Things that relax me:
1. Jessa
2. The sound of ceiling fans
3. Kids running around all over the place, yelling and playing
4. The ocean
5. Reading
6. Making meals with my sister Grace
7. Talking with patients, explaining what's going on with their body or a procedure we're about to do
8. Long drives at night
9. Studying, if there's no deadline imminent and looming like the shadow of a bear moving on my wall
10. Falling asleep at the movies. Best $7.00 sleeps ever.
11. Someone else's couch. Or my own. Or nobody's, just a couch.
12. Not bees or fevers.
13. Working outside on my vegetable plants/yard work
Things that do NOT relax me:
1. Being denied an equity loan on a house someday. I don't own a home yet, but if I do and this happens, I anticipate it will not be relaxing to me
2. The oxygen masks popping out from overhead on a flight
3. Someone jumping into my car, pointing a gun at my head and saying "drive"
4. Sarah Palin
5. Bees and fevers
6. Being unable to find the vein in a pregnant lady's arm when she's in labor
7. Yelling at people
8. Doing lots of push-ups
9. The ending of the movie "Training Day"
10. Wiring a garage.
11. Taking big tests
12. Small Honda Civics playing around in rush hour
13. Finding out one of the lead singers from a band I love is homosexual
Things that make me comfy:
1. Jessa
2. Couches
3. My bed
4. Not bees or fevers
5. Twisty ties, sometimes
6. A glass of cold milk on a hot day
7. Costco hotdogs
8. A house where it's okay to yell a lot
Things that go "bump" in the night:
1. Not Jessa, cause I don't know about that yet.
2. Couches being dropped on a wood floor
3. Ghosts
4. The wind pushing a vacuum with a towel draped on it against the wall on the porch outside my window
5. More ghosts
6. Jason hitting his head against the freezer door getting chicken from the fridge
7. Bees wearing sunglasses
What I would refuse to wear in public for an hour if you gave me a two hundred dollars:
What I want for Christmas:
1. Jessa
2. I already got my two front teeth
3. I already have the first five seasons of House
4. I already have both my legs
5. And both my arms
6. But a third arm would be nice
7. If it had a hand attached to it
8. I mean, who would be able to use a third arm if there was no hand with it?
9. That'd be really stupid
10. And awkward
What you want for Christmas:
1. Bees and fevers
2. Don't even get me started, I'm going to pretend you don't want a third arm with no hand
3. Other stuff
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Pepsi poop.
Even now as I sit on my front porch, the bright warm glory of the season soaking slowly into my chest. This is Denver at it's zenith, I can practically see the solar flares of downtown as it burns brightly and beautifully against the skyline. You see a cement jungle, I see...earth's hair, springing up with youth from the ground, humanity saying "hello, we're here." It's the kind of day right now when your mind salivates with excitement that it is no longer cold and--I saw this going a little better in my mind.
See, I was inside the house making an iced coffee, jonesing to go outside for no apparent reason, the urge to write tickling at the back of my throat causing my fingers to itch. But when I sat outside, rapidly my passion for today faded.
It's pretty hot when you sit right in the sun with your shirt off. Plus the sun gets in your eyes so you can't see the words you're typing on the laptop so you make a lot of mistskes, and wearing sunglasses helps with the sun but makes it so it seems like you're typing with the screen off. There are a lot of little bugs flying around me, ones so teeny and gross looking I would never give them the distinguished title of "mosquito." They're just annoying and itchy. Itchy. My legs started sweating the moment I sat down and propped them up on a lawn chair. It also doesn't help that I inadvertently crossed my legs cutting the blood pressure off to my right foot causing it to swell and fall asleep almost immediately. It's probably already dead.
And so I move into the shade. Who goes outside and sits in the shade all day? Honestly.
"Hey Bobo, where were you for the past four and a half hours?"
"Oh, you know, sitting outside."
"I don't believe you."
"You don't? Why not?"
"You're not a centimeter tanner."
"Oh that, hahahah! I was in the shade."
"You were in the--what? What's the point of going outside and sitting in the shade?"
"Um...the fresh air."
"You could've stayed inside and opened a window on either side of the room. That's fresh air too."
"No it's not, the screens make it dirty."
"So? While you were outside a bird a quarter of a mile away pooped and that same air went into your lungs, only you didn't have a screen to filter the poop air."
"That's disgusting. And besides, birds don't poop."
"Yes they do."
"NO, they DON'T. They poop and pee at the same time."
"See? They do. You just said they did."
"No, I said they poop AND pee at the SAME TIME. That's different."
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is. It's called peep, they don't actually ever just poop."
"So wet poop air went into your lungs, that's worse."
"It built the antibodies in my immune system."
"So you went outside to get healthier? Why didn't you just stay inside, drink a glass of water with Emergen-C powder in it, take a multi-vitamin, and watch the National Geographic channel in HD?"
"Because that channel sucks compared to real life."
"No it doesn't. It's BETTER than real life. HD nature channels are ALWAYS better in real life."
"I was watching that channel the other day and I had to watch a Kangaroo vomit in HD."
"So? You were learning. You never could've learned that sitting outside in the SHADE."
*pause for a sip of iced coffee. Yum. Tastes like...summer.
"Outside, sitting in the shade, I learned about my neighbors, dogs, cats, little ants and bugs, the sun..."
"What did you learn about the neighbors?"
"They bought fresh lettuce and drink Pepsi, not Coke."
"That's dumb. I learned about how skis are made, watched a car race, and learned that jellyfish not only have no bones, but you can see their brain."
"You can see their brain?"
"Yep. I bet they swim around in groups of brain size and laugh at the biggest guy who has the smallest brain."
