I Think I Woke Up

More Dramatic

2012-01-10T10:11:00.000-08:00

The sign at our new house being removed

The Miller family has left the compound. We have been waiting three long, eventful and uh, “character building” years for this event. It’s a long story with unexpected twists and fascinating characters. It is not nearly over or nearly understood but the setting has changed dramatically. Together we are thankful beyond explanation both to God for his provision and our friends and family for their support and very practical help.

Along the way and during the move, God has made his involvement evident in interesting, comforting and reassuring ways. In little things like how the flooring fit or timing of details and in big ways like how the heck did we even get a house, it’s just obvious that we are being looked after by someone who loves us deeply and very personally. It makes me feel safe and expectant simultaneously.

I am becoming increasingly confident in my suspicion that there is more going on here than can be explained or understood with traditional sense or sensibility. Something dramatic and powerful of all-directions epic proportions is being unleashed. This suspicion is only confirmed by my circumstances. I’m hearing the same rumblings whenever I take the time to listen. Literally, every time I decide to pay attention, I can sense the evidence of God’s power shimmering, settling and directing. Please don’t ask what I’m doing when I’m not paying attention.

It’s a bit embarrassing. I think we’ve been told already, in fact, repeatedly, all during our role in the story. It’s written into the script. I believe that I, for one, have terribly underestimated the proportions of my role, the role of those around me and the dramatic nature of the coinciding events. I have settled for the mundane, allowed the enemy to dictate mediocrity and measured myself by extinct standards originally intended to demonstrate their ineffectiveness.

I’ve heard the story with all the clues on felt boards, Sunday mornings and around campfires or at early morning small groups. To blame a bit, I think most of the clues were explained in terribly uninspiring ways. No one ever told me I could be a hero. No one seemed to expect me to be. I’m not, in the traditional sense measured by standard standards. I suspect however, that I am supposed to be in a much bigger, much better way. Perhaps I’ll be one today. Maybe I was one yesterday.

Jesus stepped into the public sphere after years growing up, learning a trade that required calluses and craftsmanship. His identity was secure as a man and he was proclaimed by God as his son. Tested by his arch-enemy and overcoming the temptation to make his own way he offered something. Wouldn’t the first thing Jesus said in his public ministry be important (I’m trying to understate the obvious)? Doesn’t it seem natural that there would be a strategy and a reason for his timing and message? I think there is good reason to pay attention and hear well his foundational message.

“Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.” My translation, “Anyone who has noticed that the last several thousand years of effort have been a complete failure and is ready for a better strategy – I’ve got one… anyone? How about, now that we have clearly shown that the whole sacrifice, follow the rules thing isn’t working and never will, how about we try something that will work? Let’s do it my way.” He then goes on to explain who this new way is for, how it’s different than the old way and what’s required of those who accept the invitation. He takes three years to demonstrate and teach, preparing 12 men to continue extending the invitation. He puts the plan fully into motion with his death and resurrection. He gives us his very life with power to offer life. He leaves us saying that we are to do greater things than he did…

I don’t think that life is about getting my to do list checked off. Tips and tricks won’t get me where I’ve been invited to go. I don’t think a good job with benefits; a house, a car, a time-share and a great retirement plan will suffice when I’ve been offered a role in a much grander eternal story. It’s not enough to go to church, be nice, avoid bad language and do my duty. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with these efforts and goals in their proper place. However, if they get in the way of living a dramatic life in an adventurous story, if they become an end themselves, then, they are bad.

This life is more dramatic, more exciting than any story I’ve read or any movie I’ve watched. It is dangerous and romantic, heart breaking and hilarious. My role is infinitely more significant than I understand. Everyone’s is. I want to live into it. I’m tired of brief glimpses. I’m greedy for what I think I’m being offered.

Don’t ask me to stop being so dramatic, I can’t, it’s not me doing it.

Don’t tell me “it’s” not a big deal, it is.

Are you seeing / hearing the same thing?

Is your story inviting you to more than the mundane?

Why I Read

2011-12-16T08:21:00.000-08:00

I do not read only to learn. I do not read to gather facts and information – to hold them and at earliest opportunity, regurgitate. I do not read or study to capture the world in my mind and define it. It would be a perverse limitation and I am infinitely limited for the task.

I read to change, to become more than I was when I started the page. In a paragraph, a sentence or a word, one of the many cracks in my soul will be leaked into and an empty space will no longer be empty. It will be fuller with the substance of truth filling it now new and bigger both.

I cannot hold these drips of words, ideas and stories. They are not mine but to be shared. They connect me to those who wrote and read before me. It is my only true option to hold loosely, let them flow in and through me, trusting that the aggregate will reveal what portion of itself is called forth at the proper time.

For this, I do not read all books. There are too many words and they are not all for me. It is the task afforded me to watch for those who would speak to me. I am called to listen well and consider what they say for as long as it remains in my awakened soul. It will dissipate. Each word and sentence and thought will arrive, increase and burn in its place setting all around it alight. The words will be consumed by the fire they caused and cease to be separate from the heated, melted amalgamation they influenced.

I read to participate in a life that is worth living. I read to discover and share with the writer and the listeners around me. I read so that I can listen better, so I can recognize a story I have heard somewhere and confirm, reassure, question and challenge. I read because there are no simplistic, easy answers and there are too many questions to ask or answer all of them.

I hope that what I read, when and how much and how it connects with the people I meet and the conversations I have will combine to become, to grow into something alive, powerful, life-giving and inspiring. I hope the path continues to unfold in front of me with the branches joining and intersecting at just the right places. I hope, but I hold loosely to the judgment of success for I am not my own and I am too close to the event. I look forward to the day when I can see the parts of the whole and enjoy the mysterious genius that brought it all together.

Burn Barrel

2011-12-05T10:07:00.000-08:00

His rescuer dragged

blackened remnants

of last ditch effort

to the barrel

and stood

with a charred stick

gripped absently.

She pushed down

and down again

into the heat

staring blank

and dry eyed

waiting

for the fire

to rebuild.

Cold Feet

2011-11-14T09:29:00.000-08:00

feet on floor

Ah yes, I think I woke up. At the very least, I can tell that the bottoms of my feet are colder than they should be if they are still ensconced under the covers. Probably means they are resting on the concrete floor by my bed and I haven’t found my fluffy slippers yet. I’m not sure this really qualifies as woke up, but it is a great comparison. I spend so much time upright and moving without being attentive. I notice this lack of awareness when I’m gently jolted into interest. I’m embarrassed that I spend so much time like a zombie. Just moving forward, concerned only with what I will consume next, unaware that what I consume does not nourish. Why live as a zombie if I’m not dead?

I read a poem last night. A short one. Short poems are good for people who are just barely aware that their feet are cold (realize that it’s difficult to tell if my feet are just a little bit cold or if I’m just a little bit aware and they’re actually a lot cold). I couldn’t tell what it was about. I couldn’t see how it rhymed. Poetry is a great indicator of awareness. It’s hard to get unless I’m awake and attentive. The jewels and ah ha moments, the shared, secret, inside understanding is unavailable to me if I’m in a rush. So, I missed it. Fortunately, it was in a book about writing poetry so I was forced to figure it out. Turns out, it was about some kids that bought a little sea horse that then died in their aquarium. Very moving…

I drank some coffee yesterday that was like poetry. I made some Ethiopian coffee we are trying out for Gravitas. Just so you know, I can always tell after a few sips whether or not I “like” the coffee. I’m not sure why at first; I just know yes or no. It’s much easier to decide, however, if I’m the one that made it.

That last little statement is a whole ‘nother post –

So, I’m drinking this coffee, very much aware, attentive, on purpose. I’m looking for the subtle nuances of flavor, aroma, mouth feel, finish, etc. I’m trying to sense where it hits on my tongue, whether it is changing as the temperature drops and how the roast has changed in the last few days. It’s crazy. Coffee is coffee right? And truly, it is a hot, brown liquid that tastes similar to all other coffee. To the unaware, unawake, inattentive imbiber, yes, it’s just coffee. And, Eric Clapton and I are both “just” guitar players. You just strum a bit, move your fingers around on the strings and wallah – music.

No, it’s not that boring. It’s not so easy to dismiss. There is a great argument to have here. There is MORE to it. There is more to everything. My geeky attempt to explain, which causes much eye rolling, is so very limited. My palette, which is tested several times each day, comes into doubt (by me) when I’m trying to find the flavors. I can feel the strain of the nerve endings connecting with stored information in my brain. When I’m trying to match up the oh so quiet, gentle sensations taken in by the tender little sensors in my mouth with all the blasts and impacts of flavor over the last 43 years and say what it is – I doubt. I’m not sure. I need suggestion from my coffee geek friends. I cheat and read the descriptor on the bag to give me direction. I’m better at this, more sensitive now than I was six months ago. I’m improving my sensitivity because I practice being aware. I spend time sipping slowly and feeling with my eyes closed. I grind by hand, breath deep of a bag of beans and again as the steam comes off the fresh cup. I try really hard to find the flavor. And still, I’m not sure. I know there is more to discover and I’m just not good enough yet.

It’s not just coffee. There is more to it.

These are not just words. There is power buried in the story.

Poetry is more than rhyming and turtlenecks.

There is a big difference between me and Eric.

There is something important and undiscovered that each of us has to find and reveal. It’s hard work that takes practice and way too much time. It’s worth it.

I am barely awake and I am shocked to find that there is so much more and yet I still try so hard to stay snuggled under the covers, avoiding the touch of the cold, concrete floor against my feet. It’s so ridiculous! Especially since, quite soon, I’ll be holding a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee in my hands and its aroma will be wafting up, into my brain.

Why, if this is true, is it so hard to stay awake?

What are you practicing the discovery of?

What I'm doing

2011-11-10T07:00:00.000-08:00

To friends, family, neighbors & people wondering why I spend so much time in coffee shops but still have calluses on my hands,

I recently accepted the role of Partnership Developer with Go Connect. I am more excited about this opportunity than any other for many years. It seems like much of my life has led me to and prepared me for this assignment.

I am working with another local missionary, David Bilby, on a project called Neighbor LinkUp. It is an interactive, Internet database that connects volunteers with the people and projects that need them. Our mission is to fight against all forms of isolation, illness and poverty by connecting generations relationally to meet practical needs.

We are launching “beta 2.0” and my role is to foster partnerships with local organizations and churches. Our shared effort will be the development of this process as it is applied in real time and real lives. Neighbor LinkUp is already proven as a tool that generates helpful connections between neighbors. Now we want to spread it like a life giving virus.

Anyone can access Neighbor LinkUp to register as a volunteer or post a need. It makes the first step to connecting with your neighbors and your community much easier. Over the last few months, in our “beta 1.0” phase, we have completed 33 projects, mobilized 96 volunteers and created partnerships with local agencies to supply projects. Our database is growing rapidly and our partnerships are generating excitement!

Would you partner with me? There are multiple opportunities to get involved:

1. Volunteers – hands for practical needs, ears for relationship and mentors shoulder to shoulder teaching and building character

2. Project Coordinators – People who will administrate one or more projects

3. Money & Materials – Go Connect is an entirely donor supported mission. Materials for projects, administration and all the typical operational expenses are covered by people and organizations that partner with us financially or donate directly to projects.

4. Feedback – Beta 2.0 is about perfecting our systems so they are as useful and easy to interact with as possible. We need people to use them, pay attention and tell us where improvement is needed. Please be a guinea pig for us!

I’m hosting an open house (at my house - 7005 NE 179th St.) on Thursday, Nov 17^th from 8 to 8. Stop by and buy some beans, drink some great coffee and I’ll show you the Neighbor LinkUp software. I would love your input. 100% of proceeds from coffee sales all week (Nov 14-18) go to Go Connect.

Look forward to sharing with you!

Curtis Miller

Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Love your Neighbor, Drink Coffee!

2011-11-08T07:00:00.000-08:00

If you like coffee and you love your neighbor - this is a great opportunity to combine the two! Even if you don't like your neighbor you should buy the coffee just for yourself or for a Christmas present. If you don't like coffee but you like your neighbor, buy the coffee for them. If you don't like your neighbor or coffee... I don't know what to tell you. You lead a very sad life. Let's meet for coffee somewhere near your neighborhood and talk about it.

Fresh picked Guatemala coffee cherries

Engedi Café at US Digital is offering a unique and wonderful fundraising opportunity. All the proceeds for the coffee they sell next week support Go Connect. This is good because Go Connect does great things in the community. It’s a really good deal –

If you buy one bean for $11.00 you get a whole pound for free!

All the proceeds from each bean you buy support Go Connect efforts like Compassion Vancouver and Neighbor LinkUp. You can buy as many beans as you like, so stock up for the holidays! There are several different roasts from BJ’s available. Let’s see if we can sell 300 beans before the November 17^th deadline.

Text or call me at 360-798-9989, comment or send me an email and I’ll make the arrangements.

You can also come to my open house on Thursday the 17^th from 8 to 8. Buy some beans, drink some coffee and find out more about Neighbor LinkUp.

Not So Little Details

2011-11-07T07:59:00.000-08:00

I am so thankful every once in a while.

It should be more often, but when I am, I do not worry about that.

Because I am busy being thankful.

I am lost in the ideas before

And after the thankful comes.

Details are generous interrupters,

Reminders and awakers of my imagination.

I trip over their slow toes

As they dance in measured steps

In time with a loud heartbeat.

The smell of an old car that has served well and been appreciated.

Kisses softly on my wife’s throat while she waits.

Giggling children who are old too fast reminding.

The neighborhood hawk watching still on the wire for breakfast.

Last few beans bumping through the grinder by my hand.

That Brandon and Lulu at Golden Tusk know my 35a with six stars.

Heat finally under the dash and up my pant legs on a cold morning.

Freshly cleaned spectacles, warm and clear on my crooked nose.

That’s eight.

Good Things for a Bad Person?

2011-10-31T10:52:00.000-07:00

It is a scary place, this spinning speck of dirt caught between the tide of heaven and hell. When my imagination brings some meaning to the information my brain is collecting, I am so relieved to know I am saved from the terror. It’s scary to know I am so close and it is so easy, so regular to end up drifting in ignorance, rebellion and abject stupidity into the abyss.

I am at odds with my base desires when I soften to the strong, quiet affections of Jesus. But, oh, it is a worthy effort to let go and rest in them.

My base desires do not lead to good. They strengthen and expand the dark, lonely and desperate places in my heart. I can feel myself fighting, straining to resist the tenderness that my weakness needs so desperately. I am afraid to admit my need, to let go, to be unprotected. Hah – as if I could protect myself. What a lie. What a bold deception to accept so readily. How embarrassing. Truly, I am head shaking and ashamed that for most of my waking, I am unaware of the habits that lead me by degrees off this safe and difficult path. I pretend unconsciously to satisfy necessary inclinations and produce justifiable results for my spent time. I’m protecting myself. I am participating in a lie that destroys even while I can see the truth.

When I am awake and aware, I can see, dimly but clear enough to discern the right direction. It is different than normal. It leaves the supposed safety of what I supposedly know behind me. It is a treacherous path that will kill my flesh and deny my base desires. It is dark and lonely on this path. I have been attacked and persecuted. I have been led through pain, doubt and fear day after day after day. The relief I imagine and wait for is achingly slow.

But the dimmest light I see warms through the cold and darkness. No shadow resists, no pain lasts and no fear is real enough. He loves me. I am loved and known. My wandering and questions fit into his intimate understanding of me. He knows what has happened to make me this way. He gets it more than me. And he loves me still, through it and in spite of it. His love is so strong, so pure and overwhelming that my brokenness is repaired. I cannot even begin to fathom. It would be dishonoring to think I could. But I can imagine.

He has put himself in me. He has drawn me up, out and into himself. He has touched me from his great strength with an eternal quality of tenderness that leaves me trembling. His life and heartbeat, his very breath reverberate through my flesh and bones, shaking me and breaking me recklessly. It is a force, this passionate love in dim light that I yearn for more of. I want with an indescribable hunger for it to last. I cannot wait for more light, more love and more power ringing through it all.

