i'd like to buy the world a coke...

… but for now I’ll settle for sharing dinner and a movie with some beautiful people.

Two weeks ago I headed down to Riverfront Park with some friends to catch a free showing of The Breakfast Club, the start of a summer "movies in the park" series. We arrived early to snag a good spot, and succeeded in securing an area center screen at the front of the grass (where no one could plant themselves in front of us). Surrounded by a diverse host of individuals, couples, families and dogs, we passed the time until the movie began by reading books, sky gazing and people watching.

There was an older white gentleman with a beard, baseball cap and tattered clothing wandering around offering wooden fans for sale to patrons of the hot, humid amphitheater. He would make a round of the park, gently extolling the virtues of his handiwork to those who would concern themselves enough to look and listen. Then he would take a break, sitting down on the ground beside a black female with a tight, slender face that stretched with each flash of her wide and joyful grin. The woman had the honor of sitting in a comfortable folding chair, which the gentleman had helped set up for her when they first arrived. I watched him make a few more rounds, during which he must have peddled at least one of his wares, because he promptly proceeded to the food vendors and purchased a foil wrapped hot dog. When he returned to his post near the woman and her pedestal, he was approached by another man to whom he offered some of the money he had received. That man also chose to enjoy a fresh, juicy hot dog, chased by a chain of cigarettes.

In the meantime, the bearded man had moved to sit on the low wall in front of our blanket and was talking to the couple on the blanket next to us. The couple’s tiny, yapping dog (a doglet, if you will) immediately spied the wooden fans in the man’s hand and began its futile attempts to vanquish his leash. Apparently oblivious to the doglet’s quest for acquisition, the man and the couple continued their conversation, with the fans waving about as the man’s hands orchestrally illustrated the essence of his stories. Straining against the tether, toward the traversing blades of pliable wood, the doglet’s conquest looming before his beady eyes, a startling intrusion caused the bounty to be lowered to the bearded man’s side, far beyond the grasp of the tiny creature’s jaws.

A freckled, red-haired creature, not much larger than the doglet itself, though towering higher on only two legs, offered wise instructions to the bearded man so many in the park had averted their gazes from: “Hey! Hey, he might eat those! Hey, be careful! Hey, some puppies have sharp teeth! He might have sharp teeth! Hey, he might try to eat those, be careful!”

The dog lay down in the grass, head on paws, staring up at the baseball cap of the man who held his treasure, utterly defeated.

“Thank you,” offered the bearded man, ending his conversation and returning to the side of the smiling woman. The boy returned to his family, the couple turned to consoling the disheartened puppy, sundown approached and soon the movie began.

I couldn’t help but think about the bearded gentleman and the bright-eyed noblewoman as the week progressed. Though I really had no desire to see Jaws, the opportunity of taking a meal to share with these individuals who had relished their foil-wrapped cuisine appealed to me. So, I extended the invitation to friends to join me, and was delighted (though not surprised) that they were more than willing to accompany me. We spent some time together grilling burgers and enjoying a family meal before heading out to the riverfront with snacks, friends and kiddos in tow.

We had barely tidied our picnic blankets before the bearded man approached with the highly acclaimed wooden fans. My friend Sam extended his hand, and the bearded man introduced himself as “Guy”. Sam offered Guy some food and, after clarifying if we intended to trade for a fan and being assured the snacks were being offered freely, he accepted a hamburger, chips and bottled water. Guy made introductions with everyone on our blankets and offered a kind thank you before pointing up the hill and excusing himself to join a laughing woman sitting grandly in a camping chair, chatting away to a young artist sitting on a blanket beside her.

Smitten by the woman’s animated charm, I was compelled to walk up and make an introduction. Guy had already sat down at her feet and was preparing to split his hamburger to share with this woman he so highly favored. Donna, whose smile grew to cheshire proportions as we shook hands, cheerfully accepted my offer to pick out some food of her own, responding that she “sure could use a little snack to bite on”. Following me down to the blankets where the roving picnic was stationed, Donna quickly began introducing herself to every man, woman and child.

“I’m Donna, Guy’s wife,” she said, her voice filled with admiration. Donna accepted our offer of a hamburger and water, but declined to take any pastries. “I can’t eat no sweets,” Donna snickered. Crouching eye-level with the children, she explained further, “You eat too many sweets, you end up like this”. Donna reached into her beaming smile and wiggled the dentures contained therein. “Don’t eat too many sweets, you’ll have to take your teeth out to brush ‘em.” We expressed again to Donna how please we were to meet both her and Guy, and I asked if they planned to attend next week. “Oh yeah,” Donna exclaimed. “He’s my hunk of chocolate,” she elaborated, apparently referring to next week’s feature showing of Shrek 2.

We did not see anyone else during the movie, though Candy got up and walked around the park some to see who she might find. At the end of the evening, Heather and I had packed up all of the supplies and were headed toward the car when a gentleman I passed by asked me if I happened to have any change. “I don’t,” I hesitated, “but I do have some hamburgers if you would like them.” The man looked a bit startled, but replied “Oh, yes, that’s what I am needing is to get something to eat.” I handed him the bag containing three or four hamburgers and offered that he was welcome to eat all of them or to share them if he wanted to.