"You're the biggest guy in this house and you have the smallest brain."
"No I don't."
"Yes you do. You think sitting outside in the shade is a waste."
"It is."
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is. You don't get any vitamin D when you sit in the shade. You only get wet bird poop air in your lungs. What if someday a flock of geese flies over while your sitting there 'shading.' You'll really be screwed then and get some twisted form of avian flu for sure."
"What--what the? How do you even come up with this kind of stuff? What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? I learned that the swine flu and bird flu are both the same strain of virus only mutated. And it's been around since at least 1917. Know where I learned that? The internet. I read it on THE INTERNET while sitting inside breathing in filtered air."
"Oh? Did you know that not only do we have dandelion weeds all over the front yard, but that our apricots are almost ripe? Sitting inside you never would've learned that and you would've had a disgusting front yard and missed out on weeks of healthy apricot vitamins because the squirrels would've eaten them all. You never would've known they were ready to be picked and eaten."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. So we're both right."
"Squirrels have pooped on those apricots you know. When the squirrel flu arrives, you're going to be the first one to get it."
"Whatever. want a Coke?"
"No thanks, I drink Pepsi."
"So do our neighbors."
See, I was inside the house making an iced coffee, jonesing to go outside for no apparent reason, the urge to write tickling at the back of my throat causing my fingers to itch. But when I sat outside, rapidly my passion for today faded.
It's pretty hot when you sit right in the sun with your shirt off. Plus the sun gets in your eyes so you can't see the words you're typing on the laptop so you make a lot of mistskes, and wearing sunglasses helps with the sun but makes it so it seems like you're typing with the screen off. There are a lot of little bugs flying around me, ones so teeny and gross looking I would never give them the distinguished title of "mosquito." They're just annoying and itchy. Itchy. My legs started sweating the moment I sat down and propped them up on a lawn chair. It also doesn't help that I inadvertently crossed my legs cutting the blood pressure off to my right foot causing it to swell and fall asleep almost immediately. It's probably already dead.
And so I move into the shade. Who goes outside and sits in the shade all day? Honestly.
"Hey Bobo, where were you for the past four and a half hours?"
"Oh, you know, sitting outside."
"I don't believe you."
"You don't? Why not?"
"You're not a centimeter tanner."
"Oh that, hahahah! I was in the shade."
"You were in the--what? What's the point of going outside and sitting in the shade?"
"Um...the fresh air."
"You could've stayed inside and opened a window on either side of the room. That's fresh air too."
"No it's not, the screens make it dirty."
"So? While you were outside a bird a quarter of a mile away pooped and that same air went into your lungs, only you didn't have a screen to filter the poop air."
"That's disgusting. And besides, birds don't poop."
"Yes they do."
"NO, they DON'T. They poop and pee at the same time."
"See? They do. You just said they did."
"No, I said they poop AND pee at the SAME TIME. That's different."
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is. It's called peep, they don't actually ever just poop."
"So wet poop air went into your lungs, that's worse."
"It built the antibodies in my immune system."
"So you went outside to get healthier? Why didn't you just stay inside, drink a glass of water with Emergen-C powder in it, take a multi-vitamin, and watch the National Geographic channel in HD?"
"Because that channel sucks compared to real life."
"No it doesn't. It's BETTER than real life. HD nature channels are ALWAYS better in real life."
"I was watching that channel the other day and I had to watch a Kangaroo vomit in HD."
"So? You were learning. You never could've learned that sitting outside in the SHADE."
*pause for a sip of iced coffee. Yum. Tastes like...summer.
"Outside, sitting in the shade, I learned about my neighbors, dogs, cats, little ants and bugs, the sun..."
"What did you learn about the neighbors?"
"They bought fresh lettuce and drink Pepsi, not Coke."
"That's dumb. I learned about how skis are made, watched a car race, and learned that jellyfish not only have no bones, but you can see their brain."
"You can see their brain?"
"Yep. I bet they swim around in groups of brain size and laugh at the biggest guy who has the smallest brain."
"You're the biggest guy in this house and you have the smallest brain."
"No I don't."
"Yes you do. You think sitting outside in the shade is a waste."
"It is."
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is. You don't get any vitamin D when you sit in the shade. You only get wet bird poop air in your lungs. What if someday a flock of geese flies over while your sitting there 'shading.' You'll really be screwed then and get some twisted form of avian flu for sure."
"What--what the? How do you even come up with this kind of stuff? What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? I learned that the swine flu and bird flu are both the same strain of virus only mutated. And it's been around since at least 1917. Know where I learned that? The internet. I read it on THE INTERNET while sitting inside breathing in filtered air."
"Oh? Did you know that not only do we have dandelion weeds all over the front yard, but that our apricots are almost ripe? Sitting inside you never would've learned that and you would've had a disgusting front yard and missed out on weeks of healthy apricot vitamins because the squirrels would've eaten them all. You never would've known they were ready to be picked and eaten."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. So we're both right."
"Squirrels have pooped on those apricots you know. When the squirrel flu arrives, you're going to be the first one to get it."
"Whatever. want a Coke?"
"No thanks, I drink Pepsi."
"So do our neighbors."
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
My City
Few days go by when I don't interact with a homeless person. It's not as if I seek them out or wear a shirt that says "Hi. Talk to me." I have either been asked for money or to use my cell phone more times than I could possibly count. A young, caucasian male dressed in clean clothes listening to his iPod going to and from campus, I more than likely am a proverbial shirt that says "Hi. Talk to me."
The only thing that separates me from them is paychecks. If I was to stop being paid, eventually I would wind up in their position. Many, if not most of them are veterans of wars. The government doesn't like to to pay the VA benefits to their veterans and college students, which I know from experience.
