Thoughts

These are absent: death, darkness, silence, emptiness.
At least in America. When was the last time you held a dead person in your arms? Maybe it's not everybody; just me. Darkness is guarded against by that sentry, the street light. Silence is warded off by a million contraptions. Emptiness is beaten back by bulldozers and day planners. A beautiful wood behind my son's school is now a muddy development. Schedules crowd out friendship and rest.
That's worrisome: too much crowding. Over population, deforestation, planet destruction, global warming. It's bothering me a lot more lately.
Frost said "miles to go before I sleep." At least he had his horse (driving alone is so lonely...not even a horse to talk to). And snow. The best in Texas is a flash-flood enducing thunderstorm. Thunder and lightning are beautiful, though.
I want to die due to weather. A storm. Struck by lightning. Preferably no drowning. A whirlwind would be my personal favorite. Swept to heaven, never to come down. Like Elijah.
Where are we going? We're going to kill our earth, dilute our minds with relativity, and drink cool-aid in a grand, cosmic sing-along. Maranatha.
Nature is disappearing. Frost's New England is gone. The wild west is tamed. The only frontier is the soul. And not just the places, the experience of the places. When was the last time you were soaked by the rain? The last time you felt grass under your feet? That thought comes up in my mind again and again.
And there it is.

Nevermore...

My little raven post apparently touched a nerve, and for the excellent dialogue flowing from the post, I am thankful.

But I am troubled.

I talked with a dear friend recently and he encouraged me to find an outlet for all the thoughts I was spewing at him. Until a publisher comes knocking, this is the best format I have. As another preface, everyone who posted on "Raven" is obviously super brilliant, super deep, and I respect you all greatly; I expect, however, that what I am theorizing will be met with opposition, and that's fine. I could be completely wrong. I hope you still love me.

I will begin by answering Joe's question: "what underlying reality?" There are countless religions, myths, traditions, and stories from every corner of the earth and from the dawn of time until now. Our generation (particularly of Christ-followers) is seemingly the first to recognize that most of these stories are the same. For so long, the Christian's "claim to fame" was the exclusivity of their faith (and not in the way you're thinking, but we'll get to that later): we have creation, we have flood, we have virign birth, we have death and resurrection, etc. So how about Attis, Adonis, Mithra, Osiris..and any other of the million "pagan" deities with the same story? We are recognizing now that as a religion, we're not so special. As a result, some of the haughty superiority has crumbled. Good. But the thing that troubles me is the question: what else has crumbled along with it?

Sorry, I got a little off track: "what underlying reality?" There are two ways to look at these similarities--1) it's all deeply ingrained, cosmic values, planted in the human subconscious (look, I can't really do it justice in this little post. Check out Joseph Campbell if you're really interested), or 2) it's all deeply ingrained, cosmic values, planted in the human subconscious (and for this, I'd have to point you to Romans 1:20-23 and Colossians 4:1-7--while it specifically mentions "law", consider the "pagan" audience).
Wait. Maybe that didn't really clear things up.
The significance of everything being the same either means that none of them should be taken literally (as Campbell says) because they are just masks, shadows, of a greater unknowable truth that lies behind them all; or that ONE must be correct, because it is the fulfillment of all the stories, which relate truth in part, but this ONE points to the ultimate reality, the truth that lies behind them all. The second view necessitates that one claim to be exclusive, contains all the pieces found in other stories, and presents an over-arching truth that IS knowable. These things meet together in Jesus.
And before anyone jumps down my throat on my ignorance of such things, let me remind you that I'm just starting to think about these things. All comments will be refining and either make or break me, so I'm open to thoughts. But little objections like: "You view doesn't take into account the very diverse functionings of the death/rebirth motif in various cultures" won't do it for me. Sure, you could say that the premise of one story (Jesus) behind the mask of other stories (say Osiris or Attis) is overly simplistic. But I'm aware that the Osiris myth (again...please don't jump on me and say the "Jesus myth". I'm just using field-appropriate jargon here) has significant connections to the harvest cycle in an agrarian, river-based society. Even given that, what I'm saying is that the original purpose doesn't negate the "underlying reality" which may be somewhat different.

Now let's address another concern of mine. A lot of my premise is based on scripture (and by that I mean what I believe to be the ultimate, divinely-inspired, holy and authoritative book we call... "The Book" (biblos/Bible).) In our generation...the generation that is recognizing there is actually truth outside of our little Jesus club...there is a new premium on individual accountability (my term; basically I'm trying to describe the notion that a Muslim is born Muslim, and is therefore accountable to Muslim truth. Or that a certain intellect reads the Bible and believes such, and is therefore accountable to such, and another believes something different and is accountable to that. Call it postmodernism. Call it relativistic. Call it pluralistic. Call it subjectivism. Call it personal truth. Call it Bob, for all I care. You get the idea.). A comment I have heard recently (and admittedly, I don't know from what framework of understanding this question comes, so the question could be posed as a hypothetical, or devil's advocate...I know I play that role enough myself) basically said, "Jesus never really said that," and then almost out of uncertainty or as a disclaimer," and if he did, he didn't mean it like that." Are we to belive then that each of us has the power to tell Jesus what he meant to say? What I mean is, if we are not approaching scripture from the same vantage point (and admittedly, none of us are) can we then conclude that each of us makes our determination of what the passage says...and each of us be right? No one reads, "Gather ye rose buds while ye may, old time is still a-flying, and these same flowers that smile today tomorrow will be dying" (if I butchered it in my paraphrase, please pardon) and pipes up in their literature class and says, "I think this poet dude is talking about sex, and the rose buds represent female anatomy and flying time is an orgasm, etc." I'm fairly sure the professor would say, at least I hope he would, given his education and commitment to the text, "Let's rethink that in light of what the author meant" and explore that with some objectivity (considering facts, forms, history, character of the author, etc.). But we mean to assess the words of Jesus and declare that though he said it, what he said was not what he meant? This is the interesting ground on which we now tread. I feel like a stodgy old grandpa when I say that although such thinking is interesting, it is hard to logically support. Well, slap a cardigan on me and call me Gramps, but I guess that's what I'm saying.

Back to the matter: could it be that the story of the Buddha gaining enlightenment under the Bo tree was a prefigurement of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness? (Again, again...this is my hypothesis. Take it easy, and thanks for just thinking through this with me). The stories are virtually identical and, much to the chagrin of Christians everywhere, Buddha beat Jesus to the punch by 500 years. Is the hero motif, the death/resurrection motif, whether found in the Celtic mythology or Egyptian, a shadow of things to come? Are these ideas, presented in different ways in different cultures, meant to point the way to Jesus when he came as the ultimate fulfillment? (Side note: if Mohammed came after Jesus, that poses a significant problem to my theory, doesn't it? Still sorting that one out, thanks....) I know, I know: I'm arrogant and condescending, because I'm a Christian and how dare I tell another sincere devotee of a different religion that their story is a phony version of my real story. Sometimes it sucks to have convictions that nobody loves to hear.

But here is where I feel I deviate from the old guard of Christianity: those other religions have truth. I'm not saying Buddhists and Muslims and on and on and on are terrible people with faulty systems in which everything they've bought into is a lie. Confucious was right on a lot of things. The Buddha was a pretty enlightened guy. Look at a Zen master and you'll hear paradoxes rattle off that tongue you could have sworn you once heard Jesus say. If all things are mine (1 Cor. 3:21) than I can affirm that these things are true. And I could be getting things mixed up on this point, because I'm a bit uncertain what was being implied on several comments, but there is a fine line between saying this and saying, "Good for you, Johnny! Be a good Muslim. Catch you on the heavenly flip-side!" I truly belive the issue is neither what we believe nor how we believe, but how we believe what we believe. The two must walk together, and one necessarily follows behind the other. And it is certainly no use following a blind guide.

--Insert Break: I just re-read some the comments that got me thinking, and I have a slightly different take on them than my first glance. Nonetheless, I'll continue with what I was thinking, because it's still valuable, I feel.--

I hope that those who read this post will have a sense of me: who I am, how I tick, what I love and cling to, how I seek to live out the life of Christ within me. My goal is not to brow-beat, force, or argue someone into thinking Jesus is cool. Surely, this would be foolish, as Paul said, "I didn't come with fancy-pants words (okay, really "wise and persuasive") but with a demonstration of the Spirit's power" (1 Cor. 2:4). And building on this idea (and thanks to Rob Bell and his series, "Jesus Wants to Save Christians" on this one), I believe the real way to live as Christ in the world IS to love and accept, come alongside, learn and experience. I mean, that's what "Raven" was all about. But hearing some things, and thinking through them, I wonder if we sometimes do a disservice learning Buddhist prayers and embracing goddess worship. The implication seems to be that such things are complete...they are fullness of truth. When we do such, are we tacitly communicating that (once again) "You're right Johnny! Keep on keeping on!" when in fact we would like Johnny to believe something else?

All these things tie together in my great concern, embedded in all my aforementioned concerns. It is the struggle of each generation to rise to maturity and do their own thing. A teenager throws away his loafers and khakis and dons black and wears body jewelry. A generation rises up and says, "Hey the way you did things was dumb! We may be young, but we're smarter than you, so we're gonna do it our way!" Really, we throw the baby out with the bath water.

Please hear me on this. I was the posterchild for sweeping reform in the church and the notion that all things old were wrong, stupid, ungodly, etc. Then I realized that I'm not really that smart. People did things for a reason. Their motives were pure. They really did wear suits on Sunday because that was their best; not because they looked down on people who didn't wear suits (okay, okay...some did). And really, what I thought was prudish and silly was kinda wise and grounded in conviction. Yes, changes need to be made, but we must also "cling to the good."