The cost of this love he gives to me. The price he paid to give it. It shames me. I hurt to know I required it of him. That he loves me still… I’m amazed. That he loves me so well, so without reservation, so completely like I am the only one. I am lost to it. I can only imagine and feel. My brain is not up to the task.

Thank you Jesus for your light, your love, your mercy and your sacrifice.

I am yours.

Top 5 things that make you a legit "runner" (besides running)

2011-10-27T17:47:00.000-07:00

Running Alone - better or worse?

1. Tell Injury Stories:

a. Find logical places runners congregate. This can be nearly anywhere except buffet restaurants.

b. Look for shoes and race shirts.

c. Meander over and stand around in your running gear looking nonchalant. If running gear is unavailable, try to look like you have a low heart rate and a high VO2 max.

d. When congregating occurs, blend in with group and nod sympathetically when they start telling training injury stories. Don’t worry; you won’t have to wait long for this.

e. Now this is a critical move that requires preparation. It may be best to practice in front of a mirror while recording on your iPod. When a break comes, chuckle knowingly and launch into your injury story. Word of caution, you must tell the story as if happened in the distant past. Whether you say so or not, you must leave story-telling buddies with the impression that you healed and learned from your training mistakes and everything is now back to normal. In fact you are stronger. Do not expose current weakness – they are like jackals! You will be de-legitimized faster than you can open a tube of Gu.

bonus - combines 2 & 4!

2. Wear T-shirts from organized runs and worn out running shoes. You can do this quite frequently. I try to include a regular, non-run shirt at least once every three or four days. This gets more and more difficult as I collect shirts. As a rule, if you need to wear a suit or some sort of more formal clothing, go with clean running shoes and use the run shirt as an undergarment. The logo will show through and seem understated.

3. Put a sticker on your car/truck/ -

My favorite: "my sport is your sport's punishment"

Second favorite: "if I collapse, please pause my Garmin"

4. Include frequent use of running related words in your vocabulary. Make sure that your sentences flow. This a valuable effort but risky. If you use these words incorrectly and a real runner catches you, there is a chance they will use the opportunity to humiliate you in order to bolster their own legitimacy. Proceed with Caution. See 5a if you think you are a real runner.

Glossary:

VO2 Max (aerobic capacity) – this has something to do with an individuals ability to utilize oxygen. The higher your max, the more powerful your endurance. In a sentence – “Did you read that article about Mark Allen? His VO2 max is ridiculous! No wonder he won 7 Ironmans…”

Bonk: I know, this has been used outside of running. It refers to the point in your run where your body loudly proclaims. “I’m done you idiot, stop running!” This usually occurs well before you get to your finish line. A great reason to run “loops” instead of “out-and-backs.”

Fartlek: Just a great word to have an excuse to use – it’s Swedish. Think of alternating running fast with running slow. I use the distance between telephone poles. If you have a really sucky run and just can’t get it together, you can post about just finishing a really tough set of fartleks. Most people will not know what you mean and may comment about effect of your food choices on digestive health.

Endorphins: These are like drugs but they are legal and healthy. Your body makes them when you try to kill it in order to placate you.

Lactic Acid: Also like a drug made by your body when you try to kill it and it has given up on placating and is just trying to kill you back.

LSD: Not a drug but can bring on both of the above. Means Long Slow Distance.

RICE: What you do after nearly any combination of the above. Acronym for Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation. It’s for treating injuries.

Generally, the answer is no, Don't.

Singlet: Very small, tight piece of clothing. If you can in fact get away with wearing one of these, you need no other support for your claim as a runner (but, wear in public sparingly). If you can’t, don’t try. Give it a shot, look in the mirror – trust me, you’ll know.

MORE GREAT RUNNING RELATEDWORDS

5. Make use of the “carbo-loading” theory. This is a great excuse to super size the managers special at Spaghetti Factory the night before a run. To be clear, you can use almost any run as an excuse – 5k fun run, a long training run, a set of intervals, even a marathon. You can actually use the run as an excuse to respond to a deep, guttural need for spaghetti. In theory, loading up on extra carbohydrates is only really necessary if you are running for longer than 45 minutes or so. This is irrelevant information in the context of your announcement on Facebook that you are “carbo-loading for the big run.”

5a. As an adjunct to all 5 tips, never question the legitimacy of other runner’s attempts to legitimize their status as a runner. Unless you are an Olympic gold medal winner or have actually finished an Ironman or an ultra run in the Mojave Desert, your status in tenuous by comparison. Nod with approval, say encouraging things and look for any excuse to prop up someone else’s precarious status. Do this for two reasons. First, what comes around goes around. Your runner status needs support and there is no better way to get it than being supportive. Second, believing you are a runner and part of the running community is a powerful key factor in generating motivation and accountability on dark, rainy, tired days when going for a run does not call to your soul until after you are done.

What do you think makes a legitimate runner?

7 Great Sayings?

2011-10-24T23:04:00.000-07:00

Consider well...

Just joking. What I really think is that these are seven common sayings that could use a bit more consideration.

It can be observed that, sometimes, these statements are not true. In the great and wonderful created world we live in, someone set up some rules. They are always true. According to this logic, if something is true in part, it will be true as a whole. If it is false in part, it is probably false as a whole.

Most of these statements are not rules, they are assumptions made regularly with less consideration than warranted. Rather than ranting on my soapbox and incurring wrath for my overly dramatic treatments, I have a question to follow each. Just consider them a bit. Maybe they aren’t that obvious.

1. You should just be happy you have a job.

Would anyone be satisfied with the implied attitude if it was held by your child’s teacher? They don’t really like their job, but it has great benefits an easy schedule and it’s nearly impossible to get fired. How about your brain surgeon? Therapist?

2. Don’t get married too young.

Doesn’t this imply that marriage is easier if you get married when you are older? Has anyone found a couple with any kind of marriage, started at any age who claims it is easy?

3. Don’t wait to go to college.

Is education more valuable to those with life experience or to those without?

4. If you are paying rent, you should buy a house. It’s a great investment.

We fight and die for freedom – who has the most, those with or those without a mortgage and property to maintain?

5. If you are worth X dollars per hour (there is a formula) and you can pay someone less than that to mow your lawn, change your oil, cook your food, or whatever else, you should not do it yourself. Instead, you should spend your time making money.

Does the connection one has to the simple efforts of maintaining their life contribute to the health of the heart or is time truly valued by money alone?

6. As soon as I get financially secure, I’m going to do what I love.

Is financial security measured in quantity of money, likelihood of keeping it or lack of need? Is it actually achievable? Is doing what you love worth putting on hold for “financial security?”

7. Get the best (cheapest) deal you can.

How is the best deal measured – quality of product/service, investment in relationship, working with people you trust, supporting your local economy, or cheapest price, no matter what?

Fair questions?

Words R Drugs

2011-10-21T16:32:00.000-07:00

Bendy Straw

In the midst of scintillating conversation with Mark and Brant at Compass Coffee this morning, the artistry demonstrated by Bryan as he poured life and caffeine into an Orange Ginger Americano captivated our active minds and shut our mouths. Watching his delivery of said coffee craftsmanship into the not yet twitchy hands of a definitely not hipstery hippie type of patron. Mark paused mid sentence and breathed with a subconscious sideways nod, “that guy’s a drug dealer.”

I responded as I watched, “Too bad he went into business.”

Brant nodded. As an exchange of both appreciation and sympathy all three of us knew exactly what we were talking about. It was deep with implied meaning, inside references and comfortable, exclusive familiarity. Most people would be able to make no sense of the interchange.

No surprise there. Think about it:

Mark, “That guy’s a drug dealer.”

Curtis, “Too bad he went into business.”

Makes perfect sense as a completely different conversation. It could be repeated over and over and no one would ever question it. Teachers, parents, school counselors and youth pastors can preach and make rules about it to their hearts content. They would never come close to honoring the meaning behind the comments we made this morning.

I could never share with you the depth of connection that occurred in this exchange or all the reassurance, conspiratorial agreement and bitterness that piled up on the table watching the Orange Ginger Americano event.

Mark was referring to artistry and science mixing magically in a substance that would flavor and impact the immediate experience of its participating consumer. It was a statement of respect and admiration. Something more significant when given from a scientifically bent artist. I referred to the sacrifice made by an artist when they turn their art into a vocation. I know the weight of a too fast growing business and the difference it makes in passion, flourish and experience of joy in simple beauty. The scurry that overwhelms slow, introspective consideration.

You see? I have opened a narrow channel between you and I through which can flow information and brief impressions. Depending on where each end of the channel (imagine five or six of those accordion, bendy straws taped together) is touching, each of us you can see or hear or feel my mind, heart or flesh living in the momentary experience of my life.

Between Mark, Brant and I, having shared our lives on multiple levels for decades, the channel that connects us is much larger, much better connected than a few flimsy straws. Much more flows through clear and uninterrupted. The words benefit from the context of time and relationship. The plain words are augmented by eyes, posture, set of mouth and arm waving (or not). All have meaning and significance and can radically alter the otherwise obvious meaning.

We would not have this intimacy without the expenditure of time, honesty, shared experiences and sacrifice. It’s hard for us to make time together. We have wonderful families and exceptionally beautiful wives we love, great jobs to do, houses to care for and etc. We know there is more and we’re trying to get at it.

This morning was a great reminder of two things:

1. The power of words is incomplete without context.

2. Being connected and known is a life-altering gift.

I hope you are connected by more than taped together flimsy straws. I wish for us all that our connections are strong and wide. Next time we are in a conversation and one or the other is confused, we can say, “we need a bigger straw.” No one but us will know what the heck we are talking about. In that moment, it will be apparent that our straw is just a bit bigger than before…

What weird stuff do you say to your friends or family that no one else would understand?

Is FB Like Coffee?

2011-10-19T12:04:00.000-07:00

My two favorite non-eternally significant arguments are over coffee and running. People say to me, “I don’t like coffee,” or they say, “I don’t like running.”My initial, knee jerk (emphasis on jerk although I think the phrase is really punny in context) is to say, “well, fine, I don’t like you.” I realize this is just my insecurity showing itself and I can usually find other reasons to like people even with such glaring character flaws.

While I realize that some people have taste bud disabilities, damaged knees or caffeine issues, for many people, it’s an issue of experience. I would say I didn’t like lots of things if they were a bad experience every time. But there are rules, akin to rules like gravity that need to be followed.

When I first learned how to slalom water ski, I tried to deep-water start 17 times. I fell over to the left every single time. It was frustrating and very tiring. I began to consider that, I might not like water skiing. As an over thinking sort, I kept asking questions and getting fresh suggestions every time the boat circled to get me the rope again. I finally realized that I was trying to keep my left leg up next to my right, which was in the front boot of the ski. You’re supposed to let it trail behind. It was creating too much drag and pulling myself over to the left. As soon as I realized this, I let my left leg trail and popped up. Within seconds of skimming across the water, I claimed slalom water skiing as my favorite activity. This lasted until I got married and then it took second place.

If I had given up before I found out how to do it right, I would have missed a great life experience. Granted, I may have finally achieved a correct slalom position above water and still not liked it. But, before that, I was unable to say “I don’t like water skiing.” The same is true for coffee or running.

Most people who say they don’t like coffee have never had a truly good cup. No surprise. The opportunity for a truly good cup is a recent phenomenon in the entire world. Coffee, I’m not joking, is a new, barely discovered frontier. Thank you Stumptown. Since the 1600’s when it was first discovered in Ethiopia, coffee has been burned, boiled and consumed crudely with almost no attention to its complex and wonderful characteristics.

Coffee has more flavor complexities than wine, by a long shot (600 factors vs. 1200). It is influenced by the soil, weather and elevation of the region it is grown, how and when it is harvested, processed, dried, shipped, roasted, stored, ground, extracted, and what temperature it is consumed (among many other things). Most baristas in most coffee shops have little comprehension or training. They are minimum wage employees with no reason to care seriously about their craft. They are doing a very difficult job as the final factor in a long line of factors and they just don’t know.

As for home brewing, all electric coffee makers and the vast majority of large scale coffee roasters are not capable of combining to produce a cup that does any justice at all to the potential of the glorious pit (of a cherry). Coffee beans are not actually beans. Typically, they are half of a pit. Then there are peaberries. Smaller, whole pits – rumored to roast sweeter.

Do not loose hope. Excellent home brewing IS possible. There are multiple methods that will beat most baristas with their ten thousand dollar espresso machines hands down. Aeropress and V60 pourover with a Hario Buono kettle are my two current favorites. Anyone can run an Aeropress with a little practice and make a truly excellent cup of coffee. And I would be happy to show you how.

All this to illustrate a point. The world, all of life works according to rules and laws that govern our interaction with it. Some we cannot fight. Please, please, please do not give up on the idea of experiencing life gloriously. I know, I may be taking my coffee too seriously. It’s just such a great metaphor. Running is as well, maybe I’ll talk about it in a future post – I’m taxing attention spans already (hint: slow and short for longer than you want).

Sunday I talked about Facebook – really, electronic social interaction in general. I suggested that it is a wonderful opportunity. Something we are presented with that we have not had access to for a hundred years or more. I hold to my hope. There is a new way to connect and maintain momentum in our relationships. There are rules for it though, that will determine its level of usefulness. If you and I agree to commit to an intentional use of the tool it will be more powerful than a passive approach. If we commit to face-to-face interaction as our main relational context, we will get more than if we only interact electronically.

I’m really excited about this opportunity, the potential for community and relationship. I’m hopeful that it will be used by people to invite, challenge and change lives in significant way.

I also hope more people will discover good coffee. If you would like to give it a shot, let me know. I’ll come to your house, office, school or job site… and change your life.

Non-Profit?

2011-10-18T10:16:00.000-07:00

My daughter asked me yesterday what to tell people when they ask, “what does your dad do?” It’s not the first time she’s asked that. It was an easy question for most of her life. He’s a contractor… slot filled, box checked, identity neatly secured. If I trained her right, and I did, her answer might even produce a lead for a job.

For the last few years, no one really knows what I do. Including me. I have been busy enough. I think I’ve avoided apathy entirely and hope I’ve dodged lazy and good-for-nothing. It’s just that my answer to, “what do you want to be when you grow up,” has been inconveniently interrupted by the growing.

Immediately upon closing my contracting company (Jan, 08) I did some consulting. That ended, started up again and is still in the works - Front Porch Solutions. I tried to start a how-to-be-your-own-contractor school called Darby School House but no one came. For some reason, I don’t think I was supposed to do that. In exasperation and a little petulance, I made a deal with God. I reminded him of his promises to provide if I would just deal obediently with what he put in front of me each day. My “deal” (I use that word weirdly) was: I’ll get a job in a coffee shop, go back to school and help people fix their houses (or whatever) pro-bono, i.e. – not-for-profit. He was in charge of making sure we ate, had a place to live, etc. It was a bit of a test. Made this deal in April 09 – it’s still in effect and we have not missed a meal or had to live in a car. So many miracles have occurred that I’m just skipping that part of the story for now. Suffice to say. God has kept his end of the bargain well, albeit a little unpredictably.

The coffee shop job at Old Town Battle Grounds turned into a remodel in exchange for some ownership. The ownership is pretty much just free food and coffee for me and my family and a great place to hang out in the midst of a community I love. I finished college at Multnomah. I did remodel work. I got involved with several different non-profit agencies and started building relationships all over the county. I sold a couple pair of shoes for Somnio, helped a few people (including me) get healthy with Take Shape for Life and sold a LOT of wonderful items on Craigslist. I met many interesting people through Craigslist and spent some fantastic/long moments with them. I’ve spent many hours in coffee shops with people who are wondering and wrestling with the same issues. Out of that, I’ve connected with amazing people and gone on some fascinating adventures.

