A Light Up Ahead

Abraham's faith

2011-03-21T12:51:00.002-05:00

I was in Genesis 12 for today's Bible reading from church. In it, God tells Abram to "Go from your country, your people, and your father's household to the land I will show you." No big deal, just leave everything you've ever known. The Bible says nothing about Abram's response, save for the fact that he went. Who knows if he felt conflicted or torn or relieved to get out of there. All we know is that he went... and in return, God made him the father of a nation.

Sometimes, the leaving can feel like death, but it brings life.

Rusty.

2010-11-18T22:36:00.005-06:00

Your sword's grown old and rusty,

Burnt beneath the rising sun.

It's locked up like a trophy,

Forgetting all the things it's done.

And though it's been a long time

You're right back where you started from.

I see it in your eyes

And now you're giving up the gun.

-Vampire Weekend

The chorus of this song is really hitting home right now.

Also, the video for it is great - show that Jake Gyllenhaal who's boss, Kirsten Dunst-looking lady!

Ready to start.

2010-11-16T22:13:00.005-06:00

A couple guys I know from work have a band. They're really good, but at the rate they're going, you'll never, ever get to hear them. They've been recording their demo for at least as long as I've worked at Bethel (over a year now), with no sign of finishing anything. Whenever I ask about the recording, the response always falls along the lines of "Well, we WERE getting really close to putting the finishing touches on this song, but we still have some ideas to make it better, so we're doing some more recording." These dudes have a home studio set up, so they have all the recording time they could ever want - often times a huge stepping stone for a young band with little cash on hand.

Granted, there are a lot of benefits to a situation like that, but I wonder if it's not actually as ideal as one would think. No financial limitations on studio time, and no fans immediately clamoring for more. They have all the time in the world to make an amazing record, but it may not happen at all.

What could be interpreted as having an unwavering attention to detail and nuance could just as easily be a crippling fear that this will never be as good as I want it to be.

As I mentioned awhile back, I used to be (okay, still sort of am) a perfectionist. I didn't even know how to start when I began work on a project, because I didn't think it would be good enough in the end. There is always the worry that once others see it, the jig is up and people know what I really am, or at least my limitations.

Sometimes I get so tied up with wanting to be at the front of the pack that I don't even bother entering the race.

I need to love what I'm doing first - this can't come from anyone else. In some ways, I don't even want to factor what others are doing into how I perceive my own work. It would be far more desirable to sail out towards the horizon and risk crashing into a wall at the end of my abilities than to consign myself to a certain distance, because that's all I perceive myself to be capable of.

"A ship in the harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for." -John Shedd

Awake, my soul.

2010-11-15T22:31:00.002-06:00

Many times in life does one come to arrive at a T, that intersection that does not allow him or her to simply continue through on the same road that brought them there; a change in direction is required.

I was reminded tonight of several specific events in life that presented the dilemma of arriving at a T. Wherever I was at that point in time, the road would take me no further unless I changed course.

Many of these events revolved around relationships with others:

Do I see this friendship aligning with who I want to become?

Do I break up with her, or take the relationship to the next level?

Should I hold on and try to ride these changes in leadership out, believing that it could get better soon, or is this my cue to jump ship and head someplace else?

Others have been more about personal choice, but typically the common thread running through has been a call to either fully commit or move on to something else. If I'm going to give my music a real shot, then I need to be 100% sold on it - otherwise it's just going to be frustrating. See also: blogging, working out,... Stuff like that.

When I reflect on the times that I've been presented with a T, I'm not embarrassed or ashamed of the choices I've made. I'm disappointed at the times that I've chosen the quick way out instead of thinking long term, but the ones that haunt me are the times I've chosen the way of inaction - not making any solid decision, but letting things play out, knowing I will have only myself to blame for my current state.

When you don't choose, opportunities for growth just look like dead ends.

The days are getting brighter.

2010-02-26T20:32:00.000-06:00

Newton's first Law of Motion says that objects in motion tend to stay in motion, and objects at rest tend to stay at rest. Guess which one I've been as of late, especially with the whole writing thing.

I haven't been incommunicado because I've been holed up working on a super-important project like a book or screenplay (although even just to be holed up in general would be nice) or anything like that. Nope, just winter.

Winter in Minnesota, I'm convinced, is nothing short of a war of attrition on one's psyche - slowly wearing you down emotionally, physically, spiritually. You don't even notice it after the initial shock of how very cold and dark it is, really, until rays of hope begin to show through. This usually occurs around the end of February, although this is often misleading and encourages further despair until at least April. Sometimes I don't know how people get anything done in this climate. Hey, at least I don't have ice dams.

The dark months always hit me harder than I realize; I'm somewhat unaware of the winter blues until I see the sun and the temperatures are in the 30s for an extended period of time, such as this past week. You know how people say that you have to know how bad it can get in order to fully appreciate how good it is? I feel like I'm not aware of how bad it really is until I'm on the other side of it, going "oh, yeah, this is what real smiling feels like."

However, it's safe to say this winter has been a particularly trying one for me. Much of what I've known has changed drastically. For example, the church I've called home, for better or worse, no longer felt like home. So a new year meant time for a change for Sarah and me. Even the events detailed in my most recent post don't mean anything. This has brought a deep sense of loss; I don't think I need to explain a feeling like that to anyone older than 4 on the planet. We know that one all too well on our own terms. I just wish I dealt with mine better.

What I'm getting at is that I sometimes wonder if I'm a couple steps behind the pace of my life, like I'm perpetually waving goodbye to whatever is in the rear window while my attention is required by what lies ahead. Also, I wonder if I wonder too much. If I only have a finite amount of time and mental processing power, a good deal of it is spent wondering if choices made were the right ones, choices on all levels, from the insignificant "did I really want the Chicago dog or the Warsaw?" to the big life-altering ones. This seems somewhat worthless to me looking at it like this. (Not to mention altogether frustrating to my wife, who hears about it far more often than you are right now. No matter how frustrated you may be, she's got you beat.) Yet this is what occupies my brain on a regular basis. My hope is that at least all this speculation is fertile soil for some brilliant writing. Don't hold your breath on that one, though.

No, in all seriousness, even though it's been a rough few months and my reserves are running low, I'm continually hopeful. I have to keep that alive; I've really got no choice in the matter. I blame God for that one. When it doesn't make any sense to be positive and hopeful, I am reminded that God is still faithful. It's times like this that I can relate to King David, the writer of the majority of the Psalms. It's a book of worship songs, essentially, and David doesn't shy away from his raw feelings; anger, fear, desperation, and the like (something most modern worship songs are lacking) - but above it all, a confidence in God. Psalm 27 says:

Teach me how to live, O Lord.
Lead me along the right path,
for my enemies are waiting for me.
¹² Do not let me fall into their hands.
For they accuse me of things I’ve never done;
with every breath they threaten me with violence.
¹³ Yet I am confident I will see the Lord’s goodness
while I am here in the land of the living.

¹⁴ Wait patiently for the Lord.
Be brave and courageous.
Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.

Even now, that Anne Lamott quote featured prominently at the top of the blog becomes more meaningful to me - hope begins in the dark. I know that no matter what, I will never be forsaken. The days are still mostly dark, but they are getting brighter. They always do.

Cynicism.

2009-11-01T22:28:00.012-06:00

A child kicks its legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, Do it again; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough... It is possible that God says every morning, Do it again, to the sun; and every evening, Do it again, to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike: it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.

-G. K. Chesterton

I've been feeling old lately. The culprit could be any number of things: working with college students and realizing the age gap, the marriage thing, buying a house, feeling not as healthy as usual, among others. However, my instincts have led me to point to something else... something internal.

The above passage was taken from Orthodoxy, one of Chesterton's most well-known works, and a highly-regarded work of Christian apologetics. Not that I've read it, of course; but I've wanted to. That's got to count for something, right? (Late to the party again.) The first time I came across this passage was on a worship album produced by Mars Hill Church. The title of the track was "The Dead End of Cynicism," and that was where I found myself today: facing that dead end, wondering where to go from here.

You see, I'm at a bit of a crossroads... more so than usual, I guess. Over the past few years, I've been fortunate to be the worship leader of the college ministry at my church. Seeing the growth that has happened from its inception has been sweet. We've built up an absolutely amazing worship team, for starters. The guys on the team have a band that's so exciting to listen to, because you can tell how much they love music, and how much passion they have playing it. In my opinion, that passion should be resonating from your speakers whenever you listen to music, period. Rebekah, our token girl in the band, is a legitimate musician as well (she once opened for Phillips, Craig & Dean - some serious street cred right there). I just lead worship. It's only a matter of time before I'm found out.

This past week brought a major change to our little ministry. Starting next Sunday, things are getting real. We're starting a new service, and the church has asked Rebekah and me to be the worship leaders. First and foremost, this is really exciting.

Second, it's somewhat terrifying.

A phrase that has been tossed around at North Heights for what our mission is as a church body is that we are to "see what God is doing, and go join Him in the work." Fairly simple. Then it got me thinking about fearing God; as a Christian, I'm commanded to fear God - not fear as in my fear of driving off a bridge, but a 'healthy respect of power' type of fear. I acknowledge that God is much bigger and more powerful than me, and that His ways, while they don't seem to make sense and I sometimes wonder what skewed system of calling the shots He uses, are better than my ways. This means I want to be on board with what He wants to happen. This new service, for example. I've been given this opportunity to lead because God wants to use me to accomplish His work. I have a choice in the matter, however; I can choose not to act and squander the opportunity entirely. This would probably suck a lot.

The point is, if God can't use me to do this stuff, He'll just use somebody else. This is where the fear comes in; I don't want to miss out. My fear of God translates into action in that I will do whatever it takes to be used in this new venture; fear/respect leads to obedience.

How, exactly, could I miss out? By playing the cynic, as is often the case. It takes almost nothing to be a cynic (especially in a massive church), always pointing out the flaws and what's going wrong. But to offer solutions, or a new perspective - that takes real work. There's nothing wrong with identifying areas where we could do better; cynicism and honesty are not the same. It's about attitude.

The past couple years, my view of God, or at least my view of worship and ministry, has been corroded by cynicism. Several factors have contributed to this, the most influential being the simple fact that I'm involved in ministry at a church, and people are people. When one puts oneself in relationships with others, it's taking that risk that, somewhere along the line, likely more than once, you will be hurt. It's one of those inevitable things. But another part of my cynicism had to do with my response to these things that naturally occur in life. I had a choice: I could be bitter, or I could be better. Over time, I chose bitter.