If you've made it to the end, thanks for sticking it out. If it was nonsensical, well...I never said it wouldn't be. I know I've poked the proverbial stick in the hornets nest, and therefore I expect to be swarmed a bit. I'll just try and toughen my skin and not take the stings as personal barbs. That being said, if you have some venom to loose, or even if you're more mild and would simply like me to reconsider some things, I am welcoming and waiting for your thoughtful response.

Year In review

Favorite Music:
(While my inspiration cited specific albums, that is rarely how I tend to listen to music. I instead list the best artists I discovered...with a few albums thrown in for good measure).
Sufjan Stevens
Rufus Wainwright
Bright Eyes (thanks Shaun)
Elliot Smith
Nick Drake
Colin Hay (anybody formerly of "Men at Work" has to be good)
Death Cab for Cutie/The Poastal Service (they're really the same thing anyway)
Jonathan Rice
...and tons more. As for a recent album addition:
"Songs from the Labyrinth" (Sting)

Favorite Books:
In Praise of Slowness (Honore)
The Art of Travel (de Botton)

Favorite Places:
White Sands National Monument (seriously, one of the coolest places on earth)

Ah...there's so much more...but not a bad year after all.

One Word

In the tradition of the Grinch, instead of giving this Christmas season, I am stealing. I'm stealing this list of questions (which must be answered with one word...hyphenated words are allowed) from my friend Misty. Next, I'll be stealing the "Year in Review" concept from my friend Brian (coming soon to a blog near you!!).

I'd love to hear your answers in response.

Yourself: funky
Your partner: transformed
Your hair: fuzz
Your Mother: dulcet
Your Father: erudite
Your Favourite Item: ipod
Your dream last night: never
Your Favourite Drink: water
Your Dream Home: tent
The Room You Are In: brown
Your fear: insignificance
Where you Want to be in Ten Years: far
Who you hung out with last night: boys
What You're Not: finished
Your Best Friend: tough
One of Your Wish List Items: albums
Your Gender: male
The Last Thing You Did: fumed
What You Are Wearing: skin
Your favourite weather: gray
Your Favourite Book: challenging
Last thing you ate?: cake
Your Life: sweeeeeeet
Your mood: mellow
The last person you talked to on the phone: Mitch
Who are you thinking about right now: me (isn't it obvious?)

What was formerly thought to be a Raven, but forevermore shall be known as a crow

In the bowels of the Grand Canyon, I looked above me to see a soaring, black outline. After climbing out, a croaking call grabbed my attention and I looked up into a pine tree to see a massive bird. My first raven. I love the raven. Just something about it. Only, I had thought for years that I had seen plenty. They're black birds, right? Well they are so unlike anything I'd seen before, I realized any previous sighting was just mistaken identity. I was calling a really big crow a "raven."

Ravens are so much bigger. Their call is less like a "caw" and more like a "croak" or even a hoarse bark. There is some kind of irony in my error. Some sort of deeper truth. How often do we ascribe a certain value to things, only to confront the real thing later, and be so awed that we feel like idiots for ever thinking our previous experience could even come close to comparing?

So I think I'll write a poem about that someday. "Yet knowing how way leads on to way..."

But today I'm confused. Comparing birds (incorrectly) is one thing, but comparing people and ideas is quite another. I'm certain that there are 2 ways to make yourself feel really terrible:
1) Look at yourself a lot
2) Look around at other people a lot
And yet that's what we spend most of our lives doing. There are people in pain. People with problems. I'm in pain. I have problems. She hates him. He hates me. We're good at this. They're good at that. I want to be good at their thing. It's wearisome.

As I look at other people and hear them think, I wish there was some way to...I don't know; do something more that just talk. Almost as if we could feel together. Share not just words or even ideas, but understandings. "(to) Know and be fully known."

And as I'm thinking through this, I have friends who don't believe in God. Friends who do, but don't really like Him. Friends who love him, but don't really know him (if that's possible; you end up loving your idea, not Him) or don't emulate him. Friends who love Jesus, but want to love other gods, because that's a "generous" orthodoxy. (Maybe not that; ...love Jesus, and want to be lovey-dovey with people who love other gods, so they can somehow love Jesus too...or instead. Or something...) Friends who have a different god. Friends who have lots of different gods. Friends who are so smart, they're their own gods. Friends who are so brilliant, they don't need a god. And a guy named Joseph Campbell. A guy who thought that everybody was talking about the same thing anyway, and it's not even god. Just a jumble of ideals, transcendental human longings. A guy who thought if we gave up god and religion and just embraced myth and the underlying reality, life would be peachy.

I desperately want to think about things. To understand things. People. Is there time for a world of understanding? Is there room for everything?

And when I end my posts with lots of questions, I know it's time to stop. ...Lest I fall victim to looking at other blogs who get tons of responses and suffer insecurity that I might not be fascinating or insightful or good enough. That, or other desperate people aren't reading.

Art Meets Technology

Here's a new sub-domain under Jon's website. I'll be posting art images here in the future. FOr now, enjoy the beauty of the index page:

http://jayasp.jonathanhardesty.com/

Atelier

My teacher/friend Jon has done a blurb on me for the student section of his website. He's a cool cat and super talented. Check out his appraisal of me (and a better picture of my finished cast drawing) at http://www.jonathanhardesty.com/jayasp.php#.

Then go to his home page and look at his stuff. Awesome....

Memento Mori

Hans Holbein was quite fond of drawing images of death, including "The Dance of Death." Albrecht Durer created a drawing of a skeleton carrying a sickle and riding upon a gaunt hag, with the words, "Memento Mei" written above. Any still life containing a skull is likely to be titled "Memento Mori." The Latin means, most simply, "Remember your death."

I like the fact that I have the ability to contemplate my own mortality in art, in the tradition of so many more who have gone before me. I have been contemplating and discussing mortality and death a lot lately. It's not that it's almost Halloween, or that such thinking is suicidal or even macabre or morose. It's healthy, I think. When one lives with a view of their impending demise, I feel he or she is more likely to live in a worthy fashion. If you'd like to see it in pop culture, check out films such as "Click" (with Adam Sandler), "Family Man" (with Nicholas Cage), or "It's a Wonderful Life" (with Jimmy Stewart). They are all basically the same story, and they all deal with this same idea, though they don't directly state it and treat it in various ways. If you could catch a glimpse of what your life would come down to, would you live any differently?

And so, I unveil my next atelier project:

I'm very excited. Once I finish, if Jon lets me, I might try to add the following words, from a Puerto Rican legend about a skull lodged in a convent, on the bottom.

Oh tu que pasando vas
Fija los ojos en mi
Cual tu le ves you me vi
Cual yo me veo te versa.

(Translation:
Oh you passerby—
Look at me please
Like you I once was
Like me you will be.)

Let the Hallelujah Chorus resound!!!

It is finished!!!! Now on to the next project....



















Here's a side-by-side comparison. I think it looks better in real life.

Hippies, Commies...and Others Who Almost Got it Right.

The hippies aimed at love. They wanted peace. They got together, sang and celebrated, and tried to get people to see another way of life; one of freedom and without violence and strife. Good ideals. But then they just dissolved into untidy, unkept, drugged-out weirdoes who hit the hash pipe and slept around a lot.

The communists aimed at community. They wanted equality and sharing. Now I've never read "The Communist Manifesto" and I only have a loose understanding of socialism, but it seems like on paper it would be a great idea. Nobody is totally rich. Nobody is totally poor. But then they just dissolved into dictatorship, slavery in forced work camps, censorship of divergent thinking and a climate of fear and oppression.

The news-making cults pulled out of the world to single-mindedly pursue a lofty ideal. They usually ended up in mass deaths.

The Mormons commit two years of their young lives to go out and spread their views around the world. They typically leave this venture for lives of greater financial viability...plus, in the mind of this humble blogger, their message is false.

The monastics and hermits/desert fathers left everything behind--the world, possessions, relational ties--to seek spiritual devotion and enlightenment in isolation. They ended up so cloistered and removed that they did a lot less good to the world than they could have retreating and then venturing back into the fray.

Love. Community. Sharing. Forsaking the world. Service. Spiritual devotion. Sound like good ideas, don't they. Sure...they messed up. Sure...one could do it better. My point is, are we trying?

A History (of the T Shirt)

So I was driving and divergent leaping yesterday. Saw a Jeep happy face. Made me think of Forest Gump. Thought of the T-shirt scene, where he inspired the guy to come up with the idea "Have a Nice Day." Then, since T-shirts are sort of a hobby, I began to ruminate fondly on my apparel of choice.

Remember when T-shirts were nice. Not fit-wise; message-wise. They used to be sweet. We used to wear messages of greeting and encouragement ("Have a Nice Day"); playful pleas for attention ("Kiss me, I'm Irish"); general sentiments of well-wishing.

T-shirts showed the things you admired, the things you were passionate about, things that made you feel good, things to which you were attached or loyal. Sports teams. Movies and TV shows. I still remember a sweet, yellow Star Wars shirt I used to have. For the most part, T-shirts used to genuine expressions of self. And the "selves" used to be a lot kinder, apparently.


Now we have this garbage. Doesn't it seem like T-shirts today are all about being bitter, ironic, mocking...and just sort of mean? I tried to find a picture of the "Have a Nice Day!" shirt, but all I found were images of a hand flipping me the bird. Mock, mock, mock. Chuck Norris t-shirts. Sure they're funny, but he's a nice guy, and people aren't REALLY enamored with him. "Napoleon Dynamite" and Abercrombie & Fitch have made an art form of the T shirt which looks vintage, but has some sleezy punchline, or makes fun of some demographic. I mean, come on, some of us DO love unicorns, and it hurts to have people wear shirts mocking that love.

So maybe I am just a sissy, but I want t-shirts that promote love and harmony. Still, I will admit I saw the coolest t-shirt the other day at church:

Front: I'm a Calvinist: This shirt chose me.
Back: I'm an Arminian: I chose this shirt.

Easy=Dead

My family and I went to Dinosaur Valley yesterday. It's a TX state park just over an hour south of Fort Worth. While we were hiking through the rain (it was truly an awesome day!), Aydan asked me to pick up a huge rock in the stream bed. In my trying to do so, I ripped back my pinky fingernail and caked mud and algae underneath it.

My thought had been to leave the nail as-is. I saw no way to get under it without causing more pain, and I figured it would all work out. This morning my whole finger was swollen and puss way oozing out from under my nail.

So I pulled out the clippers and the tweezers, and I cut my nail down to the stub. I cleaned out the "debris," and wrapped my finger in ointment and bandages.

Now, this brought mild pain to an already hurting finger. It did not feel good to jam the clippers into that raw flesh, but I began to see the alternatives. If the finger did heal on its own, it would have taken much longer with much greater and lasting pain. Or I could produce an infection and require a trip to the doctor. Despite the fact that I did not want to perform surgery on myself, it turned out to be the best of all options.

My uncle Jim and I used to talk about Marine life (bayonettes, not barnicles). I read an article one week about a Marine who chose to take a less obstructed road route during a training exercise, rather than crawl through the mud. He was "killed" almost instantly. His point: easy equals dead. Jim confirmed this through his story of "diddly-boppers" in Vietnam. The guys who came in and bopped around, never vigilant, were always quick to die.

Heather and I have talked about this recently and confirmed its truth. I've been telling my art students recently that nothing valuable comes easily. If you have felt recently that life is hard, be encouraged: if it were easy, it would be death.

The Greatest Person of Our Generation

To quote Tyler Derden, "We are the middle children of history. We have no great war, no great depression. Our war is a spiritual war, our depression...is our lives."

Without civil rights battles to fight, without world wars to wage, without deep and devastating crisis on a massive, national scale, our heroes look much different than those of a generation previous.

So the hero of a "slacker" generation? A rock star.


Now, I've only been struck with this idea in the past few hours since I was made aware of this development, but I think U2 rocker Bono might be the greatest figure of our time. He has leveraged power and popularity to impact the world. His ideas for moving people to action (even to the extent of preying on their desire to be cool and chic; in effect, selling them the chance to be philanthropic in light of their apathy for no-return charity) can only be called genius. I would gladly welcome arguments, and alternative stand-outs, but despite my somewhat facetious lead-in, I think this guy is incredible. Plus...he's Irish.

For more, check out http://www.joinred.com/home.asp.

Bearded as Flaubert

"What stops me from taking myself seriously, even though I'm essentially a serious person, is that I find myself extremely ridiculous--not in the sense of the small-scale ridiculousness of slapstick comedy, but rather in the sense of a ridiculousness that seems intrinsic to human life and that manifests itself in the simplest actions and most ordinary gestures. For example, I can never shave without starting to laugh; it seems so idiotic. But all of this is very difficult to explain."

In 1492...

Thank God for Christopher Colombus and the day off he provides for public school teachers!!

If you're used to visiting this site and seeing 1 new post every 4 months, please do not be shocked by 4 new posts in 1 day. Be sure to check out the previous 3 posts: Beauty, Art and More Art.

More Art

So this is the current project. The photos are terrible, and the drawing has changed a lot since these were taken. I'm finishing it this week. I'll post new pictures soon.

Art

You'd have to go way back, but I did a Bargue Drawing of a foot. This was the second drawing I did. I finished it ages ago, but never reduced it for web publication. So at long last, here it is! Enjoy.

Beauty

"...to give you a garland (beauty) for ashes..." (Isaiah 61:3)

It is rare one gets to fit providence together like a puzzle. So often the pieces seem odd, distinct, disparate, and there is no way to fit them together; much less assemble a beautiful whole from the fragments.

About 2 weeks ago I started reading Luke. About 3 weeks ago my wife began attending a women's Bible study called "Breaking Free" by Beth Moore. In the past week, following a new placement for our foster son, Tim, Heather and I have come face to face with reality. It wasn't pretty. There were insidious flaws lying deep beneath the surface and undermining our relationship. So many activities and attempts at new ventures had been band-aides--cover-ups--to avoid the real issue. The issues behind the issues, if you will. I was not completely aware of these things, but they had been affecting both of us for the better part of 3 years. When things came crashing down, we had to really put our heads together and assess things as a team, with combined insight. It was hard.

Enter Isaiah. He proclaimed the word of the Lord, promising the release of captives, beauty for ashes, joy for mourning, oil of gladness for heavy spirits. Heather had been washing herself in this scripture. I read of Jesus teaching from this passage in Luke, and was drawn to look back at the Isaiah reference. It washed over me.

Suddenly, in the midst of crumbling ruins, Jesus began to pour insight into my mind. All the events of 3 years, and in particular, the past several weeks, have culminated in this moment. The pieces seemed to fit together. The puzzle, though not complete, was beginning to take shape. And I liked what I saw.

The point of God's destruction is never annihilation. In Isaiah, he promised to restore the ruins. I cannot explain why my wife has become so important to me; why it has become such a joy to be with her. Why she is suddenly so utterly beautiful to me. All logic, and all outsiders looking in might try to persuade me to see just the opposite (and indeed, Satan has been quite keen in doing so). I can only say that I feel like I have her back. She has been gone for so long, and she has returned. When the father saw the prodigal, he ran to meet him, weeping for joy. Though covered in soot and ashes, like a pauper from some Dickens novel, I see the father gaze at the bedraggled son, and he looks...

...beautiful.

Learning to Fly, part 4

There’s another song I learned as a kid. I thought I’d never be able to hear it again. In fact, until this past summer, it had been years and years since my last listening. But late one night this past June, I sat with my father in our cool, quiet basement, straining to hear the feeble sound of our family’s old High-Fi. I heard again the simple child-like melodies of Ken Medema and one of my favorite childhood songs.

It tells the story of Rennis the Nam who goes on a quest to learn how to fly by asking all the Drols of the land. Each one offers a piece of faulty advice, until Rennis the Nam comes to the Drol of Drols (for additional meaning in the story, read all names backwards). As usual, he sings to the Drol of Drols:
“Excuse me sir, my name is Rennis
And I’d like to learn how to fly.”
Except this time, the Drol of Drols doesn’t tell him how he can do it. He tells him he can’t. He says the only way to fly is to climb upon his back, and the Drol of Drols will fly Rennis through the air. It’s not the way Rennis thought it would go down, so he is bitter and reluctant. Finally, he climbs on and he learns what it is to soar.

No one wants to be a slug. No one wants to crawl. No one wants to rely on the assistance of another to be able to fly. But it’s the only way.

Learning to Fly, part 3

“Well I started out down a dirty road
Started out all alone
And the sun went down as I crossed the hill
The town lit up the world got still

I’m learning to fly but I ain’t got wings
Comin’ down is the hardest thing

Well the good old days may not return
And the rocks might melt, and the sea may burn
Well some say life will beat you down
Break your heart, steal your crown

So I started out for God knows where
But I guess I’ll know when I get there

I’m learning to fly around the clouds
But what goes up must come down”

Coming down, bringing oneself low, is the hardest part of flight. It’s impossible to fly on our own.

Learning to Fly, part 2

I sat in a lonely field, listening to my walkman and watching the snow fall. I looked up into the gray sky, thought of the people whom I loved and missed, and longed to be able to run headlong through the field, leap as high as I could, just before I reached the line of trees, and instead of falling back to earth, continue to glide up and up. Up, up and away, you might say.
You might think I was a small child when this happened. Actually, I was a freshman in college at BGSU. You might think that makes me foolish or immature. Guilty as charged, I guess. One of my greatest dreams is to be able to fly. Imagine soaring amongst the clouds, far above the majestic landscape. I think many have that same desire, if not the same dream. People long to soar. We don’t want to be bound to this earth. We desire significance and beauty. Listen to these lyrics.
“I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail.Yes I would.If I could,I surely would.I'd rather be a hammer than a nail.Yes I would.If I only could,I surely would.Away, I'd rather sail awayLike a swan that's here and goneA man gets tied up to the groundHe gives the worldIts saddest sound,Its saddest sound.” (“El Condor Pasa,” Simon and Garfunkel)
But what if all of our conceptions of flight are backward? What if we’re (not) thinking upside down? What if to fly, one must first know how to crawl?

Learning to Fly, part 1

In a conversation with my wife yesterday, I learned that she too was feeling the need to have “her own thing,” to contribute something to the family and to the world. It seems, then, that we all have this desire to be someone and to do something.

As I consider this, Heather is away at church, watching children during Sunday School so their parents can attend the church service. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t say this is the thing for which she was made. She doesn’t take any great delight in it. She doesn’t feel particularly gifted for or fulfilled through this task. But isn’t she contributing? Isn’t she doing something significant? I am impressed with her service. And there it is.

Jesus has a weird way of doing things. There’s a kid’s song called “Upside Down.”
“He’s the king of the kingdom upside down
If you want to go up you have to go down
To be the greatest, learn to be the least
Living in a kingdom upside down”

Jesus says, “The greatest in my kingdom is the servant of all. If you want to find yourself, lose yourself in me. If you want a great task, prove yourself faithful in the small tasks first. Humble yourself, and I will exalt you.”

The Songs of Flight series

Long ago, I created a post called, “Corner of the Sky.” It had to do with my entry into the teaching field and my searching for purpose and my place of God-appointed ministry. It’s quite a bit later, but this series is a follow-up to that train of thought.

