Monochrome Family

Spring in Texas lacks the vast array of colors found in Dutch tulips, but when it comes to blue, the state flower provides more than enough color for your average roadside.

You Can't Take No For An Answer

If Saturday was like "American Idol," today was like "Muppets Take Manhattan." I tried to meet with three different individuals today to discuss the possibility of me working in the Keller ISD. I was unsuccessful with all three. But at the very least, I reasserted my name and my desire to teach high school art. I'm a bit like Kermit sitting at Pete's, unsure what my next move will be. But for now, I'm simply refusing to take no for an answer.

sanJAYa

I just participated in what can only be described as the "American Idol" of education: the job fair. Along with thousands of other (would-be) teachers, I arrived at Flower Mound High School Saturday morning. We were herded like cattle into the gym. We were then scheduled for screening interviews, and as I was seated in the third row, I was able to interview immediately. The judges approved of my performance and sent me on to Hollywood (actually, it was called the "Opportunity Gym"...I kid you not). Once there, I scheduled 2 interviews...for 3 hours later. I sat around a lot. Did a little work. Then returned for two of the fastest interviews I've ever been a part of. And they were basically identical. So that was nice.

In the end, I failed to do some things I would have liked to have done (like show the interviewers my artwork), and perhaps did not leave quite the impression I desired. That's okay. It was basically just practice, since I'm not even really looking for a job (necessarily). Tomorrow I will hunt down the principals of Keller high schools to attempts to get a job there. I do plan to leave quite an impression there, as I will take further cues from "American Idol" this time and plan to wear my hair like Sanjaya. How could I not get a job?

Man, I Never Post Anymore

Because I fear I'm getting to be as bad as Diggity, I will push through the fatigue and post tonight.

It was a beautiful day. I literally SAW cool breezes rippling over fields of tall green grass on my commute home today. It was like a movie; like a cartoon movie, where they can't quite get the affect right but you know what they mean. But not like that, because it was the real thing. It just smelled perfect, looked perfect, felt perfect. There was a brief, shining moment when I felt carefree and like a kid again, gazing at the prospect of endless summer days filled with delight. So for a brief, shining moment I enjoyed Texas.

And then something about the combination of that moment struck me. I was driving a pickup truck, listening to country music (which I don't often do, believe me), and cruising through the heart of Texas. The words of Lenny came to mind: "How did (I) get here?" It's just so odd. I never could have dreamed this up. But I am actually loving it. I had to convince myself that Texas isn't so bad after all.

But then I came within 10 miles of Texas Motor Speedway and saw flocks and droves of fans with slogans emblazoned upon their vehicles (mostly trucks and campers or RV's) such as "Redneck Girls love NASCAR" and (I swear I am not making this up) "Show me your hooters."

Artist

My son Aydan makes me extremely proud. Check out his artwork at:
www.artsonia.com/Aydan2

He told me all about his artistic influences (Henri Rouseau) and the media of the work (collage) so he's a flat-out genius artist, if you ask me.

Be sure to leave him a comment at artsonia...he'd love to hear from you.

typing is hard...i'll try to keep it short

First: a great story.

I was playing basketball yesterday, and while playing defense on a man going up for a lay-up, I either hit my hand oddly, or I got my finger caught in his shirt, but either way, I dislocated my left pinky. I tried to take pictures of it's current state--all swollen and bruised--but they didn't turn out like I wanted. So just know that about 30 hours ago, my finger looked like this.

That is why it's hard to type.

Now, I'm not the hippest cat in the world, but I know enough to understand that a lot of what is contemporary...that which is felt and expressed and observed by millions...happens all over the web. One such place is YouTube. My wife and I frequently check out videos together and just this evening were showing my sister-in-law one of our favorites. (as an aside, I really enjoy Jim Gaffigan's "Beyond the Pale" and just about anything by Mitch Hedberg. They make me laugh.)
But I digress. Occasionally, I will go to the "Favorites" section (or whatever) and check out that which is popular. After fighting through a lot of temptation to look at a lot of garbage I discovered the (apparently) very popular scene of video posts and responses. It's like a blog, only with AV. Well, I found this very commented-on video posted by an atheist in response to a video titled, "Atheist, what do you offer?" or something. This guy talked for close to 20 minutes, and I will refrain from poking any fun at him or his material because, really, who am I? I will also refrain from refuting anything he said or "arguing" with him at all. I walked away from the video feeling sad for all the times I belittled someone or picked fights just to try to show some superiority.
This video then led to another, called "The Blasphemy Challenge" in which people deny the Holy Spirit. One response had a group of Germans affirming their belief in Christ. While this video was heartwarming to me, I will admit that one comment was particularly insightful and humorous (commenting that Germans had not lost their ability to produce propaganda and that the video contrasted bad examples of atheists--for bad, read "dorky" or any such word you use to typify people who may be considered on the cultural fringe--with hip, attractive examples of Christians. Good point.) In addition to video responses, there are comments posted. The saddest thing was the hateful banter going on back and forth. Not just the atheists calling Jesus "gayboy" but also the willingness of Christians to argue.