So many words… I’m barely skimming the surface, I swear. I told my daughter, say this, “he is the partnership developer and community engagement consultant for Go Connect, a non-profit organization that helps neighbors meet practical needs in their community.” She said, “does that mean you won’t make any money?” That is a great question. Since then, I’ve been mulling over the idea of a non-profit. I explained the basic idea and put her mind at ease, I think. But mine has not been. The question pokes at a major dark spot in the cloud of thoughts in my head regarding contracting and the capitalistic system in general. For me, there is a problem with the “for profit” approach. It clouds my motives. It appears to cloud the receptiveness of whoever I’m working for as well. They don’t know if I’m authentic or if I’m just trying to get some cash.

I want to be who I am (I feel like I should sing that). I want to be that in practical ways in the moments I am presented with, however long or short they are. Really, the longness or shortness is irrelevant. Moments in eternity are sized according to qualitative measurements, not quantitative ones. It’s hard for me to describe the size of a moment or my appropriate interaction with it. I just trust that I’m in the right place at the right time and do what seems fitting. This can really mess up both my schedule and my measureable productivity.

If I am concerned with making a profit, it changes my approach. If I am concerned with producing a pre-determined result, I sacrifice my ability to respond genuinely to perceived interruptions. The interruptions may in fact be the more important invitations. This has been the case innumerable times. I recognize the conflict here. I’m not speaking of it lightly. I’ve spent many years working for a profit and wrestling with authenticity in the midst of the effort. I have no clear, easy answer to the problem.

For the time being, I have chosen the non-profit approach. As a business model, it just means the left over money (ha ha) goes back into the company. As a way of approaching life, it means that I try to see each interaction in the physical realm as a connection to the spiritual. I see the temporal happening within the eternal. The eternal is the crucial context. This radically affects my investment in each moment. Theoretically, it means that if I’m making a cup of coffee, building a deck or having a conversation, I’m doing it with all of my being. I’m being with all of my doing. At the same time, I’m ready for a shift in direction, a new discovery or a change of paradigm. While it can be confusing and exhausting, I’m finding the practice to be life altering. My ears to hear and eyes to see work better. I get God’s jokes and see the path more clearly.

Practicing this way of being alive follows the same principles as practicing anything else. It does not come naturally. I have to remember and do the same thing over and over and over – the rudiments. I improve and find more to repeat. I experience frustration and pain. I get blisters and sprains. I look back and realize I’ve made mistakes and incremental progress that has put me in a much different capacity. I learn that there is still more to learn and sense that this will always be true. I am encouraged by the growth and humbled by my ever more apparent lack. I have more answers and more knowledge at the same time I understand that the percentage of what I know is shrinking.

What to say to the question – I’m still not entirely sure. I don’t like the question. I can say what I’m up to right now. I can tell some stories and introduce some people. What I do though, is just a small part of something much larger and much more significant than this moment. I am connected to God and what he’s doing and I only have hints of what that is. Exciting hints, broad brush strokes, I don’t really know for sure. I’m just building this deck, making a cup of coffee, talking to a new friend from Craigslist.

What do you do?

Is FB Like Porn?

2011-10-16T09:23:00.000-07:00

I’m having a change of mind. I may be having a change of heart but it takes a bit longer. This change of mind is in testing phase and my heart rarely gets totally involved with my mind unmade. For all recent history, skepticism dominated my perspective on social media. I’ve agreed with many that it fosters shallow, disconnected, voyeuristic communication. It’s lazy. Too easy to sit glassy eyed, surfing and commenting to be funny or interesting. Too possible to replace real and risky with safe and anonymous, even secret. I can watch the offerings of another supposed life and never be noticed by them, somehow, mysteriously included but never drawn in.

It’s like porn.
Men are not drawn to porn because of sex. Men are not even drawn to sex because of sex. Men are drawn by their desire for relationship. We cannot exist without the sharing of life. Alone, we are out of balance. There is something deep in us that yearns to be vulnerable and honest, respected and strong. We want to offer ourselves and receive from another in the deepest way possible. We are drawn to beauty and the greatest humanly capable beauty is found in sharing life.

But it is so dangerous. Honesty, vulnerability and sharing have brought us to and over the brink of disaster. It is treacherous ground and we are damaged for the efforts we have made in the past. I for one am dumfounded and confused most of the time in my efforts at healthy relationship. I try as hard as I can and it blows up in my face. I work and work at offering grace and I am accused of needing too much of it. I finally understand the rules of fair play only to find they are not being followed and wonder if I misunderstood them again. I show my cards and get cheated and then wonder if I was cheating. How can I ever be sure? How can I avoid the risk of more damage? I must find out because I need the relationship desperately.

Facebook is a safe alternative. I can offer myself without risk. If there is any danger, I’ll just pretend I’m not there. I can sit for hours, deep into the night, looking at life/lives and never face the potential of rejection. People share their thoughts, the events of their lives, pictures and ideas (with me) at no cost. I can even select safe, small parts of myself and put them out there to share. Not enough to invite criticism, just enough to share for pretend. I can even pretend to be blunt and vulnerable, especially if it’s self-deprecating in a funny, whimsical sort of way.

I judged Facebook, Twitter, Texting and bad punctuation in emails for all this for years. Even Skype, Google+ and You Tube. It’s all the same. A less obviously naked, more socially acceptable form of pornography. Relationship without risk. It objectifies and strips away the messiness. It sucks away our souls, damages our minds and reduces our contact to the most shallow, lazy and selfish form conceivable.

But, like I said, I’m changing my mind.

Have you heard the phrase, “ambient intimacy?” It’s a social media idea… that I love. I ran across it studying Twitter as a social medium and it caught my attention. The idea is that if I have a relationship with you, and I follow your tweets, I will maintain a bit of connection and momentum because of the context of our shared lives. The next time we meet in the same geographic space, we will be able to pick up the stream with much less catching up to do. The timeline of our relationship that happens between the points of geographic connection is filled in. The idea applies to all forms of social media.

It’s an opportunity that disappeared with “Little House on the Prairie.” We have a chance at something that has been missing since we got so busy and moved to the suburbs. I’m suspicious. I think it could be revolutionary. It DOES NOT MAKE RELATIONSHIP EASY OR SIMPLE but it opens up possibility that has not existed for a long time.

There are two things required (I think I have discovered):

1. Intention – We must be purposeful. This takes practice. Since I am not in the physical presence of those I share life with, I must remember them and purpose to communicate with them regularly. The wonderful thing about electronic communication – I can do it whenever it fits into my schedule. Do not Tweet and drive at the same time!

2. Gathering – Social media, no matter how intentional, cannot be a substitute for actual face-to-face same space connections. It will always be lacking, always be less than needed and we will feel that lack. But, if used to augment the limited opportunities we have to gather, it can bring something powerful and deeply useful.

So, I’m trying this out. I’m asking my friends to tweet me, read and comment on my blog. I’m following, reading and commenting on theirs. Let’s visit on FB about more than what we’re eating (though that is an important part of it) or where we are going. Let’s do it together on purpose and then meet to have some coffee, paint a house or go to church. Don’t sit glassy eyed in front of your computer and don’t be so busy that you do not remember who you are connected to.

I think, it may start a revolution.

I Ran a Marathon

2011-10-13T07:00:00.000-07:00

I ran a marathon. Rather, it ran over me. Why people volunteer for such torture, is difficult to explain. I speak as one of the crazy people who did volunteer. Though it produced some of the greatest physical discomfort I have ever endured, I would do it again. I think I will do it again. Maybe soon. It hasn’t been that long (3 days) – I’m not ready to make any declarations. I will do it again for many reasons. It changed my life. I will never again be a non-marathoner. I will never wish I’d run a marathon. I can stand in a group of skinny, tightly clothed people and nod knowingly. I have a t-shirt. Supposedly, we are the 1% (there were signs along the route that said “99% of the population can’t do this, you are the 1%). I have my own stories of cramps, hills, other runners and murderous preparations.

Interestingly, and I heard this from runners around me on the course also, I don’t agree with the sign.

I think many more than 1% could run a marathon. I believe it’s much less about ability than proclivity. I am inclined to run, I like it. It sets me free mentally, physically and emotionally. Being a runner is a natural fit for me, but it is one I have discovered and continue to discover. I didn’t wake up one day a runner any more than the guitar player (not counting August Rush) woke up playing guitar. I wanted to. I decided to. I learned to. I practiced. It’s not that complicated, it’s just hard.

I don’t know what the percentage is - people who want to run (a marathon). I bet it’s many times more than do. While my hypothesis does not consider all perspectives, it is pressing. Somewhere along the route, something has happened to us. We have agreed that slow and incremental is untenable. We need to accomplish things quickly and with a measure of ease comparable to microwave cooking and drive through car washes. Quick and easy have become desirable, heavily marketed qualities. It wasn’t too long ago, such questionable qualities would cause suspicion. Wasn’t to long ago that we made them like we used to. Now we don’t. The result is that we, at least most of us, have unconsciously agreed that if an effort is going to use up a lot of time and energy that it may not be practical. We can’t do that.

I propose that we can do that.

We can do what we want. If it is a heart desire, then the time and energy is well spent. But that brings up an interesting question. How do we know what we want?

I don’t know really – I think it takes a long time to figure out.

I’m pretty sure that we are supposed to spend the time and figure out what we want. I think it is designed into us so that we have solid clues about where we fit into God’s game plan. But if we have bought into the hurry-up-and-get-stuff-done backassward version of productivity, we don’t have time to focus on what we want and who God made us to be. I’ve found that figuring it out is something painful but magical I’ve been invited to. It kills and releases simultaneously. It takes a long time but it’s worth it.

Knowing I wanted to run 26.2 miles and then checking and rechecking while I practiced built in a belief that I could. I became someone else, someone a little more like what I hope I am. I have done something that I could never have done without the pain and magic of practicing want.

What do you want?

If you are a runner, or not and just like reading long blogs, the following are some of the things I did, learned, liked etc. I'd love to hear about your discoveries, tools, rules, etc.

Miscellaneous Personal Experience Notes:

1. It took a long time to run farther and faster. I used a heart rate monitor and a plan that involved walking every time I hit a beats-per-minute threshold. Every time I broke outside the limits (too far, too fast), I got injured. There are rules to follow that keep us on the path to a powerful experience of glory. Go off the path, get broken. It took more discipline and practice to go slow than fast. Eventually I could run far and fast and not break out of my bpm limits. I was stronger for the waiting and slowness.

2. I had to pay attention to and experiment with my equipment.

a. Socks = yes or no blisters

b. Shoes = protection or cause of multiple injuries - and they wear out

c. Shorts/pants = chafing or not

Bloody Nipples

d. Shirt = bleeding nipples or not

e. Amphipod Hydration belt = really didn’t like the hand held sweat generating, sloshing, weight unbalancing version.

3. Nutrition and Hydration:

a. Electrolytes and salt make the difference between stumbling in like a drunk or looking cool and strong when you cross the finish. 8oz per hour, more if hot. HUGE

b. Eating right balance of nutrients often enough the entire time I trained was a primary factor in how I felt on the road. The difference between a run after a greasy pizza dinner and a quinoa salad with beans was palpable. Literally and significantly altered the run experience. I used gel when running every 60 minutes.

4. Planning and Tracking

a. I used a Garmin 305 on 95% of my runs. Kept track of pace, heart rate, distance, calories burned, averages and pretty much anything else I wanted. Could also be used for bicycling. Sometimes I left it at home to feel the wind in my hair…

b. Map My Run was great for figuring out runs that were the right length. I’m a loop guy. I hate out and back runs and I like to know where I’m going. Also useful when you’re going to be gone for several hours pushing yourself beyond normal physical limits to have someone know what ditches to search.

c. I used Runner’s World Smart Coach Android app. Told it my most recent race time, my weekly mileage, long run day and my experience level. It gave me a pretty comprehensive plan that prepared me really well for race day. I’ve used it twice and really liked it.

d. I used Runners Logbook Android app to keep track of my runs. I could look back and data, make comparisons, keep track of my shoes. It was great to see improvement and look at performance variations.

Shoe Armor

2011-10-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

It’s all about the shoes. At least for me, this time, the shoes were the critical factor.

I am a runner. I am not a fair weather runner. I am not a competitive runner. I run to be outside, to pray, to live well, to think clearly and to know that I can run. I catch myself, sometimes, watching my feet change places rhythmically - hypnotic forward momentum. It’s amazing to watch my body adapt to longer faster distances. I love country roads and the frogs croaking, crickets chirping while the trees turn dark against the wide color changing sky. It makes me chuckle and holler with unbridled, happy energy.

A while ago, I got a new pair of wrong shoes.
I ran less than 60 miles before my knee got all disconnected from itself. I discovered this disconnectedness when I bent down to put a tire on a trailer and it popped. My eyes popped wide from the realization that I had just inadvertently quit running for some indeterminate length of time. “Oh Shucks!,” I thought, “well, maybe it will get better really fast…” I didn’t really think “oh shucks,” but this is a PG story. My knee didn’t get better really fast. I let it rest for a couple days, then went running in those shiny new shoes; just a couple slow miles. Then a few days later four miles; ouch. So I let it rest a whole week then ran a 10k I had signed up for earlier. I had to get the shirt. The bummer about that run, the Pints to Pasta, was the parking. A 10-minute walk for a healthy person and a 30-minute walk for a pretending-to-be-thoughtful-while-I-try-not-to-cry-because-my-knee-oh-my-knee-hurts-so-bad. And, I drive a truck with a clutch.

I let it rest even longer, this time because I could barely walk. I studied and determined it was the little band (MCL) that connected the top bone to the bottom bone on the inside of my knee. My symptoms indicated a level one sprain. I ran again, just a tiny bit. No good, I could tell it wasn’t going to work. So I went to see my magical, mystical chiropractor. He pressed, pulled and popped and said it was fixed. I could run two days later and he would be in on the weekend if I needed it. I waited with grim determination for a full week. Then I strapped on the shoes and went for a short, achingly slow run. It still hurt. By now, my nice guy patience was transparent in most places and see through in all the others.

I started riding and swimming. My sitter ached, my hair turned to burnt broom strands but it didn’t hurt my knee. I didn’t even try to run. Like I said – discipline. I even tried hot yoga. It was hot. I would have quit that but I was in a room full of small women and my wife was right next to me. It wasn’t discipline; I just didn’t want the humiliation. All this time, I feel sad, I feel lost and empty. I’m irritated by everything. My mind goes too fast and I’m unpleasant to be around. I’m considering either becoming a monk or just giving myself over to junk food and B movies on late night TV… and infomercials.

Then the story turns; I got my Somnio Line Up Device. Somnio is a new company that created a customizable running shoe. Using different inserts, wedges and cushioning options, a “Somniac” (like me) can create a shoe that matches the biomechanical needs of each foot and leg of a runner. The Line Up Device uses lasers to determine a runner’s angle of pronation. I am “supposedly” an over-pronator.

So, I got my Line Up Device. I watched the video. I tried it out on myself. It said I’m NOT an over-pronator. I scowled in consternation and tried it again. Same thing. I scowl some more and pull on my beard. I study the soles of my old running shoes and watch a couple more videos. Suspicion starts brewing and I walk around aimlessly for a while, muttering to myself and postulating to my kids and my wife. They roll their eyes. My daughter runs the lasers and confirms my suspicions. I call Somnio and they confirm it to.

I have been wearing the wrong shoes. I am not an over-pronator. I had essentially, with those shiny new shoes, strapped a brick to the inside of my foot. What is called medial posting, intended to halt foot motion, was banging the crap out of the joints in my leg. So, every time things started feeling better, I put those shoes on and went for a little run… Kind of like trying to heal a scab by rubbing it with 36 grit sand paper. Or fixing a cavity by holding 300 gummy bears in your mouth for 12 hours. It’s just not going to work.

Brooks Defyance 4 - my shoe

Somnio mailed me a new pair of neutral shoes (for free). While I waited, Fit Right exchanged the shoes I had been beating myself up with even though it had been far more than their 30 day return policy allowed. I got Brooks Defyance. Those guys are great! I ran. And…nothing. Nothing hurt. I iced, just to be safe and to prove to my daughter that I was tough enough to do for five minutes what she did every day for 20. I ran again and again. I got my new Somnios and ran the Hot Buttered Run with my wife. I’m ok. My knees don’t hurt. I ran the mornings in the rain and cold with my soggy running dog getting my leg wet. Splashing through puddles, I smiled more.

The lesson for me – I did not know who I was. I wore armor that did not fit and it broke me. I could not be me in the wrong shoes. I am a certain kind of person. I can’t be another kind. It takes time, patience and energy to figure out what kind I am, but when I know who I am, it tells me what I should do. When I then try to do that thing – it works. Even if it doesn’t look like it at first. Even if it feels a little crazy. If I only be me, it works. The narrow country roads are ready for me. I’m ready for them, but only in the right shoes.

How does your armor fit?

Internal Combustion 2

2011-10-10T17:01:00.000-07:00

This is a grave and dangerous game I’m playing. Trying again, taking on a project with hope that it will be more than it appears on the surface. I am playing with gas – the risk of excess and failure – while smoking a fat cigar. I’ve done things like this before and gone too far. I’ve done them wrong and gotten carried away. It is my adopted nature to receive a vision and run too fast with it. Take it outside the bounds of its original intention. To make it more risky, I’m involving other people, their hearts and healing. But I know it can be done well. I keep getting visions. I can see fleeting pictures of transformation in my head. I am reckless with my hope.

There are so many possibilities with engines, transmissions and suspensions. There is so much possible with the heart, mind and body. They are both complicated, interconnected entities with character made of these unique interconnections. Each one has a capacity, limitations and particular steps required for achieving full potential. Both can be dealt with too quickly, overburdened and damaged – even broken beyond reasonable (rarely beyond unreasonable) repair.

For a vehicle or a human to operate to it’s full and glorious potential their parts must be synchronized and work together in harmony. They must be matched in purpose, strength and direction. Imagine a four-speed transmission with a granny gear mated to a Lincoln Continental. 4500 rpm at 60mph and shifting into second at 5mph doesn’t make for a good highway cruiser. An off road rock crawler with highway gearing and squishy suspension would be stopped by the first tiny rut or rock it encountered. Each has its intended use and can be tuned for it according to its design. Each can be improved to accomplish amazing feats. But parts and pieces must be coordinated.

To restore a vehicle or a person in such a way that they go beyond the norm and are truly durable, reliable and glorious requires alteration. Weakness must be replaced by strength. Sometimes focus must go from broad to narrow. No one person can do everything well or at all, but many people together can do super-normal things, Including restoration. The big difference between humans and any other metaphor – we have to cooperate in our restoration.

Something I hear a lot, usually from people who feel sorry for me / don’t want to think too much about themselves / don’t want me to talk anymore / actually I don’t know… (I guess I’m not sure what their motive is, mostly I’m cynical and suspicious, the bad kind). Anyway, someone will put their hand on my shoulder, tip their head a bit to the side and ask with great sympathy, “How ya doin’?” I talk for awhile about whatever seems to be authentic or convenient at the moment until that glazed over look appears and I realize I was supposed to say, “good, how are you?” I mess this up constantly. Anyway, I pause at the glaze and give them time to regain brain function. When the lights click back, they say something like, “Don’t worry, in no time, you’ll get back in the game and things will be just like they were before.” As my synapses connect with that idea, I quickly become aware of a deep and desperate need for Imodium (I’m not a throw up guy, I’m the other kind). My desire for things to be like they were before is akin to my desire to become a Chip & Dales dancer. I’m not saying I couldn’t, I just really, really don’t want it. Like, you’d have to hold my wife at gunpoint kind of don’t want.


Olds 442

Blown 32 Vicky

I’m looking for the restored model to be better than the one that wore out and got broke. This is a “kind of guy” as well. There are restore-to-original-condition guys and there are restore-to-a-specific-genre-of-hot-rod kind of guys. This is true of trucks, Model T’s, Old’s 442’s, Land Cruisers, VW buses, 55 Chevy’s… everything. I am of the opinion that, while the original, numbers matching restorations are worth tons more dollars, I like the customization for looks, modernization, specific task accomplishment or raw speed and power. Not much is cooler than a ’32 Vickie with a blower or a 68 SS Camero with modern C-class corvette suspension and six speed tranny, AC and a killer sound system. An old VW bus that has been chopped, dropped and painted flat black with red wheels and whitewalls (rat-rod) or a sleeper Dodge Dart with a blown 500hp, nitros injected 383 stroker, a tubbed rear end exhaust dumps will capture my attention much more than a bone stock anything any day.


Dropped Rat Rod VW Bus

69 Dodge Dart - sleeper

Ok, that was a lot of secret car guy speak to anyone who isn’t a car guy (or gal). I’d get rid of it and make it simpler but the real car guys will think I’m cool if I leave it alone. That’s worth it. In any case, I’ve noticed that – that which has been broken is more likely to be improved when fixed than put back to it’s original condition. It’s better, improved, bionic, more durable, powerful and applicable to a particular need. I want to be that kind of restoration my whole existence. I think that’s what God is after. I think every time something breaks, its for the sake of transcendent improvement.

Just getting broken because it’s a crappy life would be really depressing. Getting broken because brokenness brings on newness through restoration at the hands of the mighty mechanic - that I’m up for. If he wants to take off parts, grind them down, replace crusty rubber bushings and manifolds with newer better equipment - ok. I will growl through my tuned exhaust, fat polished valves and fire breathing 600cfm carburetor. If I whine while he grinds, you can sort of ignore me. I’m proclaiming now, it’s worth it. I hope Earl agrees.

Internal Combustion

2011-10-07T11:10:00.000-07:00

My heart is damaged. It is scarred by loss and disappointment. The scars offer evidence of their presence with every beat in a complicated rhythmic pattern I have yet to keep time with. I voluntarily gave some of what I’ve lost. Some, less willingly, I either accepted or still resist. I expect my off-beat tapping will improve with further acceptance. My disappointment withers with the realization that what is replacing my losses is far more valuable to me, far more powerful and life giving than what I’ve given up. This does not eliminate the scars or their pain, it makes them important, gives them a place of significance and hints to poetic lyrics being crafted into music.

I find this hope for and understanding of the rhythm, poetry and music of my heart to be powerful in the recipe for healing. Were it not for the loss and disappointment, there would be no comparison to make. I would still be unsatisfied, but without the initial hunger pangs that come with the taste of the unseen future feast. I would long for something but have no place to put it and no capacity to put it to work.

My truck, Earl, is part of this continuing story, a metaphor, and maybe more than that. He has come to me nearly stock, but with a quiet, tired heart, whiny transmission and leaky, squeaking steering – among other things. In some ways, I am hoping Earl is a replacement for recent losses.

I sold a 68 nova that my dad bought new and had remained in the family until last month. I sold a 79 f350 that I built with my friend Joe from scratch. It started as a beat up farm truck and ended as a glorious fire-breathing monster. Both vehicles and several others along the way received chunks of my soul as they spent their seasons with me.

68 Nova with 307 and 3 on the floor

I loved the smell of my dad’s nova and the sound of the engine. I used to sit in it in the garage with my hands resting on the steering wheel and just breathe the comfort of age and vague memory. Once a month or so, I drove it around a few country blocks to keep carbon build up at bay and make sure no rubber grew on the tires. The roar of that V8 made me chuckle with deep, deep contentment. I will miss it until I’m dead. I plan on driving it in heaven.

79 F350 with built 460 - Joe's Trucks

Big black was different. He was a symbol of my (supposed) success. I partnered with my neighbor Joe, a wise old ex-contractor (among many other things) who spent his time with a couple buddies restoring 73-79 ford trucks. He let me pick the truck and design the restoration. In the end, like with so many other things, Big Black became more than it should have been. I took an elegantly simple creation and added too much to it. Kind of a theme for me. It was the coolest truck in Clark County. Hands down, no contest.

I can remember the day I was talking to God about borrowing my father-in-laws 89 Ranger. It sat, gathering moss, in his driveway. The idea centered on fuel economy – in great contrast to the high octane 460 in Big Black. So practical I thought, aren’t I mature… then, in a moment of wide-eyed realization, I knew I was being tricked. I would end up driving that Ranger and giving up my glorious, identity boosting truck. Five years later… yep. Don’t get me wrong; I love my Ranger (Betsy). She’s been a reliable, comfortable, simple gift in the midst of so much that is unstable and unknown. I will be sad to see her go, perhaps more than I was over Big Black.

Enter Earl. Betsy is getting tired. I am afraid I will run her into the ground. Though she is old, she is not old enough that I know how to fix her. Earl is old enough that there are no emissions, no computers, not even fuel injection. His parts are cheap and abundant, new or used. I can sit in the engine compartment with the engine and sleep on the bench seat fully stretched out. I hope that’s not regularly necessary.

What, it is fair to ask, do the Nova, Big Black, Betsy and Earl have to do with my damaged, yet to be syncopated heart? Yes, fair question. I answer with hesitant, anxious, confidence. I am going to try again. As with the rest of my life, I am taking what has been invested in me through apparent difficulty, mistakes and losses and investing it again. Earl is simple and elegant. I hope to draw out these elements and give them strength, beauty and practical application. I intend to find the beat of his heart and hope that the hours spent with my friends with our knuckles in grease will tune my heart as well.

To be continued…

Letter To Old Men

2011-10-05T10:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Older Men,

We respectfully request the honor of your presence on the battlefield for our lives. The tactics of the enemy are overwhelmingly successful. It is evident that there is no longer hope for an immediate solution. The enemy’s attack requires weaponry we are not sufficiently able to operate. We are loosing this battle and many more will, according to the score of casualties, be lost by us. It is now incumbent, upon those who are able and willing, to inspire the survivors and train the untested. While this must be done with vigor and urgency, we believe it can only be done over time. Please confirm.

We have reached this critical point by seeking easy routes through enemy controlled lands that end in his camps. It is now evident that these routes were ploys and never led through the territory. The roads we must travel are narrow, steep, winding and difficult. The journey is long and cannot be undertaken alone. It can in fact only be taken in company of warriors who are focused and committed to both the journey and the destination. It is in this effort that we so desperately need your help.

We have come to understand that this journey requires knowledge, wisdom and certain other critical capacities that are only gained by extensive experience. None of the young men yet benefit from time on the road. They are impatient, foolish and susceptible to the subtle, distracting tactics of the enemy he has developed so carefully for so long. However, they have great passion, hope, ideals and boundless energy. Excellent assets when matched with yours.

We know this is a long, slow, painstaking effort. We have tested and nearly exhausted all other options. There is nothing left but to follow the road where it leads, through whatever challenges and dangers it brings and however long it takes. We know many will be wounded and some will turn back. But we are called forward. There is glory and victory to be had that is unmatched in our current circumstances. We are unsatisfied with this world’s offerings. There is nothing left for us but what lies ahead, above and beyond.

Please come forward and claim your position as our mentors, leaders, teachers, guides and healers. Those of us in mid-life have not yet recovered from the damage we have done to ourselves. We are not finished but we need your reassurance and encouragement. We need your tested and proven strength to measure against. We struggle to separate the good ideas from the eternal truths; we need your help in that as well.

The younger men are aimless, distracted and lazy. They know almost nothing useful. There are a few who can see that there is a great worthy cause and a company of warriors to join but they do not see clearly. It will take all our effort to save them. If we do not, in a decade or two, they will be lost and there is no one behind them to take their place. We believe that this effort is for the lives and communities of the next two decades and into the future.

Our foggy, bright goals are set far ahead. As of yet they are not fully defined. We expect focus to come to the brightness as we move forward.

Even now, we are preparing, expecting your affirmation and partnership. We are gathering in garages under the hoods of old trucks, in woodshops under clouds of sawdust and in coffee shops surrounded by twitchy caffeine addicts. Please join us. We need your help desperately. None of us, young or middle aged, has earned the deeper marks of experience. We love poorly. We give grace miserly. We forgive slowly. We lack self-control. We loose hope quickly. We are not long-suffering. Our character is undeveloped. We are not at peace. We are kind with irregularity. Our joy is interrupted easily by circumstance. Our goodness is tenuous. We use gentleness to get our way. We serve infrequently and our willingness to sacrifice is hesitant.

We have good hearts. We love our God and those around us. But, we are incomplete and in need of fathering. We are confident that with your help, we will be powerful beyond measure and the enemy will not be able to stand against us. So far, we have yet to see any weapons in his arsenal that are any defense at all against those we have been given. Please join us in this critical season. The Kingdom of Heaven is near, let us follow the King and see it firmly established.

In view of past error and lack of attention, please accept our sincerest apologies for not listening. Your forgiveness is humbly requested and desperately needed for all our sakes.

Yours truly,

The Younger Men

Score Matters?

2011-10-04T11:14:00.000-07:00

Monday Columbian sports page headline reads, “Score Is All That Matters.” I call BS. Since I have a BS degree, I can do this. In the online version a less dramatic title headlined the article. I like the print version better; it’s controversial, not just informative. I think it comes from the journalistic confluence of art and fact. The sports editor also wrote a commentative article entitled “Chance to Win Not Same As Ability To.” I agree with these titles… in context. But that’s important. Truth spoken and agreed to out of context does more damage to faith and hope than any circumstance.

We can interpret circumstance any way we want. We can decide to fight back, change tactics, forgive or stay in bed. No matter how good or bad the facts of the day read back on our ticker tape before the lights go out and sleep takes us, we have a choice. But truth spoken out of context can trick us into agreeing. We can be stuck believing something we never intended to accept. This is the insidious issue of screen-oriented entertainment and all other media interacted with on a semi-conscious level. It’s why there must be so much wakeful attention paid to the powerful synergy between art and fact.

The story must be told true. It must be owned by the reader, watcher, and participant and interpreted with authenticity. In order to do that, we have to stay awake and consider what we are agreeing to and what we’ve agreed to in the past.

To be fair to Greg Jayne, he wrote well and a bit tongue and cheek with his philosophy. I appreciated the tone of both articles and I think to a conscious reader, he elevated an idea and considered it well while maintaining journalistic impartiality. My comments are not intended as an argument or a defense against him.

I do, however, have arguments. Score does matter. The game matters. I ask though, when is the final score computed? Let’s take Seattle’s score on Sunday, was it 28-30 or – Look what we did second half, if we do that both halves the rest of the season, we will be unbeatable. Should the Seahawks have come away nursing the wounds of defeat or feeding the humble understanding of their capacity? How would things have changed if they won? Would their comprehension of their capacity be accurate and leave them hungry or would it be too arrogant – satiation a great weakness? Is the score computed at the end of a game, end of the season or end of the individual lives? Who computes?

I call BS because I think most of us, myself included, will read a headline like this and nod absently. Maybe even comment, “Yeah, they really pulled out all the stops. Too bad they lost anyway.” I would say something like that. Or I would have a few years ago. Now, I’ve had that experience. I pulled out all the stops and lost. I tried as hard as I was humanly capable of trying and it didn’t work. I’ve sat over coffee with many men over the last four years. Good and bad coffee. We’ve wrestled with the question; am I really a failure? Was all that a waste of time and energy? Do I really have to start over and chalk the last 20 years up to experience? We have asked, what is my score?

Solomon says God has made everything beautiful in its time and set eternity in the hearts of men (Ecclesiastes 3:11). That’s the context. The score is figured by God in the context of eternity. The score of the game counts as a measurement of a moment in eternity. Eternity is not a time measurement as much as it is a quality measurement. So, I think the question I have to ask is; am I living this moment fully awake and alive and in real time? Do I see and hear right? Am I aligned with what God is up to?

We will not even come close to understanding the score of any particular game in this life. The best we can get, if we are awake, are hints that make us suspicious, glimpses that connect with our unhealed, undeveloped eternal hearts. There are too many stories intersecting, stories that are bound to a plot that is primarily lived in a much larger scope. A place we do not yet see or hear clearly, though we are rooted in it. What matters is the score at the end, when all is added up and computed by the storyteller and main character. Will I have been what he made me to be and done what he planned for me knowingly or otherwise? Will I hear, “well done, good and faithful servant?” That is what matters – that alone.