Extending my hand to him, I introduced myself and asked his name. “Richard,” he offered nervously, followed with “I’m sorry.” This tickled me, as I have been accused of being brainwashed with the Southern need to apologize for everything, but I made sure to stifle any laugh that may cause Richard more discomfort. “It’s very nice to meet you Richard,” I replied instead, “would you like any chips or snack cakes?” “Oh no, thank you,” Richard answered, “I don’t have any teeth, I’m sorry.” I assured him, “No problem. Would you like some water? We have some bottled waters you are welcome to.” “Oh, yes. I am thirsty. Could you loan me some change? I’m sorry.” Richard’s eyes revealed his brokenness and his kindness simultaneously. Suddenly, I recalled that some change (about 62 cents) had fallen off one of the blankets when I picked it up from the grass. I reached in my pocket, pulled out the change while sharing with Richard the story of the blanket, and placed the change in his hand. “Would you like some bottled waters?” I asked again. “Yes, thank you. I am thirsty. I’m sorry.”

Richard was hesitant to follow me to the car for the waters, expressing concern about making me uncomfortable. I reassured him that he was not making me uncomfortable and reminded him that I had extended the invitation. We began walking to the nearby parking place, but I realized we were walking toward the fence rather than the gate. As I shifted our route toward the gate with an “oops,” Richard quickly responded with an “I’m sorry.”

Once at the car, I introduced Richard to Heather, who grabbed some bottled waters out of the package and presented them to him. He made one last request for change, and we shared our “goodbyes” and “pleased-to-meet-yous” before climbing in the car and heading for home. I liked Richard and his sorry self. I couldn’t help but feel a special kinship with him.

Was Richard’s life turned around that night? Probably not. Will Guy and Donna ever be the same after meeting us? Probably so. Did we change the world? Obviously not.

God doesn’t require great and marvelous things of us – that’s His territory. Sure he can do great and marvelous things through us, but he keeps our responsibilities pretty basic:

Then the King will say to those on his right, "Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'” (Matthew 25:34-36).

Jesus tells us that what we do for the least of these, we do for Him. He also tells us to come to him as a little child. The night of the first movie, it was a carrot-top little boy who first fixed my attention on Guy and Donna. He approached the bearded man, who so many in park wanted to avoid, just as he would have approached any human he was concerned about and wanted to bestow his years of wisdom upon. One of the children with us that night went home and told her family that she “met a woman named Donna at the shark movie.” Children are so welcoming and unassuming. This is the way I want to approach “the least of these” that I encounter.

While I know a burger and a bottled water won’t cure all of the ills in this fallen world, I prefer that little glimpse of hope to the moments when I find myself paralyzed with the overwhelming realization of all of the hurt and loneliness and evil and confusion and greed and selfishness and brokenness that surround us.

As the great theologian Ben Folds recommends:

The world is full of ugly things that you can’t change. Pretend it’s not that way; it’s my idea of faith. You can blow it off and say there’s good in nearly everyone, just give them all a chance. Now let’s give them all a chance.

See you at the movies.

The Hope of Resurrection

Courtney Love:
I fake it so true I am beyond fake
and someday, you will ache like I ache
someday, you will ache like I ache
someday, you will ache like I ache
someday, you will ache like I ache
someday, you will ache like I ache

Trent Reznor:
I hurt myself today
to see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
the only thing that's real

Ani DiFranco:
I wish he'd never come here with me
in fact I wish he'd never come near me
I wish his shoulder wasn't touching mine
I am growing older waiting in this line

Don Chaffer:
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted as much
to be free as I’ve longed to be known
and of the things that I hate as I look at my life,
the worst is my being alone

Nanci Griffith:
I was a child in the Sixties
when dreams could be held through T.V.
with Disney and Cronkite and Martin Luther
and I believed, I believed, I believed
now I am the backseat driver from America
and I am not at the wheel of control
and I am guilty, I am war, I am the root of all evil
Lord, and I can't drive on the left side of the road

There exists a common understanding that this world is full of a lot of hurt. We all have longings, unmet needs, crushed dreams, stolen innocence, empty places, delusions of grandeur and of obscurity. I’ve lived my whole life with an awareness that this hurt exists, and with the weight that I am somehow responsible for alleviating it.

When I became a Christian in high school, I entered a realm of confusion. I came to know the Hope of the World, and had absolutely no idea of how to share that hope with someone else. There was so much focus on marketing Jesus and morals that I had a hard time understanding how to speak to those hidden places of people’s souls. Several “methods” for sharing the gospel were shared with me during High School and college, and I didn’t use any of them because they felt cold and fake and they didn’t relay what I knew about the Messiah. I thought maybe I just didn’t get it, so I didn’t bother trying at all.

Service, on the other hand, made perfect sense to me. You have a need. I can touch that need. Jesus can touch your need through me. Jesus can touch your need in spite of me. For even the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.

Over the years I’ve had to participate in many “discussions” about family values and consequences of sin and moral society. I tend to get overwhelmed and avoid these interactions, because I know how much it takes out of me to capsize and relate what is so clear in my own mind, what has always been clear to my heart. Our society is screwed up, our whole planet is screwed up, and telling someone that abortion is evil or swearing is wrong or dress codes are good is not going to change someone’s heart. There’s a deeper hurt and a greater need and a violent loneliness that has to be addressed before any kind of moral code can be adopted.

We talked (excessively) at our retreat recently that we can not turn off the darkness, we can only turn on the light. This is so true about how we can speak into people’s lives. Hell, fire and damnation mean nothing to someone who is already drowning in it. We have to speak hope, and love, and forgiveness, and grace. And we have to receive those things for ourselves to be able to shine them into someone else’s life. We have to allow the Spirit to reflect back to us our own sorry state, then we have to accept the grace that is Christ’s death and resurrection, we have to bathe ourselves in the power of forgiveness. Only then are we free to go into all the world, and look people in the eye, and pour the love of Christ into the crevices life has chiseled into their hearts.