I am not saying a believer should fail in his or her conviction to be a defender of truth. But why argue truth with one who says that objective truth doesn't exist? Why throw hate back and forth? The odd thing about the "gayboy" comment was that it had a pointed ending: "why not do the world some good?" Instead of fighting in ivory towers, wouldn't it be better to serve in dirty streets? And a hundred other thoughts flood my head. I wonder if an atheist's heart is warmed when they hear someone bashing "mindless belief" in a religious devotee? I'm not being antagonistic. I really do wonder if it makes them glad, just like it makes me glad to hear others affirm, in the face of an onslaught of people condemning and jeering and ridiculing and denying, their faith in Jesus.

Perhaps this makes less sense than I wanted it to. I'd better quit while I'm ahead...and before my pinky swells up like a balloon from all this typing.

Nose Progress

Here is a succession of images showing the progress of my most recent drawing. Spring Break is coming to a close, and it's still not done.
(Warning: The color in the first picture, previously posted as "(Lack of) Progress" is WAY off. The others show a more correct glimpse.)

(Eric: if you'll tell me how you make your montages i'll repost this and make it more prettier)

Falling Deep Into the Rabbit Hole

I heard of a study recently in which it was reported that many Americans now spend more time in front of a computer than they do with their kids.

I saw a night-time news program in which a person on one side of New York City was asked to find someone very different from them socioeconomically on the other side of the city. This was performed successfully, both "ascending" and "descending."

And most recently, I "listened" to the thoughts of wildly different people from all over the states and all over the world. I peered into the vast chasm that is internet blogging, and I fell deep inside the rabbit hole.

And this made me wonder if any of the people whose thoughts I was voyeuristically accessing knew anyone in their day-to-day, non-virtual, actual living and breathing geographically transversing lives whom I might also know. Could a blogger in Canada be friends with one of my dear friends and I randomly get to them through the much discussed six degrees of separation? It's fascinating, and time consuming. Fortunately, my kids were in bed, my wife was at class, and I was on spring break, so I didn't have to feel guilty about falling under the aforementioned statistic.

Although virtual reality is no longer science fiction and is very much a part of daily life, it is still sometimes fascinating to gaze upon this Wonderland I "walk" in.

So to all you other "strangers" who randomly found your way here, and to others like melanie pearl who stopped by via a connection with an old friend of mine, welcome and thank you for your feedback.

(Lack of) Progress

I am terrified of color.

Keep the Customer Satisfied

I know that when I go to a blog and all too often there is no new post, I become more sporadic in checking that blog. That being said, even though the following post may be lame, I'm trying to keep something fresh up here just to keep my ever-so-loyal fan base returning.

"Theorizing that one could travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the quantum leap accelerator...and vanished....

He awoke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror-images that are not his own, and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al, and observer from his own time who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear.

And so Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong, and hoping each time that his next leap will be the leap home."

Believe it or not, this was all recalled by memory on Sunday morning during church. I was thinking about this during church because on the way to church, I heard the song "His Eye is On the Sparrow." I love this song, and the first memory I have of this song is from an episode where Sam leaps into an African American congregation where the father/pastor is feuding with his daughter/singer who wants to go mainstream. At the end, they reconcile and she sings, beautifully and full of emotion, with both of them weeping, "His Eye is on the Sparrow." It struck me how amazing it is that a simple thing like a TV show can shape your life at an early age. Other beloved bits and pieces of me, while not totally due to QL, have strong links to the show as well. There's the song "Imagine," by John Lennon. I swore I'd never listen to any indivual stuff from John or Paul (or Ringo or George, but really, who listens to them anyway?) post-Beatles just because it seemed so wrong. They should only be remember in the sum total of their brilliance. Or so I thought in a young, misguidedly-idealistic way. Then I saw Sam singing to his sister on "The Leap Home" (where he had to play No-Nose Pruitt in the championship game) and he played "Imagine" to his sister to prove he was from the future. He said it was one of his favorites. I listened. It became one of my favorites too. And although I owe my love of Don Quixote to my dad and early viewings of "Man of LaMancha," I can recall Sam and Al walking off-stage at the end of a production of the play (in which Sam was the star) and, just prior to leaping, applying the dialogue between Sancho and Quixote to their situation: "More misadventures?" "Adventures, old friend."

If you're looking for something profound I could fake it. I could say that you should be careful what you watch on TV, or what you let your kids watch. But really I'm just reminiscing...and planning on watching all 5 seasons on DVD in the very near future.