And I saw - and felt - the results, not just in my relationships with others, but in my relationship with God. In the book of James, the Bible teaches that "Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you." To me, this basically means that if you are really serious about following God, you should be concerned firstly with others who are in need, and you should fight back against the way the world wants you to be; that is, self-seeking, power-hungry, etc. - I wrote about this a couple posts back. That cynicism, that bitterness I'd been harboring was definitely not the way I was supposed to be feeling. If there was a prime example of what it looks like to be corrupted by the world, I've been living it for awhile.

"...For we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we."

Simply put, I've been feeling old lately.

Thankfully, this aging can be reversed. That's where I'm headed.

Necessities.

2009-10-24T21:05:00.005-05:00

"Know it won't all go the way it should

But I know the heart of life is good.

I know it's good..."

-John Mayer

At some point, I think one of two things needs to happen. Either:

Life stops being crazy and slows down to somewhat of a manageable pace, maintaining some sort of predictability and more of a steady flow OR
I accept the fact that this will never happen.

My inclination is towards the latter. I realized just now how often the phrase "Life has been so CRAZY lately!" slips out from my lips, usually issued apologetically for my lack of communication with a friend or loved one. If they'd only understand, I think, this has been the single most hectic/busy/trying/whatever time in my life thus far - I wish they knew how I felt.

I think that, by and large, most people DO know how I'm feeling. Take my friend Ginger, for instance. Ginger is a photographer by trade (who does amazing work and deserves all the success she's been getting). Sarah and I have been close with Ginger and her husband Aaron for quite a while, so we see them on a somewhat regular basis. However, summer/fall is a particularly full season for those in the wedding photo biz - apparently lots of people think this is a good time to get wed! As such, I think the last time we saw them was... the 4th of July? No, I take that back - we did go see the new Harry Potter movie, where we got asked by some high school kids if we could buy them alcohol. "Make better choices!" shouted Ginger as we walked away, laughing in disbelief. Anyways, that movie came out the end of July. That's how long it's been since I've seen some of my closest friends. Ginger told me on the phone recently that "this has been the busiest I've ever been in my entire career," and that's what got me thinking. Then I realized that what's happening to me is happening to most other people. Some may be at a different point in the cycle, but we're all on the same ride, and it's got no sign of stopping.

Do I wish for things to back up a few steps, where I know now that I had it easier? Initially, yes. However, when I think about it, I know that the changes occurring are good, that the heart of life is good. I wouldn't trade where I am for where I've been, as much as I'd like to sometimes. So, instead of seeking an impossible balance, or craving things to be as they were, what do I seek now?

Wholeness.

I'm seeking wholeness in body, mind, and spirit. Isn't that really what we look for when looking back? Then, we think, wherever then is for me or you, I had a healthy balance. Less was required of me. I was freer. Time had less of a hold on me. I liked what I was doing... I liked who I was. This is how I've been facing my life as of late. And, surprise surprise - I've felt like crap. How we deal with the craziness of life has everything to do with perception.

I know that this isn't how things are supposed to be. Jesus said "I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better than they ever dreamed of," and I've gotta take the guy at His word. We're meant to have wholeness in life, yet it seems that it's always just out of our grasp.

We become most aware of our needs when the things that satisfy those needs are absent.

I realize how good I feel when I'm healthy, eating right and working up a sweat during a run or bike ride, when exercise has not been a part of my life for several weeks.

I'm aware of how much I enjoy playing guitar, often sitting for hours at a time getting lost in the sounds emerging from such a simple instrument, when I haven't picked one up in what feels like weeks.

I know how good it is to be spending time in the Bible, praying and worshiping God, precisely because of how I feel so thirsty and dry when I haven't done so.

These things, for me, bring wholeness. These are necessities, much like food and water. I can no more deny myself these than I can deny hunger pangs. Life will continue to get busier and busier; no doubt I will look back sometime much later and say that this time was carefree and easy. Wholeness isn't found by looking back, or even trying to work towards it in the future. In the here and now, in the midst of the craziness, I'm seeking to be whole.

Reflections on a reflection

2009-10-20T23:18:00.003-05:00

Hi there. Good to see you again. What an October it's been. Sounds like a good intro to a folk song. Now remember when... I'll pick up the pen... etc.

Tonight finds me sort of in the midst of some crazy stuff. This month, I changed jobs. More on that later. Also, we just found out today that next month, we'll have a home that neither set of parents live in. A real home. More to come on that front too. Teasers!!!

I love my wife, and God knows my wife loves getting her sleep. I'm a big fan of going to sleep around the same time as her, but sometimes I just lie there knowing that I've still got more in the tank for the day; I can't sleep well when I've left things undone. It's like wondering if you turned off the lights at home when you're on a flight to Hawaii.

So, I sit down, wondering what thing I needed so desperately to share about myself before turning in for the night, when I found myself on Donald Miller's blog again. His latest post is entitled "Reflections on Endless Self-Promotion," and it definitely seems fitting for this night's work. In this particular post, Miller starts a list of his confessions, justifications, and observations as he reflects on writing about oneself. I'd encourage you to check out the post, if you haven't already clicked on the above link. Reading the post caused me to wonder the same thing about my own endeavors. What is it, exactly, I'm even after when I write about myself?

Confession: I write sometimes not because I enjoy it, but out of a need to be recognized for some raw talent, to have my abilities vindicated by someone else, maybe even someone who doesn't know me at all but for my rare gift with words on this mysterious blog they stumbled across one day.

Justification: With my attention-deficit disorder, it's often hard to think clearly with the jumble of random thoughts floating in your head. Writing helps me organize my thoughts, be it when I'm planning, praying, or just thinking about the day.

Justification: As a perfectionist, I am somewhat terrified of releasing something of my own creation into the world without thorough analysis and editing. This experiment, while not overtly publicized by me, has certainly helped me start chipping away at this barricade that has held me captive for the vast majority of my life.

Observation: Looking at friends' and non-friends' blogs, comparing them to my own, I can see that as we study ourselves, our passions become clearer - both to ourselves and to others. At least, that's what I've seen when looking at other blogs; it's harder to see that in my own work at this point. For this reason alone, self-reflection is a worthwhile venture.

Writing my own life

2009-09-30T21:25:00.003-05:00

The characters we write are imbued with our own lives, and the lives of those around us. When I get the gumption to write a character that is very much like me in some ways, one of the things I'll make sure I include is that he's a huge baby when it comes to getting sick. Those who don't know me will read it and will be in awe of how true-to-life it feels, while those who know me will probably feel cheated, like it doesn't give the whole whiny experience on the page. I'd make sure he did lots of slouching from room to room.

Something I've learned this week is that it's really, really hard to write while in the throes of a monstrous head cold. I almost wish I had a fever, because then the accompanying weird dreams might give me something to write on. Wait, scratch that. No, that's the last thing I wish. Like exercising, drinking lots of water, or paying some sort of attention to my list of things to do, I know that writing's good for me, even when I'm sick. Here's to giving it a try tomorrow...

Killing my old friend.

2009-09-27T23:23:00.003-05:00

There is always truth in fiction. Like a child, containing his parents' DNA but still being an entirely different person, a story contains the author's experiences in some way while still taking on a life of its own.

I'm not particularly good at telling stories. I've got friends that are, and I envy them their seemingly natural gift of recounting events so they become meaningful to others. Maybe it's the process of synthesis that I've just never really understood. Out of the synthesis - that combining of other things to make a whole - of our memories and daily lives, in good and bad, come great stories; in theory, I have enough stored away up in my head from childhood alone to get me through at least three or four decent-sized novels. However, when moving those onto the paper, the emotional pull of those things seems to get lost in translation. It's been this way for quite some time.

Perfectionism and I are old friends. We've got this working relationship down pretty well: as long as I continue to completely overthink and agonize over every bit of output, constantly comparing my work with others' so as to avoid any possible real originality, we get along fine. Watch out, though, should I overstep those bounds; he's an angry drunk. You can even see it in my cooking style: I love the power of a recipe, and follow it with religious fervor. Don't you dare take it out of my hands. It's hard for me to synthesize anything of my own, but at least I do a good job picking other peoples' recipes, right?

This perfectionism I have carried with me everywhere for so long colors everything I do, like a bad pair of tinted glasses where it's impossible to know what things actually look like. Others can tell you about the world outside the glasses, and you can get the general idea, but with everything still being shaded you can't truly experience it the way they see it. This series of posts, I think, is the first step in snapping those glasses clean in half.

Looking into a mirror.

2009-09-23T20:21:00.011-05:00

dystopia |disˈtōpēə|nounan imagined place or state in which everything is unpleasant or bad, typically a totalitarian or environmentally degraded one. The opposite of Utopia .
Generally speaking, I like dystopias.
Not that I'd want to live in one, mind you. But when I think about some of the most thought-provoking, gripping movies I've seen or books I've read, accounts of dystopia are a common theme. It's the science fiction nerd in me rearing his ugly, bespectacled head. To give you some examples, here are some of my favorite dystopian stories:

The Giver: The world of this book is one without risk, without unpredictability or color. It's not that things are necessarily bad here - everyone is provided for, and things are peaceful - but everything is under strict control; free will is essentially nonexistent. Love is nothing more than a concept. Memories of a time before this condition ("Sameness") are all held by one person, known as The Giver. The story centers around an 11-year-old boy named Jonas, chosen to be the new Receiver of these memories.
My seventh-grade reading class went through the book on audiocassette. Being the over-achieving speed reader that I am, I always brought the book home and read ahead. It holds the illustrious title of First Book That Majorly Creeped Me Out. Last semester, I took a Children's Literature class and we read The Giver again. I appreciated the book in a different way this time around, but still creeped out in parts.
V for Vendetta: I love Natalie Portman. Enough said?Okay, there's more to the film than that. Much like The Giver, the government in this story is a totalitarian one - that is, there's no limit to the control they exact over citizens' lives. Enter V, an anarchist determined to overthrow the government. It's a great story, and visually well done.

Children of Men: Like it says on the poster, the world has essentially fallen apart as people are struggling to deal with the fact that humans can no longer reproduce - nothing like knowing that the future is irrelevant to make people go crazy and have a total societal breakdown.
This 2006 film cemented in my mind the fact that director Alfonso Cuaron is a genius (he also was behind my favorite of the Harry Potter movies thus far, The Prisoner of Azkaban). There's an incredibly involved scene in a car that is one.continuous.shot. The first time I saw it, I was like "Wait.. no way! The camera's still rolling! STILL!" There's enough stuff going on that you hope they only had to shoot it once, because resetting would take forEVER. Trust me, you'll know when you see it.