Luke 6:37-42
Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Can a blind man lead a blind man? Will they not both fall into a pit? A student is not above his teacher, but everyone who is fully trained will be like his teacher. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, “Brother, let me take the speck out of your eye,” when you yourself fail to see the plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye.

This is the strange hope of Christ’s resurrection. Not so much that our sins are forgiven, but that He died for us while we were yet sinners. The table is set and the banquet is planned for sinners. God longs to be in a relationship with His people, and all of His people are sinners. And it is through that relationship that brokenness is made whole and emptiness is filled. And it is out of this resurrection of our souls that “moral” behavior emerges. Anything else would be adventitious or pretentious.

pull up a chair...

...or, here, take mine.

I was talking with a friend yesterday about community development and missions and such, and he relayed a conversation he had recently with someone he holds a great deal of respect for. They were discussing in James where it discusses the discrimination involved in offering a good seat to a man in fine clothes while telling a poor man to sit on the floor at your feet. My friend's dilemma was that he leans toward the opposite tendency... that of showing favoritism to the poor man at the expense of the rich. How does one find room at the table for both? His conversation partner had a simple response ~ surrender your own seat, and voluntarily take your place on the floor.

In a related story, our very own Ramon Chaparro has had an essay published at Burnside Writers Collective. I'm quite proud of him, so I invite you all to read, comment and discuss.

Establishing tables of equality can start nowhere other than in our own lives. Who do we invite into our homes? Whose are the voices that we let speak into our lives? If we find ourselves agreeing with everyone we spend time with, it might be time we broadened our social circles a bit. This is not simply a matter of being cosmopolitan. This is a foundational step in what it means to move toward a different society, a better kingdom - a kingdom where the weak come to the table with as much confidence as the strong that they will be heard.

~ Ramon Chaparro

on creating tiny green ducks...

I was extremely exhausted last night. A stressful day at work on Friday, rushing straight home to take care of yard sale details (picking up tables, making and hanging signs) and then hanging out with Angelika that evening. Yard sale early Saturday morning after about 3 hours of sleep (we raised over $400 for Candy's trip... rock!), clean up, and then crashing at my parent's house while doing laundry (am I really 30?!). Today holds church, golf and the beginning of our new small group study (Celebration of Discipline... v.g.).

The hanging out part was actually an evening oasis... we colored in signs while listening to the Emmylou Harris live at the Ryman album, secured the signs around the neighborhood and then headed down to Cornerstone Pub for bluegrass and beer. While there, we planned Runaway Planet's European tour in our heads, as well as my new consulting career training Austrian government officials how to implement a "yard sale culture" in their country. Angelika is taking home labels from New Belgium's 1554 and Little Rock's own Diamond Bear Southern Blonde (they don't serve Shiner Bock at Cornerstone... something must be done about this... at least there is plenty at home in the fridge). I asked our waitress if the Cornerstone t-shirts said Arkansas anywhere on them ~ Gretchen's birthday is approaching. Our wonderful waitress, who worked the whole room alone and kept a smile on her face, found out that they did not list the city and state, but did bring a Cornerstone pen with the location info on it... congratulations, G-dawg, you're getting a pen!

So I'm exhausted last night, and I'm watching one of those high school comedies on cable about dating mayhem and hidden love and wanting to be cool and realizing that none of that matters (ok, so I watched intermittent sections of the movie in between 20 minute naps). Lack of sleep coupled with exposure to gratuitous displays of modern humanity bring out the philosopher in me, the "life is about sooo much more than this" in me, the "how sad is that children out there really do think that high school is this important, and how sad is it that their parents perpetuate this myth" in me.

This state of mind eventually spins out of control and leads me to contemplating things like my pajama pants. Of course, I'm not contemplating the fact that I own probably 10 different pairs of pajama pants ~ that, my friends, has nothing to do with being a disciple of consumer culture. Instead, I contemplate the creation of tiny green ducks. My pj pants are pink (of course), with a semi-random pattern of ducks all over it. One line has a large yellow duck followed by a row of tiny yellow and green ducks. Another line has the large yellow duck (headed the alternate direction) followed by a line of tiny yellow ducks and one tiny green duck at the end, with an additional tiny green duck trailing behind. Still another line has a large yellow duck and a large green duck, followed by a row of tiny green and yellow ducks. With perhaps a few missed exceptions, this is the pattern that exists all up and down my legs. And it hits me - someone designed this pattern. Someone sat at a computer and designed tiny green ducks for my pj pants, a pattern which was then duplicated and formed into a fabric which would be used to mass produce pj pants for consumerists like me to grab up for $9.99 a pair at Old Navy (mine were on sale, of course, so I think they were more like $2.99 ~ rock.) Someone studied Literature and Trigonometry and European History in high school, got into college, chose a graphic design major, stressed over tests, produced a senior project, landed an entry-level position, and worked their way up to produce tiny green ducks for my mass-produced pj pants. Or perhaps the tiny green ducks are just a random creation of a well-programmed computer somewhere. I have nothing against graphic design and I love most graphic designers I have met, I do not mean to single out their profession. However, they were the focus of this particular late night contemplation on how complicated and frivolous God's world has become (because it is not, after all, our world).