The good news is: The final score has been written. The big question is: will it be my score?

Thank you John Gorman, Scout Master of troop 358, for your decades of commitment to young men and their families. The difference you made ripples throughout eternity. You played the game well and your score shows it. May the final score reveal the greater impact you’ve had that we do not yet know.

Beginning Earl

2011-10-03T10:22:00.000-07:00

A couple 40-something guys...

Earl

Yesterday, I began a partnership with a 38-year-old truck. My daughter says he is an Earl. It’s nearly as old as me. My friend Brant discovered him after someone else found him languishing namelessly in a field, starved of fuel and rusting in the rain. After working hard to be a benefit for his owner, who recently passed away, Earl found himself on the sidelines with muddy, flat feet and no where to go… Poor Earl.

While tending easily toward over thinking and complication, I’ve always, as part of my foundational thinking, believed in the virtue of simple, strong, well crafted anything. I am a builder of decks, porches and outdoor furniture for this reason. They are rough and made to withstand traffic and the elements. I love the simplicity of running in the country – nothing but shoes, shorts and a long road. I can do it if I can endure. A fifth generation 67-72 Ford f100 is in this category. It is a simple machine, well built with intention and made to last.

During this season of my life, while I am considering and recovering from my past and moving slowly into the future, I need to stay grounded in the simple, the strong and the enduring. I need to keep my hands busy with things that can be measured at the end of the day. So much of my heart and mind are taken up with the philosophical, ethereal considerations of the discoverable but unknowable. That’s ok. I am bound to the eternal and I need to become more a man of eternity. But I am also a man of the earth, demonstrating the power and life and love of God in each moment and in each circumstance. It can’t all be talk.

Mark, Loren and I used to teach young men how to build. We told our guys, “if you work with your hands, your craftsmanship tells people what kind of man you are. Leave accurate evidence.” We built buildings that could be seen from the inside and outside. Often no insulation or drywall covered our work. We nailed and bolted in clean patterns, cut straight, plumbed lines, culled knots, sap and waning and pre-drilled for perfectly straight screw lines.

Earl is that kind of truck. You can inspect him inside and out. Not much is hidden. He is readily accountable and will answer the hard questions with honesty and immediacy. He is a good example for me. He shows the quality of craftsmanship that went into innovation, durability and simple beauty. Somewhere, there are men who can be judged by this truck. If the rest of their lives follow the example, they are good men, worthy of honor and appreciation.

Earl is a bit rusty now. His window seals whistle in the wind and there are tiny little plants growing through the rust holes in the front of his bed. Small tears show stuffing in the seat and cracks are in the dash. He has the wrong mirrors and holes from the right ones. His bumper is bent just a little, his hood springs are weak and his transmission is a little whiny. There is some surgery needed for his leaky heart. It will require donation and sacrifice from his peers.

I am making a commitment to this tired old truck. I will care for him and restore him to a new version of his original condition. When we are done, we will spend time on the roads remembering the good old days and congratulating ourselves on the healing. We will exult in the sound of combustion and the grunt of solid shifting. He will carry his weight and pull his load and I will breath fresh air at 50 mph.

My heart will make this journey as well. I hope that I will be as honest and accountable as Earl. As I am restored and unfettered from the damage in my past, I will be a testament to the one who crafted, innovated and made me durable. I’ll do what I am meant to and be an example of a simple, well-designed man. Along the way, every twist of the wrench, every scrape of file and the removal of every broken piece will count.

Tastes Great, Less Filling

2011-09-30T07:00:00.000-07:00

I used to work too much. I still do every chance I get but I try to spread the chances out a bit more. It’s an opportunity I’m taking advantage of since my 1.7 decade contracting business augured into the ground like a giant run-a-way drill bit drilling holes for pole building posts. Why work hard when you can live off the benefits of investing your life in the system of entrepreneurial business ownership? I’m not sure a question mark is appropriate at the end of a rhetorical, sarcastic comment.

And there really are no benefits to live off. Employees get them. Employers get the debt and the angry people the debts are owed to.

Since the hole was dug, I got a BS degree. I believe I was BS qualified by life experience prior to the actual degree but I digress. In order to qualify for said official BS degree, I had to take some electives to round out my course work. Being really poor means you can get a Pell grant and go to college for free. Again, since the opportunity presented itself, I elected to study poetry, fiction writing, art and jazz. In what seemed initially an unrelated choice, I also studied astronomy, biology and algebra.

I re-discovered an interesting phenomenon during this studying. In art and jazz particularly, I found that many artists and jazz musicians went nuts. They reached mythical status by stretching the boundaries of their art and then fubarred their lives with drugs, sex and a multitude of really bad, self-destructive behaviors. My theory is that once these exceptional people have interacted musically or artistically with the most glory they are capable of experiencing, everything else pales by comparison. Their yearning for a taste of eternity has been briefly satiated. It is impossible once this happens to forget or ignore the desire. Since they cannot replicated this taste satisfactorily, they search in the wrong places. Because…

A refinement of taste does not reduce hunger.

My life cannot be lived skin deep, on the surface. It must be lived in the deep places of my heart where life is deposited and fed. It is dramatic, powerful, emotion filled, emotion impacting and a difficult place to access. It is just as hard to remain connected to my heart but I find it possible to respond to the invitation/challenge in only two ways – succumb or deny. I have to choose every moment. If I give in, I will accept my desire and it will be desperate and insatiable. It will lead to healing, wholeness and more life. If I deny, it will bring death to desire, bitterness and it will prolong my ultimate choice. Both are a form of insanity, a sacrifice of self.

The refinement of my taste gives reason for hunger. Desire is, in it’s most powerful and poignant expression, the voice of my heart. The refinement of taste in coordination with the mature expression of desire is the confluence that leads to the eternal. Expression of truth and perspective in artistic form invites and challenges the discoverer to respond to life. In the moment of that awakening, a response is required. If the hunger is accounted to the wrong source, it will sour and eat away at life like Tum’s-proof acid. But the invitation cannot be obvious. It has to be personal, secret and safe from those who are not ready. The mystery of the poetic invites, challenges and excludes. It can only be understood truly in the realm of the awakening heart.

The world offers false invitations - imitations that are one or two degrees off center. They look right early on. But if they are sung or painted or written as truth and believed long enough, they will lead to a shallow place where death lives.

If I rest, if I be still – I can tell the difference between true and false invitations. If I am not busy and my eyes and ears are not over stimulated, I can see and hear. So, I try to find the balance between work and rest. It’s a struggle.

I pray that you and I will have the discernment to see truth and the courage to follow it with all our hearts. I pray for life full and with abandonment to all that holds us back.

Head Too Small?

2011-09-28T07:58:00.000-07:00

God never does the same thing over and over. He tolerates us doing it, but I can’t find where he does it. Maybe in some really macro galaxy way, but that doesn’t count. He invents really weird things to. And people. I know some weird people. It’s quite likely that someone else somewhere is saying that right now and in their head is a picture of me. That’s ok. I’m making a point and if that is happening, it helps me. Here is my point:

We can’t figure anything out apart from God.

You see how that person with a picture of me in their head plays right into this proposition? I’m glad for them - that they have the answer they were looking for.

But seriously, life is not that complicated. It’s complex but not confusing. It’s deep and infinitely interconnected. It’s vast and more powerful than we inkle (it’s like having an inkling – spell check let it go). But we can only describe life as complicated, messy and confusing when we’re trying to fit it into a neat package we can wrap our heads around. It’s not meant to happen. We have small heads. But that’s ok. Size matters and small works for what it’s meant for.

We just can’t know how our small heads or anything else fits into a plan that was conceived in eternity by someone infinitely smarter and more creative than us. We really can’t know. If we could, it would be less and we would eventually get bored. As it is, boredom is not a risk. I’m glad for that to. It means teenagers are in – they hate being bored even though they come by it so easily.

If my point is right, I have a question. Actually, I’m assuming it’s right, but I have a question whether it is or not. Here it is:

Why do we value on such a limited scale?

We value time and people. Essentially – life. Time and life are the same thing, for now. Both come in limited quantities. For each person life and time start and end simultaneously. And people are the containers for life. It’s all the same thing in the end. Why do we create categories and put people’s lives in them and decide how they compare on some scale we each invent to determine how valuable they are? I’m not talking about the conscious, what you say in a conversation about the value of life kind of way. I’m talking about how we live and act and choose.

I do not, much more than a smidge at least, go through life with a sense of awe as I see interesting lives that are so different than mine – different than I expected. Each life is a complex, interconnected version of God’s interaction with people. He is revealing and offering something in and through them that no other person is capable of facilitating in the same way. Instead, I avoid or judge or ridicule. Hopefully, I keep this in my small head. It’s so awkward to say what I’m actually thinking. Don’t get me wrong. I think this is a terrible thing. I try to think differently. I practice trying to see God in people. It’s just so horribly unnatural.

In fact, I apologize. Please forgive me. I’ve probably done this to you.

I also judge and criticize the way people spend their time. I feel guilty about the way I spend my time. If I sit around with my family or write or play or rest or slowly contemplate the awe of God in me and the world around me I feel like I should probably do something more productive. If I get productive, eventually I feel like I should spend more time with God or my family. The latter happens less because productivity is often valued by the great measurer – money.

Each effort has a role to play. Working with my hands and resting both clear my head and allow my heart to breath. Building gives me concrete satisfaction. Contemplation reveals the beauty of God but it takes time. Rest and play heal and prepare and connect. Work is good, but not too much. Rest is good but not too late in the morning most days.

We can only value based on the creators plan. We can only know the plan by knowing the creator. That’s the one thing that is valuable in any context. Knowing him. I am only content when I am being who I was made to be and doing what I’ve been called to do. Jesus said, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me.” I think if it worked for him, it will probably work for me. If it doesn’t, it’s not a bad plan; I’m just doing it wrong.

I pray that, with our time, we will see the life of our creator - in each other and the context of our lives. I pray that the eyes of our hearts may be opened that we would know him better as he is revealed in the stories of the lives of those he loves around us. I pray that our categories would evaporate and we would appreciate our differences instead of separating them behind walls. I pray that every moment will be valued for its role in eternity as designed by God.

Amen.

There Will Always Be a Duck

2011-09-27T08:28:00.000-07:00

My grandpa used to ask me, “What’s the difference between a duck?” His bushy eyebrows would wiggle and his face would light up with the joy and mirth of this wonderfully terrible, incomprehensible joke. I would say, “a duck and what?” with consternation and a hesitant contempt for this question. I was never quite sure if I was missing something. He always repeated the questions until I sighed, rolled my eyes and said, “I don’t know, what’s the difference between a duck?” With fluent glee, he would nearly clap his hands and say,

“One of its legs is both the same.” I still don’t get it. I’m not sure it was ever gettable. I tell that joke all the time and it is so much fun to feel the hesitant contempt and be confident that the answer is mine alone.

Sometimes, there is no satisfying answer that ties everything together. The answerer must be confused. Maybe they are having an aneurism. My grandpa was a man of vast intelligence. He invented things with patents, solved problems that contributed to the home computer and listened to big bands on speakers he made himself. I still have those. They get loud and stay clean. His joke and his mirth did not come from any lack of mental acuity. He just thought it was more fun to give an answer that made me ask more questions.

Answering questions with satisfyingly complete answers may not be the most authoritative literary approach. It certainly does satisfy the reader’s desire to be told what to do. But I’m not sure that being told what to do is healthy for our bond to eternity. God himself gives us dangerous choices and the responsibility for the consequences that go with them. He risks his heart for ours. He made us, like him, to be risk takers and dangerous livers. It is man made religion that has attempted to simplify and order this unexplainable relationship between us and our creator. We don’t really want to know the answers if they define our limits. If we did, we would stop exceeding the limits we have already given ourselves. There has yet been no time in history where any kinds of limits, man made or otherwise, have provided boundaries that were not broken.

I think it’s because we are bonded to eternity. We want to believe that the quality of our lives is more than we can imagine, unlimited by our current expectations. There is another surprise and more effort required beyond every horizon. Every answer leads to more questions. They will never run out.

Enough of the five steps to financial security and seven habits of effectiveness. The trite clichés about marriage, parenting and making my boss happy are shallow and short term. I am only willing to keep asking questions and seeking the answers together as we follow this narrow, winding, dangerous path. It is an exciting journey that requires faith, endurance, patience, strength and the investment into and from those on the path together. I do not presume to know any answer or it’s appropriate application in a completed form. I do not expect that such a revelation will ever exist for we are creatures of endless depth and our creator constantly provides new context.

Exploration, discovery and expectation are built into us as rudimentary elements of our relationship to our creator. He leads our goose chase exploration, gives clues to our discoveries and feeds our expectations with laughter and invitation. The greatest we can hope for is to ever be participants of his revelation and wisdom. It is always more and better than we imagine. Good enough?

Consider the alternative. We can know. We can have no questions left, no discoveries to make. We can reach some sort of state of complete experience where there will never be another surprise, another jaw dropping sharp intake of breath in dumbstruck awe.

And we have eternity to enjoy this condition of “completeness.” God is done creating. We know everything he and the fat baby angels know. Our knowledge and wisdom is all wrapped up in a neat package with definable edges and a pretty bow.

Sounds infinitely boring. What the hell are we supposed to do (note hell inference.)? What will make eternity interesting? How will we increase? What happens to the creators creating? Are angels really fat babies?

The process of discovery is closely related to a confusion that is only comfortable in the context of faith. We can know that our creator will create. He has invited us into it. We will never exhaust the capacity to discover more and be in greater joyful awe. That is a quality of eternity I look forward to.

Hope you’ll join me.

Grampa Bernie Joke:

Q. What is the difference between a duck?

A. One of its legs is both the same.

Next question…

A Moment Finally Came

2011-09-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

A moment finally came, ending the anticipation and cleaving my old life away in a violent chop. For months, dread grew within me, eating at my soul and generating an insatiable hunger. The odor of this coming moment had stunk up the air around me as I struggled against the inevitable. I kept busy producing checkmarks for the mundane. I expended myself with heroic efforts to ward it off. Sometimes it enveloped me at my desk or in my truck. Even outside, slinging words through the phone in the clear fall air, it cascaded over me like a deluge of wet, sticky sludge and pooled in a chunky, rank pile of demise causing goo. It immobilized me.

Not just smell, but a sour, acidy, metallic taste in my mouth, an ache in my gut for a sustenance that would ease the gnawing. Nothing I touched felt. No static electricity or joy in smoothness. I missed my capacity to be awash in optimism and hope. I remembered vaguely while staring blankly. Beauty did not penetrate my heart. My eyes functioned to protect against collision and differentiate food from utensil. This only, no life giving radiance and no rescue from overwhelm. All of my senses demonstrated one thing – I was becoming lost.

Then, the moment came. January 16^th on the phone, at my desk, alone in the corner office among the busy efforts of the twenty people who shared a dream with me, I concluded with finality that American Express guaranteed no short cut to my American dream. The credit I counted on for my rescue strategy did not exist. I thanked them and sat still in my chair for a moment. No more options. All avenues investigated and exhausted. We were done.

I had to go to the bathroom.

Though there was two bathrooms available close by, I stumbled across the parking lot to my loft apartment.

I sat.

I asked God, “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

In a moment of grace, he answered me with the following list:

Sit still and be quiet.
Wait.
Love the people around you.
Don’t do anything until I tell you.
Be simple.
Be humble.
Tell the truth.
Get ready. Be prepared.

This is an abbreviated version from what I wrote in my journal.

I want to be clear for anyone who feels alone and overwhelmed in darkness with news of a dire nature – this list did not rescue me. I still felt and often feel numb and terrified. No light came on. My stomach did not settle. I felt no tangible relief of any kind. I just knew in some instinctive, unthinking, empty way that there was a path in front of me to walk. I knew in the same way that there was another path that went the wrong direction.

My life, none of our lives, is anything like a sitcom. Our problems and our pain will not be solved in 21 minutes not including commercials. The script isn’t handed to us in advance. We are, by faith or lack thereof, participating in its creation. My moment existed as a part of my eternity, consequences of decisions good and bad. I was already walking on a narrow and dangerous path frequently intersected by forks and turns. It is a tough road to walk.