Another difference between them and I is they often have little to no constructive networking. In other words, they have either never had or have somehow developed a network of friends and acquaintances who do not support, encourage them, or help them out of being homeless in any way. Often the darkness of their situation is shrouded by a mental disability, addiction of some kind, anger issue, or the most detrimental of all, they simply do not believe that they could ever become a functioning part of society or their families ever again.
Let me share just a few of their stories, but you'll have to imagine the smell of weeks-old cigarette smoke, blackened, marred teeth and beyond dirty clothing yourself.
---
Juni was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico in 1963, a year after my parents. The moment he found out I had done a year of active duty Air Force, his eyes lit up and he told me about how his Dad was in the Air Force and retired as a Chief Master Sergeant after 22 years of working on planes, C-17's and C-5's. Juni then thanked me for serving, saying he appreciated me giving up parts of my life "for my country" and said he admired my courage, finishing by telling me he couldn't ever join the military, they would've torn him apart. His dad used to come home and make him stand at parade rest as he gave his homework assignments to him. My throat caught as he stood up from the stool and did an imitation of it for me. It was a perfect parade rest stance, every detail dead-on to the point that Juni's eyes looked straight forward, unmoving.
I'm sure whatever he went through as a child was more rigorous than what I did in basic training.
He smiled and asked me about my family, and for an hour we swapped stories over several pool games. I came from a family of six kids, he had two sisters and was up in Denver visiting his Mother's grave and had spent several weeks at a relative's home in Aurora. It came time to leave, I had school the next day, so we walked downstairs and outside into the cool air. Juni walked beside me, and as we passed a couple of businessmen who'd stepped outside for a smoke, Juni asked politely if he could have a smoke. With nothing more than pure disdain written across his clean-cut features, one of the men took a long draw and said "you can have the rest of this when I'm done with it."
On a daily basis Juni is spoken to, treated, and glanced at this way, probably dozens of times. Society has developed several scenarios for what the situation of each homeless person is, and whether or not they are liars or tell the truth, whether or not they smell good or just okay, whether they're young or old, we put them into a category and there they remain.
---
John had served for six years in the Army, part of the 11-Bravo Infantry unit, back in the seventies. He had been barely making it for several years, but when the VA stopped sending his checks it was a matter of weeks and he was on the street. From April of 2009 to March of 2010 he struggled, living on West Colfax street, staying in shelters during the winter and somehow the days passed through the spring, summer and fall. Mid-March Restoration Community Church held a huge feast for the homeless in his area for Easter, and he joined, connecting with a young married couple who were serving that Sunday. Something clicked, and they were friends. Calls were made, his situation explained, and by mid-April he received his money for the past year of benefits that hadn't been paid out. The first thing he did was check into a small motel and get cleaned up, taking a hot shower and enjoying a night's sleep on a real bed before following up with the government the next day about possibly moving into subsidized housing. That night several people from Colfax street who'd been watching him and heard from someone that he'd finally been paid mugged him. One came at him with a baseball bat, hitting him in the head. He grabbed the bat, threw it away, and started struggling with the young male that was beating him. The attacker called for a friend who came up behind John and hit him on the back of his head with a hammer. For three days he laid in the hospital first unconscious then in a chemically induced coma as the doctors monitored the three pools of blood that formed in his brain, trying to decide whether or not they should operate. I met him at a dinner for our church volunteers two days after he'd been released from the hospital. The young couple filled in the parts of the story to me, and his responses were "it's all good" and "I'm just thankful I'm alive and I get to be here with you folks. God is good."
---
It was 8:30 at night, I was coming home on the light rail after Saturday night church. My stop is 30th and Downing Street station, the last stop on the D-line that goes through downtown. It's right in the middle of what's known as Five Points, once called the "Amsterdam of the West." I stepped off and watched three cop cars come screaming up, peeling to a stop and jumping out as an ambulance sped off in the opposite direction, lights wailing and sirens flashing. A woman was hysterical as she was led to the second ambulance in handcuffs and put in the back doors accompanied by a police woman.
As I waited for my bus, several officers being led by an individual walked right next to where I was standing. "What exactly did you see?"
"I looked over and saw the woman push the man away, then as he moved towards her she stabbed him in the chest. Look, here's all the blood."
I turned my iPod up and gave them the privacy of the conversation, their note taking, flashlights skimming the concrete and red splashes and rapid-fire questions dancing as the music surrounded me. I knew and know nothing about what had happened or who was involved. But I do know one thing.
I need Jesus just as much or more as every one of those people.
I cannot fill the needs of these people, but something John said in his slow, gravelly and soft voice has always stuck with me. "Just throw us hard-up people a peace sign or something. That's all we need. Sure we need a lot more, but if you can't give us anything just hook us up with a smile." I put myself in his, Juni's, or anyone else's position, and the same smile I'd give my brother when he asks for me to buy him a lego set would make all the difference.
How?
Love. I look at Michael and say "No, I can't" but when I do it's with love and sincerity. Love and compassion are not material things, they're what Jesus has asked of us and what He's given you and I more of than we could ever imagine.
I challenge you to remember that and look past your discomfort.
Next time you're approached or walk by a homeless person, instead of avoiding eye contact hoping they don't ask you for money, look at them and smile. If they do ask you for money, respond politely and sincerely with compassion, but don't take from them their dignity.
Love them just like Jesus loves you.
The only thing that separates me from them is paychecks. If I was to stop being paid, eventually I would wind up in their position. Many, if not most of them are veterans of wars. The government doesn't like to to pay the VA benefits to their veterans and college students, which I know from experience.