Answering the Diggity (or, Soaked to the Bone)

Fall is the best time of year. I felt this when I lived up north. I loved seeing all the trees burst into fiery color, waking to see the frost on the ground, crunching through fallen leaves. My grandmother tells me fall is still proceeding in exactly this same way on this very day, despite my absence. I still love the fall in the south, even though it’s not quite as vivid in its display. It is no less obvious to notice, however. The heat finally breaks, the bustle of the school year—and Friday night football—returns to full swing, and the rains return.
Fall is like the sunset. It is the Golden Hour. It is the time when everything seems clear. The tough questions seem to come so easily: Are we doing things right? Are we missing out on the important things? Is this the best way to live? And the hard answers are swift and sure in following: It would be better to work less, be involved in less. It would be better to spend more time growing food, cooking food, sharing together over food, and using food to fuel our bodies in rigorous work and play. It might even force us to eat that which is good, and not that which is processed and microwaved. It would be better to seek the forgotten places, to live where few tread. Fall is so beautiful, it makes everything seem more real. And the things that are phoney… well you just want to shed them like cumbersome foliage and walk away.
But the sun slips below the horizon. The last golden leaves fall to the ground and are trampled into fertilizer. The clarity of fall fades away. Was it the Apostle Paul or John Mayer who said that clarity can’t last? I guess it was both of them. John in his song by that title, Paul in 1 Corinthians 13. Right now we see through a glass darkly, but true and lasting clarity is yet ahead.
But last night, I encountered fall. How often do you encounter the seasons? When was the last time you walked barefoot? When was the last time you let yourself be drenched by the rain? In our society of comfortable homes, attached garages, hermetically sealed automobiles, and bountiful parking, it’s actually hard to get more than a few sprinkles on your shoulders. We let our connection to vital, living things pass away and replace them with dead, hard, metallic things, and we wonder why we feel less alive. The shells we surround ourselves with insulate us from the real.
Standing in a blocked-off street, surrounded by floats and children, there is little to do but encounter the weather. In the middle (at the very beginning, actually) of Aydan’s school parade, we were caught in a torrential downpour. Like Andy Dufresne emerging from Shawshank Prison, I could only look to the sky, hold my hands up and smile. We hid from the storm for a moment or two, but then Aydan and I gleefully rain into the rain and began the mile-or-so trip back home. It was one of those rare and beautiful times when you truly enjoy everything about a moment. All we did was relish each other and the environment we were in. We called to each other to come splash in the gigantic puddles we had found. We marched and stomped, spraying water all around. And each drop seemed to rinse away some of the fog and confusion. I was saturated in reality. This was true. This was beautiful. I thanked God, who sends his rain on the righteous and the wrong, for soaking me in such an important moment.

Becoming Shaggy

No, the title does not refer to the fact that my hair is getting longer or that I need to shave (that is never news). In fact, it refers to the infamous Scooby Doo character.

My wife pointed out yesterday, after seeing me stroll across a room, that I look like Shaggy when I stand or walk. Hunched over, lazily sauntering.

It occurs to me that my posture has drastically deteriorated since last summer. Early in the season, Heather and I went out with my brother-in-law and his wife and another couple from the gym. We took a ride on this couple's boat in Lake Grapevine. After a fun-filled, albeit chilly, day, we came back to the dock. Mike jumped out to tie up the boat and Leah was assisting him from inside the vessel. As he was tying off the line, the boat began to drift and Mike's legs began to spread apart in the splits. Knowing how uncomfortable this is for any man (other than Jean Claude Van Dam) I jumped out of my seat and went to his rescue. Standing on the edge of the boat, I surveyed the ever-widening distance between the boat and the dock, glanced back and forth nervously several times, and then leapt. I did not count on the force of my jump propelling the boat further away from the dock, and what would have been a successful jump from stable footing became a watery crash. I splashed into the water with my legs, and into the dock with my sternum. There was much thrashing around to climb out, quite a few scrapes on my chest from the rough wood, and a pain in my rib cage that would linger for weeks and months to come. To top it off, Mike calmly said to me, "Jay, we could have just pulled around and tried again."

For the remainder of the summer, it hurt to stand straight up or breath in deeply. Did I crack a bone in my chest? I will never know, because, being uninsured, I never had it checked out. Being hunched over during my healing period turned into being hunched over permanentaly, apparently.

So now I look like a cartoon character. At least I know what I'll be for Halloween.

The One-Upper

I once had a "friend" who was a one-upper. That was the name my chiropractor and I gave him. Every funny story you told, the one-upper would have to describe a more lavish, more hilarious story. It was kinda a buzz kill.

I have another friend who has had such a life experience that it really should be in books and film. Things I can't even imagine actually occured. The result is a biting wit and a hilarious perspective and word choice.

Well, far be it from me to be a one-upper. There are others with better stories. But since some people check this spot for updates on my life, I will share what I have.

1) I made monster cookies tonight. No reason...I just felt like them. The only problem was that I put four sticks of butter in the mix. Let me say that again: FOUR STICKS OF BUTTER!! I was laughing at my foolishness, because instead of half-ing this monster recipe (no pun intended) I actually doubled it. The menu for all three meals tomorrow: monster cookies.

2) Little kids are funny. They stick their fingers in their mouths. They stare idly at things while I'm desperately trying to get them to do something else. I can't be too frustrated...my oldest son is a king observer. He'll stand and stare regardless of what is going on around him. This can be particularly odd/amusing during school programs.

3) Speaking of looking around, I had an idle thought while pumping gas today. There was a young girl, not unattractive, but by no means gorgeous, who was pumping gas next to me. Quite by accident, I found myself gazing past her in a flitting gaze several times. I was embarrassed. Quickly I looked around for something else at which to stare. QT. Road. Pizza joint. Shopping complex. Medical complex. Road. Shopping strip. No wonder men have a problem looking at women: there's nothing else to look at! Now I'm only speculating here, but back in the wild west, when a man pulled his chuck wagon up to the old saloon, he didn't stare at the waitress, because just behind the saloon was a towering butte, full of granduer. We're taken away all the nature, and there's nothing else to gawk and marvel at.
Sure, it doesn't really get at the heart of it or explain anything....but it's interesting, isn't it?

4) Sometimes I feel like a bad father. Like tonight, I took my boys swimming and we had a great time. Then I read about a man teaching his son to read...at a much earlier age than my oldest. Being good at/loving reading early is huge to learning. I dropped the ball on that one. On one hand, things look good, on the other hand--where things might be slightly more significant--things don't appear that great.

Did Job feel tired?

I can't tell if it's the fact that I'm waking up so much earlier every day now, or if it's the fact that I've seen 350 faces in the past week (I'll be seeing the remaining 75 or so next week) and spewed the same schpeel (is that actually how you spell that word?) dozens of times. My return to teaching has been brutal.

Oh, and if ever you think to yourself, "I could probably handle a room full of 5 year olds," do yourself a favor and go rent that Arnold Schwartzeneger gem, "Kindergarten Cop," and put some sense back into your head.

So on top of being exhausted, I have nagging thoughts that tell me I should be doing other things:
1) Working on my drawing (it's received about 1 hour of my time in the last month)
2) The boys' mural (incomplete, and leaving their room in a state of chaos)
3) Lesson plans and a host of other school-related jobs.
And while those are the big three, there are easily 10 more.

Now let's think of Job. Here was a guy with a lot of kids and thousands upon thousands of animals to take care of. He had a bunch of irons in the fire. Then it all goes to pot. Do you think he was tired from running everything and then just fell apart inside with all the bad news? I know he stays faithful, but don't you just want to believe that his initial response was some type of explative?

I'm no doubt reading into the text; performing eisegesis (spelling is hard when you're tired) by putting my deal onto the narrative. But that's what happens when I'm tired--life seems terrible, and every bit of bad news is utterly depressing. For instance, after just recently spending gross sums of money to put a new engine in our Isuzu Trooper, Heather called me from a gas station to say that after filling up, the car would not start. I'm assuming this will cost me even more ridiculous amounts of money which I don't have. Words fail me.

Here is where I really respect Job. He praised God in the struggle. I feel cursed by God. I love grace and talk about it a lot; but I find it easy to think of all the dumb stuff I've done and feel like God is out to sock it to me. I mean, come on, Father, 2 break downs in one summer...with the same car?! I don't think financial blessing and wellness are the only and greatest gifts of God; but neither do I think that debt and poverty are all that great either.

In Jay's economy, tired=depressed. Not always...sometimes it equals sleep. But if anything is going south, "Woe is me" and "God make it stop" flow freely. So let me attempt to say, with all the sincerity I can muster, that I will choose to trust. Please, Jesus, help me trust.

"The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord."

Art Teachers Unite

Leaving the building today, I thought to myself, "So this is when I earn my paycheck." I had gotten so used to the glory that is summer that I had forgotten the sometimes long, harrowing hours of instruction. It will definitely take some getting used to (again).

Meanwhile, I'm loving the collective art population I'm hanging out with. I have a teacher friend with whom I discuss the coming renovation of the Church and the role of the artist therein. I had breakfast with 3 very cool ladies, all with very diverse and sometimes painful pasts, and actually prayed with them at the end of our conversation. That's cool in a sense, but I felt kinda like a cop out because afterwards, it felt like a unitarian hippy prayer, so I robbed the situation of the chance to bring in the power of Jesus. Also it was brought on by a cool hippy lady who said she only holds on through her connection to the Divine. Hopefully it is a foreshadowing of things to come. I'm at least glad they understand there is divinity, and in some sense they are searching for Him.