And that’s it. There is no happy twist of fate that changes things from bad and scary to good and happy with dancing clowns and small furry animals. Sometimes it stays dark and smelly and aches in the pit of my stomach for a long time. I’m not saying it’s ever the end of the story, just that it isn’t unusual for the hard stuff to last substantially longer than seems fair. It does and it isn’t. Let’s not pretend that some cliché bit of truth will help or that things get better or easier sooner than they do.

Dreams die, people hurt, stuff doesn’t make sense, and life isn’t fair. Seriously, there are circumstances that are truly so far beyond our comprehension of endurance, forgiveness, hope, and peace that we are incapable of surviving.

Let’s hope there is more to the story.

I Wish Tinker Bell was Real

2011-09-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

I wish Tinker Bell was real. I wish I could squint my eyes really hard and clap my hands with joyful exuberance and she would wake up. I believe Tink, I believe! I’m doing it right now just to see what it feels like. The exuberance is a little muted because everyone else is asleep and I don’t want the dogs to start barking. This blog gets me in enough trouble already.

But wouldn’t that be nifty... if we could make things real and alive just by believing in them?

I think I would be able to fly. During certain seasons of my life, I can. Usually I’m asleep but it seems very real. No one else in my dreams can fly and I remember feeling sorry for how ignorant they were. All you have to do is just think it. I remember a sort of speed to concentration ratio and again the squinting. It always seemed like there was an immediate barrier that required a lot of effort. After breaking free from the belief in gravity, flying would get much easier and I could stop thinking about it. I’m serious – not making this up. Doesn’t anyone else fly in their dreams?

Not so much now days. Most of the dreams I remember now have to do with crashing out of control vehicles or getting caught at the mall in nothing but a T-Shirt and underpants. Not cool boxers mind you, tighty-whities… at the mall. Or worse, sitting in a theatre or at a sports event that eventually I have to get up and walk out of. The discomfort is in the anticipation and trying to stretch the T-shirt.

I am so grateful that when I wake up, I have several pairs of pants to choose from and I get where I’m going in my faithful truck (Betsy) and not a helicopter I don’t know how to fly that always crashes with me (the pilot for some unknown reason) and my fellow occupants stumbling out and continuing pell-mell towards whatever next dream element awaits as if nothing unusual just happened.

Dreams are really weird and Tinker Bell is not real but there is truth in both. I suspect that believing; though it takes practice, is a very significant ingredient to experiencing the miraculous. I’m not really talking about miracles like healing from sickness or the parting of the Red Sea. Those are fantastic miracles in their own right but there is something greater now.

We have available in ever increasing measure the very life and power of the creator of the universe. The same power that woke up Jesus is ours. We can have as much as we want of it, more every day, every moment. And we have it with him in us and through us as participants in his life and his purpose.

While we may not understand our circumstances and we cannot know the significance of every minute occurrence in our lives, we can participate in a wild adventure with someone who does. That wild adventure has a purpose that we and the desires of our hearts have a vital role in.

I pray that you and I will today, squint really hard and practice believing.
Perhaps we will wake up a little bit more.

Perhaps we will fly.

See you up there.

Don’t forget your pants.

Ephesians 1:17-21

God Makes Me Suspicious

2011-09-20T07:00:00.000-07:00

I am suspicious. I have morphed over the last few years into a bit of a cynic. Maybe even a skeptic. Those who have known me for a long time may still chuckle at this claim but I swear it’s true. I really don’t think everything will work out anymore.
But, that’s not how I’m using the word suspicious. I have found it to be useful in describing the way I relate to the cosmos swirling around me and the involvement of God causing certain of its elements to collide with my trajectory in seemingly intentional ways… quite often.
I am cultivating the ability to hear and see beyond the physical realm. Man, that sounds really kooky and mystical. But, I think its what I’m doing. I’m of the fairly secure opinion that everything has implications in the spiritual realm. I would go so far as to say that things, people, occurrences and interactions of all kind have their true significance only in the context of the eternal.

Ok. I need to take a break here because what I just said is really, really deep and I’m not sure I’m saying it right. This is why honey (note to my wife) and sometimes patient children of mine, I talk so much and for so long without breathing. It’s not so much that I want to argue (ok – I do sometimes), as it is that I want to test what I’m thinking against its immediately perceivable boundaries. Generally, I’m sure I’m on to a significant truth but I have to hear it in audible words and mess around with it for a while before I feel like it’s been properly encapsulated. It’s also one reason my blog posts never get under 900 words unless they are a poem. I’m working on that.

Here is the deal. God is invisible, eternal (this is a qualitative issue more than a quantitative) and really powerful and smart. Since Babel, these descriptors have really lost a lot of their capacity to describe . He is into and messing around (I don’t mean that in a negative or disrespectful way at all – it’s sort of a familiar, affectionate reference, so don’t worry, he gets it) with everything. Everything, as in which way I turn on the way to Home Depot, whether I should buy a cool, old F-100 or a practical, newer Ranger (or nothing), what I eat, what book I should read right now (I’ve got 10 or 12 going not including Bible or Oswald), jobs I take, bugs, thoughts, feelings, effort, attitude, who I talk to and everything else. I can’t even begin to make a decent list. Since he is involved, since he created and sustains, since he cares – everything that happens or exists matters per its relationship to everything else. That is… Everything, it is not a time and space limited mattering. Once eternity is included, time and space become a very small factor in understanding the great why.

Because of this context, my curiosity is expanding. It redefines everything, changes significance and value. For example, the autistic girl Meleea worked with last year made her laugh and understand her giftedness and brought joy and connection to the people in her environment. She will probably never be productive in the typical sense of the word. But her impact is so wonderful. I’m saying - the typical sense of the word is wrong because it does not take eternity into account. It may even be evil because it does not. That girl is an amazing and powerful person because of her design (which includes frailty and brokenness).

I’m curious. I play games with God. Like guessing games I try not to put to much store in. That’s why I use the word suspicious. It keeps me from getting too committed to my guesses. I’m suspicious that the reason I ran into that person might have something to do with this other thing. I’m suspicious about this verse, that song coming on right now, that so-and-so called out of the blue and we talked about stuff I needed perspective on. I’m suspicious that a very strategic God is arranging it as he whirls things through the cosmos. It makes my life more entertaining. It makes me feel secure that he’s involved and my life matters to him. Then, if I don’t understand the reasons why, at least I can look at all the questions that did get answered, even if only in part. I can know there are answers to all of them. What does it really matter if I don’t find out for a bit? He knows. He’s in control. He loves me. I’d mess it all up if I was in control anyway. That’s been proven.

So, I’m suspicious, in a non-controlling, good-natured, curious, meandering sort of way. I laugh a lot about it. God teases me and tricks me because he is fond of me and knows I like it. I have a hard time tricking him – he knows too much. It works for us.

Quitter

2011-09-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

Quitting.

Adequate if not ideal fodder for Monday morning considerations before stumbling from bed. Quitting that is. Quit the demanding and uncomfortable exercise program since it means I have to get up RIGHT NOW. Quit shaving, showering and perhaps brushing my teeth in the morning for the same reason. Quitting my job so I have more time for exercise and Facebook and then it doesn’t matter when I shower or what my breath smells like. For me, it’s not an issue of cavities – I’m genetically resistant and I eat a lot of spicy food. I’m safe. Its just halitosis I’m concerned with. If I stay in bed long enough, everyone leaves except the dogs and the smelly breath playing field is pretty level.

Regardless of the fact that under the covers in the dark on Monday morning before coffee may not be the most rational reasoning environment. There is good reason to consider the idea of quitting. There is a discussion in my head over this. It’s not so much an issue of staying or leaving my current employment. Especially considering my official lack thereof. It’s more about how much effort I put into things I don’t like doing in order to support my ability to put effort into the things I do like doing. Can I like what I’d rather not do because it lets me do what I love?

This is the essential question Jon Acuff asks in his recent book, “Quitter.” I just finished it. It’s a good book that I tentatively recommend. I recommend it not because I agree with everything and not to people without BS detector. I found the book encouraging. I read it last week and feel in retrospect that it was a useful expenditure of time. It helped me to like what I don’t so I can do what I love. I fix and build and coach and sell so I can write and share and meet and talk and create.

I spent most of my work efforts this week putting bathrooms together. Other people’s toilets and wax rings and the ensuing residues, other people’s old, crusty hair clogs in sink drains and contorting my body in unnatural positions under sinks while they drip on my glasses is not how I like to generate income. I would much rather get paid to write or teach people how to brew coffee or watch my wife walk in front of me in the grocery store.

Some of the best stuff in the book:

1. “Crush the discussion with a decision.” If you want to be a whatever, decide when, how often and how much. Once the decision is made, ignore the voices in your head that want to discuss with you the other things you could use the time for (sleeping, chores, reading, etc.). They were not around when the decision was made. Ignore them for a month, then re-evaluate. Great advice.

2. “90% perfect and shared with the world changes more lives than 100% perfect and stuck in my head. I think this may be the best forehead flick I got from this book. I can spend hours perfecting something and waiting to put it out there until it gets stuck in a cyber file somewhere and forgotten, thereby wasting 100% of the effort. Or I can get it pretty darn good and set it free. I like the latter chances better.

3. The operative word in the phrase, “enough time” is not time, it’s enough. I have the perfect amount of time today for the things that matter most. There is a ratio and a sliding scale at work here that are never wrong. My actions demonstrate my priorities so I better decide what they are and stick to them.

Paraphrases of some other stuff he says that I liked:

Figure out what you really want; what’s your dream. Realize it will take a lot of work and time to make that dream come true. Don’t run away from stability too early. Don’t get caught by surprise by success.

Misgivings requiring the aforementioned BS detector:

While Jon Acuff does receive input from his blog followers and other writers, speakers and leaders in or near his circle of influence, this book is very much mostly his perspective. Much of his wisdom is true but it is derived mostly from what he has tested and found in his own 35 year life. It does not constitute an empirical study.

It does not account for those who follow Christ closely and are led away from stability with no idea how their needs will be met. If this invitation truly is from God, then credit scores, in-law opinions, job security and nest eggs are not decision factors, they are obstacles to be overcome by faith. Not true for everyone, but there are many stories about people who stepped out in what could only be considered in today’s economy as stupid faith. They did the right thing.

This book does not address the many who have worked hard, been responsible, provided for their families and ended up jobless and foreclosed on. It wasn’t really supposed to but an acknowledgement would have been meaningful.

Like I said. It’s a good book, worth reading. Good stuff to glean. Just don’t cut too deep or pick up anything rotten (gleaning references).

Jon Acuff also has a great/funny/relevant blog at http://www.jonacuff.com/blog/ called “Stuff Christians Like” and a book with the same title I have not read.

Mind vs. Heart

2011-09-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

A little morning sonnet -

Dreary in morning, my mind is bothered
My good heart waits for clearing in the fog
And remembers strength of who I’m fathered
Thinking right barely drags me from the bog

Facing the day, behind unopened doors
Waiting to try and knowing I’m artless
Alone I live safely, inside and bored
What is the key to avoiding darkness?

Surrender must come to life that’s given
Efforts to win are lost without substance
Giving up offers the soul that is riven
The hope on the road that’s laden with chance

Broken heart healed is the only promise
Myself solved in mind is only heart-less

Some explanation -

This is a consideration of where the energy, drive and capacity for full life really come from.
In a culture that is addicted to the idea that “if I just get it right, everything will work out,” surrounded by thousand of books, articles and videos on the 5 steps to a better love life, how to cook for healthy kids in 5 minutes or less and the Cosby’s 21 minute solution to everything, I am suggesting that “getting it right” is an illusion. This suggestion is based on the premise that I am already “gotten right”. I was created (by a loving father) for a fantastic purpose that the world has led me (willingly, I am sad to say) away from. As a result of this departure, I am broken at the core (my heart). However, Jesus came to “Restore the broken hearted” (Isaiah 61). This statement at the beginning of his ministry, flies in the face of most Christian religious pulpit statements about the sinfulness of man by suggesting that (if restoration is possible) the original condition of the heart of man is… good! So what I am trying (awkwardly) to say is; figuring it all out in my mind is not going to work. What I need is to have my heart healed (restored). For that, I must give up my futile efforts and turn myself back over to He who invented me. I often wake up, thinking furiously, aligning things in my mind. My conclusions usually do not get me feeling fully alive, they get me feeling weighted down and out of touch with my heart.

The idea of bog is an attempt to bring an image of stuck-ness. Like when you walk in deep, relentless, gooey mud in your black rubber boots with red soles and a rim at the top and you get so deep that you can’t keep going without leaving your boots behind. However if you are a little kid and your dad picks you up by applying gentle pressure under your armpits and you curl your toes, your boots will ever-so-slowly de-suck from the mud and you will be saved without the need for Tide on your now brown socks. Also, bogs are dark and gloomy from overgrowth and misty/foggy with moisture. I think it is a perfect word for the picture in my mind. I’m not really focused on the bed other than as the moment between asleep and awake when I am aware of my hearts longing for more.

Myself solved in mind is referring to the idea of getting things all figured out on a brain/fact level. The experience I’m writing about has demonstrated to me over and over that a mind level conclusion is not enough. Without a healing of the heart, it is never going to be enough.

This is probably the hardest poem for me to figure out adjustments to. I did some work on the iambic pentameter. I think the emphasis on the alternating stresses is a little better.

Enjoy. Thanks for reading

Loosing Things

2011-09-15T08:37:00.000-07:00

I’d like to introduce you to my duck. You may kick him if you like. You can step on, poke or yell at him. You can even pick him up and throw him against the wall. Don’t be surprised if he flies. I expect he will probably quack. In some cases he may bite you. If you pet him, you may become friends.
In any case, he’s my duck. See if you can make him quack.

People don’t loose things for “sharing their faith.” Christians loose things because we are like Christ.
Us disciples, as we go, are being versions of Jesus. We are finding our sustenance in obedience to the father, finishing his work. “Our food is to do the will of him who sent us.” (John 4:34)
We are thought and spoken poorly of and perhaps must endure difficult circumstances for the sake of Jesus. For this physical, temporary inconvenience, we are encouraged to “rejoice and be glad, because great is our reward in heaven.” (Matt 5:10-11)

We are repeatedly told that following after Christ brings difficulty in this crappy world (John 16:33). We are not told we will have trouble if we “tell people about God, hand out tracts or invite people to church.” These are possible actions of being like Christ, maybe not the best ones. They are not even primary actions. If we get in trouble for them it is because of the limited understanding of the people giving us trouble. These actions, according to the perception of persecutors, represent something larger that is threatening – Christ’s likeness, a Christ like life.

Christ is a watershed. Once acknowledged, he is either loved or hated, not much in between. He is loved or hated not because he says he is God but because of what he does and what he offers. He loves and offers life by himself instead of life by doing things right. This is the new deal. For all of history, up to Jesus, the deal between God and his people was, do everything right and I’ll bless you. Blessing was lots of sheep, children, healthy crops, defeat of enemies, it was mostly demonstrated through physical possession and comfort. The new deal is blessing in the Kingdom of Heaven, right now. Freedom from sin and death, relationship with God, love, joy, hope, peace, purpose, and eternity – these are better than sheep and broccoli.

In and of themselves, these intangibles sound great. The difficulty comes when we begin realizing that they are a replacement for the physical and we can’t have both (Matt 6:24). We are offered a choice like the rich kid, “sell everything you have, give the money to the poor, you will have treasures in heaven, then come, follow me.” (Matt 19:24) This is a tough choice and though we make it in little steps, it often does not feel like a gift. It is though. To be set free from a broken world, the lies of our enemy and from death is really, really good. We find this to be true every time we choose to let go and follow.