Another difference between them and I is they often have little to no constructive networking. In other words, they have either never had or have somehow developed a network of friends and acquaintances who do not support, encourage them, or help them out of being homeless in any way. Often the darkness of their situation is shrouded by a mental disability, addiction of some kind, anger issue, or the most detrimental of all, they simply do not believe that they could ever become a functioning part of society or their families ever again.
Let me share just a few of their stories, but you'll have to imagine the smell of weeks-old cigarette smoke, blackened, marred teeth and beyond dirty clothing yourself.
---
Juni was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico in 1963, a year after my parents. The moment he found out I had done a year of active duty Air Force, his eyes lit up and he told me about how his Dad was in the Air Force and retired as a Chief Master Sergeant after 22 years of working on planes, C-17's and C-5's. Juni then thanked me for serving, saying he appreciated me giving up parts of my life "for my country" and said he admired my courage, finishing by telling me he couldn't ever join the military, they would've torn him apart. His dad used to come home and make him stand at parade rest as he gave his homework assignments to him. My throat caught as he stood up from the stool and did an imitation of it for me. It was a perfect parade rest stance, every detail dead-on to the point that Juni's eyes looked straight forward, unmoving.
I'm sure whatever he went through as a child was more rigorous than what I did in basic training.
He smiled and asked me about my family, and for an hour we swapped stories over several pool games. I came from a family of six kids, he had two sisters and was up in Denver visiting his Mother's grave and had spent several weeks at a relative's home in Aurora. It came time to leave, I had school the next day, so we walked downstairs and outside into the cool air. Juni walked beside me, and as we passed a couple of businessmen who'd stepped outside for a smoke, Juni asked politely if he could have a smoke. With nothing more than pure disdain written across his clean-cut features, one of the men took a long draw and said "you can have the rest of this when I'm done with it."
On a daily basis Juni is spoken to, treated, and glanced at this way, probably dozens of times. Society has developed several scenarios for what the situation of each homeless person is, and whether or not they are liars or tell the truth, whether or not they smell good or just okay, whether they're young or old, we put them into a category and there they remain.
---
John had served for six years in the Army, part of the 11-Bravo Infantry unit, back in the seventies. He had been barely making it for several years, but when the VA stopped sending his checks it was a matter of weeks and he was on the street. From April of 2009 to March of 2010 he struggled, living on West Colfax street, staying in shelters during the winter and somehow the days passed through the spring, summer and fall. Mid-March Restoration Community Church held a huge feast for the homeless in his area for Easter, and he joined, connecting with a young married couple who were serving that Sunday. Something clicked, and they were friends. Calls were made, his situation explained, and by mid-April he received his money for the past year of benefits that hadn't been paid out. The first thing he did was check into a small motel and get cleaned up, taking a hot shower and enjoying a night's sleep on a real bed before following up with the government the next day about possibly moving into subsidized housing. That night several people from Colfax street who'd been watching him and heard from someone that he'd finally been paid mugged him. One came at him with a baseball bat, hitting him in the head. He grabbed the bat, threw it away, and started struggling with the young male that was beating him. The attacker called for a friend who came up behind John and hit him on the back of his head with a hammer. For three days he laid in the hospital first unconscious then in a chemically induced coma as the doctors monitored the three pools of blood that formed in his brain, trying to decide whether or not they should operate. I met him at a dinner for our church volunteers two days after he'd been released from the hospital. The young couple filled in the parts of the story to me, and his responses were "it's all good" and "I'm just thankful I'm alive and I get to be here with you folks. God is good."
---
It was 8:30 at night, I was coming home on the light rail after Saturday night church. My stop is 30th and Downing Street station, the last stop on the D-line that goes through downtown. It's right in the middle of what's known as Five Points, once called the "Amsterdam of the West." I stepped off and watched three cop cars come screaming up, peeling to a stop and jumping out as an ambulance sped off in the opposite direction, lights wailing and sirens flashing. A woman was hysterical as she was led to the second ambulance in handcuffs and put in the back doors accompanied by a police woman.
As I waited for my bus, several officers being led by an individual walked right next to where I was standing. "What exactly did you see?"
"I looked over and saw the woman push the man away, then as he moved towards her she stabbed him in the chest. Look, here's all the blood."
I turned my iPod up and gave them the privacy of the conversation, their note taking, flashlights skimming the concrete and red splashes and rapid-fire questions dancing as the music surrounded me. I knew and know nothing about what had happened or who was involved. But I do know one thing.
I need Jesus just as much or more as every one of those people.
I cannot fill the needs of these people, but something John said in his slow, gravelly and soft voice has always stuck with me. "Just throw us hard-up people a peace sign or something. That's all we need. Sure we need a lot more, but if you can't give us anything just hook us up with a smile." I put myself in his, Juni's, or anyone else's position, and the same smile I'd give my brother when he asks for me to buy him a lego set would make all the difference.
How?
Love. I look at Michael and say "No, I can't" but when I do it's with love and sincerity. Love and compassion are not material things, they're what Jesus has asked of us and what He's given you and I more of than we could ever imagine.
I challenge you to remember that and look past your discomfort.
Next time you're approached or walk by a homeless person, instead of avoiding eye contact hoping they don't ask you for money, look at them and smile. If they do ask you for money, respond politely and sincerely with compassion, but don't take from them their dignity.
Love them just like Jesus loves you.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
There are seventy people to my left, and seventy people on the right of me. Thirteen rows above me and thirteen rows below me. Four thousand people are gathered to pursue wisdom, knowledge and the experience of the speakers that will present effectiveness in the areas of student ministry. My voice is drowned out among the hundreds around me praising our Creator with one tongue carefully orchestrated by the powerhouse of worship on the stage that sculpts the night into one heart lifted up to our God. A quarter of a million dollars pushes the sound beyond my ears and directly into my chest, I can literally feel the music, the bass and the drums. Another quarter of a million stares back at me on huge plasma screens and bright lights that dance tirelessly controlled by nimble, educated and pre-programmed fingers.