And now, at 7:30, I am contemplating bed. Goodnight all...and a very pleasant school year to you all.

I felt like posting, but had no single train of thought, so here, instead, are a series of random musings

"Life is full of greetings and partings. That is the way of things." So spoke Kermit the Frog in "Muppet Christmas Carol." That's sad though, because he was talking about the death of Tiny Tim. Less traumatic, but still no less mourned, are the dying days of my summmer. I go back to work on Monday. It has made me realize that beginnings are for excitement and joy and wonder...experiencing the newness of life. Endings are for remembering and longing; particularly longing for moments lost and time ill-spent. The secret to the well-lived life is to grasp a bit of beginning and ending in every moment.

Are we becoming dumber? Go rent "V for Vendetta" and watch the opening sequence where V meets Evey. 1) See if you can grasp the meaning of the speech (and part of the problem is the speed at which the soliloquey is spoken) V speaks as he introduces himself. 2) Understand it? Now go back and look up all the words to which you still don't know the definitions.
But beyond that, Hollywood is working hard to complete the dumbing down of America. The movie, which I really enjoyed on various levels, is tauted on trailers as an action film. Can't we be trusted to want to see quality, thought provoking films without the lure of guts, mayhem, thrills, chills, spills...Will Smith? Sorry dumb question. When was the last time you saw a trailer for a documentary?

Kids are awesome and resilient and patient. Far more than we give them credit for. My children love me, and that is a blessing. To look at them, and tremble with the realization that I am shaping who they are, is too much. But to look at them, and smile, and touch them, and tell them I love them...that is more than I could ask for.
Children also have a beautiful knack for dropping things. This talent really ticks me off. Honestly...fills me with rage. A phone falls. Milk is spilled. My temperature rises. I have to believe this is a common occurance in other parents. They made a saying for it, for crying out loud. There really is no use in crying over spilt milk. And it's dumb to get mad. Kids lack a lot of manual dexterity we adults take for granted. Plus, I had some batteries squarely in my grip last night and they inexplicably tumbled to the ground. Nobody's perfect. "They look like good, strong hands...." {Reply and give me the name of the film containing the aforementioned quote and you'll be my hero.}

Read "Young Goodman Brown" lately? I just did. Very thought provoking. Check it out.

I must retire. You stay classy.

Daniel LaRuso

Remeber in "Karate Kid" where Daniel-son gets ticked off at Mr. Miagi and demands to know why he's been painting and sanding and washing...and not learning karate. The moral, we all remember, is that sometimes you are learning even if you don't know it.

And that kind of learning sucks.

I am at the point on my current drawing that it is past ad tedium, ad nausium...it is to the point that I want to take my maul stick and repeatedly bash myself in the face. Now I am using hyperbole here, but I really wish I could move on to the fun stuff. Shading in a background is not fun. Showing your work in a gallery and making millions of dollars and gaining international notoriety while your exhibit tours museums the world over...that is fun.

But as Daniel learned, you can't defeat Cobra Kai unless you "sand the deck" and hop like a crane on a frigid beach. So I suppose I'm learning something now. I just hope I can appreciate the learning process and not get fed up.

Prelude to Elysium

If you could go anywhere before you die, where would it be?

List it like this: 1-3=favorite places you've been and want to see again; A-C=Places you haven't been to yet, but want to see before you die. (If you want to be serious about the whole thing, list them in chronological order; I did not do so below.)

1. White Sands National Park, New Mexico
2. Indiana Dunes State Park, Lake Michigan, IN
3. The Badlands, South Dakota
4. Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, Africa

A. Maine
B. Vermont
C. Ireland
D. Montana

My wife:

1. Chicago, IL
2. Denver, CO

A. Africa
B. The Mediteranian

From Sea to Shining Sea

While falling asleep last night (and thrashing around, trying desperately to do so) I had a vision. A few moments later, and it would have been a dream...but that's neither here nor there.

A documentary: "From Sea to Shining Sea." I'll explain the idea in a second, but I think it's interesting to note that this is not my first itch to make a documentary. Right after I went into teaching, I joked with my wife that I wanted to change occupations again, this time to be a documentarian. My idea then was called something like "Threads." That can't be right; it seems like it was snappier. That's how it always starts--with a snappy title. Like blogging or teaching a Bible lesson: it's not really important or a good idea unless it has a snappy title, and no ideas come without the title first. Anyway, the idea was to chronicle the lives of apartment dwellers and observe the interconnectedness of man. "No man is an island" and all that jazz. We would throw away a piece of furniture (and of course, when I say throw away, I mean put it in front of the dumpster) and observe who came to claim it. In my experience, this is inevitable. Dumpster diving is asuch a reasonable pasttime among those living in apartments that furntiture is rarely discarded. Hence the idea for the documentary. The threads of the upholstery weave together like the threads of the various families lives. So once the furniture is aquired by a new family, we would ask the family's permission to film them and so on. An alternate take on the idea would be to track the lives of thrift store t-shirts. Maybe it will happen one day. Until then, if you happen upon this site and read this, don't rip off my idea.

"From Sea to Shining Sea" would not be a politically motivated movie as the allusion to the patriotic song might suggest. It would deal with the USA, but in a more intimate way as it is viewed through the eyes of one man (me). Borrowing from the film about the life of Che Guevarra, "The Motorcycle Diaries," I would buy a beat up, realiable old motorcycle--with a sidecar--and explore a land I've only read about. The goal would be to travel the perimeter of the United States. Now I haven't done any research, so I have no idea how many miles this is or how long it would take, but what an awesome road trip! I think I'd like to take my son(s) and add some personal interest for the viewer. It would also make it a more beautiful experience in my life. I'd get to share the exploration of our country (our world) with my boys. A coming of age story, maybe. I'd travel south on 377 to 281, and then run the majority of Texas on this same road, all the way down to close to Brownsville. As far as I can tell, there is no coastal route along the Gulf of Mexico, so I've hit a snag in production already, but I'll figure it out. Heading east from Brownsville, I would then outline all of of America, sticking to the coast, no matter how tiny and painstakingly slow the route might be. I'd see the Gulf, the Atlantic, weave across the northern boarders formed by the Great Lakes, hug the boarder of Canada, travel the Pacific, and then race by Mexico on my way home. I just took a break to check the distance and I found a plan laid out (starting in CA) to bike the perimeter. I found it on 43 Things, submitted by Apollo Lee. He states it would be 16,000 miles, and that, if he could bike 100 miles a day, it could be accomplished in 6 months.
This epic road trip would encompass one of my dream road trips: travelling Route 1/101, The Pacific Coastal Highway. I might try to also cover my second dream trip, Route 66, but since that cuts diagonally across the states, from Chicago to LA, it might not fit the vision for the film. Listen to me talk like this might actually happen! Still, I would love to do it.
All of this makes me think of a conversation I had with a fellow art teacher recently. She suggested that I might be a conceptual artist. When I asked her for her definition of the term, she said the purest definition would be an artist who comes up with ideas. At this point of my "career," yup, that's what I am.

What are we to do AS the church?

I had previously posted about the shortcomings of the church as expressed by several friends I talked with over my recent vacation. The following is an additional line of questioning. I will intersperse my own thoughts, but I am really excited to hear the perspectives of others who have waged war as vocational ministers. Whether you have planted a church internationally, cared for a flock in rural America, or been part of a team at a Bible-belt megachurch, worked with youth, worked with seniors, worked part-time, worked way overtime, etc., etc. your input is highly valued.

F - E - A - R.

How do you know when to give up? How do you know when to move on, hoping that a change of scenery and a hopeful outlook will bring different results than the ones you find yourself in?

While it is true that I had to leave my role as a vocational minister due to personal issues, I also chose to leave a couple months before I stepped down. I had hopes of going to plant a church in Buffalo, NY and this opportunity seemed like it would be a great fit for me. I love to start things, but sometimes have trouble following through. I would have been part of a team, and at that time I was feeling alone (I was also becoming convicted that team ministry is the ONLY option). I would be working in an area of passion and interest (small group ministry and discipleship). All in all, my passions were changing (not that I didn't love youth ministry, but.....) and I felt like staying would not benefit either party. The congregation I was serving was resistant to change and comfortable with the status quo. I had made some dumb mistakes and burned some bridges. I didn't disagree with the senior pastor, but I didn't value him like I thought I should--he seemed comfortable to coast, rather than challenge people to impact the Kingdom. So it added up to a change for me. Little did I know the full extent of the change in store.

Also, I had a mentor recommend that I read "Red Light, Green Light: Discerning the Time for a Change in Ministry" by John R. Cionca. It was very valuable, so that certainly helped.

Of course the ambiguous answer is the seek God and let him direct you. There were also some signs indicating a change was due. But we know what God's will is really about, right? Following his direct commands places you in the center of his will, and there is wiggle room of the geographic location after that, correct?

I would say it's probably not a good idea to leave due to greener grass. I've fled to greener grass before, only to have the field burn up around me. A hopeful outlook CAN change things...but not just over there; it also works right where you are. Are you staying fresh? Are you resting? Are you supported and valued? Are you using your gifts? Are you focusing on your God-given vision? Are you rallying others around the vision? Are you constantly communicating that vision with the hope that things will happen, mountains will move and God can accomplish all things with the hope you place in him? Start asking the tough questions and don't be afraid to respond to the difficult answers. As I always say, follow where Jesus wants you to go, and if people freak out that you're going that way, you're doing things right. It's like trying to get fired. You do what you have to do and either they respond, or they burn you at the steak. That's not fun, but at least you'll have your answer.


Why does the church lack strength, vibrancy, and transformed souls? Is it a lack of leadership, is it the elders, or stifling people in the church? Maybe it is the lack of leaders. Maybe it is me?

It is a combination of all those factors. Not to keep harping on vision, but unless people know what is expected of them, they'll usually settle for less than the best (Prov. 29:18). Then there are those who are in a congregation to satisfy some personal need or placate some hidden guilt. They're there for themselves, not the Kingdom. It's the same way with a corporation. Check out the hysterical "The Office" TV series with Steve Carrell. The employees at Dunder-Mifflin hate their company, but they're there to get a paycheck. See if Dunder-Mifflin advances very far with such apathetic employees. It's part of group dynamics, I guess.

But let's be honest: poor leadership is a killer for any movement. And really, it's provavly not that you're a bad leader, but sometimes leaders don't take care of themselves. You minister out of WHO YOU ARE, not what you do. If you are not monitoring yourself and ensuring you're empowered by God, walking in his ways (including REST) and pursuing his calling in your life, everything will go to pot.

Forget about the "wet blankets." Don't blame the "subordinate" leaders. Make sure you are white-hot and passionate, then gather quality people around you. All it takes is one visionary...then most other people LIKE to follow.

Jay, you have started over a couple times with jobs and scenery. What is your advice? I am beginning to feel like I have done what I can here. Grass is beginning to look greener when i think of starting over with a fresh start. But a part of me wonders if it isn't just a fear to face the challenges here. Fear of facing my own shortcomings as a leader. Fear of having to have tough talks with difficult people with lots of influence who are holding the church back.

Face the tough stuff. Do the hard work. Even if that's just self-evaluation. "You have not been given a spirit of fear, but of love, power and a sound mind" (am I way off in my paraphrase?).

The thing that pushes it over the edge is a desire to feel my efforts make a difference. In a bigger city I felt that I was really a part of what God was doing in an exciting environment. Here I kind of feel that I'm off the beaten path treading water and fishing. I don't want to do this 30 years!!I care for these people though and have grown alot in these last 2 years. I feel like I would be leaving the church better off than when I came. I feel bad for desiring to minister where there is more people- like i am deserting them. Like I am married and lusting for another. Should I feel this way?

"It's not the world that I am changing. I do this so, this world will know that it will not change me." No, that's not scripture, that's the sage Garth Brooks. Another quote I've heard before is from some wise old saint, "When i was young i lived freely and had nothing to do, i wanted to change the whole world. But when i was an adult i had a little thing to do, i wanted to change just only my country. Later on i had a family and there were many things for which to be responsible, i wanted to change only my family. And now i ‘m sleeping in on the bed of death i realize that if only i change myself my family would also change.. When my family changed, other families might also change. When all the families change, my country would change too. When all the countries changed my world also change."

Okay...it's pithy and trite, but it's true. Also check out "The Making of a Leader" by Robert Clinton. It will perhaps give some perspective on what God is doing in you, even if not through you. Remember you are part of God's story. Your greatest achievement could be miniscule in worldly eyes, but shape the Kingdom in unimaginable ways.

No answers, but does it at least provide some food for thought?

Freedom (Part 2)

Infinite choice is not freedom. Imagine going into your closet and getting ready for work. How many of you have more than 3 pairs of pants? More than 5 shirts? Very simple multiplication leads us to see that you have to choose between 15 possible outfits. Need to wear a tie with one of those shirts? Let's say you have 10 ties. Now your possible outfits equal 150 (assuming they all match). Now you can see why you might spend 10 mintues in the morning trying to figure out what to wear; or even why a woman could look at 150 outfits and exclaim, "I have nothing to wear!" (nope...doesn't explain that one, but it was worth a try).

Well I must have close to 25 ties. I have over 70 t-shirts. And no, I'm not saying I wear them together, I'm just making a point (although, with 80's fashion on the rise, I might start doing just that). It is sometimes difficult to decide which option to choose. Similarly, if you have a spare moment and you want to: A) work out B) eat ice cream C) read a book D) watch TV E) do household chores, your vast array of choices doesn't make it easier to find something to do, but more difficult. In such a case, one usually chooses the path of least resistance. In the example above, you will likely eat ice cream WHILE watching TV (or maybe that's just me).

Now if unlimited choice leads to a dilemma, and the easiest way to solve the dilemma is to solve the dilemma the easiest way, then there is little hope that we could ever rise above settling for less. But the problem is that the easy way is usually the wrong way. If you want illustration of this point, see "Pilgrim's Progress" by John Bunyan. Or, as a Marine once told me, "Easy equals dead."

Enter Christ. He has told us that he came to give us abundant life. "If the Son sets you free, you are free indeed." The irony is that the above position is now reversed. Freedom means loving God. "The one who loves me is the one who obeys my commands." So freedom in Jesus means that we give up the freedom to choose a bunch of easy, destructive options. We are free to make only one choice, and that is "the hard but right way," as stated by Bunyan.

Other options will still surface. I find myself deluded into thinking that they are still viable choices for me. Like Christian in Bunyan's allegory, I wander into some pleasant looking field, only to be trapped by the Giant Despair. The key to freedom is to actively pursue the difficult road. Alfred Lord Tennyson said it like this: "I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair." I can be lazy and fall into a rut or ruin myself with some easy choice, or I can follow Jesus, even when it is tough...or perhaps precisely because it is tough. The Son has set me free, and I can now throw myself into acting on his behalf and for his kingdom.

Only one choice: Freedom.

Freedom

Teaching is the best job ever. I told Heather the other day that I think it has quite possibly ruined me for all other jobs. Having been in a number of jobs, I haven't found anything to compare, and I can't imagine anything else that could offer what teaching offers. While it is a phenomenal priviledge to shape young lives, the schedule ain't too shabby either.

I have not been to my place of employment for the past month and a half. What glorious freedom! If being a parent enables one to live vicariously through their children and expereince childhood all over again (see my previous post), then teaching further compliments that position by allowing a person to enjoy those long, lazy days of summer. When was the last time you rode your bike for hours and hours and went swimming every day?

Such has been my summer. Up until Aydan burned his arm (a story I won't get into right now) the boys and I went swimming literally every day. And the beautiful thing was that this activity was not planned. 1:00? 6:00? Bored? Let's go swimming! Then yesterday we departed on our bikes at 9:00 am and raced through the misty rain, stopping at every park we passed on our nearby bike trail and leaving the trail to crash through a dirt-worn forest path. The only thing that brought us home, over two hours later, was the need for food and a restroom break.

I walked in from the studio twice last night to sneak into the boys' room and gaze on them soundly asleep. Free to be a child, free to laugh uproariously and have fun, free to lie in peace (Psalm 3:5)...and all this for the second time in my life.

A blog is dying

I like to write, sure. I'm not even that bad at it. My priorities, however, place writing at a fairly low point on my "to do" list. Then, of course, the real trouble is sitting down and finding something whimsical and interesting to write about. Then there's the added pressure of feeling the need to sound witty or wise as I chronicle my thoughts. And then I get so discouraged when there are no responses to my thoughts (please, no pity responses on this post), as though they are not valid without a reply. Such pressure makes me reluctant to post, especially when I need to be in the studio or playing with the boys or doing 1 of a 1,000 other projects. Doesn't this all sound familiar? I'm sure I've talked about this before.

Well, since it's about time for another post...or time to let my dying blog finally die...I'll pull out something from about this time last year.

Nostalgia

"Aydan was getting ready for VBS today and I was fairly fascinated at how big he's getting. He got dressed entirely by himself, including picking out all his own clothes: a repetoire complete with camoflage pants, sweat bands, his VBS shirt, and a visor. He then packed his Bible in his backpack by himself and hopped in the car. When we got to church, I expected him to be hesitant, but he charged into the unknown with no reservations, and I was the one who started to cry.
He's so big. He's spreading his wings and flying. It's cheesy, but it's true. He is finding independence and flourishing in it. I'm proud, and I'm sad (it's going by so fast), and I'm drawn back to my own childhood. I think maybe nostalgia is the state of mind that naturally occurs when such emotions are mixed together in the perfect cocktail.
1985. Maybe it wasn't a big year for you; hey, it probably wasn't that big a year for me either, but it signifies an important period of time in my life. In my nostalgia I find myself looking for the GI Joe theme song on the internet and longing for the return of parachute pants." {As an aside, I find it humorous that, a year later, that the 80's are fully upon us. We are revisiting that era in all manner of fashion, right down to white deck shoes (which I WILL be getting a pair of) and plaid shorts}. "I focus on this year because it is the subject of a song by the band Roper. I realized, thru this song, that it’s because I long for those days of ease and carefree living. The days of exploration and breaking free from the parents. The days of running through a park in Jamestown, ND with striped tube socks up the to top of my calves.
“Those days seem so distant, feels like a million miles. Troubles were nonexistent--1985.”

Maybe you feel like me, and you realize you MUST remember some of those feelings, relive some of those days, just to feel alive. In another song, "End of the Innocence" by Don Henley, I achingly agree with the lyrics, “Remember when the days were long…Didn’t have a care in the world…Somewhere back there in the dust, that same small town in each of us. I NEED to remember this.” It's like a hook inside my brain that pulls me back again and again. I have an idea for a painting depicting this, and hopefully you'll get to see that someday. But for now, I think I'll just grab a glass of lemonade, sit out on the lawn next to the sprinkler and remember the sights, sounds and smells of summer. When the days were long and we had no cares in the world. And when, at last, I must return to the "grown-up" world, I will go pick up Aydan and relive all these beautiful memories vicariously through my son."

what are we to do with the church?

cheesy. corporate. embodying failures and resentment.

This is how the church is perceived by many very dear friends of mine. If it is so with them, those who are part of this body, what are we to do?

no mission statements. no doctrinal statement.