It’s a tough and often painful choice to make, but it’s worth it. There’s more. That which we are set free from is desperate to ensnare us again. Our freedom is a threat to its existence. If we do not need to be consumers, to be religious, to be reliant on temporal systems, if we live like that and are loving, joyful, hopeful, at peace and with purpose, it is a strong indicator that those who sell the rules, the stuff and the seven steps to whatever… are wrong. Our life, like Christ’s, will demonstrate that people who are not following him are in error, big error.

Here is the synopsis. The new blessing is much greater than the BC metaphor. It includes a temporary letting go of stuff and comforts for the sake of the much greater blessing. The much greater blessing is intangible and manifests itself in our heart. It changes the way we perceive and act and talk and relate to people and our circumstances. This either blesses people because they long for it or makes them very angry because it means they are wrong (often after having invested much time and energy). So we are already uncomfortable because of our choice and now people are mad at us.

Sounds like a bummer, but remember?
"Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” (Matt 5: 10 – 12)

We do not loose anything for sharing our faith; we lay things down to follow Christ. Then, as we follow him, we become like him and we are either loved or hated because of it.

That’s my duck, does it quack?

Crappy World

2011-09-14T08:42:00.000-07:00

I used to wake up late almost every morning. I would slowly swing my legs over the edge of the bed and moan quietly but with vengeance at the cruel world, “crap.” Every day while I pulled strands of my mullet out of the crusty drool on my cheek I would complain about my sad life that was just starting that day.

I lived in obscurity in a slummy apartment behind Freddies. My mattress lay boxeless in the corner of a room I shared with my roomie, Brian. We were getting up late to go to work for a painter called Stan-the-man. His name was actually just Stan. OSHA or the effect of VOC’s were of no concern to Stan. It was a risky job but he never fired me for being an unreliable employee so we were even. I was a good painter when I came to work. Sometimes he called me his number one guy. That made me feel pretty good even though I felt like being a house painter was about a low as you could get on the employment totem pole. He used to wave a carrot in front of my nose and say, “you do good here, I’ll teach you how to run the sprayer. You’ll make $100.00 a day.” He’d wink and smile and punch me in the arm. “You’re my number one guy, you can do it,” he’d say. Looking back on it, I think he considered me a charity case. It’s kind of embarrassing.
Back then I said crap in the morning because I hated getting out of bed. My girlfriend kept breaking up with me. If I had a car, it kept breaking up with me to. I ate almost nothing wholesome. I suppose Krustez scraped off the counter, spaghetti (sometimes with sauce) and Ramen did supply carbs, but no joy. Here and there I put an egg in the Ramen – protein. Then on the occasion that we approached near starvation I would take advantage of the fact that some idiot had given me a checking account. A bad check’s worth of taco supplies and we ate like kings for a day and a half, veggies, carbs and protein. I had a bad job, a whole series of bad jobs. My boss at Athletic Xpress used to go smoke pot while I watched the store. I did get to trade my daily yogurt for pizza when I worked at the yogurt shop. But I never made enough to pay the fees from the bad checks, crap.
Now, I’ve lived another 24 years. I have many much better reasons for mumbling when I wake up. Makes my potential at 19 seem much more useful. And my girlfriend finally stopped breaking up with me. This often offsets my reasons for mumbling.
So, it’s a crappy world. We’re all going to die and we will have much misery on the way there. But the REAL truth is, we can be truly alive. The dying part of us is already dead and it’s been holding us back. Though it seems painful, really painful sometimes, and unfair, getting rid of the old dead part is good, very good, every time.
Jesus lived in this same world. According to the official, canonized accounts, he battled and… lost. He died. Just like us. His enemy celebrated his death. The local villains nodded smugly to themselves, assured in their righteousness. They won. But while skinny guys in red tights were hopping around at their stubby little miscalculated victory party, Jesus introduced new rules.
Jesus hung there on the cross for a moment in space and time that connected the power of the God who breathed life into humanity with the brokenness of dying people. It changed the game. It turned the battle. Jesus died knowing every wound and hurt and confusion and futile wish you and I have ever felt. I can barely handle my own and he took them all to death, all that pain of sick babies, broken relationships, selfish mistakes, lost identity, wrenching, night sweating confusion and anxiety, he felt and owned it all. In the realm of heaven, the brokenness vanished. It killed him. It scarred him for-ever. But he woke up, sat up and walked out. He ate breakfast, visited, took walks and restored hope.
The surprised bad guys scrambled for a new tack. Millennia of strategy lay in rubble. Their new message was a violent twisting of truth.
“Ok, so Jesus will make your life easier. Yeah, sure if you follow him, everything
will work out fine. You just gotta do it right.”
The enemy has reduced the invitation of Jesus to a pursuit of better circumstances. If we just do it right, we’ll be good looking, happily married, our family will be healthy (and green) our kids will be smart and not take drugs, our cars will be safe, the government will make good laws, we’ll have good jobs and personally rewarding, effective causes, people will like us and even if something bad happens it will be insured or under warranty. How’s that working? Crap.
Then how come I still have to pee at four am? How come people I know who follow Jesus don’t escape the crappy world, crappy life syndrome? Are we just not doing it right? Do we need another seven steps book or a workshop or a six-week study? If I go to the right church, get the right degree, live in the right part of town with good neighborhoods and schools will that fix my life or anyone’s? I don’t think so.
If Jesus died, then I’m going to die. If the enemy tried to destroy Jesus, he’s going to try to destroy me. But I have a mysterious weapon, the new rules. I have been given his abundant, powerful life. The system was hacked by the architect and I’ve been given infinite life points. The little red hearts at the bottom of the screen just keep getting replaced. No matter how many times I loose, I just keep getting better at this game. I’m learning its secrets and its hidden passageways. I’m going to beat it, and then…
This life is not the final scene. The script keeps going. The author is still writing and the main character is still revealing the drama, comedy, tragedy, horror, mystery, suspense and action of the story. In the next scene, hope is met by much more than we dreamed of. Jesus, scarred and victorious in glory will meet us face to face. People we loved will be much more lovable and so will we. Our eyes will be more seeing and our ears will be more hearing. The creator will be creating and laughing and loving. It will all make sense and be worth it.
It’s a crappy world, but it’s no longer the real world.

John 16:33

Getting Up to Pee

2011-09-13T09:34:00.000-07:00

I wake up earlier than I used to. It’s not because I’ve finally become disciplined, it’s because I have to pee, one of the joyful failings of middle age. My older friends smile condescendingly and say, “just wait” like I do to whiny teenagers. But everyone has a pain they must endure that seems a heavier burden than they can bear. Mine is undesirable pressure to rise early.

I remember when I could sleep indefinitely no matter how much I drank. I tell myself that getting up early and spending a moment meditating indicates good hydration. I do drink half my weight in ounces of water every day, so it could be a contributor. But, since the walk to the bathroom also looks like a joint rusted marionette with a drunk puppeteer – popping and grinding and lurching while synovial fluid flows slowly through my stiff, aching joints – it’s probably because I’m old, not because I’m properly hydrated. I had to buy a funny looking, prostate friendly seat for my bike. Once you have prostitis, you are always susceptible to it. The seat is a dead give away to old guy status. It is not sleek or fast looking. It is barely identifiable as a bike seat. Looks more like an early prototype for an imaginative version of a comfortable torture device. I should have waited for further refinements.
This whining is not really about having to use the bathroom. I lay in bed this morning thinking of my friends whose days-old baby is laying in the hospital with a hole in her lung. I talked with a friend last night who is wrestling with enough mental conflict and emotional and spiritual battle to squash an elephant. I have friends who have died recently leaving their young children alone. I know so many people who are poor, sick, desperate in their relationships and hoping for a turn of events and a break in battle that will bring joy and peace and some increase in physical, mental and emotional comfort.
I long for things to be different. I wish for financial security and a home in a quiet neighborhood that my wife can decorate. I wish we had health insurance and a truck that did not leak. I wish the bank wasn’t selling my house for less than half what I owe and my business had ended because I wanted it to instead of auguring into the bedrock and twisting the shaft off. I wish I could sleep in without getting up to pee in the dark. For now I am healthy and handsome (yes, I must say so myself) with a better wife than I deserve and apparently genetically modified kids. But I cannot bank on “for now” because I don’t control it. Even if I could sleep in today, a day will come when I can’t. I will get unhealthy and old. Eventually I will die. A turn of events will not save me or anyone else.
I prayed for my friends and myself, hoping it was three instead of five thirty. I still hoped and I will continue to hope that things get better. But my best, most useful hope is that I will see my circumstances through the eyes of Jesus. I hope that my whole and healing heart will be made strong and that my mind will be renewed. I truly believe this renewal and strength and healing will actually change me. I will see and define and measure my circumstances differently, opposite than before because I have submitted to the interior wisdom of Jesus and his teaching about the new way.
Jesus gave himself to me, to us as the example of this new way. He challenged and invited us to participate with him in it. It is no quick solution and it is not an easier path. It is safe and good and worth hoping in. It is rooted in eternity. It is embraceable if I let go of hope in temporary solutions. I can only receive this new way to the degree that I am willing to give up on the old way. It’s a ratio. I’m in tension between the world and heaven. I can have as much as I want of either, but not both at the same time.
What I long for will not be found here in the dark. So, I look forward to heaven and its light here, now and forever. That’s a good reason to get up.

Carpentry with an Empty Head

2011-09-12T08:21:00.000-07:00

I think I may be starting to feel better. Here and there, I find myself building things, small things with nothing in my head. Well, not nothing, just things bouncing around in there that should be in my head when I’m building something. Like where the mark (*crows foot) was in relationship to the mark on the tape, the line and where the inside edge of the carbide tip on the saw blade should hit.
Which side of the board should be the finished side and which end should be cut off. These are useful things to have in my head when I’m building things. I’ve noticed I can go big chunks of time without my mind wandering to gross margin, the L&I hearing, our home based business permit or the last five percent that the Turner’s won’t pay. I hardly ever think about whether I should advertise in one phone book or all four. It wouldn’t make sense to go for two or three. If I do more than the one I use, how could I possibly know which one is the next best? Might as well do them all if I do more than one. Big if.
Point is, I’m finding joy in making things with wood. I get satisfaction from tearing apart, fixing and cleaning up while I smack the dust off my pants with my dirty hands. This is new. For much of the last four years, I’ve considered getting rid of my truck and driving a car. I wouldn’t need a bunch of work clothes (I have a pile), toolboxes or a collection of scratched safety glasses and semi-wax impregnated earplugs. I have, in this recovery season, gone for long stretches of time having the imagined car-for-transportation situation lodged in my head in the planning zone without question. “Yep,” I’ve said sub-consciously, “I’ll be a regular car driver and it won’t even be a wagon.” No excuses, a clean break.
From Reality…
Who am I kidding? I’m a carpenter. I make stuff out of wood. I fix broken houses and barns and shops and decks. If I don’t, my brain overheats. Sawdust, splinters, calluses and saws (and hammers and nails and screws –preferably star drive - and drills) are part of my real identity. My healing, growth and glory are tied to making things out of wood. It keeps me from getting to augured (think really big drill) in to a line of thought or obsessing on something too far past the point of objectivity. Though there is a bit of distance beyond objectivity that I am quite fond of.
Being able to stand back and evaluate a physical object I have shaped and connected is a rite of passage for that day with clear evidence of my participation. I cannot maintain a healthy balance without some focused involvement from my hands and the tools they wield as weapons against my tendency to micromanage my brain and its disconcerting contents.
How did I forget this? What horrific and dramatic tragedy could have distracted me from this simple, obvious and elemental truth? I’ve been thinking on it. I’ve pondered, stopped and returned to the question and I think the answer is…
None.
The tragedy is what has brought me back to it. The drama is the re-instigator. The truth has always been there, always been ringing in harmony with the beat of my heart, the wavelengths of my brain and the slight curl of my fingers that wrap so naturally around the handle of a tool.
It has been a loss born of so many great opportunities. Opportunities only a fool would pass up. So I didn’t – I’m no fool after all. I love that line “he won’t suffer a fool,” and I surely am not and don’t want to be one. So, when I, by the strength of my great intellect and perceptivity (please note element of sarcasm), recognize the great opportunity that would identify me as a fool if I passed it up, I don’t. I didn’t pass it up. I jumped on it with a ferocity and determination that I’m sure was impressive. After all, I’m a smart guy with great ideas, lots of them. Give me enough time and they will all link together and then we’ll all see how great this plan is.
But, in and of itself, standing alone on my shoulders, it was not a great plan. Maybe it had some good elements, but essentially, a lot of good ideas of which only a few should be immediately in play. The rest are just hints of good things to come. Some are even completely foolish ideas. Sigh. No consoling warranted.
I would have known (maybe) if I had spent more time cutting and sanding with an empty head. But I figured I had risen above that. I had responsibility to maintain the connectivity and momentum of a million different ideas and opportunities that would be missed if I stopped to make a chair or a birdhouse or a flower out of wood scraps. So, I stayed at my desk on the phone, writing systems, going to meetings and re-organizing the ideas again.
Now, I’m sorry. Not so much an issue of regret as realization. I am humbled and thankful. I am back a bit. I have returned to something familiar and real and whole and I like it. I am back to liking the wood and the dust and the fixing of things. I should not have forgotten, not have neglected.
However, my hope and my thankfulness and the smile I feel at the end of the day as I look upon what I have done come from remembering. Not forgetting is an art and I’m dabbling. I would not know the joy of remembering had I not forgotten and it is a very good joy.

* Crow’s Foot: it’s a little arrow shaped point I make with my carpenters pencil so I know where to cut. It’s never really at exactly the point the cut should be so when I’m in the groove, there is a constant re-adjusting that happens as I pay attention to the relationship between the measuring tape, the marks, the lines and the saw blade.

Kingdom of Heaven - Matthew

2011-02-18T15:43:00.000-08:00

Timeline:

Preaches repent
Invites disciples
Explains the kingdom of heaven
Speaks of cost to follow
Compares world to kingdom
Demonstrates justice, mercy & humility
Dies
Resurrects
Installs Holy Spirit
Opens eyes
Instigates church
Commissions us…

The Kingdom of Heaven is real. Jesus has invited us to it for now and later, not just later. It requires a complete change of approach to existence. This internal alteration with external evidence is possible only through trusting and relying on Jesus. It’s why so many people come to Christ or see their relationship with him redefined through impossibly tragic circumstances they cannot handle. The change effects every aspect of life: relationships, money, possessions, defining success, interpretation of all circumstances, what gets celebrated, how and where we live, everything.

I cannot hope to make this change without healing of my brokenness (instantly or over time). In fact, the healing and the change are the same process. This is not a matter of perspective, of figuring things out and thinking rightly. That is again sacrifice and burnt offering, rather than true mercy (Hosea 6:6) (loving God, others and myself), which can only come from the only pure source – He who created love. The healing is a death. As I let go of that which is damaged in me, my spirit comes alive by the entrance of the Spirit into those places I had been protecting. The new me comes more alive, the old me gets deader. I cannot follow a formula to make this happen. I cannot speed it up or control it in any way. Jesus alone is in charge of this process and he uses it for his kingdom as he sees fit. This is what my life on earth is for; for him, for coming fully alive. Becoming a full realization of his artwork in me. Reflecting the glory of God and taking unimaginable joy in knowing his love for me. Participating in the story he has written in the critical role he has made me for.

Jesus says, just as John did before him (Matt 3:2): “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near.” (Matt 4:17) In essence, change the way you have been living your life because there is a new way, and this one works. He goes on to describe, illustrate, allegorize, exemplify and discuss this new Way with and for everyone who has eyes to see and ears to hear, including me and you. He in fact is The Way (John 14:6). He says the new way is not about what you do any more, but about what you are. This refers to statements made by prophets and is one of the themes Christ returns to repeatedly. He wants mercy and not sacrifice, acknowledgement of God rather than burnt offerings (Hosea 6:6). If we knew what that meant, we would understand what God wants for us and from us (Matt 9:13, 12:7,). For example, “You have heard it said, do not murder and do not commit adultery, but what really matters is that you do not hate or lust in your heart (Matt 5: 21-30). This is either a lot harder or a lot easier. As the story of the Old Testament illustrates well, if one could not successfully fulfill the law and thereby receive personal connection to God and eternal reward, then how is one supposed to not only fulfill the law but keep our heart and mind pure as well? This can only be possible if the new way is made possible by the Way. Jesus does it. He fulfills the law (Matt 5: 17).