We were created to wander naked through a garden and eat anything we wanted (without the need of creative labeling or clever marketing), except for the fruit of one tree. But we ate that fruit, and I eat of it every day. Daily I create a list of "I want..." and "Wouldn't it be great to have..." and "If only I had..." and, of course, "ooh, I need...". I have an over abundance of possessions as is. And there is nothing that I need. God is enough, and He is everything. Yet last night, I bought the new Blue Bell Ice Cream "Delta Blues" flavor (blueberries... nuff said) ~ comfort food which will lead me to lamenting the current shape of my body which God designed to be naked and eat things that are not processed in a factory.

And so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past... (Gatsby)

contemplation on salvation

Today I purchased a set of pink golf clubs and the new Jolie Holland CD. Tonight I will be joining Angelika and Meredith for the season finale of Gilmore Girls (our last one together before Angelika heads home to Austria and Meredith heads on to her missions training at ORU). My new apartment is painted and my roomies move in this week. Despite all of the frustrations at work right now, life is sweet. Track 6 on Miss Holland's album is not only a beautiful song, but also an honest look into the heart of someone struggling with the surrender to Christ (or at least that's the way I took it ~ I'm sure I'll research it later):

My sullen songs have taken me
Far down this darkened road
I have seen the campfires burning
I have heard the drunkards howl
I'm silent in my solitude - I'm quiet as a thief
I have stolen all these hours - I have gotten no relief
My crazy dreams and tragedies have taken me for a ride
But I can see strange glory on the other side
this has been my misery and the source of my pride
But all along I'm thinking I've been taken for a ride

Why don't you take me when I'm willing?

But like a stubborn beast when the barn is on fire
I might resist you when you try to save my life
I might resist you when you try to save my life
When the flames rise around us and I can't see the door
This is still my home and it has never burned before
This is where I've taken my solace and my peace
The walls are caving in but I am still a stubborn beast

Why don't you take me when I'm willing?

~ Jolie Holland
Stubborn Beast (album: Springtime Can Kill You)

I think Miss Holland should go chill with Mark Olson and Victoria Williams out in Joshua Tree for awhile and allow God to weave his love into her heart strings. They can sit on the porch with the dogs and contemplate good music and good mercy and sip tea and strum guitars... In fact, I think I should join them...

feel free to read around this post...

How do I respond to the hurricane succinctly? I've been ranting for a week, and I'm yet to be spent. Without having been directly affected by Katrina, I can summarize my emotional state as exhausted, insecure and overwhelmed.

Exhausted. I am exhausted from getting up every morning to view more devastation, listening to talk radio to and from work, and then watching more news until I force myself asleep. I am exhausted from September 11, an ensuing war my President naively tried to convince me was a logical solution, a Tsunami in countries already devastated, hundreds of muslims trampled off a bridge to their deaths in a river that is part of our creation story, and millions of human mishaps in between. I am exhausted from working daily to help women rebuild their lives and families, and now seeing countless additional families devastated.

Insecure. There was actually a brief period of time during which I supported the war on Iraq (or at least, didn't oppose it). Gretchen can tell you, I was vehemently opposed to the idea. And then Colin Powell spoke, and I have a great deal of respect for Colin Powell. For a brief period, I thought maybe I was reacting too emotionally. Maybe I should trust our elected (though against my vote) decision makers. That angle didn't sit long with me, and I have questioned not only Bush's decision making and planning skills but also his character and ability to admit when he's wrong (especially when lives are held in the balance). When asked if would have been better able to respond to this crisis if we didn't have so much energy focused on Iraq, Bush replied that we have to fight the war against terror. Supposedly, our government had no warning that the events of 9/11 were going to take place. We responded to those attacks by waging war against Saddam Hussein - a smoke and mirrors attempt to ignore the real problem by creating a bigger one. We created a Department of Homeland Security and sent our National Guard to rebuild the country we destroyed. And then came a category five hurricane - a hurricane we knew about in enough time to issue a widespread evacuation warning. Our federal government claims that the war on terror is for the safety and protection of its citizens, yet it was unable to respond to a crisis that will have more far-reaching consequences on our nation than 9/11 could have ever had (and which they knew was coming). I feel completely insecure. Our troops are dying and we are no safer as a nation than we were before.

Overwhelmed. I am not sure our nation gets the impact of Katrina yet. Its not just about high gas prices or rebuilding a beloved city. Its not even about the thousands of dead yet to be uncovered or the blemish on the nation's security system. Families have been torn apart and worldviews have been obliterated. Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama are among the poorest states in the nation. Those states closest, lending a helping hand, don't fare much better. I don't know a whole lot about Houston, but I spent a week there in high school volunteering at a homeless shelter, and I know that the social problems there are expansive. I can speak more directly on the situation here in Arkansas. About three months ago our state attempted to streamline child care vouchers to be handled through DCCECE rather than jointly through DCCECE & TEA (Arkansas TANF). There was a lot of confusion and no clear answers with this process, and some clients are still trying to sort out their services (and now have bills hanging over their heads). Just this week, all TEA services were moved out of DHS to the independently contracted PSI. Clients go through intake at DHS and are referred to PSI. Clients apply for child care through DCCECE, but TEA vouchers are then monitored by PSI. The day before the switchover, PSI Case Managers directed questions to TEA Case Workers and TEA Case Workers insisted that all questions should go to PSI Case Managers. And the process is actually more complicated than I'm making it sound. In the midst of this chaos comes Katrina, and at least 4,000 refugees that need to be processed into our public assistance programs. A DHS worker confided to me Friday that no one knows who is supposed to be handling what, and they are already overloaded as is. An employee at North Little Rock Housing Authority was exhausted Thursday afternoon, telling me they had been moving storm victims in that day to apartments that had just been vacated. I thought about the number of clients I have already on the waiting list for apartments there. We have been having discussions at our facility over how to effectively organize the use of our five vans to better serve clients and staff. The Governor called up state vehicles this week to help with relief efforts, and now we are down to two vans. I don't intend to sound like I don't support the relief effort - I wish we could do more. Yet the reality exists that this crisis could cripple an already dysfunctional system.

My response to the Tsunami was to post Habakkuk. I still feel that is the best I can muster. Yet I will trust. There is so much meaninglessness in the world, and I know I contribute to it. The best I can do in light of these tragedies is peel off layers of selfishness and materialism from my life and fight like hell not to latch back on to them when life gets comfortable. The best I can do is live my life for others, and trust God to sort it all out in the end.

Jesus Jones

remember that band? well, that's not what this post is about...

Town to town
Broadcast to each house
They drop your name
But no one knows your face
Billboards quoting things
you'd never say
You hang your head
and pray For Jesusland
~ Ben Folds, Jesusland

I have a pretty good feeling that the last name of Jesus is not Jones. For that matter, the closest thing I've ever seen to a surname of Jesus is "of Nazareth". But somehow the Christian community has gotten off track and we see Jesus as less of a revolutionary and more like our next-door-neighbor.

Billboards stating "Let's meet at my house Sunday before the game", "C'mon over and bring the kids", and other numerous phrases are attributed to God - our buddy, our pal. These messages are considered "inspirational". However, let a food chain use the same tactic to sell burritos and suddenly its offensive - such as when a Moe's franchise in Florida used a billboard stating "Welcome to Moe's! - God" (and, yes, I do find their food inspirational). A local pastor was quoted as saying "You just don't use God's name that way. It should not be taken lightly and casually. It is sacred. There are consequences to doing something like this. Judgment can come on these who use the Lord's name in such a vain fashion." More vain than God sitting on the couch, watching football and eating bean dip after singing the first, second and fourth verses of Just As I Am?

We seem to be patterning our lives after each other as Christians rather than after Christ. I know this is nothing new to anyone, but its really hitting me hard lately. Throwing a Super Bowl party without beer is considered a noble Christian achievement of hospitality. Inviting homeless people to dine with you in your home is simply eccentric. Using God to advertise proper church attendance is creative. Using God to peddle burritos is sacrelige. Good, clean-cut people obviously love Jesus. Hurting, smelly people are obviously living in Sin. Its all about "keeping up with the Joneses". As long as I walk the walk, and talk the talk... as long as I appear to be living a pure life... as long as I'm married with 2.5 kids who attend good, christian schools... as long as my life's picture looks good, I'm good. If I struggle with the Word of God... if I ask questions I shouldn't be asking... If I fail to follow the world's standards of success... if I waste my day having coffee and conversation with someone who doesn't love Jesus... If my life's picture looks messy, I'm messed up.

Jesus didn't worry about appearances. In fact, I think he made it a point not to fit into the stereotypical mode of what a God-follower should look like. Jesus came to show us that its not about appearances. He met with rich people and hores. He dined with popular people and paupers. He slept on the ground, and bathed in the river and touched dirty, smelly people. That's not why people followed Him. They followed Him because He genuinely loved people. He wasn't afraid to speak truth. He touched people who had never been touched and listened to people who had never been heard. He looked people in the eye and made time for them and made them feel at peace. Did he accept their invitations to parties? Yes. Did he engage in intellectual conversations? Yes. But he was the same person wherever He went - He didn't try to be something He wasn't.

People who don't know Jesus look to the Church to see who He is. Many are turned away, because they don't want to have any part in what they see. Too many people see the Body of Christ as a bunch of phonies. A bunch of people who get all dressed up to sit in big, comfy, air-conditioned sanctuaries on Sunday mornings (you get bonus points for Sunday evenings and Wednesday nights), maybe do some outreach once or twice a year, and avoid commiting any public sins (or at least the "biggies"). I understand this is a generalization, and I know many men who have served God and touched lives faithfully even in khakis. But the Church has got to focus less on what a "good christian family" looks like and more on what an Authentic Christian Life entails. I am convicting myself - how sacrificial is my life? How surrendered am I to God and to His purpose? Do I truly desire Him? Do I truly trust Him? I don't want to swing by His place on Sunday mornings - I want to depend on Him daily and shine His love to other people - the unlovable and the unloving. And even as I remove layers from my life, trying to get to the core of what its all about, I am seeing more and more how much farther I have to go.

now read this:

Please go here and read my friend Rebekah's post. I sense the Spirit is really moving in a passionate way in our young adults group - truly bringing our depravity and Christ's power into light, and turning our eyes away from ourselves and onto Him and His mission. Pray that we would be faithful and consistent - that this would not be a passing phase but an igniting fire... not an emotional stirring but a disciplined growth. I am so grateful to be a part of this group of people who are not just a "church ministry" - a place to come and feel like you've done your duty - but people who truly love God, love other people, and are passionate about spiritual growth. I've been in places where people come, hear what is said, and leave. I've been in places where people come, feel awkward or rejected, and never return (or stay out of obligation, but always on the edges). I've spent years thinking I was being a good Christian because I believed the Bible, said the right words, and did nothing particularly bad (even though I thought I was doing such a good job). I have never felt so much accountability to be a true disciple - to go beyond being nice to being genuine, and beyond being servant-hearted to being sacrificial. And I have never been a part of a group of people so clearly seeking the will of God in their lives and their ministry, despite their own plans. Praise be to God, for from Him and through Him and to Him are all things.

~ risky journey ~

how does it feel
to be on your own
with no direction home
like a complete unknown
just like a rolling stone

This morning I finished reading Under the Overpass (I started reading the book Thursday evening, and was interrupted in between with work and dinner with friends... in other words, I couldn't put it down). Wow. I have done social outreach for over ten years now - I was not particulary amazed by the fact that these guys were willing to hang out with "the least of these". What grabbed me - what has been grabbing me a lot lately - is the embodiment of Christ these guys displayed: their willingness to truly die to self, and to allow Christ to shine through them into other lives; the ways that people's hearts were touched just by someone willing to spend time with them and treat them as the creation of God that they are; and the work of the Holy Spirit in spite of our best human efforts.

I think about friends of mine who are willing to embark on risky journies in their own lives: moving across country with no plan other than to build relationships and invest in the lives of others, spend time in a culture they are unfamiliar with in hopes of allowing the Spirit to work through their life, joining together in marriage and work to allow two independent lives to become one, staying put until God calls them elsewhere even if they truly want to run, stepping out in faith into a new career when there is comfort in the one they already have. I also think about my own career, and the fact that someone I don't even know commented on how much of a ministry I have where I am out. God swings doors wide open, and invites us to walk through and share our lives with those on the other side. I pray more and more that my desire in life would be less for personal comfort and more for investing in relationships... especially those that are akward and messy and take work (and those in which I am reminded of the beauty of ESL). The summary of the book presents the following questions:

What would I do during my day or in my life for God if I wasn't concerned with what I wear, what I eat, where I sleep, what I own, what people think of me, or what discomforts I face?

Those women who are in Bible Study with me (Lies Women Believe and the Truth That Sets Them Free) will appreciate the weight of this question for me. There are many lies I have believed about what I deserve and what will make me happy. This question challenges them all. I promised Angelika and Meredith at dinner that I would let them borrow this book when I'm done, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to give it a second read-through. There's some stuff I need to hear again... there's lots of stuff I need to process. But I do promise to pass it on soon - to as many people as will read it.

Oh, and Ramon... both guys are living in Portland now and at least one is at Imago Dei (figures!).

'tis the season...

The following is by no means a new or original thought, but for the first year ever, it has completely hit me how screwed up Christmas has become. I’m sitting at work, looking into our reception area at a Christmas card with Santa Claus standing on top of the earth, releasing peace doves into the night sky. Yes, people, Santa and Christmas bring peace and harmony to our world, if only for a brief season. What utter disgusting psycho-babble BS. Let’s all spend a month running over each other for parking spaces, racking up insurmountable charges on our credit cards, and being nice to Aunt Edna for an evening or two. Joy to the world. Then next month we can go back to running over each other for parking spaces, wallowing in debt, and forgetting that Aunt Edna even exists.

I am definitely feeling more like this:
Stop bringing me meaningless offerings! Your incense is detestable to me. New moons, Sabbaths and convocations – I cannot bear your evil assemblies. Your New Moon festivals and your appointed feasts my soul hates. They have become a burden to me; I am weary of bearing them. ~ Isaiah 1:13-14

Than this:
After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him.” …When they saw the star, they were overjoyed. On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh. ~ Matthew 2:1-2 & 10-11

Which means I need to follow this:
Wash and make yourselves clean. Take your evil deeds out of my sight! Stop doing wrong, learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow. ~ Isaiah 1:16-17

And this:
Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself .’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments. ~ Matthew 22:37-40

… throughout the year.

all our trials and all our failures...

I am in love with the name Aidan. If I had a son, that would have been his name. Now that Aidan is suddenly and mysteriously on the list of top names for boys (* not that I keep up with that kind of stuff *), I have unfortunately had to start considering other less common options. My interest is threefold: 1. Aidan is an Irish name, 2. Aidan Quinn is a hottie, and 3. Aidan is a character in a Rich Mullins Song.

Last night I gathered together with Angelika and Meredith for the emotional experience that is Extreme Home Makeover. The family this time consisted of deaf parents, a blind & autistic son, and a teenage son with no impairments and a huge heart. The autistic son made me think of a movie I saw recently with Aidan Quinn and Mary Louise Parker in which she is the mother of autistic twins. Thinking about that movie on the drive home, I of course started thinking about the tragedy of no longer being able to use the name Aidan. I thought through all of the reasons I loved the name Aidan. And then I couldn’t get that dang Rich Mullins song out of my head.

As often happens when I get a good song stuck in my brain, I dwell on it and all of its implications for my life. If only I could dwell so strongly on scripture. I thought about it all night, and I woke up with the song still rolling through my head. So now I’m trying to work it out in print, so that I can come back to the lesson without having to keep the song on repeat in my brain.