Nineteen Eighty-Four: This book is in many ways the classic example of a dystopia. I just started reading it today. Late to the party again. The cultural influences left by this novel are far and wide, including this famous Apple commercial directed by Ridley Scott:

You get the idea. The masses are more or less enslaved, with every single aspect of their lives being policed and controlled, even their thoughts. Massive posters up everywhere with the phrase "Big Brother is Watching You" serve as a warning to all. The slogans of the Party: "WAR IS PEACE. FREEDOM IS SLAVERY. IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH."
In the book, George Orwell imagines what England would look like three decades in the future, were Socialism to have caught on. In some ways, I think every other one of the above works owes quite a debt to this novel; the way government is portrayed in each is largely derived from Orwell's ideas.
Bringing us back to the beginning: I enjoy works such as these. Not only are they really good at drawing you into the story, they offer an interesting critique of our own societies. Could a scenario such as one of these really happen? Anything is possible; you know what they say about power corrupting, and all that. But politics isn't really my game. The thing that I really enjoy about stories like these is that dystopia offers the greatest potential for hope.
A scene from Children of Men floors me every single time I see it. Clive Owen's character is helping get a mother and her baby - the only one in the world - out of the country to a research lab, to safety. On the way, they're caught in this hotel in the middle of a firefight. People are dying left and right, and the place is literally being reduced to rubble while they're hiding out. Suddenly, the baby begins to wail. All fighting stops. The mother and child make their way out of the building, and there's a moment of extreme tenderness as soldiers on both sides let them pass; all hope for humanity's future is walking past them at that very second. Absolutely beautiful.
The point is this: when you are in such a messed up world, hope is in stark relief to all the darkness around you. When one has the sense that things are fairly Okay, one can be lulled into a life of quiet desperation and complacency. But when things are truly bad, hope and love carry a much deeper meaning, because they are all we have. Sometimes, there's nothing to do but believe that there may be a light, a chance that we may yet be saved. We connect with stories like this because in some ways, they are part of our story.
"In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." John 1:4-5

Transparency and truth-seeking.

2009-09-22T23:14:00.002-05:00

The writers I admire most are those who "lay it all out there" in a meaningful way. The things that have happened to us happened for a reason and there's no point in leaving them alone - they bring life to the words we put down. Anne Lamott describes the mess of life as fertile ground, where our creativity bursts forth, an idea I've visited previously. However, I don't think that just throwing all of my crap out here for anyone to see is what writing is about - it's where it starts; the crude oil that can be refined and turned into fuel.

If I'm working on my own story by writing parts of my life down, my perpetual hope is that I have something interesting to say or some fascinating pattern to pull out of these seemingly meaningless experiences. Also, I hope that pattern doesn't point to the near-certainty of a mental disorder. Most days it feels like that's the direction this is going.

I think that's a common hope, really: that our view of the circumstances of our lives is a clear one. That clarity is what we all seem to be seeking; we talk to others about "finding direction," or discuss our relationships with those around us, in a search to better understand. It's a measure of solidarity with each other, the reassurance that we're in this thing together.

There are prayers I find myself returning to on a regular basis. Many of them revolve around this same hope of increased clarity; for my marriage, my job, my music, my future. But what if I already know what I need to know? Maybe the waters can't become any clearer, since God is never done stirring them. My seeking of clarity can be an attempt to simply remove the risk from these areas of my life - a futile pursuit. If we knew exactly what to do, there would be no challenge or conflict to the decisions we make... making the outcomes of these decisions far less rewarding. Yet still I go for the safe route, all in the name of wanting to understand. In reality, real growth happens with the realization that that clarity may never come in this life, and we are simply supposed to trust in the One we know to be true.

Cars

2009-09-19T23:47:00.006-05:00

The garage at my parents' house looks significantly different than it did when I was a boy. This one started earlier today at Caribou with Sarah, as we were trying to get some work done. It quickly became very different than what I had originally planned, like working on a story and seeing characters grow in different ways than you had originally envisioned. I thought it was going to be something about me trying to be a bohemian, and how I gave it a pretty good try for a bit before deciding against it. It seems like a pretty important part of my own story these past few years, so that may yet be revealed in a later post. What emerged from the work earlier was a picture of my family, through our cars. The brain can be fickle in the things it chooses to remember. I wish I had some say in what is held as important, but I really don't. However, I do think that the things we remember vividly aren't just there by accident. Whether we know it at the time, I strongly believe that each of these things will mean something and will be used, if they haven't yet already.

But I'll get there eventually. In the meantime, it's time to work on descriptive language, and the cars seem like a pretty safe place to start. Here's just about every little bit that I can remember about the vehicles. The earliest possible recollection I have of a car trip was sitting in the back of my dad's little blue car (I think it was a Plymouth Reliant), listening to the serpentine belt screeching on the way to church, unfamiliar with the noise but expecting the car to explode at any moment. That one didn't explode, but I can recall my dad still talking about it as the worst car they've ever owned, on account of all the money poured into the "blue toilet." From there, my dad moved up to an Oldsmobile Cutlass station wagon. Again, the color was the light blue that seemed to dominate those types of cars in the late 80s, like something Jerry Lundegaard would have had in his car lot in Fargo.

But the vans: the vans are the things that truly defined our family. The first to come along was a 1987 maroon GMC Safari. This held special significance for my parents, as it is to date the only actual new vehicle they have ever bought. The van was bought with inheritance money from when my grandma passed away, so this most definitely was a big deal. It was not, however, a cool van: it was boxy, like a plumber's van, the antithesis of stylish. The Safari was our method of transportation around much of the country on family road trips to Arizona, Washington state, and the East Coast. My brother and I would claim the backseat and busied ourselves with action figures, Legos, and putting ice-cold cans of pop from the coolers behind us onto the necks of our sisters in the middle seat. In between the two front seats was the cassette tape case, holding all of my parents' Christian music. One time, when we were in Colorado on a trip, someone broke into the van with all of our luggage and everything, and the only thing they took as far as we knew was the cassette tapes. I still like to think the joke was on him.

The maroon van also happened to be the first car I ever drove, at the tender age of 18. My less-than-stellar grades prevented me from getting my license in high school, which now I am very thankful for, since a big part of my life revolved around not having a license. When I finally did get my license, I hit the road in a big way with the '87 Safari; the two of us were so similar in age, we were like old friends. Over time, certain features of the van had ceased to work, such as the locks, the inside sliding-door handle, the back doors, and the transmission was a little temperamental as well. I cruised in style; the van was awarded the name "Clifford" by friends.

Thanks to all the road trips, Clifford had reached about 245,000 miles the winter of 2004. I had left on a high school retreat that weekend, leaving the red van in the church parking lot. When I arrived back at church on Sunday, the red van was gone. When my dad showed up in the other van to pick me up, he wordlessly handed me a picture of the red van, on the side of the road, with black smoke pouring out of it. Yes, our only new car went out in a blaze of glory.

The other vehicle after the station wagon was a brown Chevrolet Astro van; almost the exact same as a Safari, but with different branding. When that gave out, my hopes rose that we may, in fact, have a shot at getting something newer, cooler, with maybe a second door on the driver's side or bucket seats or maybe a CD player.

The Astro was replaced by a ’95 Caribbean-blue Safari.

We do have four kids in the family, I guess.

Saying it better than I could.

2009-09-17T22:08:00.006-05:00

I never used to read the paper. Save for the comics, of course... I have a distinct memory of myself at about 9 or 10 years old, walking away from my parents while we were in Barnes & Noble to take a look at the Calvin and Hobbes Sunday strip in the Star Tribune. My parents have always been big Pioneer Press people. As for myself, I didn't get it; as one who only read the funny pages, the sole fact that C & H was missing entirely from the comics section showed, in my mind, that philistines were running the show down in St. Paul. Then something happened.

The actual moment is hard to pin down, but roughly two years ago, I suddenly developed an appetite for good journalism. Ten o'clock television sound bites didn't do it for me anymore; now, my news was gathered in the morning, sprawled out on the couch with the paper after I returned from driving the bus route. Reading through the paper is a simple pleasure I don't often have the luxury of doing these days. I'd recommend trying it, if you get the chance - if nothing else, you learn that there's actual news happening in places outside the United States!!! Granted, the stories are usually single-paragraph blurbs on page A11 or something ridiculous like that, but it's better than nothing.

One of my favorite places in the paper is the Opinion section. This is primarily because the opinions expressed are not only the sole perspective of the author, with no assumed responsibility by the publisher and so on, but are generally much more well-reasoned than any other commentary on day-to-day events you could be reading. The variety of perspectives offered by the columnists who frequent these pages is like being at a party where everybody there is way, way smarter and well-informed than you are, and you're just content to listen. Today is a perfect example.

Yesterday's blog was the germination of an issue that will more than likely continue to show itself around these parts, namely sustainability and eating smarter. I don't know if I'll ever have anything really deep to say on the issue, but at the very least, this whole thing is helping me really think about why I believe the things I do, and putting them to the test by reasoning them out. Somebody said that the best way to know you understand something is to explain it to somebody else. Even if it's just mostly to myself, that's good enough for the both of us.

So, today I was reading through the paper before class, and I ran across Norbert Hirschhorn's column again. Dr. Hirschhorn is a poet/physician, which seems like an unlikely combination. (Then again, Wallace Stevens worked as an insurance agent for most of his life, which seems even stranger.) Dr. Hirschhorn lives in London, but taught at the University of Minnesota so the Press runs his column once in a while. This time, he happened to address the very issue I cracked into yesterday.

Please give it a read: "Have you eaten today?" In the article, the good doctor emphasizes the importance of eating as not only for survival, but the social and political impact that food has. "Food binds families, friends and communities," he writes. "In many languages the greeting is, "Have you eaten today?" In this time of cheap fast foods, single-parent families, long working hours and latch-key kids, we are in danger of loosening these ties, and thereby all become diminished."

As I've been writing more intently in the past two weeks than I ever have before, I've questioned what exactly I'm learning through this. My hope is that I'm growing, even though I don't feel it... maybe the growth is so subtle and the incline so slight that I won't notice it until much farther down. One thing I'm beginning to understand a little better is that writing forces you to observe much more carefully all that goes on around you and within yourself. This may be out of sheer necessity at first, but the human brain is a marvel in its ability to be trained in this way. This same principle is true for our eating habits: we can become more intentional about paying attention to what we eat and making a conscious effort to do so differently.