After beginning to preach repentance and Kingdom of Heaven dynamics, he invited men to follow him (Matt 4: 19-22) and have the focus of their lives changed from seeking gain from the world to seeking gain for the kingdom. He says he will change them from fishermen to fishers of men. They follow and listen as he explains the new kind of kingdom to anyone who will listen.

5: 1 – 12 The Kingdom of Heaven is for the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek and those who yearn for righteousness. I suspect he spoke of those who not only wanted to be righteous but who wanted to see righteousness in the world. The kingdom of God is for the merciful, the pure in heart and the peacemakers and for those persecuted for being righteous. He, conspicuously, does not mention those who have big houses, triple humped camels, positions of authority, college degrees, successful businesses, lots of resources, chiseled and tanned features, obedient children and great marriages, ministries with large numbers, titles, or significant influence on important people. He speaks of the unnoticed and non-glorious. He does not say rich, successful, powerful, attractive people are bad (more on that later), he just does not use them as examples of the beneficiaries of his kingdom. The blessing belongs to those who do not receive blessing from this world. Even further, if I am one of the blessed in the Kingdom of Heaven and the world treats me bad, I should rejoice and be glad because my reward is even greater! So – bad in the world, is good in heaven, and the worse it is here, the better it is there.

13 – 16 Along with this paradigm shift comes Jesus’ specific instruction to be what he has made us to be. We are salt – so be flavorful. We are the light of the world – so we need to position ourselves where we can eliminate as much darkness as possible. This is not some great effort on our part, it is just being what God has made us to be by his design. There really is no room for twisting this into a suggestion to be applied in unusual or infrequent circumstances. He is saying that the difference between the world and us IS so significant that it is impossible not to notice. The only way it can be hidden is by our own intention. We actually have to try to be bland. We have to hold back our light. Unfortunately, the ingenious, insidious nature of fallen man, with great effort and much help from the enemy, has succeeded in this undertaking with enormous and tragic results. Even those of us who are the light mostly walk in darkness.

It is in the true meaning of all the known commandments; in a new understanding of them that this kingdom is described. It is a kingdom that is established in our hearts and has no boundaries except those we set up by holding back from God. Our participation in this kingdom changes the way we think of others and how we act in relationship to them. It no longer matters what is fair and just according to the world. We relate according to what is fair and just according to God. Since he is just, he asks that we trust him for fairness rather than seeking it out for ourselves. We are to make ourselves vulnerable to pain from this world, emulating his example. The sacrifice of ourselves, by the power of his love, according to true justice, is what draws the world to Jesus. Those whose hearts are soft towards God will recognize him in us and their desire for him will be unquenchable. The opportunity to participate in the process of drawing people into the kingdom is a fundamental reason for our existence. It is in the mundane, daily encounters, repeated over and over to make relationships, that this glory reveals itself. It cannot be reduced or packaged into a system or a strategy with time lines and boundaries. It comes from and is empowered and completed by God

Apparently, the kingdom he is ruling is not visible to the eyes in our head, audible to our ears, or noticeable to our noses, our tongues or the tips of our fingers. It is an invitation extended to that part of us which is eternal, our spirit, the most authentic and holy part of ourselves. He is inviting us to allow him to separate us from that which separates us from God, our flesh. All that has been ruined and broken is to be left behind.
It’s what he quotes from Isaiah 61 the first time he speaks in the temple (Luke 4: 18), “The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion- to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning and a garment of praise instead of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.”
He sits down. Everyone is staring at him, expectantly… “Today, this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”
Do we suppose that he only meant the people in that room? Was he not speaking to all creation; time and space irrelevant?
He sends his disciples out with the same message “The kingdom of heaven is near” (Matt 10:7).
He preaches it in the Sermon on the Mount (Matt 5:3-12). It is as if we have finally been given a chance, an opportunity we can take hold of. Since the departure from the Garden of Eden, there has been no way to come close to God, no way to return to where we were before the error of distrust and self-reliance.

The greatest commandment – Mark 12:28 – 34s

The kingdom of heaven and the kingdom of God are interchangeable. He allowed us our effort. He let us try it our own way. We followed the liar and lived in his kingdom, foolishly. We trusted in ourselves because the enemy told us we could. He neglected to tell us that just because we could didn’t mean we should. We have destroyed the creation, ruined it beyond our capacity to fix – including ourselves. God grew weary of our pain and our separateness from him because he wanted us as his bride. So he brought us back to his love by humbling himself and paying the just price (Micah 6:8) with his own pure, glorious, eternal life. He has now established his rule in our hearts. We can receive all that he has for us and be all he wants us to be by resisting no more. Giving up the fruit of this world, the rotten fruit, we can now pick up the ripe, satisfying, jewel like fruit of heaven.

There is more. There is and will always be, so much more…

Penny Rescue

2011-02-02T12:02:00.000-08:00

Fuzzy black edges of his field of vision switched places back and forth. The diminutive, darting winged critters flew too fast through confusing scenes of toys, tools and topiary, blending and blurring past reflections of trees and vertical lines of window frames.
“Damn bird,” said he, “find a branch and sit.”
Muttering and sighing absently, Arthur moved uselessly to another window and pushed between the curtains. The yellow rumped warbler is a little rare in town but bayberry bushes in the thin soil of the park drew these adventurous few from the woods outside town. Hoping that fleeting glances would turn into a moment of study, he watched to see if a tiny twerp would just-sit-still on his bitty little butter butt. Losing it again for the umpteenth time, he scanned the sidewalk in front of the drug store on Main Street. From his third floor apartment windows, he could see every storefront, shrub, bench, tree and crack in the sidewalk from Fourth to Sixth Avenue and through the park to First Street.
Distracted scratching and odors of oldness marked dreary days endlessly repeating themselves while he watched out the window for… birds. Not rare necessarily but real, alive and out rather than in. Notes and sketches in bent cornered hardbound journals marked the adventures of his birds. Songs he whistled while he waited minded the musings he kept shallow, avoiding too much contemplation.
Through the ovalized view from his bird watching Bushnell’s, an unfolding scene on the street below distracted him from his aviary pursuit. On the sidewalk bench in front of Jersey’s Drug Store sat a sweet and scruffy little girl in a wrinkled yellow cotton dress and a left-footed cast. All of five years old, she watched intently as a slightly larger red headed boy in jean cut offs and a dirty white tee shirt scrabbled around the sewer grate by the curb. What was he doing?
The red-headed boy focused intently on his mission. So intent, he did not notice the fire truck that parked in the street a mere two blocks East. The little lame girl watched with a matching but hopeful intensity; not talking, just watching with a slight forward lean – trusting, worried, hoping.
Hopping around on all fours, he looked like a little monkey; quick, urgent movements and searching un-expectant glances at passers by. Even the cacophony of the siren blast from up the street could not deter his efforts for more than a glance. He flopped down on his front side in the street over the grill and reached between the steel bars of the grating in the curb. His feet stretched and twitched and his arm and shoulder disappeared into the hole.
Captivated and warbler rump fully forgotten, Arthur’s breathing slowed while he watched. Much more alive than birds, this boy and his mission deserved some attention. Why was he wallowing in the street? The girl called out something, a question, but the boy’s answer was lost in the dark. Finally, he squeezed out and propped himself on skinny knees. He then fell to vigorously scratching his head with both hands. Hands clasped behind his head, chin on his chest, he stilled in a prayer like posture.
He raised his head, looked at the girl and began to slowly lift his shoulders and arms in defeat. In mid shrug, he suddenly jumped up and scampered across the sidewalk, nearly crashing with a brisk woman in a matching plum colored skirt, jacket and hat. Fashion lady reached out and steadied her tippy high-heeled ensemble but continued on, just like all the other adults, oblivious through their drama. Waving arms animatedly, the boy gestured back toward the sewer grate while he explained a new strategy. She watched him, spoke quietly and reached up to untie the ribbon in her hair. Next she leaned forward and spit her gum into his outstretched, grimy hand. Jittery on his feet, he took both and turned back to his battlefield. He froze mid turn as he saw and realized the catastrophe happing up the street.
Arthur swung his binoculars and took in the impending disaster. A fire cadet held up traffic as a slow holder while his partners opened the fire hydrant in front of the consignment shop. Surrounding kids hopped up and down in anticipation of cold water as relief on a hot August day. A look of terror transformed the boy’s freckled face into wide eyes and clenched teeth. He rushed to the grate and bent to his task. Knotting the end of the ribbon, he stuck the sticky gum to it and tested its adherence by bouncing it a bit, away from the sewer grate. It stuck tight.
Fireman wrestled with the hydrant while Arthur wrestled with his hesitation. Finally, consumed by curiosity and compassion, he hustled determinedly to the hall closet, grabbed an armload of towels and headed out the door. Down two flights of stairs on wobbly joints, he emerged on the scene from across the street.
Walking gingerly to the boys side, he asked, “Did you lose something important down there?”
Intensely focused, the boy said without looking up, “Ain’t lost, just dropped.”
“What’s dropped?” Arthur asked.
“Penny” said the boy.
“A penny?” Arthur repeated with a hint of incredulity.
“Mhmm.” Says the boy with his forehead pressed against the steel bars.
“Hmm.” Says Arthur standing there with an armload of towels.
Not knowing quite what to do, Arthur turns toward the firemen and jerks like he’d been shocked. Just at that moment, they had successfully uncorked the hydrant. Water and children were streaming into the street accompanied by spraying mist and gleeful screams. In moments, water would be rushing down the street to the site of the dropped penny.
“Hurry up boy!” Arthur bellowed too loudly, “hurry up, it’s comin’!
“I got it, I got it!” Chirped the boy as he started to push himself up with one hand.
The messy haired girl in the cast clapped and squealed, “Yay Jimmy, yay, yay, yay! Jimmy’s the best bruver in the worl…”
Cut off, mid-sentence, Arthur saw her crestfallen face and turned to a horrified Jimmy holding the end of a ribbon attached to a dirty piece of gum and no penny.
“It fell off.” Jimmy said in a flat, clenched voice.
He turned and looked up the street. Water was cresting at the outskirts of the gushing, splashing torrent and moving toward the edges of the road. He looked up at Arthur and his towels and dove back to the sewer grate with his ribbon.
The girl bounced on her bench and Arthur bent to the task of dam building. He stacked the towels against the curb a few feet from the sewer grate, right behind Jimmy’s feet. A tenuous blockade against hundreds of gallons; the towels alone would not provide enough resistance to the weight of rushing water.
“This’ll never work,” he muttered with his hands on his hips.
Arthur watched it come. He stared it down as it gained on the helpless situation. The girl leaned forward and Jimmy was silent with concentration as his effort took on a strained panic.
Standing on the sidewalk, Arthur knew his towels would be swept away. The water was less than fifty feet. Jimmy was still face down with his cheek pressed to the grate and his right hand repeating a careful, methodical raising, then lowering of his gum and ribbon crane. Looking back and forth, Arthur sat down in the street on the other side of the towels with his back against the curb. He looked at the wide-eyed girl. They stared meaningfully at each other. He stared at Jimmy. Jimmy paused and turned his head just a little to see Arthur and his towels in defensive positions. A grim look of determination crept quickly into his eyes as he turned them again to his task.
Time slowed. Noise quieted. An intense stillness overtook Arthur and the girl as they watch Jimmy. He stiffened and paused imperceptibly, ribbon slack. He wiggled it gently and then lifted. His whole body tensed with controlled effort as, slowly, slowly he drew the ribbon up through the steel grate. A low wall of water crashed against Arthur’s hips and outstretched legs. He bent to hold the outermost towels down against the asphalt while water surrounded him. The torrent splashed against, over and around him, instantly saturating the towels. Drops and spray hung suspended in the hot air. Only moments and the resistance would be overcome. The ribbon grew longer as it emerged from the sewer. At the confluence of hydrant water and storm sewer, Jimmy stilled for just a minute, eternal moment, then, right arm extended up over his head, he grabbed gum and penny with his left hand and rolled away from the grate. Water erupted around Jimmy and Arthur, both laying in the street, thrashing about in four legged, four armed exuberance.
“Yeeehoooo,” Jimmy yelled shrilly at the top of his lungs, “I got it, I got it, I got it!”
“Yay Jimmy, yippee, yay, yay, yay!” Squealed the girl again and again, waving her arms and wriggling on her bench.
Arthur laughed and sputtered mirthfully, “Good work Jimmy. Well done, very well done!”
Jimmy and Arthur hauled themselves out of the street. Authur retrieved his sodden towels before they were swept down the drain. Jimmy clutched the rescued penny and gave the ribbon back to the girl. For a moment, they stood in shocked, happy disbelief.
Jimmy looked up at Arthur, “Thanks mister,” he said. Then he turned and walked into the drug store.
Arthur, dripping heavily, walked slowly and stiffly over to the bench and looked down at the little happy girl. “Hi, I’m Arthur, what’s your name?”
“Claudia,” said the girl with a shy smile while she twisted the ribbon.
“What happened to your leg, Claudia?” Arthur asked.
“I hurt it trying to ride Jimmy’s bike,” said Claudia with a pouty frown and an adorably impertinent drop of her chin to her chest.
“What was so important about that penny?” Arthur asked.
Before she could answer, Jimmy emerged from the store with a YooHoo and two straws in his hand. “Claud loves YooHoos,” he said proudly, “and we didn’t have enough without that penny.”
Arthur smiled with his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Every little bit counts,” he said.

Why I Like to Make Good Coffee - Mutterings about Art and the Journey

2011-01-10T13:01:00.003-08:00

On occasion, I have been called a coffee snob. I expect, I would be snubbed by most “true” coffee snobs, but I cannot deny the appropriateness of teasing me about my persnickitiness. I don’t mind the moniker, true or not. Honestly, those who opinionatedly believe that putting time and effort into the minute details of a warm, dark and aromatic cup of coffee is kooky, are just missing a bit of perspective. A slight tilt of the head and things look much different. You may not like the kind of coffee I like but to say that trying to make good coffee is too much work just can’t be an absolute truth.
Preparing great coffee is like art or music, woodworking, quilting, fishing, flying, four wheeling or gardening. Anything that produces and end result considered worth the effort begs attention to the process. So the first real question is, is it worth the effort? And that is a totally subjective question. For example, if your only measurement is Taco Bell, don’t tell me you don’t like tacos. It would be a mistake to make a unilateral decision about the enjoyment of flying if all you ever tried was flapping your arms. You can’t appreciate the full impact of art by going to a pre-school open house. To judge something, you have to experience it in a way that honors the intention behind it.
It’s been often said, though rarely followed that, it’s not the destination, but the journey that counts. Perhaps both matter equally, even if you don’t know what the end is or exactly where you are in the journey. Limited as broken people without a clear view of the future, how can we expect to fully understand the implications of any of our circumstances or what is coming? What remains is the security of trusting that there is hope for both the past and the future. We are to live in the present in the most authentic way possible, as creatures who owe the glory we have. We owe it to the farmers, harvesters, mucilage strippers and roasters who came before and the fellow aficionados who will come after (metaphorically speaking).
If the journey and the end both matter and we are not in control of either, then it follows that the fullest enjoyment of every moment is really, really important. It is each moment that the rest are built on. This, in the back of my mind, is why the art and ritual of coffee making brings so much satisfaction. It is why a successful attempt introduced happily to lips, tongue and throat makes me want to share. I have, for a moment, connected with beauty, power, joy…even, eternity.
Taking an extra couple of minutes to put forth a prize deserving effort really isn’t much compared to the years Michelangelo spent on his back in chapel or covered with David’s dust. But it is a little, tiny bit like it. I wish it were more. I wish I could see the significance of each action of my life as the part of eternity that it actually is. Until then, I will try with all that I imagine to be as much of what I was made to be for every moment. Forgive me for my failure. Grace to all of us. Glory is coming.