This is Orange.
Youth ministry, outlines, breakout group topics and leading talking points. The crucial do's and don't's of student ministry. "We've been there and done that so now we're here. Learn what success can look lke and watch God work. We have." Almost every single person in this huge arena has been in the ministry more years than I have, and most of them full time. And so with my eyes wide and unexperienced ear tuning into whatever I can possibly hear I walk, sit, and wait in lines listening to the lectures, speakers and conversations around me. No more than fifteen minutes goes by in the entirety of nine hours a day for four days when I don't learn something new, helpful or that I could really use.
I have yet to see more than one or two actual teenagers in this sea of pulses dedicated to serving them and leading the age group to know what it means to follow Jesus. This isn't that venue. This is for the people who will reach out to them, build relationships, listen to them, and take a pay cut for them. Most people around me recognize who the speakers are and have either read or know of their books. I don't fall in with any of the above, unfortunately. I'm walking down an aisle reading labels and descriptions of unfamiliar products I know nothing of, but as the speakers stand and share their hearts, communicating experience and professional perceptions of youth ministry, I savor the taste of what they share.
This is the Orange conference, it's about what you get when you collide. When you collide with God, the world, and people. When colors collide and bright orange happens.
So much is planned, prepared and arranged under the umbrella of stewardship and a healthy structure. When we all return to our respective cities, states and countries we will again dive back into a world where God is sovereign and people are hurting. The church will hit 63% of it's income for the month, a friend of a teenager will cut herself to gain a twisted idea of relief and attention, and two of the nine students attending will text during youth group. And yet God is sovereign not in a removed, impersonal way. He is sovereign in a present, real way. Every week, every day, in every conversation He is there, the only reason what happens at youth group is not a gimmick, entertainment or a waste of time.
It's Orange, when God, youth and their leaders collide.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Lunch
I've just walked past nine booths lined up on either side of me displaying the pictures of hungry, dirty children with the most beautiful eyes and smiles you could ever hope to see.
In our marketing culture of small payment plans, redit lines, sex appeal and sales that draw us in, at the heart of it all is our culture. We are a culture that spends. We buy comfort, love, health, laughs, counseling sessions and new movies. Hand-in-hand with every taste or preference you have is an opportunity to serve or an outreach to join with. If you want to build a well, adopt a child, buy incredible photographs to support a given cause or travel the world in service, the opportunities are there. On this planet with networking now so extensive I can identify with someone four states away who just posted an update about doing their taxes at the last second possible just like I did, there is literally a limitless, infinite number of available chances to serve or give.
We pull up in our Buick Rendezevous careful to park with an even space nest to both sides of the vehicle, get out and lock it with the push of a button, then go inside to get our badge for the week having already registered online.
We walk by the ministry tables and smile courteously, making a mental note to avoid that section of the conferencing area from now on. I stood and watched over lunch, and so, so many people reacted that way.
Jesus said "there will always be the poor." This may or may not surprise you, but He was speaking the truth. I contend, however, that He was not providing an escape route. We are not called to serve everyone in the world tirelessly and care about every single outreach, He was also clear about that. We are given specific gifts, passions, intuitions and abilities. But what Jesus did say, and what I saw a startling lack of, is compassion.
"Caring" and "getting involved" are not synonymous with compassion. Compassion is sincere, scriptural, and an aspect of our faith that is both unique and powerful. What does it look like to be compassionate, to have compassion for those who hunger for and need it more than a well, medical help or an education?
Every single answer to life as we need is found in the bible, and we have it as an open book to refer to as often as we like, no holds barred. That should be where we learn to sift through hundreds of organizations, thousands of people passionate about them, and the millions of needs that are represented. What is it that God is calling me to, how can I encourage these people and what they do? How can I use the gifts I've been given for His glory and learn how to become more compassionate and full of grace?
I saw many people give the booths they walked by the same look I imagine they give homeless people asking for a dollar, and it was so apparent the difference between what a hardened heart looks like and what compassion comes across as. A hardened heart shuts out each booth and makes the person feel a slight twinge of guilt as they walk by and later push a button to unlock their 2009 SUV. A compassionate heart sees the unity in Jesus through grace and is open and honest as they interact with the individuals who are so drawn to those needs, joining them in prayer and through fellowship with the Holy Spirit whether or not they adopt a child for $38.00 a month.
I'm sitting in a conference here in Atlanta, Georgia soaking up the warm humidity and words of people with many more years of experience and much more wisdom than I could ever aspire to attaining. These people read, live and communicate effective teaching and ministry. A little unorthodox, yes, but I cannot sit and learn. I'm wired kinetically; I need to be doing something, anything. And so I stand for a little bit, walk around some in a room filled with over fifteen hundred people. It's distracting for them extending maybe...thirty seconds, then they figure it out. Oh, he can't sit still. Sorry peoples. It's either that or I play with your hair or bring legos in.
The legos are noisy and make people jealous that they didn't bring their own in, and playing with someone else's hair could be an assault charge. Aren't you all glad I'm just walking around?
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Squinting looking backwards.
At 22 I have no wisdom to impart to anyone, all I know is I've not only decided to not grow up, but I'm intent on making sure I don't. I have enough responsibility, my taxes are simple enough to be done in just over thirty minutes error-free, and although I am not a band with a Myspace page that has 29 million views, I've still managed to experience joy in more ways than I could have expected.