A Better View

Superpowers

BIFF!
WHAMO!!
ZOCK!!
POW!!

Okay, so I grew up wearing Thing t-shirts, Superman underwear and watching "Batman." It may be ingrained in my thinking, but as I was climbing in bed last night, I asked my wife what super power she would want most. She is very wise, and responded, "Teleportation. Then I could go anywhere and not pay to travel." I did not have the heart to tell her that teleportation usually requires the power holder to have visited the place previously. Listen to me...talking authoritatively about fantasy; the next thing you know I'll be giving you all updates about the upcoming comicon.

All this to say, I played basketball last night (poorly), which I've been doing a lot lately, and enjoying it. But that has ended for now, because I sprained my ankle. Now those of you who were with me on my last sprain, I am proud to say I learned something from the experience. I did not go out and clean my garage. I did not continue playing on the ankle (oh yeah...same ankle as June). Instead I stopped immediately, went home, popped some meds, dunked my foot in a bucket of ice water, and kept it elevated the whole night. Sorry John, that meant no drawing. I am pleased to say the treatment worked. Little swelling/bruising, little limitation to range of motion. Either the sprain wasn't as bad, or I did something right afterwards.

Back to superpowers I have always loved Superman, but I am no longer fanatical about him. I have always dreamed of flying. But last night, I switched my preference. I would rather be like Wolverine and have rapid healing/restorative power. That can mean only one thing: I'm getting old.

But Heather tried to tell me it was a good choice. And just as she would grab me in her arms and teleport me with her (which is, of course, possible...comically speaking), I could touch her and others and heal them. This time I did have to correct his naivete, because that simply is impossible; healing doesn't work that way. Silly woman.

To A Mouse

Thank God for Robert Burns:

But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

I had intended to draw tonight, but I find that my schemes of becoming an artist at times go awry and leave me nothing but grief and pain when I expected joy. For instance, I finished my skull drawing last week. You can see some semblance of what it looks like above. I'll explain the crappiness in just a bit. Well, you would think I'd be pretty pleased, having produced a satisfactory drawing. But then I went out to Jon's studio to draw from life and it was revealed to me that I am a far cry from an outstanding artist. It was intensely frustrating and bothersome, and I walked away feeling like I couldn't draw, nor did I want to draw.

So instead of drawing, I played basketball at the gym until the kids' bedtime tonight. Then, I figured I wouldn't draw, but would post a picture of the skull. Then my digital camera was out of batteries. Then the house was out of batteries. No...not out. We had some D's and some A's; just out of AA's. Now I had intended to post quickly, then eat some dinner, play a little guitar, read a bit...enjoy some of the things I normally crowd out in my pursuit of artistic perfection. But no. My plans went all screwy because I had it in my obsessive little head that I had to post a picture and it had to be tonight. So I take the world's most ridiculous digital camera into the studio: my laptop with a web cam tacked to it. And with this unsightly monstrosity, I snapped the pictures you see above. They look so butt because the web cam is tugging atthe cord and being held sideways at full extension of the arm, etc. etc. So I'd better quit ranting so I have just enough time to choke down one bite, strum one chord, read one sentence...and then go to bed.

To Eric

I can't figure out why I didn't root for the Bears last night. I actually remember the '85 team, and their glorious Superbowl Shuffle (though after seeing Sweetness and Funky QB, I lost steam and cut out with 2 more minutes to go in the video). I can see in my mind the Fridge rumbling over those red Pats jerseys. And then, of course, there was going to see the Bears train in Plattville, WI. But those fond memories couldn't pull my support to their side. Maybe it was all those years of rooting for the Vikings...which necessitates hating the Bears and Packers. Still, I think it was mostly the fact that I wanted Manning to get his ring.

Regardless, that is not why I post. I was glad to read today that I was not watching the game alone, though I may have been the only one drinking a certain beverage (and while I do enjoy a good brew now and again, it's not what it looks like, folks). Still, I wanted to send my well-wishes and say cheers. I missed you this year.

The Death of Me

I am home sick from school today. This is nice, in a way, because it allows me to sleep and get better, but it also allows me to work on my "Memento Mori" project (which must be completed by tomorrow).
Now, fortunately the skull does not look as it does in this picture. I've worked on it a bunch since taking this picture, but the thing that's killing me is that there's something wrong with the lower jaw. I say "something" because I spent a bunch of time trying to fix it last night, and I couldn't come up with the right way to do it. So that will be part of my labor today: to figure out the problem and find the correct solution. From there it's just straight rendering until this puppy is finished. Here's to finishing inside 3 months!!

Because if I don't post now, I never will...

5 days and counting until the drawing must be done. So this week will afford me no time to blog, and I'll just pass along some notes I jotted down during church tonight.

Imagine you had a great idea for a revolutionary new gadget. You think it, you plan it, you discuss it. