life so that you won't have to endure alone? Because if you hate them, we have a problem, because you hate me, and I don't hate you. So we ate at the lovely Christian chicken cafe of the south. I thought it was ironic, but he didn't seem to notice. We conversed for a while and then I finally blurted out why I asked him to lunch. (I'm not good at beating around the bush.) He asked me if I wanted the answer he was giving or the truth. Well, that's not a good way to start a discussion. The answer was he was tired of the dogma. (Ok, time out. What do you think dogma is?) He defined dogma as the way people acted in church about stuff. That's not dogma, but I wasn't here to argue vocabulary. The truth, he then told me, was that he was homosexual, gay, other words that are synonyms. Wow, I haven't had a gay friend who wasn't a known homosexual when I met them, this was new. I told him I wasn't going to judge him or "straighten" him out, but others won't be so graceful. We left that table both carrying a secret that ticked like a bomb. Funny thing is, he still comes to our ministry now and again to maintatain relationships (remember that word).

Yesterday, he posted to his wall he was in a relationship with a guy in Maine. This elicited comments of "hmmmmm...", and "interesting." Also, his religious views have changed to "would you be willing to risk a relationship for them." "Them" being the religious views of the reader. What does this mean? Am I willing to talk to you even though you may violate some of my beliefs? If I did that I would be a lonley man with no friends who couldn't keep himself company. Or will I compromise my beliefs in order to remain you friend.

There are very few hills I will stake a flag and die upon. I may stake a flag, bellow, and fire artillery from one hill, but I will not die on it. But, with my religious views (terrible phrase, I'll post on that later), I will never give, because a Man died on hill for me. So, Kyle S. if following Christ and living for the King mean we cannot be friends, I'm sorry. I did not draw that line. If I am wrong and you still want to be a friend with differences between us, I want to be your friend.

And to the church-haters. The church sucks, we screwed up, I'm sorry. We do have moments where we try to help and they are often forgotten.

Acknowledge those hidden
namaste
vaya con Dios

So tonight I tried reading some of the mountain biking blogs. I used to subscribe to Backpacker magazine for all the trail descriptions and musings that come with prolonged seclusion. I guess the slow repetitive walking where scenes gradually rise to meet you over the next hill allow you to take your mind off your environment and ponder why you have even come to this beautiful, desolate, but lonely spot. 

Mountain biking lacks this. Your environment changes so quickly you barely realize it except you know you're dodging pine trees instead of oaks. But, you don't the time to reflect on how the pine smells or how long those oaks with their gnarly roots have been around and what history they've seen. No, when you're on a bike and bombing down a hill, your only thought is keep the rubber on the trail and shiny parts carrying the soft fleshy thing upright. It's hard to make the thousands of automatic miniscule adjustments philosophical when you're in the moment. Of course, you can make this about life and how there are many reactions that we blah blah blah...

I'm just saying mountain biking is an constant adrenaline fueled endeavor that is hard to describe. When you do it doesn't sound fun. "Aw man it was great, we hurtled down the hill dodging tree branches with our skull. We went so fast I was afraid to let go of the handlebar long enough to grab the break. Then we climbed a hill and my thighs were screaming at me. And then I had this great crash where I flipped over the bars and rolled out where I was sitting on the trail and my bike crashed into a tree." See doesn't sound like that much fun right. But, that wind in your face and you manipulating a machine that you control every aspect of. Even that fear of injury at every bump will keep on edge for the next few hours after the ride. 

So here's to Mountain Biking

namaste

vaya con Dios

Keelboats and Gouda Burgers

Sorry guys,

Monday was a nice day. I kayaked down the Broad River with other such blogstars as TCH, lp, and the notorious milkshake drinker, "Jim." Anyway as often happens when I am outdoors around few people my mind began to wander. And thanks to my soggy butt, I decide to stand on top of the sit-on-top project and use my paddle as a pole. Initially, I saw myself as a gondolier in Vienna. But, I realized my surroundings. Majestic pine and old hardwood trees leaning to sip from the Broad River that is choked with rock outcrops and blanketed with coarse sand. I stood on my kayak wearing not a beret, but a cheap Wal-Mart lid and thought of the freedom the old keelboatmen must have felt before steam and locomotion moved our goods to market. Of course, this daydream had a soundtrack. It was beautiful in the waning summer to relax with friends and spend some time out of doors.

That night, Abbie and I threw a small grill-out. Growing up, any holiday meant a special meal, and summer holidays meant grilling out. Last year, I was kind of depressed on Labor Day because no one I knew wanted to eat together. This year, I was determined to not let that happen. Grilling smoked gouda cheese burgers and corn on the cob, with sweet potato fries, and fried honey buns a la mode filled my apartment with such a complex bouquet that can only be matched with the laughter of friends. The next day, when I came home for lunch, the smell of smoke lingered when I opened the door, and I strained my ears to hear if the laughter my still be caught in the carpet and walls. Needless to say, I enjoy getting together and eating with friends. Quick thanks to Fiyaman and Mojo for finishing the burgers.