This is definitely an area I can grow in, as I'm sure others can as well. This has potential to be a case of information obesity, where I just read and read and read about issues like this and never actually do something with what I'm learning. Writing like Dr. Hirschhorn's column is inspiring, but reading something like that can give you a deep desire to affect change, but the movement required is something else entirely.

Movement is how new things are built in us, and among us.

What you need to learn, you already know (part two)

2009-09-16T13:35:00.005-05:00

How much of what we learn do we already subconsciously know? This is a theme that I will probably continue returning to, because I think that there is a deeper knowledge than simply that which we make a conscious effort to figure out. This facet of it, in particular, has been a big interest of mine. I'm fascinated by food, in particular how it's grown and the science behind it.

But first, it's time to rant it out. Here's how this whole thing came about:

Yesterday afternoon, I was in my Wellness class like usual. The topic for the week is nutrition. The professor teaching the class seems like kind of a joke. The publishing company responsible for the textbook we use has a website for teachers with PowerPoint slides put together as a teaching aid. Emphasis on aid - as in, not the primary focus of the entire class. Sadly, that's not the case with this lady; at 2:00 on the dot, with no greeting besides "Alright, let's...", she proceeds to go through the slides and essentially read off the bullet points. As fast as she can. Brief exposition, no attempts to make the material at least somewhat interesting, and the frantic speed at which we're writing notes trying to keep up seems to be lost on her. When asked to slow down, her response was to "do the best you can." A girl behind me asked her if she could post the slides online, to which she refused, saying that "then people will stop coming to class."

I'm a firm believer in common sense. Garage logic, as Joe Soucheray calls it. As in your grade being dependent upon the work and time commitment that you make to it. At this point, I think this professor should be more of a believer in common sense than to try to use the fact that we have to come to class against us, particularly as it's near impossible to follow along once you actually ARE in class. She's there to present the information we need as best as possible; what we as students choose to do with the opportunity is our job. If the instructor places such a high priority on students coming to class, then she should make it a point to make sure we actually are getting what we need out of the time. If a student decides to not come to class on a regular basis, they're potentially shooting themselves in the foot, and they alone would be to blame for it. It IS college, after all.

End rant.

Anyways, the thing with nutrition. It seems the more research that scientists do on food and how it affects our bodies, the more it just seems like a waste of time. The majority of the newest and best information has simply upheld what it seems that we already know: that natural food is better for you than processed, and everything in moderation is the best way to go about a diet. Our bodies really do know what's good for them, if we actually listen to them.

This reemergence of 'natural' food has been somewhat of a trendy issue in recent years, thanks to films like Super Size Me and Food, Inc. In fact, author Michael Pollan's entire philosophy about nutrition can be summed up as this: Eat food (meaning not lots of high-fructose corn syrup and other engineered creations), not too much (everything in moderation), and mostly plants (meat is great, but a plant-based diet is much better for you)...

A pastor friend of mine would call that a B.F.O.: a Blinding Flash of the Obvious. Can it really be just that simple? I think so. Somewhere deep down, our bodies know what we need, even if we don't consciously follow those leadings.

On melody and life.

2009-09-14T23:00:00.001-05:00

There is power in a melody. A song that could be entirely uninteresting suddenly comes alive, imbued with sparks of life through a series of notes that, when strung together in some mystical way, makes it unforgettable.

As I said previously, the power of a melody to take a simple structure of chords to where it becomes potent cannot be overemphasized. Think about some of your favorite songs. I'll step out on a limb here and venture that melody has a lot to do with why those songs have that much power for you. For example, John Mayer's "Waiting on the World to Change": for the majority of the song, the chords are exactly the same, repeated over and over. It's that melody that the chimes play that pulls the whole thing together, giving it that vintage groove. Love it.

Or, to put on my worship leader hat, a lot of worship songs can be pretty flat-out boring. This is a whole different playing field, because worship is much more about connecting with God than about a show, but the music itself plays an integral part of worship. It's hard to worship when the songs are just blah, with each one sounding no different than the one before.

One of the worship bands I have a great deal of respect for is Hillsong United. The amount of worship that Hillsong Church has put out, particularly the last 5-6 years, is staggering. Granted, some of their songs can start to sound formulaic (the "Hillsong United sound") but their guitarists and vocalists have this great ability to come up with melodies that are distinct enough where you can immediately tell what song they're playing. The problem with these songs is that they're performed with a massive band - think 3 electrics, 4 acoustics, countless vocalists - and some worship bands don't have the horses for the job. When the melodies get lost, it can be hard to distinguish between songs, or even a verse and a chorus of a song.

Melodies can be the hardest thing in the world to come up with. There are plenty of musicians out there who are incredibly talented at their instrument, but will always flounder at the bottom until they find their melodies. I know this far more than I would like, as it's left me feeling completely paralyzed in my music. But, like any type of writing, if you keep at it often enough and long enough, things will start to form themselves. There may be hundreds of songs that need to be played in order to find just a piece of a beautiful melody, but it's worth it. It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that playing it safe all the time will eventually kill your soul.

As a musician, I've experienced my share of ordinary, generic, safe music; I've listened to it, and I've made a lot of it. I've had enough of it to last a lifetime, and like an energy drink binge on an empty stomach, it's left a gnawing hunger for something more substantial. That's not a defense of what some may see as pretentious taste. Great music can appear in the most unlikely of places.

When I was hanging out at a friend's cabin one fall weekend in sophomore year of high school, bored from all the free time to do whatever we wanted, we decided to look through the VHS tapes in the cupboard below the 13" color TV, and found a copy of Runaway Bride, with Julia Roberts. 99% of the movie was entirely forgettable, but the first 2 minutes blew me out of the water.

"I have climbed highest mountains,

I have run through the fields,

Only to be with you,

Only to be with you.

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for..." When I heard that song, and that rhythmic guitar sound as Julia Roberts rode across the field on that horse, I knew I had to watch through the end of the credits to the soundtrack, a practice I now associate with really good movies. It was a band called U2, and I'd never heard the name before. Now, of course, anybody who knows me at all is aware how I feel - "I'm in love, I'm in love, and I don't care who knows it!!!", to quote Will Ferrell in Elf.

Everyone has a song, a melody, that inexplicably does 'it' for them every single time they hear it. For me, it's always been "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For." Or "Where the Streets Have No Name." No, actually, pretty much all of The Joshua Tree album. Or their whole catalog. You get the idea. The reason why U2 is the longest-lasting band on the planet is because of each member's innate grasp of melody. And when a band knows those melodies, really feels them, sometimes you can feel it too, and join in.

Melody and the nature of all things.

2009-09-13T22:09:00.006-05:00

When you talk about melody, you might as well be talking about life itself, which may lead you to believe that I might be biting off more than I can chew. However, I'll attempt to actually take this someplace meaningful. At life's most basic level - DNA and the like - all we find are structures. Patterns of repeating code. Some are simple, some are elaborate and complex.

In the same way, this is how a song begins. You have twelve notes to pick from on a chromatic scale. Those notes combine in different intervals to form chords. Depending on the song, chords in the same key will be used to form a progression. This is the structure upon which a song is built. When you break down the chords into their individual parts, you'll find patterns of 'code' that repeat no matter what key the song is in. But when you have this structure, you have only gotten started.

Just as our genes and DNA don't actually make us alive, a song is nothing without its melody.

To be (legitimately) continued tomorrow.

Melody, part one.

2009-09-12T23:34:00.004-05:00

This came out of a conversation that my brother Jordan and I were having earlier this afternoon. Jordan is a musician; he plays at church once in a while, and in a band with a bunch of other really talented guys.

So recently, Jordan's been getting pretty good at the guitar, as well as songwriting. He expressed a desire to write more complex songs, that he's "growing tired of the same four chords." My challenge to Jordan was to see beyond just those guitar chords and instead see a framework that can be built upon.

When I was about 15, I watched this movie Amadeus, a film based on the play of the same name. The film revolves around two classical composers: Mozart and Antonio Salieri. Most people know the first name, but few are familiar with the second. The movie starts with an elderly Salieri in an insane asylum, telling a priest who he is. He plays a couple of his compositions, but the priest doesn't recognize them. He then starts playing a piece by Mozart, which the priest immediately recognizes and remarks on its beauty. Salieri laughs bitterly, for once again Mozart's true genius is shown while he remains unremarkable - "the patron saint of mediocrity," as he calls himself at the end of the movie.

There's no doubt that Salieri was an intelligent musician, with a talent for piano. But what was the difference between these two composers, the thing that elevated Mozart to greatness?

Melody.

In my mind, the melody of a song is the most crucial part. Ultimately, it's the thing that sets the piece apart from everything else that's out there. A strong melody brings everything else in the song together; it unifies all the different parts and somehow makes them better in the process.

Thankful.

2009-09-11T10:30:00.009-05:00

I ran across an old box of letters

While I was bagging up some clothes for Goodwill.

And you know I had to laugh, that the same old struggles

That plagued me then are plaguing me still.

-Derek Webb, "Thankful"

After thinking a bit about what I wrote a couple days ago, I realized again that all the frustrations and problems I deal with are not from me having been dealt a bad hand, or being wronged by somebody else. They're rooted deep within me. Sounds weird and a bit melodramatic, but I know it's the truth.

There's a translation of the Bible written by Eugene Peterson, where he set out to put the Bible into everyday language. I don't enjoy reading all the time in this version, mostly because the language can feel like the longest sermon ever written. However, it offers a fresh and often intriguing look at the Scriptures. In the book of Galatians, Paul is writing about freedom, and encouraging the church he's writing to to live differently. If they believe that Christ has set them free by dying on the cross, then it should show up in how they act towards one another. Mind-blowing, I know. However, when looking at this particular chapter, it stuck out to me how the things that I wrestle with are very much the stuff that Paul is cautioning this church against - the earmarks of selfishness.

For there is a root of sinful self-interest in us that is at odds with a free spirit, just as the free spirit is incompatible with selfishness. These two ways of life are antithetical, so that you cannot live at times one way and at times another way according to how you feel on any given day. Why don't you choose to be led by the Spirit and so escape the erratic compulsions of a law-dominated existence?

It is obvious what kind of life develops out of trying to get your own way all the time: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community. I could go on.

That's the kind of stuff these roots in me lead to. The ugliness of what that looks like above the surface is frightening. As I look at the list of all those things that are so familiar, I know that Paul is right when he said that being really free and being selfish are complete opposites. By wanting my own way and trying to do the things that will benefit me most, I'm really only shooting myself in the foot.