Let mercy lead, let love be the strength in your legs; and in every footprint that you leave there’ll be a drop of grace. If we can reach beyond the wisdom of this age, into the foolishness of God, that foolishness will save those who believe. Although their foolish hearts may break, they will find peace. And I’ll meet you in that place where mercy leads

One thing I have noticed about these lyrics is how Rich melded mercy and action. My spiritual gifts spectrum is far from the side of mercy – I lean toward service and hospitality, with sprinklings of administration, leadership, and teaching (depending on which survey I am participating in). I rarely score high in the more internal gifts of mercy, prayer, and the like. Typically, I am a “suck it up” type of person ~ life is hard and we all have to learn to deal with it. Perhaps this goes back to the selfishness I am learning to deal with. I have always been willing to help the poor and neglected, whether or not they played a role in getting themselves into their current situation. I am much less gracious with people I know well ~ especially Christians. I am a horrible listener ~ especially to people who whine about situations that they could have avoided, and that I myself make every effort to avoid. I know this about myself, and I hate this about myself.

The mercy Rich refers to, however, seems to have much less to do with feeling and much more to do with being. This is a constant theme that has been weaving through our current Bible study regarding faith. We can’t rely on our feelings to determine our faith. I think in much the same way, it is in living out mercy that mercy becomes a part of our life ~ just as living out our faith, even when we don’t feel it, keeps our faith active. Lauren Winner refers to this concept when talking about liturgy. She describes the repetitiveness and familiarity of practicing liturgy as a means to maintaining a prayerful life, even when our faith is exhausted and we don’t feel the power of prayer in our spirit.

There is another truth apparent in this song, and that is the truth of failure. When we are truly trying to live out a life that reflects Christ, we will appear foolish and we will get our hearts broken. I have come to believe that there is no way around this. We are human, and no matter what successes we are experiencing in the life of the Spirit, we will feel the sting of rejection and failure from the world’s perspective. As we put our hearts out there, and allow them to love and forgive and see past what the world wants us to appreciate, we also open our hearts up to scorn, misuse, and even rejection.

It all comes down to a decision: between demonstrating mercy and risking being taken advantage of; between investing our lives in someone else and appearing foolish for doing so; between loving with our hands and feet and eventually our hearts and risking heartbreak. We are not called to a spirit of fear ~ fear of regrets and fear of rejection ~ we are called to Love the Lord our God With All of Our Heart, Soul, Mind and Strength, and to Love our Neighbors as Ourselves.

corners of my mind

In the current phase of my self-organization, I am sorting through boxes of pictures and shredding duplicates and unsentimental photos. One of these days I may even break out my scrapbooking supplies, but for now I’m simply downsizing. I’ve spent considerable time with my mission trip photos, particularly those from Guatemala. While I only spent one week there, it is an experience I will not soon forget. It’s been around 2 years since I was there, but I’ve had friends go back for longer stays. Being there gave my soul a completely new experience.

While at the Casa, your priorities are completely different. There were no concerns about beating traffic, catching up on paperwork, my looming Masters paper, that new skirt at the Gap, or tomorrow night’s Gilmore Girls. My daily duties were quite simple, and yet extremely significant. Waking up with the sunrise, I would walk over to the baby dorm and help with 25 bed babies. Entering the room was in itself an experience, with many of the babies already standing in their cribs and crying, while others will still clinging to the last precious moments of sleep. We would lift them out of their cribs, give them morning hugs, change diapers, bathe those who messed themselves, change clothes, and entertain them until breakfast. Feeding multiple babies simultaneously was quite entertaining in itself ~ Molly, Sarah, and I have some great pictures of this If I knew how to download them (I’m not in the digital age).

The rest of my day was pretty much spent loving children. I played soccer with a deaf child who seemed to forgive my lack of athletic ability in favor of my knowledge of his language. I was able to gain the friendship of some of the pre-teen girls by drawing pictures of them on a notepad (and I am a terrible artist). I rocked children, sang songs, gave lots of hugs and pushed a lot of swings. I learned that even six-year-old Guatemalan girls understand sarcasm and use it quite skillfully. I also learned to always ask the teenagers how much driving experience they have before letting them get behind the wheel.

Evenings were consumed with cooking meals (Molly and I learned we could experiment well with the ingredients at hand), spending time in worship, and just plugging into each other’s experiences. Even side trips to Antigua and Guatemala City had a surreal feel to them.

I know that life cannot be this removed from reality, and that for those living in that day-to-day reality life is not always so serene. But its nice to experience it, and to be able to look back upon it, and to remember that life doesn’t have to be so complicated.

return of the king of darkness

I do not like scary movies, gory movies, or violent movies. I do however reserve the right to revoke the previous statement, as I have done for the likes of Fight Club and Kill Bill. Once upon a time, a friend named Irby (no, the title is not in reference to him) convinced me to watch a little horror flick despite my protest. Mind you, I believe that Hellraiser was one of the selections for that evening, and the parts of it I unfortunately glimpsed are still stuck in my brain to this day. However, in one of his moments of wise decision-making, he introduced me to one of my favorite movies ~ The Prophecy. Now if you haven’t seen the movie, be careful going to find it. It has been known to get mixed up at Blockbuster with a film by a similar name about some furry alien creatures or something like that. I also would recommend not bothering with the sequel, or with The Prophecy III, which really were not very necessary additions to the first. Luckily, I own a personal copy, which sits on the shelf right next to Stephen King’s The Stand.

I realized last night that this movie had a little too much impact on my psyche. Last night at my women’s bible study we were discussing the Holy Spirit and Satan and all of that good stuff. Also, last Sunday’s sermon was about the origins of Satan. So I’m all in the mood to pull out The Prophecy and brush up on my quotes. The movie is a great illustration for the lack of power that Satan actually holds in the world. Is he evil? Sure. Is he powerful? Sure. But he is not all-powerful, and like it or not, he is still under God’s control.