So, thanks for reading my wax poetic. I will redouble my efforts to post frequently.

Coop, since you're probably the only one still reading... have a good weekend, and I hope to see you soon.

namaste vaya con Dios

Meriwether Blogger

A couple of months ago I finished a Undaunted Courage, a biography of Meriwether Lewis. Probably the heaviest reading I've done in a while. It took close to 2 months to finish, reading it slow to somehow grasp the arduousness of the Lewis and Clark expedition. Much of the record comes from the journals kept by the captains and one private. Letters were a second source to gain insight on Capt. Lewis' life. I guess journals were more common in past times. And the messages from the post were valuable goods that brought news of loved ones' health, activities, and thoughts.

Today, a majority of our letters has been reduced to e-mails and facebook. They fly as electrons through processors and waves in the air. Your inbox becomes full and you delete it all. A text message can be instantly responded to. Facebook lets everyone who cares to look know what your status is. Why send a postcard from your adventure when you can just email the photos you've taken. Letter writing has been resigned to the hopless romantics. So, much of today's communication is lost, deleted because of the glut of information.

Journaling has taken on a new life though. This blog is a journal. Through it I relate my thoughts and you might be able to extrapolate what is happening in my life. This all so public information may never die. Unless the internet crashes. In a hundred years or more, the historians will be fishing through these blogs, try to figure out exactly who was the author to gain perspective of life as we entered the 21st century. They will sift through travel journals, political commentary, and social commentary to try to explain why we did or didn't destroy the environment, pass a bill or two, and why we drank so much caffeine. They will read one guy's blog about his affair with a Native American and then wonder why his wife left him. Maybe, they'll see a moral collapse amidst all of this data that is being stored, and wonder why we didn't see it ourselves since the words were right in front of us. Those generations will see a wistful people of non-absolutes in the name of political correctness, a disposable trendy culture that didn't bother to save correspondence and instead bank collective anonymous journals that recorded far out thoughts that no one reads or even matter.

namaste
vaya con Dios

I'm a statistic

So I was watching the usual liberal-bent media shows. And, the politicians and talking heads are bringing up the old battle that basically began the "permanent" (thank goodness) majority. That's right health care reform is being waved as a banner over the heads of the tired, poor, and huddled masses yearning to breathe free. While others parade and drag it around like .... well this part was going to include a not so obscure reference to a terrible time when American soldiers corpses were displayed behind moving vehicles. On second thought even as terrible as some people are arguing health-care reform its not worth desecrating the life of someone's son, brother, friend.
Sorry about that.
Some people talk about health-care reform as if it is a way to score points politically. And, here's where it hit me... I'm in the news. Now the only times I've been in the news are as follows: I read the 2nd most books of anyone my age at the local library one summer, I was a cub reporter at Riverbend two years in a row, my classmates and I did a study on fish"deaths" (moronic reporter) in the N. Oconee River, and I worked in the Botanical Garden wetlands with a class. But back to the point.

I don't have healthcare. Let me put that a different way, I don't have an insurance company to go to bat for me in the hospital. I could, while riding my bike in the bike lane, wearing a helmet, and obeying all the traffic laws, get hit by a car, break a bone or two (if I'm lucky) and then owe someone $50,000.
I am looking for coverage so that I'm not uninsured for long. But, when I get it I'll be paying the most of any country for 15th rate coverage. Yeah, America isn't even second-rate. That goes to one of those pinko-socialist countries that has "horrendous" healthcare.
In the meantime, there are some doctors who, out of charity, don't take the copay from their patients because they don't have money, yet need the care. Why can't we socialize our system so that we all get good, fair healthcare. We cannot leave anyone behind and we will help our fellow man instead of seeing him as a drain on society

I'm a statistic and I was on TV tonight.

namaste, vaya con Dios

Seasons of Mentors

As I look back on my life, I realize there have been men of God mentoring me at the right times to guide me where to go. And, as they come in like a mist they are gone.

Chad always wrote his lessons on the white board in the teen room. The bible lessons became more art, painted with different Expo markers, they flowed across the board, connected by sweeping arrows pointing the order of the lesson. He introduced me to the deeper meanings of those Bible stories I learned in Sunday school. More importantly, he cared about us the students. We each felt like we had our own unique relationship with him.

Steve's sermons were always didactic. He had great command of vocal dynamics. Crescendoeing towards his point with his hand drumming the podium. Forget finding the meat of Scripture, he sucked the marrow from the bones of the gospels, epistles, and prophets. Spending several weeks on the profundity of Jesus being a priest in the order of Melchezdik.