So, that's my condition. It's our condition, actually. That's what we're naturally born into. Pretty messed up, if you ask me. Paul isn't done, though - there's a huge contrast following that verse:

But what happens when we live God's way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.

Legalism is helpless in bringing this about; it only gets in the way. Among those who belong to Christ, everything connected with getting our own way and mindlessly responding to what everyone else calls necessities is killed off for good—crucified.

Since this is the kind of life we have chosen, the life of the Spirit, let us make sure that we do not just hold it as an idea in our heads or a sentiment in our hearts, but work out its implications in every detail of our lives. That means we will not compare ourselves with each other as if one of us were better and another worse. We have far more interesting things to do with our lives. Each of us is an original.

The chorus from that song at the beginning of this post is fairly simple, but it offers a profound truth to us in our current situation: "So I am thankful that I'm incapable of doing any good on my own." When I try to work my way out of this state I'm in, it helps to remember that no matter how hard I try, it's no use; solutions that come from me and my own will are completely useless to fix this mess of myself. Furthermore, by trying to always put myself in competition with others, I'm not acknowledging my own originality - the spark of the divine in me. What I'm essentially doing in my selfish ways is making a mockery of what God has put in me for a good reason.

When I was in fifth grade, my parents had taken me to see a child psychologist, because I had a hard time connecting with my peers; that's another thing I've taken with me throughout life thus far. His name was Bill, and he was a pretty good guy from what I remember. Everyone should be so lucky as to have an environment like a psychologist's office: warm, comfortable, with someone who provides you an open environment to talk about whatever you want, and, most importantly, a pretty decent selection of puzzles and toys. Anyway, during one of our sessions, Bill was asking me about the way I looked at life, and I don't exactly remember what I said, but he asked me, "and don't you think that you might be selfish?" I started to cry, not because I was hurt, but because he was right on. It was the type of hurt like he had just ripped off a fake mustache I'd stuck on with spirit gum, exposing me for what I really was. I had never seen myself as being selfish up until that point, but the writing was evidently on the wall.

I think when you go through the normal decision-making process, your initial gut reaction is to choose the selfish way.However, when you look at the end results between selfishness and living in freedom, God's way, it should completely change the way you operate on a daily basis. We don't know from the Bible what actually happened to the church in Galatians after Paul laid it all down for them, but I'm willing to bet they thought much differently once this was made clear for them. My hope is that this realization in my life will bring about that same type of change Paul talks about.

Foodlove

2009-09-10T22:23:00.003-05:00

This week has been a killer. I've been up at 5:15 for work every day, something that I haven't done in at least two years. Even now, looking at the clock knowing that I'll get five hours at best again is making me wish for a different situation. That might not even make a difference, though; I haven't slept well in some time. No idea why... maybe there's something I'm needing to do, like in the Bible where if God wants to get ahold of a guy, He doesn't let up until He's got his full attention. I'm hoping I can listen up soon, if that's the case - I could use the shuteye.

The previous post wrapped up earlier than expected on account of two things. First, extricating complete thoughts on the subject was proving to be more difficult than usual; again, probably the sleep thing. Second, the crazy schedule of both Sarah and I being back at our respective schools has meant that our time together is way diminished. We've seen each other for about 3-4 hours a day the past week, and I needed to go hang out with my girl.

Tonight was a bit better. Sarah and I headed down to Grand Avenue to pick up my tux for the wedding this Saturday (!). Since we were down there later on and neither of us had eaten, we ate at Punch Pizza (I feel like their name warrants an exclamation point in there, or even two: Punch! Pizza!), where the only parking spot in the lot was being taken at that moment by former Senator - and probably the best hope the Republican Party has for the gubernatorial bid - Norm Coleman. He had his "I'm just here for a pizza, like you" face on, so that was that.

It was my first time eating there, and only my second time ever eating authentic wood-fired oven pizza, but it could easily become one of my most favorite things to eat in the world. There's something so primal about the wood oven, and the simplicity of the pizza: mine was the Margherita, which to them is just hand-crushed tomatoes, mozzarella (flown in from Naples the day after it's made - how sweet is that?!) and fresh basil. There was absolutely nothing left on the plate. If it's something extraneous that doesn't add to the meal, I'll try it, but generally will leave it at that. Pizza crusts are a perfect example; they're ordinarily nothing special. However, the super-crispy Neapolitan crust had this perfect balance between the crackly, charred outside and the soft doughy inside... like a baguette, only even better. It takes a lot to make this guy eat his pizza crusts, but I had no trouble doing so this time around... a sincere compliment of the highest order. Punch Pizza, I'll see you again soon.

I had originally planned to delve much deeper into what I had begun yesterday, but once again time goes way too fast, and the morning comes way too early. It'll still be rolling around up in my head tomorrow, most likely.

Playing catch up

2009-09-09T20:14:00.003-05:00

I'm young for my age, and it will always be this way.

What this means, literally: I was born in late July of 1984. A good year for the Mac, a not-so-good year for Winston Smith. However, since the 'rents thought I was ready for school, I started with the class of 2002. This meant that while everybody else was turning 18 during senior year, I had to wait until the summer after to do all the cool things everybody else was doing once they hit that magical age. Actually, I still have no idea what I missed out on, but that's beside the point. It probably doesn't matter.

What this means, figuratively: I have this chip on my shoulder from feeling young and inexperienced, always trying to catch up. This has been a huge influence on the near-entirety of my development as a person. Most of it has been a subconscious drive, although there are times when I'm very much aware of it. It is the persistent feeling that in all areas of my life, I've come to the table incredibly unprepared - like, on a colossal, "how could you have MISSED this?!" scale. I don't know if the ADD thing caused me to miss some crucial bit of information that would have gotten me set up to function better, or what. Sounds like third grade stuff.

I hate the way it makes me feel, and what it does to my relationships with other people - always viewing others as competitors, trying to get to this point just up the road that somehow never comes any closer.

At some point, I'd like to stop feeling this way, if it's possible.

Evolution of evaluation.

2009-09-08T20:24:00.004-05:00

It has been said that "art does not live in a vacuum," meaning that one cannot just throw oneself headlong into simply 'making art', whatever that looks like... it must be balanced out with other pursuits that will, in turn, inspire and challenge the artist to create more.

My sister Christa and her fiancée James are getting married this weekend, and they had the bachelor/bachelorette parties this past weekend. I have the privilege of being in the wedding, so I was out with the dudes Sunday night. One of James' and my mutual friends in attendance was a guy by the name of Phil Nelson. Phil was the worship leader at my home church when I was in high school, and a couple years back we had a band together where we would perform at youth camps for retreats and the like. Since then, Phil's been the lead guy at the church plant Christa and James attend, so we're in different spheres.

So, Phil and I were out on the deck at Brit's Pub in Minneapolis and Phil wonders when we'd get a chance to play together again, and I consider the same thing.

"To be honest, I haven't really done as much with music as of late," I confess, "what with the getting married thing and school being really crazy." "That's ok," Phil says, in his usual mellow way, "all that stuff is good - it's healthy, if it builds up what you do with your worship leading."

That got to the core of it. For some time, I have been wrestling with a series of changes in my commitments. God remains first on the list, but getting married means that Sarah has shot right up several places to a close second. Then there is the journey that school has brought me on, figuring out who I'm becoming in light of all the new things I'm learning. On top of that, my voice has been giving me trouble recently; definitely not a confidence booster. There are several other factors as well, but those three have been the biggest. These have left me wondering where my calling as a worship leader fits. Was it "just for a season," as is often said , or is there a much bigger purpose? Since I've got a vague idea of the scale difference between God and myself, I'm inclined to believe the latter of those two options. However, I have no real idea what I'm meant to do with it now. Thankfully, I'm not alone in this.

Sarah played tennis all through middle school and high school, and eventually became captain of the team. She would probably have played all through college and would most likely still be coaching at the middle school where she teaches, if it weren't for her wrist getting fairly messed up. That put an end to her aspirations of doing more with tennis. We were talking about this a bit yesterday, on the eve of things getting insanely crazy again during the school year, and God's will came up. Was it God's divine will that my wife's talent for playing tennis be all for naught, leaving her with only a bum wrist, fond memories and a full letter jacket to show for it?

Or, was He about something so much bigger in her life than just her excelling at a sport? By her playing tennis, she learned quite a bit more in other areas of life, as I'm sure other athletes can attest to this fact as well. Her leadership and work ethic are just two of the things she learned that she puts to use every day as a teacher.

When you think about that, it makes a lot of sense. God desires our obedience, no matter what. We have what we think is a clear cut view of how all the pieces of our lives fit together, but we only see things from a very limited plane, and it turns out those pieces are way more multi-dimensional than we had originally thought. When we give those pieces over, particularly the pieces we're particularly fond of keeping protected, things will look quite different than we would like, but ultimately much better off.

The way we evaluate our lives needs to evolve. When big changes come, instead of worrying about 'losing' what we had, we should be led to acknowledge God's sovereignty and that He always has something much better cookin' up.

Digging.

2009-09-07T12:29:00.006-05:00

What is necessary in order to find purpose? Only this: the acknowledgement that nothing good can come from one's own self, as it stands. This goes against what we are typically taught, that if we dig deep enough inside, our picks and shovels will strike something hard and, through careful extraction, the artifact will be revealed. Not so; this presupposes that there is anything to be found there in the first place. But when the dig is abandoned, that is a step in the right direction.

Each person must arrive separately at the point of total surrender. It is not a journey that can be taken together. Most often, what can be viewed as personal security is but a different form of solitary confinement. While these walls are, in essence, a part of our existence since birth, the choice is ours as to what to do with them. Each of us is faced with this same choice. To find oneself is to dismantle the walls between us and the rest of the world, allowing light to flood in to every single part of our small cell. This is not a once-and-done task; no, this is what is required for us every time we wish to have a real, human interaction or speak honestly and truly.

There are a thousand things that will present themselves to you as immediate and necessary the moment you set out to accomplish anything worthwhile such as this. Your mind begins its endless parade of distractions: what is in the news, friends who need to be called, idle chores that really should be attended to... all very captivating. Before you know it, the hour is late and the day is coming to a close, unfulfilled.

So it goes with a life. Deep down, that is one's worst fear, that at the close of the final day we will be found still voiceless, with life grasped for but still not yet found.

Between my finger and my thumb

The squat pen rests.

I'll dig with it.