I saw a man proclaim that "Jesus" is his church's doctrinal statement, and have heard other beleivers like him cry out for the church to leave behind mission statements, demographics, target audiences, etc.

painful.

should one member of a family consistently feel pain after reaching out when that person is let down again and again by "brothers and sisters" and even caretakers of the flock?

"I don't get anything out of it."

Is church an "it"? Does the church exist for you to benefit from it? A poor economist can tell you that your return is at least somewhat based on your investment. Getting out? Are we puting in?

"The church should be about teaching the broken how to do laundry."
"Spirituality is communal living, growing a group garden, and helping people who try to put Coca Cola in their infant's baby bottle."

Putting in. Is church attendance where we should be fixing our gaze? Can you attend church? If we invest by the current standard, are we just giving 2 hours of our time and our warm rumps to heat the cushioned seat beneath us?
There is guilt and regret. There is a longing for true community, true spirituality. The paradox is challenging: commit to an industry not getting dirty searching for the tangibles of the Gospel, OR justify not going to church. Both are contrary to the heart of God, right? Hebrews says we shouldn't give up meeting together, but James says that true religion, faultless in the eyes of God, is that which cares for orphans and widows. If the church is not about loving the unlovable, helping the marginalized, what would one be committing to if they "went to church"? Singing songs? A message? Social hour? Let's not give up meeting together, but are we meeting together for the right things?

What is the church now? If you "go to church," what are you doing? What must the church be? What is the church becoming? What should it become? How do we bring unity to the body? How do we bring different camps together?

what are we to do?

Look at those "Eyes"

The Isuzu Trooper parked in the garage now shows 73,000 miles on the odometer. That means in 14 days, I traveled 2, 825 miles. On our vacation to Chicago and Ohio, I was reminded of a powerful truth: selfishness is hard to outrun.
I had fun seeing old friends. I played basketball and in so doing, cut open a gash on my dad's eyebrow that required stitches and sprained my ankle so badly that it quite literally took on the shape and color of the legs belonging to the McDonald's character Grimmace. I relaxed. I took it easy. Look at those "I's". I, I, I, I.....
This is my blog, and I suppose the only person I'm qualified to speak authoritatively about is me. But my self-absorption was pointed out by my lovely wife as I looked at the above picture. I was struck by the humor of the pose, the irony of its commemoration (taken at an emergency room in Cook County Hospital after my friend Kyle had to get stitches in his eyebrow following a basketball injury), and particularly surprised by the appearance of my hair. "Did my hair really look like that?" I thought to myself. After thumbing through hundreds of pictures of Kyle looking hilarious, the only photo I asked to borrow and scan was this shot of me. Heather commented, "You really are fascinated by yourself, aren't you?" Ah...the painful truth.

I have mentioned before that sometimes I wish I could just escape myself; think about others and put them first more easily. I traveled from Texas to Ohio only to find my selfishness waiting for me there. It is true what they say: "Where ever you go, there you are."

Mohawk Madness

Couldn't let the anniversary pass by without a new picture demonstrating the fact that I am truly and hopelessly uncool.

Miles to Go Before I Sleep

I have one hour in which to post before the day that marks the anniversary of my first blog post passes by. As I sat thinking of something profound to write about to commemorate this occasion, nothing struck me as so real or so true as the mention of this simple fact. I have one hour, and it's slipping away.

I love opportunities for remembering. This anniversary adds another contemplative date to the existing list of birthday, Christmas, New Year's, and Easter. Times to stop and think about times gone by; consider how life is being lived. Because, as I'm realizing, if you don't stop and evaluate, and in so doing, remind yourself what it is you want to live for, life slips by without much living going on.

I have one hour, and it's slipping away.

What has happened in this past year? I began and ended a program that placed me in the classroom and moved me toward the goal of being an art teacher. Furthermore, I began art lessons to put me on track to be working as a true artist. Good things. But in so doing I have missed the wedding of one of my closest friends, I have stretched myself thin, putting up more deadlines and heaping up more guilt for not meeting them.
Other things have also transpired. The painful things seem to stand out, and so it seems that the year has been marked by a progression in art and painful trials in just about everything else. Still, I guess pain is good if it teaches you something. Am I learning?

I have one hour, and it's slipping away.

Tonight I have to clean the studio, prepare for school tomorrow, write a reference letter, create a layout and captions for my website, put the finishing touches on a drawing, start a new drawing....and the list really could go on. What will get done? What is most important?

I have one hour, and it's slipping away.

When Robert Frost penned the unforgetable words, "But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep" he was talking about death. I read another quote recently that reminded me that each day--each hour even--is a microcosm of our lives. How we live today IS our life. The commitments keep adding up; "the burdens keep piling up on my back." What will get done in this hour, this year, this life? What is important?

I have one hour, and it's slipping away.

TGIF

Remember the good old days when television was great? I can recall Friday nights, glued to prime time television and the incredible "TGIF: Thank God it's Friday." Who could forget such classics as "Full House," "Perfect Strangers" and "Family Matters"? Give me an hour and a half of such excellent fare, along with pizza and popcorn, and life didn't seem as though it could get any better.

Now, as primetime television started to slip, there remained a "safe" alternative: the Family Channel. Maybe it's programming is not remembered as widely, but I have such fond memories of "Zorro," "Rin Tin Tin: K9 Cop," and the truly one-of-a-kind gem, "Maniac Mansion." Now, if the mention of such shows fills your heart with longing, then take a trip down memory lane by going to http://www.lounatale.com/index.html (after you enter, click on "Samples" and you'll find the "Maniac Mansion" theme). Also, check out http://www.mansionsite.com/mmpics.htm for some images to further jog your memory. Ah...TGIF!

"What I Thought I Wanted" (part 2)

"You're gonna get caught."

Imagine this being whispered in the darkness as you are roused from sleep. What would your conclusion be? Would you assume a pair of burglars have entered your home and one is chiding the other for his clumsiness? Would you assume the voice to be that of God, speaking to your guilty conscience?
Or would you assume it was two little shaggy-headed boys?
Just such an experience happened to Heather this morning. Aydan and Brennan were sneaking into our bedroom closet to claim their Easter baskets. Why were their baskets in our room the day after Easter? Because they are notorious for stealing little bits of candy and sweets from the kitchen in the brief moments between when they wake up and when we do. So this morning, as they were clanging around in our closet, their guilt was certain. Caught red-handed.
Some may read the story and thinks it's cute. Some may see the ingenuity and cleverness of my 2 and 5 year olds and be amazed. I'm furious. No...I'm hurt.
Sure, my first reaction is to be angry. They were told not to try to sneak candy and they do so. There is some type of deceptive streak that runs through their body, some devious, cunning anomoly to their cherubic heartbeats. For further proof, consider the conversation I had at dinner tonight.
"Daddy, Mom said I can't have dessert tonight."
"Why is that, Aydan?"
"Because I took too many sticks out." (It is a favorite practice of the boys to take branches from our firewood box in the garage and play with them as swords and guns and all manner of things destructive).
"Oh, that's too ba......"
"An' cause we ate cookies!"
"What is that Brennan?"
"We are cookies!"
"Aydan? What's this about?"
(Silence)
It turns out that before going to the closet, they went to the fridge. They eagerly devoured two rows of break-and-bake cookie dough before ever asking Heather for breakfast. The truly infuriating part is that Aydan wasn't going to say anything (because he had gotten away with it--Heather assumed I took the dough for a sack-lunch dessert). The only reason they were caught is because Brennan naively assumed the lack of dessert was somehow connected to the dirty deed he knew he'd perpetrated.
But I digress. After the fury subsides and I can feel the flush of heat retract from my face, I feel an ache in my heart. Why sneak? Why steal? Why lie? Well, the lie is to cover up the wrong that has been done. But why not just ask?
Heather nailed it when she recognized a pattern from her own life emerging in Aydan: "He takes without asking because he's afraid we'll say no." He anticipates disappointment and so to avoid not getting what he wants, he takes matters into his own hands.
He doesn't trust me.

What I Thought I Wanted

The following is told by Brennan Manning in his book, "Ruthless Trust."

When the brilliant ethicist John Kavanaugh went to work for three months at “the house of the dying” in Calcutta, he was seeking a clear answer as to how best to spend the rest of his life. On the first morning there he met Mother Teresa. She asked, “And what can I do for you?” Kavanaugh asked her to pray for him.

“What do you want me to pray for?” she asked. He voiced the request that he had borne thousands of miles from the United States: “Pray that I have clarity.”

She said firmly, “No, I will not do that.” When he asked her why, she said, “Clarity is the last thing you are clinging to and must let go of.” When Kavanaugh commented that she always seemed to have the clarity he longed for, she laughed and said, I have never had clarity; what I have always had is trust. So I will pray that you trust God.”

Craving clarity, we attempt to eliminate the risk of trusting God. Fear of the unknown path stretching ahead of us destroys childlike trust in the Father’s active goodness and unrestricted love.

Exhausted and Victorious

Viewing the past month, or the past 40 days, more specifically, I can see an intense period of meditation on Christ. This time of lent has been extremely beneficial, resulting in the most joyful Easter I can recall in a long time.

But the benefit did not come easily.

I have spent time in various fasts. I have had my views of life, security, happiness, and love smashed and destroyed, only to be built anew. I have lost sleep. I have endured pain.

How weak this time is when compared with Jesus and his 40 days in the wilderness. How trivial it seems in light of his passion.

But that is the hope and the joy of this day. Though trouble may come, it is light and momentary, fleeting in the scope of God's love and his eternity. Though I may be at the end of my resources, I could never fully tax God's limitless supply of all he has given me for life and godliness. Though life seems hard at times, there is new life. Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!

So, I am tired.
But more, I am alive.
I am forgiven.
I am victorious.

Exhausted and Defeated

A letter I am leaving for my wife tonight. I plan to head to bed in about 5 mintues.


Heather,

You know how you can just sense that some evenings will go badly?

This was one of those evenings.

And really, I’m just being melodramatic and selfish, but I’m exhausted and I can’t recover and every little failure seems like a colossal defeat. But here’s what happened. You’ll need to pick up some of the pieces (literally) in the morning.

1) I attempted to unclog the toilet.
Our snake did not work. I then took the toilet off and tried to snake it that way. Did not work. I then went to Home Depot and rented a better snake for $13/4 hrs. Did not work. So now I am $20 odd dollars and 2 odd hours into the project and things are no better…and I’m violently pissed off. Remember how I hate plumbing? Uh….yeah…..
***YOUR PART: Since I rented the snake at 7:30 (at the Roanoke HD on 377) and they close at 9 pm, it is due back by 9 am this morning. Feel free to wake up early and take a crack at it yourself, but please have the snake back by 9:00. (I went down the drain all 25 feet of snake and found no blockage. Could it still be a block in the toilet? Seems unlikely, though I was going to have the boys fish their hands around in that drainage curve and see what they found. Anyway, I’m stumped and completely unable to do anything about it.)
2) Brennan would not go to sleep without talking.
Again. So I put him in time-out in the library. He proceeded to pull the lamp off the desk, breaking the bulb and the glass. (Accident or deliberate? Not sure. It was dark and I didn’t want to talk to him about it, since it would have probably led to a violent outburst on my part.) I was going to vacuum up the shards, but since the vacuum was not put together (and since I was unable to put the components together on Saturday) I could not. Would you mind doing that?
3) Dry wall is not hung.
I guess that’s what got me disappointed and frustrated in the beginning. I was going to go back out and cut it correctly to set up for tomorrow, but I was afraid the sheetrock would literally crumble in my hands and I’d tear down the rest of the shed with my bear hands….so I left it for later.

But all is not lost. I did the dishes. Yipee…major victory right there.

Looking at my list, it seems petty. I must be completely depleted. I’m having trouble functioning. Bible study is still not complete, and it’s 9:30. I need to finish it, but if I don’t go to bed I might self destruct. Anyway, kiss me softly when you come in and say a prayer for Jesus to deliver my soul.

Love
jay

For Pete's Sake

My friend is dying.

The feelings I have are bizarre. For one, I have neither seen nor spoken to this friend in an unknown number of years; yet there is still sorrow and heartfelt prayers on his behalf. I am glad that he holds fiercely to Christ even as he clings to life; yet I cry out to God, wondering why one so young, one who follows him, would have to suffer and die. My only memory of my friend is shooting bottle rockets at the neighbor across the street on a hazy summer afternoon; my only picture of my friend is an image I just saw of him and his wife holding each other and smiling...cancer-bald head and all.

I have been reading Job, and so in the face of suffering and questions, only the words from the beginning of Job's trials come to mind. "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." Father, we can only trust you when we cannot understand you in this. Draw near to Pete's family and strengthen them with ruthless trust in you.

No Original Thoughts

My life is an endless stream of music and movie quotes, shaken up inside my brain and poured out in some maniacal cocktail.

Listening to Jimmy Buffet, I am beginning to identify with his sense of social rejection. It seems like he's senses being identified as a social outsider, a reject, a lazy beach bum. In reality, he is different from the masses. His laid back, fetterless lifestyle no doubt infuriates those who have chosen confinement over carefree existence. Moving toward a more bohemian lifestyle as an artist, especially after a long trek through multiple career “pit stops,” his lyrics resonate with some of the thoughts within my heart.

I was supposed to have been a Jesuit priest or a naval academy grad
That was the way that my parents perceived me
Those were the plans that they had
But I couldn’t fit the part too dumb or too smart
Ain’t it funny how we all turned out
I guess we are the people our parents warned us about

You know I coulda worked the rigs when the money was big
Or hopped a freighter south to Trinidad
And when they tried to draft me I earned a college degree
Buyin’ time ’til things were not so bad
But then I got a guitar found a job in a bar
Playin’ acid rock ’til I was numb
Tell me where are the flashbacks they all warned us would come

Hey hey, Gardner McKay
Take us on the Leaky Tiki with you
Clear skies bound for shanghai
Sailing cross the ocean blue

We are the people there isn’t any doubt
We are the people they still can’t figure out
We are the people who love to sing twist and shout--Shake it up baby!
We are the people our parents warned us about
("We Are the People Our Parent's Warned Us About")

I got a school boy heart, a novelist eye
Stout sailor's legs and a license to fly
I came with nomad feet and some wandering toes
That walk up my longboard and hang off the nose

I suppose the need to focus never arose
So something like a Swiss army knife, that's my life
Frankenstein had nothing on this body of mine
The villagers still flockin' to see, to see me
Breaking free, breaking free

Cause I got a school boy heart, a novelist eye
Stout sailor's legs and a license to fly
I got a bartender's ear and beachcomber's style
Piratical nerve and a Vaudevillian style

I suspect I died in some cosmic shipwreck
With all hands spread all over the deck...what the heck
Then some kind of obscene and unscrupulous mind
Began to pick up what he could find
Added ice, shook me twice, rolled the dice

Now I got a school boy heart, a novelist eye
A sailor's legs and a license to fly
I got a native tongue from way down south
It sits in the cheek of my gulf coastal mouth
("School Boy Heart")

Some of the details are different, but I love the line "so something like a Swiss army knife...that's my life." I feel like a jack of all trades, but a master of none. It is both a blessing and a curse.

Still, as I leave mainstream society behind, it's nice to know Jimmy will provide the soundtrack for my new life.

Spring

"Four things on earth are small, yet they are extremely wise:
...a lizard can be caught with the hand, yet it is found in kings' palaces."
-Proverbs 30:28

The Mediterranean Gecko has returned to my doorway. I was in the studio tonight and, upon exiting, was greeted by him as he hung onto the glass of my screen door. Walking through the breezeway, I noticed another clinging to the rafters. These are the first I've seen since the fall, and surely the fact that there were two on one night must mean something. Spring has arrived and with the glowing green buds on the trees, the missing lizards return. As it says in Proverbs, they must be very wise, because I don't know where they went, and I don't know where they go when you chase them, but they make themselves an easy abode out of my home. The Proverb is proved even more true this early in the season, because it's very easy to catch these geckos, who are still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. I read recently in "Walden" how Thoreau almost stepped on snakes in his woods in the early spring, as they were still trying to have the morning sun thaw out all the members of their bodies. So it is with my friends tonight. They are so sluggish that their usual lightning-fast quickness is still frozen inside them, and it's quite easy to reach out and touch them or catch them in your hands. I almost wanted to wake the boys so we could catch one together. But the spring is young. We'll have more nights for catching geckoes soon.

Love Song to the Rain

Gee, l'm glad it's raining
There's always somethin' to be thankful for
l'm awfully glad it's raining
'Cause no one sees your teardrops when it pours
And no one knows the thunder is your heartbreak in disguise
They think the rainy night's what put that sad look in your eyes
Sure, l'm glad it's raining
The gentle rhythm soothes the pain inside
l'm glad the stars aren't shinin'
A wounded warrior needs a place to hide
l thought l had found someone l could count on till the end
What they wanted was a hero all l needed was a friend
Gee, l'm glad it's raining
l hope the mornin' sun won't come up soon
As long as it keeps raining
No one knows my heart broke right in two
l thought l had found someone l could count on till the end
What they wanted was a hero all l needed was a friend
Sure, l'm glad it's raining
l'm awfully glad it's raining "

Hungover

"Okay, I have a hangover. Does anybody know what that means?"
"It means you're drunk."
"Wrong. It means I was drunk yesterday."

I only throw this in because I watched "School of Rock" today (seeking some inspiration for my own classroom) and laughed hysterically the whole way through.

But I am hungover.

I took a nap today from approximately 3:15-4:10. Not enough time to do any real good, but plenty of time to do some serious damage.


Now I'm trying to post something, and after 5 attempts on various topics, I realize I'm not capable of any significant thought thanks to my nap hangover. Instead of thinking, I only feel...and I feel bitter, depressed, apathetic, and lazy.

The world is a terrible place when I'm tired. Especially after I just wake up from a nap.

Subterfuge

Creeping through the ventilation shaft, the merceny paused to listen for any signs of detection. Hearing none, he pressed on to the core of the base. With one deft motion, he placed a tiny chip in the motherboard of the systems network which would eradicate all data from the better half of the past decade.
Stripping off all signs of the disguise he wore, the spy walked calmly out of the building.
"See you tomorrow, Jim," someone said to him.
"Sure...we'll see you then."

The Stranger

"Well we all have a face that we hide away forever
and we take them out and show ourselves when everyone has gone.
Some are satin, some are steel, some are silk, and some are leather
they're the faces of The Stranger but we love to try them on."

How well can you really know a person? Even if every intimate detail of their heart is laid bare, is their soul truly exposed? What if the "truth" flowing from their lips is the truth they want you to hear? Who has not had a conversation where you say the right things and express the right sentiments, and then walk from the room, stripping The Stranger off your face?

Do I fear to trust because I am untrustworthy? Do I doubt others because I have such grave doubts in myself? Is Jesus really in control? Is he strong enough to change me? Is he strong enough to save me from myself? If he has little effect in me, what effect can he produce in others?

Will I choose to discard The Stranger from my countenance? Will my exposed face produce faith and goodwill toward others? Will those who see the skull behind the mask stay the course, or turn away? Can I stay the course, regardless of how many Strangers surround me?