I have learned that there are consequences to my actions, sometimes good, and sometimes not so good. Occasionally it doesn't even matter what I've done, there are good or bad consequences attached that I couldn't have foreseen. Eggs have lots of protein and go well with many different kinds of food, so they're a cheap, filling investment on the table of "Nourishment and Prices." On that same chart is pasta and peanut butter.
I've discovered that while there is a more than significant amount of effort and work involved in beginning and keeping up a successful garden, the combined release of pouring myself into it and the resulting pesticide-free vegetables that abound in it are far, far worth whatever was invested in the small plot. Grandparents do not live forever, but their eyes do light up in a way when they see their grandchildren that cannot be equated with anything else in all of life.
People will never stop being amazed at creation, at the habits, behavior, and stories of the animal kingdom. As long as there is cinematography the world will continue to be floored by slow-motion shots of lizards and bugs, several large cats pouncing on a female ostrich, or the size of a whale. We will never be in short supply of incredible and jaw-dropping visual images and hearing about how intelligent certain species are, or what techniques they use to hunt their prey. We'll always be surprised, as if learning for the first time that God's creativity extends further than our own.
Music, like culture, evolves. Hairstyles, the ability to stand apart from society and give it the finger from a distance will always entice the younger ages and earn scorn from the more aged. It will always be romantic to rebel and the profit will be from those who are taken in by it.
The world creates something desirable, the government regulates it, and after several generations society strikes out against the government and moves on to something more desirable that isn't yet regulated.
I've learned that the people who hold the key to successful parenting are the children, not the parents themselves. With each generation it's the children who know how they should've been raised and not the adults who know how they should've raised them. The children grow up and learn how difficult it is sometimes to have a family and know how to make the right decisions, and the price of gas slides upward averaging a cent at a time.
The first snow is always the most beautiful and the last one the most unexpected. A lit baseball field at night never loses it's aura of magic. Strangers always want to know when their front tire looks a little low. Peace is found in the face of a sleeping baby and few other places on earth. It's easier to argue a point than agree that you're wrong. War is fought by young men single and married, the wives, sisters and mothers at home wear it, it's paid for by tax on groceries and the high-ranking older men know this as they make every decision.
There never was any less sin in the world than from the first day it entered the kingdom of Earth. As time goes on it may become more or less apparent the need for grace as a person is more or less sensitive to the Holy Spirit. The older I get the more I realize how little I really know and how so much of my life is out of my control, and I'm more thankful for it.
People have favorite ice creams, songs, places to visit and breeds of dog, but everyone agrees that centipedes are scary and straight up evil.
I have learned that there are consequences to my actions, sometimes good, and sometimes not so good. Occasionally it doesn't even matter what I've done, there are good or bad consequences attached that I couldn't have foreseen. Eggs have lots of protein and go well with many different kinds of food, so they're a cheap, filling investment on the table of "Nourishment and Prices." On that same chart is pasta and peanut butter.
I've discovered that while there is a more than significant amount of effort and work involved in beginning and keeping up a successful garden, the combined release of pouring myself into it and the resulting pesticide-free vegetables that abound in it are far, far worth whatever was invested in the small plot. Grandparents do not live forever, but their eyes do light up in a way when they see their grandchildren that cannot be equated with anything else in all of life.
People will never stop being amazed at creation, at the habits, behavior, and stories of the animal kingdom. As long as there is cinematography the world will continue to be floored by slow-motion shots of lizards and bugs, several large cats pouncing on a female ostrich, or the size of a whale. We will never be in short supply of incredible and jaw-dropping visual images and hearing about how intelligent certain species are, or what techniques they use to hunt their prey. We'll always be surprised, as if learning for the first time that God's creativity extends further than our own.
Music, like culture, evolves. Hairstyles, the ability to stand apart from society and give it the finger from a distance will always entice the younger ages and earn scorn from the more aged. It will always be romantic to rebel and the profit will be from those who are taken in by it.
The world creates something desirable, the government regulates it, and after several generations society strikes out against the government and moves on to something more desirable that isn't yet regulated.
I've learned that the people who hold the key to successful parenting are the children, not the parents themselves. With each generation it's the children who know how they should've been raised and not the adults who know how they should've raised them. The children grow up and learn how difficult it is sometimes to have a family and know how to make the right decisions, and the price of gas slides upward averaging a cent at a time.
The first snow is always the most beautiful and the last one the most unexpected. A lit baseball field at night never loses it's aura of magic. Strangers always want to know when their front tire looks a little low. Peace is found in the face of a sleeping baby and few other places on earth. It's easier to argue a point than agree that you're wrong. War is fought by young men single and married, the wives, sisters and mothers at home wear it, it's paid for by tax on groceries and the high-ranking older men know this as they make every decision.
There never was any less sin in the world than from the first day it entered the kingdom of Earth. As time goes on it may become more or less apparent the need for grace as a person is more or less sensitive to the Holy Spirit. The older I get the more I realize how little I really know and how so much of my life is out of my control, and I'm more thankful for it.
People have favorite ice creams, songs, places to visit and breeds of dog, but everyone agrees that centipedes are scary and straight up evil.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Not anything of mine
I set the iPod down, changed the phone from my right ear to my left so that my neck wouldn't be cramped, and pulled out my boarding pass.
Position 39-B on Southwest. Not bad.
I walked up to my place, waited in line, handed the ticketing agent my pass and boarded the plane.
Just short of two hours later I walked up to the Baggage Supervisor's office and put in my description of the iPod and informed them exactly where I'd left it in the Phoenix airport. The Denver personnel were more than courteous and apologetic for my loss. I got in the van, and hadn't yet reached home when I received a call from a Phoenix Southwest employee informing me they'd found my iPod, and were ready with instructions as to how I'd be able to have it Fedexed to my home.