-Seamus Heaney

2:45 a.m. (nothing good is easy)

2009-09-06T02:45:00.000-05:00

It is the false self that is so alluring, yet ultimately destructive. The false self is the one convincing us to go the safe route, to do or say what somebody else successful has done or said that served them well, in hopes that we will meet with the same success. Indeed, it is entirely possible we will have some luck in our strivings to become who we are not. It is a sham, simply bad advertising we offer to the world in hopes of validation.

In actuality, this pursuit of something temporary will ultimately drive us farther away from our ultimate goal. It may last a little while, but once we possess it, we find that this fake success has a very short half-life. This thing we look to for a boost, a 'leg up', does exactly the opposite. Hopefully we realize our futile strivings, abandon this persona, and set about in search for who it is we really are called to be. This is a process that will take much time, and much effort - indeed, it will demand everything of us - but when that crossing is completed, we then possess something of infinite value: self-knowledge.

Solving myself

2009-09-05T16:13:00.001-05:00

When you get married, it helps to marry a person who possesses many of the qualities you do not. When you look at it in the grand scheme of things, it makes a lot of sense. It is a really beautiful design - there is a person in your life that is truly your ‘other half’ and you balance each other out, allowing for each others’ weaknesses because usually they are your strengths.

It also drives you crazy, because, conversely, there also are the things at which they will always be naturally far better than you. These are often things that will be publicly exposed so everyone who knows the two of you is aware of what’s going on. Just God, doing His thing to keep you humble.

An example of this occurred while getting ready for this weekend. When getting ready for a camping trip, I’ll usually need to make a comprehensive list of everything that I need, and even then there’s a good chance that I’ll forget something inconsequential like the tent, or forks. I hate lists, or at least the process of making one. However, this time I didn’t even take the time to make a list. Thankfully, we got everything we needed for the weekend... or so I thought.

One of my favorite parts of camping is getting to cook outdoors. I’m not at the point yet where I can effortlessly whip up a soufflé using a rustic cast-iron skillet over a campfire, but I can do pretty well using my Coleman 2-burner camp stove. Breakfasts are my specialty - eggs, bacon, chocolate chip pancakes, et cetera (hey, if I’m not backpacking, we do it up right!). So we had the stove packed up with all the necessary utensils, and worked the All-Star Breakfast into the daily meal plan. My father-in-law woke me up this morning asking if we could get that stove set up - the guys were ready for getting their eat on. I start to pull things out of the trunk of the car, and that’s when I realized that we were sunk. You see, my camp stove usually has this little piece of metal attached to the back that connects the propane canister to the burners. This oh-so-useful part was currently lying in a box of other camping equipment down in the basement, where I didn’t even think of looking when packing up. Thankfully, we punted by building a slow fire that actually turned out pretty dang good pancakes after about 3 hours.

I am not a born list-maker.

Sarah, however, could do it in her sleep - she enjoys making lists because the crossing-off is so satisfying to her. What’s more, it’s easy for her because she’s just wired that way, methodically, systematically going through the different categories in her mind and organizing as she goes along. Methodical and systematic are two of the last words people would ever use to describe me. There are times when I’m really glad when my brain works the way it does, but there are also plenty of times when I feel so handicapped. You see, I organize externally the way I do internally, which is to say there are about 500 things going on all at once, and I have no idea how to sort them out. Ah, life as an ADD sufferer.

Without a doubt, my lack of ability to organize was my downfall in school. In third grade, I had an assignment to do on Minnesota, using various landmarks to show what I’d learned about our great state. We’d had a couple weeks to work on it at home; it was due the next morning, and, of course, I had nothing to show. In tears, I begged my dad to do it for me, and like all good dads, he refused. I stayed up as late as I possibly could, and finally got it done sometime before midnight. Not my best work, to say the least. Something like that makes an impact on my 9-year-old self, and I vow never to let that happen again.

Fast forward to junior year of high school: it’s my Honors English class, the beginning of 2nd quarter. My teacher, Mz. Carlson (“it wasn’t our business whether she was Miss or Mrs.”) hands out the sheet detailing our anthology project, a huge book that was to be handed in the week before Christmas break. This was about late October.

It’s December 17th. At 5:30 a.m. Guess where I am. If you said the local Kinko’s with my friend Dave, getting the binding put on our book, our other friends having gone home to sleep hours ago, you’re right on. Again, I swear vehemently that this will be the last time I let something like this happen.

You get the picture.

Like I said, I do think that it’s pretty sweet that Sarah and I balance each other out the way we do. When she’s really stressed about things, going over those lists in her head and concluding that there’s no possible way she can get everything done on time, I’m the voice of reason, calming her down and taking her mind off all the minutiae. Sometimes, though, it feels like God looked down at me like I was Adam, saying “It is not good for man to be alone, because I’m pretty sure this guy lacks the essential ability to manage on his own.”

No man is an island, but sometimes couldn’t I at least be a peninsula covered mostly by water?

How does this continue to occur? Am I missing something, or is it truly just the way I’m doomed to function in life, ‘letting it happen to me’, if you will?

Instead of paying attention to my strengths, I continue to want what I don’t have, wanting others’ abilities to do this or that instead of being thankful for my own gifts that have been given to me for a reason. Maybe that idea of ‘letting things happen’ to me is key to figuring this out. When I’m aware that there are these weaknesses, I should be factoring those into how I respond to situations. Letting something happen denotes passivity, not activity.

I don’t know how this one resolves, actually, because I’m still in it figuring this out. What would life look like if I were actually better at doing this? Come to think of it, how does my view of self compare to the way God sees me?

Outward bound.

2009-09-04T08:53:00.008-05:00

Much of my life the past two years has revolved around my existence as a full-time student at Anoka-Ramsey Community College. My time there is coming to an end this semester, as I'm finishing my generals and moving elsewhere. In some ways, this semester is almost a letdown due to the fact that I'm only taking 7 credits. I have Math for Liberal Arts Majors (for those who know they'll do something creative in their lives, because math sure isn't it) and Wellness For Life, which is basically working out 3 days a week and spending a couple hours talking about how to stay healthy. So, pretty easy stuff. Last semester, though, was a different story.

When I get to the point where I want to do something, that's it - I throw myself into whatever that thing is entirely - there's nothing half-assed about my approach. So it went with English Lit classes last spring. There was British Literature, American Literature since 1865, Literature for Children, and Humanities, which essentially propped up the Lit classes with a bit of contextualization with the other arts of the time. English classes were fairly unmemorable in high school, but these made me see things in an entirely different light. The words of these poets and great writers were filled with life (yes, even the moderns). These classes revitalized my interest in language; what's more, they opened me to even hearing God in a different way.

Who says that only Christian authors have a claim to writing the truth? Last semester, I was challenged by some really deep stuff from people like Tennyson, T.S. Eliot (who, apparently, both British and American literature classes like to claim as their own), Fitzgerald... granted, the classes were mostly just a survey, but the food for thought you get from just breezing over some of these authors is enough to last you quite a while.

One of the themes that I immediately relate to is from the modern era - around the early 20th century. With the world at war, and society becoming more and more industrialized, there was this sense among the writers of the time that we were losing our connection to the earth, that all our worldly progress was taking its toll on our spirits. W.B. Yeats is one of the more well-known poets from that time, capturing this feeling in his poem "Lake Isle of Innisfree":

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear the water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Whatever "it" is for Yeats, I feel that in my heart too. For me, the natural world and connecting with God are intrinsically linked. The best way that I'm able to spend time with God is by getting away and going outside. I love technology and immersing myself in media, watching tons of movies and the like, but I know deep down that too much can mess me up spiritually. There's a restlessness that comes with not having those experiences of disconnecting and taking time to "be still and know that He is God."

Growing up near water has meant a great deal to me. It's been a constant presence, a source of reflection and peace. This goes all the way back to when I was born. My parents had a tiny little starter house that was situated about a block away from the Mississippi River. When I was three, they built a house in Coon Rapids, the one that they still live and most likely will until the end of time. Our backyard opens up onto a fairly sizable wooded park with Coon Creek running through, and the other guys in the neighborhood and I built several forts, each one getting more elaborate; the best one was on a gigantic tree that had fallen over on its side, with several floors and a tire swing. The Coon Rapids Dam was within a few minutes' biking distance, and it was where I spent much of my time in the summer. In the past few years, the trails connected to the Dam have taken me across Minneapolis and the suburbs, with the mighty Mississippi constantly flowing close by. In addition, I've taken quite a few trips to the Boundary Waters with my father and brother, usually at the end of the summer (the BWCA is at its best in August, in my opinion). Every year, it's been sort of the place where I reflect on all that's happened since I was there last, and to prepare for the year ahead. I haven't taken that trip in a few years, and I've realized recently that I missed it.

This weekend, I'll be going camping with Sarah and her extended family at Fort Ridgely State Park near New Ulm in the Minnesota River Valley. Her family has been going to this same camp for the past 20 years or so, since her mom grew up close to there; it's one of those parks that people haven't really heard of, since it's not near the North Shore. They always go Labor Day weekend, so it's kind of their last hurrah of the summer as well. I'm hoping to get some good writing done and spend some time with God in the next couple days. Also, since Sarah heads back to school for realz on Tuesday, it'll be nice having some time away with her as well. This couldn't come at a better time, as there's plenty in life that feels very up in the air right now... hopefully some clarity will come out of this time away.

What you need to learn, you already know.

2009-09-03T20:10:00.005-05:00

The funny thing about this whole process I'm in is that once you get the urge, the wanting to write, the real writing becomes so much harder. I think the books on the subject that I picked up yesterday will be really helpful, but they can only go so far. The formula, the secret weapon to learning how to write really well is simply how to best put down what goes on in your head. The thoughts and feelings that are washing over your consciousness like the ocean’s tide are full of potential sparks of inspiration. Those are things no one but you can impart, which is one of those cool/scary things, because you think you don't really have that much to offer and yet some of that may be something that someone NEEDS to hear. Even past memories could fill volumes. It’s all in learning how to lasso those things and herd them onto the paper.

While there’s always room for improvement in English mechanics, that’s not the real stuff. My mind is like the Earth’s crust, with millions of gallons of unrefined crude oil waiting to be tapped, and it needs to be processed and refined. The point is, I know that the stuff that makes a good writer is in there, but I’m in need of some sort of catalyst to get it out. Like Dustin Hoffman’s ‘existential detective’ character says in I Heart Huckabees, “Everything you could ever want or be, you already have and are.”

Yesterday at Barnes & Noble, I found Rob Bell’s new book Drops Like Stars. It’s quite a different animal from his other books, although definitely his style. Rob’s writing can be sparse, and this book is that to the extreme. It’s the size of a coffee-table book, with some pages having only one sentence in the very middle. The reviews I’d seen online weren’t very friendly to this (“Who would pay $34.95 for this?! It’s like a dollar a word!”), but I like how he does it for emphasis. He writes like he speaks. In my opinion, that’s how it should be all the time. I was told that I did that once... granted, it was because of my chatting style on AIM, but it’s what I hope for all the time.

So, seeing as it was somewhat shorter due to the style, I read through it in about 40 minutes. Isn’t it amazing how some things we read are perfectly timed to hit us where we’re at in that very moment? It was that way with Drops Like Stars. Without giving it all away, Bell’s general message is that creativity is often born out of suffering.

That idea resonates with me. It seems to be one of those threads running through all of life. A similar thought I’ve heard several times is that “tough times are the womb of heroes.” A.W. Tozer wrote that “It is doubtful that God can use any man greatly until he’s hurt him deeply." Could that be it? Are we like forests, where the soil of our hearts and minds is the most fertile after a fire has come through, destroying those things we hold dear? When I think about the times when I’ve experienced the most personal growth, those have often been the times when it felt like everything around me was being utterly shaken to the core.

...Is that the catalyst, when things seem insurmountable? You’d think I’d notice if I’m suffering... have I just gotten complacent? Life seems pretty good, and sometimes that worries me that it’s slowly gone from good to just sort of base-level boring, leaving me wondering if I'm like a lobster in a pot of slowly-heating water, not knowing you're dying until it's too late. That seems a little extreme, but this whole thing has me wondering...

Where am I being challenged?

Where do I need to be shaken up?

Manual labor.

2009-09-02T16:32:00.008-05:00

So, every Christmas or random birthday, my dad's side of the family has a tradition. The nieces and nephews (that's me) get gift cards to Barnes & Noble, usually about $20. I used to go right out and spend them while still on Christmas break, but about 6 years ago, I stopped spending gift cards altogether. Today, I went to B&N and cashed the majority of them in, walking out with one of those Big Bags of Books I'd always love to leave with. The library is definitely my friend, especially these days. Wonder if they've seen a huge increase in people visiting the library, or if you have to be a library-ish type to go on a regular basis. I definitely am.

But, the bag o' stuff: I believe I spent my money wisely. Here's what I came out carrying:

Walden and Civil Disobedience by Henry David Thoreau. Walden has been on the list of Important Things I Should Read for quite a while, but I haven't found the time. However, the little bit that I do know of its premise intrigues me: Thoreau built a cabin near Walden Pond (on Ralph Waldo Emerson's land) and set out to live as simple a life as possible. He writes that "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." I hear that. Plus, at only 7 bucks, it was a great deal.
The Elements of Style by Strunk and White (the Charlotte's Web guy). I like this one because it's the shortest writing manual I've seen (95 pages, including the glossary) but seems to be pretty powerful stuff. It was originally published in 1935, so if a style manual has that much staying power, I figure it's worth it.
On Writing Well by William Zinsser. Speaking of E.B. White, Zinsser is a huge fan and was inspired by his work on Elements of Style, so this book seemed like a good companion. I figure if I can't get something out of these two manuals, it's pretty much time to abandon ship.
How to Grill by Steven Raichlen. What a champ. Me reading Steven Raichlen is like girls reading Sense and Sensibility... you develop a soul connection or something. My romance novels are cookbooks. Is that weird? In my opinion, he's the absolute best source of information out there when it comes to the nuts-and-bolts of grilling. I got his book The Barbecue Bible last year from Sarah for Christmas, and he's got this show called Primal Grill on public television Saturday mornings that is so worth waking up early for. As one who's very much a visual learner more than any other type, I appreciate that the books are full of pictures for EVERYTHING.
Anyone Can Bake from Better Homes & Gardens. Have you figured out yet that I really, really like learning how to do stuff? Combine that with my aforementioned love of desserts, and here it is. As somewhat of a meticulous rule-follower in the kitchen (when it says one cup, I take them at their word!!), I happen to like baking more than cooking, although I understand it less. This may help. Actually, I saw the title and thought, "That's exactly what I say to Sarah all the time!" You see, Sarah's of the mindset that she is fated to ruin cakes, on account of her previous attempts. I'll believe that when I see it. The plan is to try some stuff in this book together and we'll see how it goes.

So, that was the trip today. I've got no shortage of good reading material in the event that I find myself with more free time this semester than I originally thought... or, you know, whatever.

I really like learning how to do new things. I also like reading books. Therefore, how-to manuals are great. There are plenty of things to do in life, and anything that's worth doing is worth doing well. However, I wonder sometimes if I'll ever be an expert in my field, called upon to write a book that will share my wisdom with the masses, or if I just will continue to amass lots of meaningless techniques. You can spend lots of time learning how to do something, or talking about how sweet it would be to actually do that thing, but the doing is so much harder to get started. Here's to doing.

Day two.

2009-09-01T14:44:00.006-05:00

There's something about the first of a month that makes me feel hopeful and excited. Or, alternately, immediately stressed out. When you're just looking at things day-to-day, life can seem somewhat mundane, but when you are looking at things coming up, things take on a different sort of meaning. The emotional connotation behind the events in our lives is much bigger when seen from a distance.

September is an exciting time of year. Things are still relatively warm, and the crispness of the air holds lots of promises of good things ahead. Fall usually brings plenty of new opportunities and challenges, and this one is looking to be especially full. My sister's wedding in 11 days (!), new classes, the college ministry I'm involved with is getting started up again... some really sweet stuff.

Thankfully, this First of September has proved to be a good one. A very happy birthday to Jon Palmer today! Jon is one of my closest friends from a while back... he’s a deep thinker, and also one of the funniest people I’ve ever met, without those two being mutually exclusive. He and I have been involved in ministry together for several years in different forms; Jon tends to do more drama and speaking, while I’m usually leading worship. I’m always blessed when we get a chance to collaborate. I’d say that we’re similar enough to get along really well, but different enough to keep things interesting by challenging each other - the best kind of friendship. Some ways in which I look up to Jon:

He’s, like, 17 inches taller than I am in real life.
He’s a dang good cook. Seriously, if I could just throw stuff together like that guy does, I'd be pretty pleased with myself.
He and I share a love of literature and language(s), but he is head and shoulders above me in his understanding of both. Thanks for slumming, dude.
That frickin playing basketball thing.

That’s just for starters. Today we hit up the MN State Fair with my wife and some good friends for a few hours of solid eating and walking around to celebrate the day. Feliz cumpleanos, buddy.

Secondly, the new Bon Appetit magazine was delivered yesterday. I can't tell you how happy this day of the month makes me. Seriously, just look at that picture on the front! That is some hot food. It's impossible to exactly pinpoint the time when I decided cooking might actually be fun, but it was only in the last few years. The number one reason for my love of good food will always be my mom; a close second is this magazine.

Reading it has inspired me to look at food - and cooking - in a whole different way, and to make me dream about what kind of things I could do as a cook. Since I'm not very good on some techniques, there still are some things that are over my head, but it's really fun to think about. Thankfully, they have a Prep School column where they teach really useful things, such as making a pie crus t or even something as simple as perfect grill marks. And the desserts... oh, the desserts. Every issue, they have a different main ingredient for their desserts, showcasing the various things you can do with them. Oh man... when the peanut butter ones were featured, I wanted to do nothing more for the rest of the month than hang out in the kitchen and work my way through the recipes. This month is all about apples; I can't wait to see what they've got.

All in all, today was a great start to what could be a very hectic and crazy month. 11:40pm... sort of on the later side of Day 2, but I'm determined to stick to my goal no matter what.

Until tomorrow...

The Work

2009-08-31T16:10:00.001-05:00

It’s time to take some advice. As an aspiring writer, my goal is simply to get stuff moving around in my brain and get it out there onto the page. There is no shortage of inspiration in this world, so that shouldn’t stop me. What is stopping me is simply my own lack of motivation. The process of being inspired is far, far easier; it’s something different to actually get out and go do something.

Every published writer that I have heard talk about their craft has said something along these lines: if you want to be a writer, the first and foremost goal is to write. A lot. It’s not about coming up with something great right off the bat, basically.

Before I can be great, I have to be. For example, I thought that being an amazing cook would be simple, and that I would never burn something on the stove. It’s almost laughable once you see a sentence like that written down, but it’s the truth. I honestly thought that when I really enjoyed doing something, it’d just come naturally to me, like an extension of myself. The same for writing. Writing, at least, was something that comes a little easier; maybe the point in time where my life finally comes together is when I pick up a pen and simply let the genius flow out. As it turns out, nope, not really the way things go. That, of course, led to the feeling that it was easier for everybody else, and that there was something inherently wrong with me. But, that’s a completely different story. My point is, I learned that if I’m searching for what I’m supposed to become, I haven’t looked very hard because of the work required.

This is the part of my life where I’m finding out that the work makes you into who you are. People have tried to tell me that all along, but I don’t think I really ever believed them. It felt more like a point of view, where you can step back objectively and say, “Yes, I see your point, but you’re not really looking at the whole picture.”

So what is the work required of me at this point in time? Be a good husband, loving my wife every day, especially on the tough days. Love God, and pursue His will for my life, even when it looks like the last thing I would want to do. (A lot of the time, it is.) Love others like I think Jesus would. Make the most out of my time in school and not freak out constantly that I’m in the wrong place, that just because I’m choosing a major does not mean that the walls are closing in around me. That one’s exceptionally difficult.

And write. When I dread the thought of even returning emails, write. When I doubt that I have anything of substance to even offer, write. When self-editor guy up in my head is immediately pointing out my mistakes and the lack of flow or even that the font looks stupid, I will write.

That’s where I’m beginning from today. My challenge to myself - one of the few that I’ve ever really issued - is to write something each day, no matter what. That’s where this experiment comes in. I’m not going to worry about whether or not I’m making progress or becoming more eloquent in my prose. That seems like shooting myself in the foot, and it feels like it, too. (Ever feel that you REALLY TRIED SUPER HARD at something, only to find out that that effort made you completely blow it? The irony that searching for a perfect word makes one fumble over their speech is terrible.) I’m not going to back down from doing The Work. If I fail, then I failed, but I gave it a shot. This is one step away from perfectionism, and a step toward becoming who I’m actually supposed to be.