Just to give you an idea of how entertaining this movie is, you have Eric Stoltz as the angel Simon, and Adam Goldberg & Amanda Plummer as undead. But most importantly, you have Christopher Walken as Gabriel and Viggo Mortensen as Lucifer ~ need I say more? Anyway, on to the point of my post… without trying to summarize the whole movie, Gabriel is fighting the humans (specifically one named Thomas) over an evil soul. (“but I thought Gabriel was a good angel” – just watch the movie). We were talking in our study about being aware of the warring principalities around us, and if that awareness should be a source of fear. My mind automatically shifted into movie illustration mode, where in the opening sequence of the movie Thomas asks the question: “Some people lose their faith because Heaven shows them too little. But how many people lose their faith because Heaven showed them too much?”

The movie gives us a glimpse of the spiritual warfare occurring around us, but it simultaneously gives us a glaring vision of Satan’s lack of power. Lucifer, trying to establish comradery withThomas in an attempt to gain his compliance, confides: “You know what Hell really is Thomas? It's not lakes of burning oil or chains of ice. It's being removed from God's sight. It's hard to believe... so hard.” Satan knows what Hell is – that is his realm, after all – and he knows that it’s hard to be removed from God’s sight. If Satan were an all-powerful being, he would be confronting God on His own plane, but Satan has been completely removed from God’s sight. God has basically given him the hand, and Satan can’t do anything about it. As if his personal knowledge of his pitiful state were not enough, Gabriel also confronts Lucifer about his separation from God: “Lucifer. Sitting in your basement. Sulking about your breakup with the boss. You're nothing.” You almost want to feel sorry for the guy, excepting that he’s the prince of darkness and all that.

Its really quite an empowering thing to know that all of God’s power is accessible to us through His Spirit that lives within us, and that the power we fear (or at least blame) the most really has no power at all ~ Other than the power to sway our weak minds and even weaker emotions ~ but hey, the guys gotta have a little fun…

~ clean sweep ~

God is doing a work in me. He’s walking through my rooms and halls, checking every corner, tearing down the unsafe walls and letting in the light. I am working hard to clean my house and set it straight, to not let pride get in the way, to catch an eternal vision of what I am to become. It seems easier living out my life in Christ for those do not know me; to hide the thorn stuck in my side and all my secret faults. But you know me well and it’s you I want the most to see and recognize the changes. A word from you empowers me to press on for my goal. Will you help me be new? Will you hold me to the promises that I have made? Will you let me be new? Forgive my old self, and my old mistakes. When I feel condemned to live my old life, remind me I’ve been given a new life in Christ ~ Sara Groves

I recently spent a full week of vacation at home, sorting through stuff. Don’t let the image mislead you. I was not gazing lazily through boxes of mementos (although there were instances of such), nor was I simply throwing out the summer tops I hadn’t worn this year because they were so 1994 (yes, I did some of that too – specifically by parting with my hideous “class of ‘94” t-shirt, featuring a “whoop, there it is” logo on the back – considering I chose not to attend my 10 year reunion, it seemed only right). What I did in that week was much more difficult, much more exhausting, and much more freeing than I imagined it would be.

Having moved back home over a year ago to save some money (Gretchen had decided to follow her dream to New York, I couldn’t think of anyone I would really like to live with, and I knew that moving out on my own again would only dig me deeper into debt), I had a corner of my parent’s storage building piled floor to ceiling. Mind you, when we moved out of the Hillcrest house, I sold some of my furniture and mounds of easier to part with items. I also placed a good number of items in a garage sale this spring to support a missions teams. What I was now attempting to tackle were those items I had deemed vital – the ones I had placed neatly into plastic totes so that I would have them when I moved out. My plan when I moved in with my parents was to save up so that I could buy a house, decorate it, and fill it with even more stuff. My former future was closed up in those boxes, sticky from spider webs and stale from the passing of time. Additionally, I was filtering through the boxes of papers that had both built up in my room and been placed in storage to go through later. This was later.

I spent a week hauling boxes out of storage, picking out the few and rare items that I still felt a desire to hang on to and placing the rest back into the boxes to be disposed of. I got rid of all of my furniture (that wasn’t with me in the house) except for a coat rack and two vintage lamps. I boxed up most of my kitchen, all of my bathroom, half of my bookshelves, and the majority of my trinkets. I threw away birthday cards I never looked at, notes from friends who had weighed me down, old term papers that reminded me of how much I have forgotten. I threw out journals full of three point sermons and spoon-fed theology. And I filled large bags with shirts from events long past. I cleaned house. I think the most entertaining part of my week was loading all of these items into my brother-in-law’s truck, driving them over to dogtown for a yard sale at my sister’s house, unloading and loading again. I really liked driving that truck. I need to get one of those. After the yard sale, with a measly 100 bucks in my hand, we placed all that was left on the curb. It was soon picked up by a family that drove by, to give to a single mom and her daughters.

Since then I’ve been steadily trying to get rid of more. It’s amazing how much spiritual and mental space you can clear, simply by clearing out physical items. I am learning to recognize my needs as the wants they are, and realizing that God is already meeting my truest needs through community. I don’t know where I’m headed past this point, but I know that I am working to move forward without the burden of debt and without the burden of stuff. I am no longer attempting to fill up my life with artifacts that tell others about me, but rather learning to let my life speak for itself.