...
It was 4:15am on the Sunday morning of my monthly duty weekend in Colorado Springs. The small Canadian man I ride with down to base each time was all smiles. "Are you ready? Let's get this day over with!" I always knew that I could count on Sergeant Budding. Good or bad, whether it was a beautiful bright shiny summer morning or cold blizzarding wintery one, he would find a way to bash it relentlessly. That and the traffic.
86 miles. From my front doorstep to the clinic we worked at, it was 86 miles.
Sergeant Budding was almost out of gas, didn't have his wallet, and I'd left my card in my lab coat pocket the day before while covering for one of phlebotomists. Between the two of us, eighty-five cents.
The math didn't work, there was no way we should've made it. I prayed much of the way while Sergeant Budding cursed hills, stoplights, slow vehicles and the slowly fading bars on his gas gauge. Eighty-six miles on little more than fumes, and we made it.
Psalm 139:1-3
"O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
You perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
You are familiar with all my ways."
Position 39-B on Southwest. Not bad.
I walked up to my place, waited in line, handed the ticketing agent my pass and boarded the plane.
Just short of two hours later I walked up to the Baggage Supervisor's office and put in my description of the iPod and informed them exactly where I'd left it in the Phoenix airport. The Denver personnel were more than courteous and apologetic for my loss. I got in the van, and hadn't yet reached home when I received a call from a Phoenix Southwest employee informing me they'd found my iPod, and were ready with instructions as to how I'd be able to have it Fedexed to my home.
...
It was 4:15am on the Sunday morning of my monthly duty weekend in Colorado Springs. The small Canadian man I ride with down to base each time was all smiles. "Are you ready? Let's get this day over with!" I always knew that I could count on Sergeant Budding. Good or bad, whether it was a beautiful bright shiny summer morning or cold blizzarding wintery one, he would find a way to bash it relentlessly. That and the traffic.
86 miles. From my front doorstep to the clinic we worked at, it was 86 miles.
Sergeant Budding was almost out of gas, didn't have his wallet, and I'd left my card in my lab coat pocket the day before while covering for one of phlebotomists. Between the two of us, eighty-five cents.
The math didn't work, there was no way we should've made it. I prayed much of the way while Sergeant Budding cursed hills, stoplights, slow vehicles and the slowly fading bars on his gas gauge. Eighty-six miles on little more than fumes, and we made it.
Psalm 139:1-3
"O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
You perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
You are familiar with all my ways."
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Commissioned.
Occasionally I'll remember something that startles me, sort of like an "after the fact" scare. As in "I really thought that?" or "what was I thinking?" As is with most people, often this thought is tied to something I did or said in high school or the early years of my college. Let's call those the "Indestructable Years of Immortality", for that is how I inevitably viewed myself at that time.
What shocks me to this day, is how haughty, narcissistic and aggressively prideful I was in relation to others. (Galatians 5:17 "For the sinful nature desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the sinful nature. They are in conflict with each other, so that you do not do what you want.")
Lying in some primordial stew of judgement, my "theology", "good" opinions and best of intentions, were my gifts and passions. Not that they were something anymore special or unique than the rest of the world's, but just that they were stagnant, atrophied.
Just there.
Waiting.
God grew silent.
And for so long in my own abilities, reasoning, empowerment and selfishness I called them out, attempted to use them for whatever good I in my empty and volatile wisdom deemed worthy. Like in Greek mythology, I was man. Rebellious, strong, and a challenge to the gods.
Then something that crept up in my blind-spot leapt me from behind and threw me violently to the ground, pinning me and demanding submission. Over, and over, and over again. To my right and left I looked frantically, but still I was attacked. I was mortal.
Over, and over, and over--letter after phone call after job after friendship after relationship after family after God...life came at me. I wasn't submissive, patient, respectful, honest, compassionate, loving, mature, thorough, responsible...the list went on and on. These things I failed, these things I weren't...THERE'S NO WAY.
Yes way. I wasn't.
I didn't.
God began to whisper.
And still like the man in the doughnut shop with the glass front who knows he's being watched by hungry, eager eyes, I realized that it was only I who was limiting me. No other excuse, conjured reason however legitimate, or circumstance of any kind. And at the moment when I was the weakest, wounds open and bleeding profusely, a blurred figure moved from behind the glass where I'd been watched and stepped in front of me. He said "James."
(John 20:16 "Jesus said to her, 'Mary.' She turned to him and cried out in Aramaic, 'Rabboni!' which means Teacher.")
He said my name.
Who was this? Up until that moment, I didn't know who he was, but when he said my name, there was no turning back. "I will not let you live on the street. No, I have something better for you. Not better for the you I'm going to make you someday, not better for the you I want you to become, but better for you. Right now."
I found myself led in a direction I couldn't have dared to hope for, towards places I would never have believed could be mine if someone had told me. And I had been told, over and over, and over again, I just didn't believe it could be meant for me.
(John 8:47 "He who belongs to God hears what God says. The reason you do not hear is that you do not belong to God.")
I watched in awe as my future unfolded a day at a time. I was now no longer responsible for myself, for who I became, what it was I was supposed to be...all that was taken care of.
( 2 Corinthians 5:17 Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!)
And so it began. I was to be so many things I could never have been on my own, can never be in my own strength, and more was required of me than I ever could have required of myself.
(Luke 6:37 "Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.")
I was to be changed in so many ways I never desired, was frightened of, and I was to see who I was flipped upside-down and completely on it's head. Over, and over, and over again I took back what I'd made myself, glanced at it, then handed it to the one who saved me.