Coming around

2009-08-20T12:19:00.022-05:00

Whenever someone has an opinion on a piece of art, I think it's important to consider where they've come from, and how it's shaped their perspective. It almost feels like spying, because then their perspective is no longer just about the one thing, but a sort of inside look at how they see the world. So here's one of my own admission: as someone who's grown up in the church, and Christian pop culture in general, I can be inherently skeptical whenever something is wildly popular, especially among Christians. I tend to shy away from jumping on the bandwagon, but I'll give it a shot in my own time. This week I finally got around to reading The Shack, by William Paul Young.

Here's the basic gist of the story. The story revolves around Mackenzie "Mack" Philips, a loving father and husband bearing some deep wounds from his own childhood. On a family camping trip, his youngest daughter is kidnapped, with all signs pointing to her murder. Mack becomes deeply depressed, withdrawing into himself. Years go by, and Mack receives a note from God, wanting to meet with him at the shack, the place where the tragedy occurred. Mack reluctantly travels out to the shack and has a life-changing encounter with a God who appears very different than what he had expected.

The above paragraph doesn't do it justice. Believe me when I say that this is easily one

of the most moving books I've ever read. I'd say that yeah, I'm somewhat in touch

with my emotions, but it's not like I'm willing to just open up the floodgates whenever.

If it feels manufactured, I check out almost immediately. One of the reasons why my wife

hates watching most chick flicks with me, and vice versa. (Note: this doesn't go for the

totality of girl movies, but the majority. Pride and Prejudice totally got to me, and not even

in just a Keira Knightley way. Disclaimer over.) So, not a big fan of being hit over the head

with a YOU-MUST-FEEL-THIS emotional response.

That's not how The Shack was for me whatsoever. I found things in this book that resonated deeply in my own life. The Shack affected me profoundly, because it's a story about redemption. It's a story about God stepping down on a very personal level, coming to this hurting guy, offering intimate friendship, forgiveness, and the fullness of His love. That's the kind of encounter that changes people - that's how God was able to change me. Like Mack, I have a 'shack' where I keep all of my pain and hurt. When I realized that God was with me through all of that messed-up stuff, and desired a relationship with me, that's when my own view of God began to change.

C.S. Lewis has something deep and profound to say about this (Just think about how much time you could save if you could just hit a button and type that sentence!). In Mere Christianity, he extends this metaphor of a 'shack':

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised.

But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."

That was the biggest thing that I took away from The Shack, that God wants to meet us in the middle of our pain and suffering. If we trust in His goodness and allow Him into these places we let no one else see, He can change us in ways we never thought possible.

Even if you haven't read the book, I'm sure you've heard it talked about. I can count about half a dozen instances with completely different groups of people - work, school, church - where the book was at least mentioned in conversation. There has been a lot of controversy going on with the book over the theology contained within; some pastors recommend it from the pulpit, while others have apparently strongly discouraged their churches from reading it. Weird. There are parts where I disagree with Mr. Young, but I found his take on God to be engaging. Besides, I didn't read the book because I was looking for deep insights on religion. As a Christian, I need to keep examining my faith, and it is refreshing when somebody puts forth a very different view than my own.

There are sections of the book where Young gets fairly philosophical, trying to explain such complex issues like the Trinity or how God allows bad things to happen. The controversies contained within Young's theology occur when people see this as a work of nonfiction or Christian apologetics instead of simply a work of fiction. This should not be a book that you go to every time you need to brush up on bits of theology - but it is a powerful story that highlights some very relevant parts of God's character.

This book was published originally with only a $300 budget for advertising, and has largely relied on word-of-mouth to get people to read it. That, to me, is phenomenal. It speaks to the quality of the writing and to the fact that it has obviously affected others as deeply as it has affected me. As an eternal pop-culture skeptic, I'm happy to recommend this book to you. If you've already read it, or reading this post finally convinces you to take the plunge, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks!

A new old direction

2009-08-19T23:07:00.012-05:00

Isn't it funny how the things we swear we'll never, ever do often end up being the things we mysteriously find ourselves drawn into after all? It has to be one of those things God does to have a laugh. Sort of like the old adage about if you want to make Him laugh, tell Him your plans, or something like that. I don't know if God is really like that, but if I were Him, it would certainly be tempting to mess with my creation when they start getting all self-important and dictating their own terms on life.

Anyway, that whole gotcha business: I've been getting a lot of that lately. When I was in high school, I had people saying that I should be a teacher - parents, extended family, teachers, those highly-invested types. Nothing could have freaked me out more; I vehemently declared over and over that teaching would be a terrible fit for me. Besides, had they seen my GPA? Good teachers don't come from terrible students... right?

So, that was that. Somewhere along the lines, however, destiny has a way of catching up with you. This year, I'll be a junior in college, starting down the path to become a full-fledged English teacher. What's weirder is that I'm not even being dragged into it kicking and screaming - I'm actually looking forward to it. I want to be a teacher, and I think I could maybe even be a good one. This is a complete shift in perspective for me, as you may imagine. More on that later. Example number one.

The second is very similar in its upside-your-headedness. I want to be a writer. This desire is as recent and foreign as it is old and familiar. Like stoking the still-smoldering coals of last night's fire the next morning, I've come back around to rediscover a part of me I had once dismissed as worthless. My rationale was that since language has always come rather easily to me, I would rather seek out other things that I could do that would be more gratifying, since I would have worked to get them.

Two books have been super helpful while I've been finding my way back to writing. The first is Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird, which has opened me up immensely to simply being comfortable in my abilities as a writer. I like Anne Lamott anyway from reading her other work, particularly her thoughts on faith, so I guess that I wasn't all that surprised. She's refreshingly candid and humble, making it easy to like her from the start. Plus, I was feeling completely overwhelmed, with no idea where to start, and she demystified the process for me. Rather than go through the mechanics of writing, she deals more with getting started, or more specifically the mental stuff that gets in the way of doing so (something I'm struggling with right now!), such as the voice in your head that tells you that you're no good (she calls it Radio KFKD... guess what the call letters stand for) and overcoming jealousy for others' success. She exposes writing as being far more elemental than we often make it out to be - "good writing is about telling the truth," she says, and I believe her. That's always my aim - to tell the truth. Also, she comes up with some of the most spot-on similes and metaphors; if you're looking to describe something using something else, she's got it down.

The second book is On Writing: A Memoir of The Craft, by Stephen King. Keep in mind I'd never read any of King's work before, but this book had come highly recommended by my writer friend Addie, so I figured I'd check it out. To my surprise, he's actually really funny and engaging as a writer. I just knew him as a horror writer before, but he comes across as a very normal guy. His golden rule to prospective writers is this: read a lot, write a lot. Nothing too deep, but I would agree wholeheartedly. The more you read, the better of a writer and editor you can become. I never went to any great lengths to work on writing skills when I was in high school, but it came easily because of the massive amount that I read as a kid. The writing a lot thing is where I tend to struggle. Here's a funny example of this that King includes in the book:

A friend reportedly once asked James Joyce how his work was going. “I got seven words today,” Joyce replied.

“But James, that’s good … at least for you,” said the friend.
“Perhaps … but I don’t know what order they go in!” he cried in despair.

I'm definitely guilty of doing a lot of self-editing before actually getting all my thoughts out. Again, this is where I've been encouraged by these couple books. "Don't worry about doing it well... just start getting it down," says Anne Lamott. For a perfectionist like me, that goes against everything I stand for. Even putting this stuff out here is a daunting task. I know that eventually this will mean something and tie together, but for right now I just have to get it done. Thankfully, I know that countless others have started down the road at the same place that I am right now. What sort of a writer will I be? I have so many varied interests it's almost impossible to tie something together. Something with music? Spirituality? Food? Who knows... I'm looking forward to finding out.

God's got a way sometimes. Like teaching and writing for me, there are things in each of our lives that have been put there for a reason. No matter how far we walk away from something that He's planted, they lie in the deepest part of our hearts. Sometimes the trial and separation is needed in order to see how important these parts of us truly are.

Easing into things.

2009-07-22T08:44:00.000-05:00

Hi, everyone!

You know, it's probably easier to start over. I worked on a few ways to transition gracefully from my last post to here, and that just ain't happenin. If you stumbled upon this by chance, nice work! However, there's a pretty high chance that if you're reading this right now, you already know me well enough (either passively or actively) to know of the changes in my life since April 08. As it so happens, the biggest change is also the biggest catalyst for change in my life, namely:

I got married this year. Can I double-bold something? Triple-underline? It's like that.

Sarah and I started dating in April of 2007, got engaged June of 2008, and married on June 13th, 2009. The past year (two, actually) has been the craziest one of my entire freakin' life, hands down. Also, the busiest, funnest, challenging-est, and bestest. You think you know what you're getting yourself into, but then the day happens and it turns out that you had absolutely no idea just how much things are going to change. Do I 'feel married'? Yes and no. I don't know what I'd expected to happen... some huge sudden shift, maybe? I went into it sort of expecting the tectonic plates of my life to just smash together, totally rearranging the landscape. But that's not how big stuff works, apparently. "Give it a couple years," said one of my married-guy mentors recently.

I do know this, though: I married an absolutely incredible woman. I think about all the things I love in life, and how strongly some of those feelings go, and yet I discovered a new depth of love when Sarah and I found each other. It felt like that day in swimming class when you're introduced to the diving pool - the deep end - and they have the pole that goes down, down, down, all the way to the bottom. You've been down pretty deep before in the lap pool, so the first few feet aren't a surprise, but then you still haven't touched bottom, and you descend further, wondering how deep this could possibly go. It's like that; I had no idea how deep this love could really go. God had to have done this on purpose, creating marriage to just blow your mind. That's really what's happening here. Things are changing, at the surface level and in the depths. Not just in my relationship with Sarah, but how my entire life is structured. (Sometimes it doesn't feel like I have that much structure to be changed, in which case, all the better!)

That brings us to here, to this blog in particular. In this restructuring, in trying to make sense of these changes, I think God is revealing Himself to me. There are bigger truths that have been placed out there for us to find along the way, but the way we discover them is unique to each of us. My hope is to keep finding the connections between the two - how my story is connected to the bigger whole, and the stories of others. But, like this post is titled, I'm going to ease into things. Baby steps and the like. First goal: write more often than every 1-and-a-half years.

So, this is probably a good place to shift gears.

I know that it's really trendy, but I've got to say that summer is my favorite season. I've never declared as such by titling any Facebook albums with anything related to summer (SuMMaTiMe 09!), but it's the truth. Spring and fall have their merits, but nothing compares to the total difference in how I spend my time during summer vacation. Love it. Up next on the agenda: sleeping in tomorrow! I work during the week, so I'm up and gone by 6:30 on most weekdays, but tomorrow brings glorious sleep. Deal with that, sun.