Jack spoke in more relational terms, preferring common sense and using did-you-knows to accent his lessons. Always using the Word as a two-edged sword to pierce to the heart. He never intended to make you cry, but you did anyway, and sometimes he did too. Mentoring me as one who always asked questions and not liking simple cop-out answers. He would show me any tidbit he would come across. I can ask him, "What have you learned recently?" and I will get an amazing lesson on God and life. When I asked what he thought of my desire to be a full-time minister, he didn't ask if I had thought this through. He gave me sound advice on how to be gracious and prepared. To this day, I think of him when asked for a reference because I know what he thinks of me.

Uncle Bubba has always been by favorite uncle, and he only grown more important. He stands in shaded contrast to the other men. He is one of the people I wish to emulate, because of his understanding of people, and more specifically my family. I can talk to him when I need an outside opinion on how to deal with my family because he knows our warts and hidden scars. His honest desire to meet people as they are impresses me.

Barrett took me as a frightened freshman and let me see the freedom God offered in His word. Through him I met Jim and Jake, who led me through that tumultuous first year away from all I had known. I remember the day I knew GCSC was where I would stay. I had a rough day, went to the center, and asked if they could pray with me. Each dropped what he was doing and we prayed together. The General opened his apartment to let me escape my roommate and his girlfriend, and introduced me to CS Lewis. Troy brothered me through Fiji and learning to engage people to lead them to Jesus, and ultimately took me as a friend.

Donnie asked me if I wanted to have a Bible study with him. We went through Luke and discovered that the Bible is all about Jesus, even the stuff about Jesus... is about Jesus. (I know it doesn't make sense, maybe that's another blog post). We spent an hour each Monday in Luke like a cotton gin, combing through it. But before that, we spent an hour talking out our weeks in our booth at Barbarito's where we were recognized as regulars.

But this entry was not brought on by any of these men. Each worthy of a solo entry, but the next man is honored because he won't be around me much longer. Yeah, there are influences I haven't put here, my dad, Chris, Mr. Ingram, Watson, and others. Many of those above did not recieve the review they deserve. But, I want to save the last space in this post for ...

Fred came to the GCSC at the right time. We wanted to delight in sharing with others, but we had no clue how to do that. He took me and increased my view of scripture. We rubbed the wrong way sometimes, and we called each other on the carpet. I could tell him he upset me and he could do the same so that we could work it out. He showed me how to disciple people and the importance of looking outside the church of Christ for growth spiritually and numerically (what a revolutionary concept). Fred never let us be lazy as a ministry, he knew we could keep going and had more energy than we thought. He always made sure to validate the way we felt even if that feeling was irrational. If he read this he would say that it God who did this and he was only a conduit of the LORD's blessings. But, I think God is proud of Fred and would want him to take a little credit for saving souls and lives at UGA. Fred, Alison, Ian vaya con Dios I hope God blesses your work in Amarillo and you are a blessing to that church. (Sentimental post over)

vaya con Dios
namaste

Empty

Paul told some Christians in a letter that he was being poured out like a drink offering. We sing a song, "Emptied Himself of all but love..."

I realize these men are rockstars of my faith (One being supremely greater than the other, though he did say imitate me as I imitate the supreme rockstar), but I kinda relate to that idea of being empty right now. The last three weeks I've slept in one day. Even this past Thursday I had off I had to wake up and do something I didn't want to. I tried to enjoy a hike that same day, but was rushed to get back into town for ridiculously early commitment. People in my life are having meltdowns or not going anywhere at all.

So I'm pouring myself out on them. I've saved up a pretty sizeable ammount of good juju so I'm offloading it. I think I did it too fast.

Now I'm going to Bible camp where I feel like I'm going to continue to pour myself out for an entire week. Except there's nothing left to pour. So, I'm going to leave this cup imagery and think of myself as a sponge. Squeeze a sponge and you squeeze out the water, yet the sponge is still damp. You can always squeeze out more.

Caution: Science Content Ahead
Or think of the soil. There are two water contents in soil that we look for. The first is field capacity. This is the amount of water a pedon (dirt clod) can hold before its pores completely saturated. At this point water can freely flow through the soil; rain falls down and feeds the groundwater, which feeds the river that fills the ocean. The other water content is called the wilting point. This is the water content in which plants can no longer draw water off of the soil because the minerals are holding on to water molecules much like a super magnet. There is still water in the soil but it is not usable. This water gives the soils its ability to maintain its structure.

So maybe I'm soil, I was a Water and Soil Major after all. I give life to plants by letting them all draw water off of me while I wait for rain and then I will be able to let the water flow through me so that I can fill the ocean. (After all I'm going to Bible camp and I should experience the fullness of God there, right?)

namaste
vaya con Dios