(Zechariah 3:4 "The angel said to those who were standing before him, "take off his filthy clothes." Then he said to Joshua, "see, I have taken away your sin, and I will put rich garments on you.")
Who I was supposed to be was so much more than I ever could have imagined. What was required of me was so much more challenging, so much more unattainable, and so much more the attractive for it.
(Philippians 1:9 "And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ-to the glory and praise of God.")
It was not just an adventure, it was the epic journey written about, studied, and lived by so many millions before me, but this time not them, me. I was to go on it myself.
That is where I stand.
(Isaiah 43:1 "But now, this is what the Lord says--he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: 'fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.")
What I walk on is a road that never ends with views that never cease. Still I fail, fall short, and am not who I need to be. But instead, my life is not my own. Shadows and shapes of what I once was and what threatens to distract me from the battles ahead dance on the walls, they're always in my vision when I look down. No longer are those flickering images me, no more do they taunt and guilt me, they're not mine.
I'm not mine.
Imperfect, fallen, guilty, and undesirable in every sense of the definition--I am a commissioned warrior. To a world so filled with suffering and hurts, wants and needs, pain and fleeting pleasure...I was fought for, and now I fight. Every day I stand alongside my Redeemer and loving Savior and I fight.
I am His.
(1 Timothy 1:17 "Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.")
What shocks me to this day, is how haughty, narcissistic and aggressively prideful I was in relation to others. (Galatians 5:17 "For the sinful nature desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the sinful nature. They are in conflict with each other, so that you do not do what you want.")
Lying in some primordial stew of judgement, my "theology", "good" opinions and best of intentions, were my gifts and passions. Not that they were something anymore special or unique than the rest of the world's, but just that they were stagnant, atrophied.
Just there.
Waiting.
God grew silent.
And for so long in my own abilities, reasoning, empowerment and selfishness I called them out, attempted to use them for whatever good I in my empty and volatile wisdom deemed worthy. Like in Greek mythology, I was man. Rebellious, strong, and a challenge to the gods.
Then something that crept up in my blind-spot leapt me from behind and threw me violently to the ground, pinning me and demanding submission. Over, and over, and over again. To my right and left I looked frantically, but still I was attacked. I was mortal.
Over, and over, and over--letter after phone call after job after friendship after relationship after family after God...life came at me. I wasn't submissive, patient, respectful, honest, compassionate, loving, mature, thorough, responsible...the list went on and on. These things I failed, these things I weren't...THERE'S NO WAY.
Yes way. I wasn't.
I didn't.
God began to whisper.
And still like the man in the doughnut shop with the glass front who knows he's being watched by hungry, eager eyes, I realized that it was only I who was limiting me. No other excuse, conjured reason however legitimate, or circumstance of any kind. And at the moment when I was the weakest, wounds open and bleeding profusely, a blurred figure moved from behind the glass where I'd been watched and stepped in front of me. He said "James."
(John 20:16 "Jesus said to her, 'Mary.' She turned to him and cried out in Aramaic, 'Rabboni!' which means Teacher.")
He said my name.
Who was this? Up until that moment, I didn't know who he was, but when he said my name, there was no turning back. "I will not let you live on the street. No, I have something better for you. Not better for the you I'm going to make you someday, not better for the you I want you to become, but better for you. Right now."
I found myself led in a direction I couldn't have dared to hope for, towards places I would never have believed could be mine if someone had told me. And I had been told, over and over, and over again, I just didn't believe it could be meant for me.
(John 8:47 "He who belongs to God hears what God says. The reason you do not hear is that you do not belong to God.")
I watched in awe as my future unfolded a day at a time. I was now no longer responsible for myself, for who I became, what it was I was supposed to be...all that was taken care of.
( 2 Corinthians 5:17 Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!)
And so it began. I was to be so many things I could never have been on my own, can never be in my own strength, and more was required of me than I ever could have required of myself.
(Luke 6:37 "Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.")
I was to be changed in so many ways I never desired, was frightened of, and I was to see who I was flipped upside-down and completely on it's head. Over, and over, and over again I took back what I'd made myself, glanced at it, then handed it to the one who saved me.
(Zechariah 3:4 "The angel said to those who were standing before him, "take off his filthy clothes." Then he said to Joshua, "see, I have taken away your sin, and I will put rich garments on you.")
Who I was supposed to be was so much more than I ever could have imagined. What was required of me was so much more challenging, so much more unattainable, and so much more the attractive for it.
(Philippians 1:9 "And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ-to the glory and praise of God.")
It was not just an adventure, it was the epic journey written about, studied, and lived by so many millions before me, but this time not them, me. I was to go on it myself.
That is where I stand.
(Isaiah 43:1 "But now, this is what the Lord says--he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: 'fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.")
What I walk on is a road that never ends with views that never cease. Still I fail, fall short, and am not who I need to be. But instead, my life is not my own. Shadows and shapes of what I once was and what threatens to distract me from the battles ahead dance on the walls, they're always in my vision when I look down. No longer are those flickering images me, no more do they taunt and guilt me, they're not mine.
I'm not mine.
Imperfect, fallen, guilty, and undesirable in every sense of the definition--I am a commissioned warrior. To a world so filled with suffering and hurts, wants and needs, pain and fleeting pleasure...I was fought for, and now I fight. Every day I stand alongside my Redeemer and loving Savior and I fight.
I am His.
(1 Timothy 1:17 "Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.")
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Overdue
I finally downloaded what I needed to, cut and pasted, and made a video of some of the most cute moments from my trip with my brother Ricky to Seattle this Christmastime. It was so much fun to hang out with my little niece and nephew, as well as spend lots of time with my sister and brother-in-law.
Family rocks.
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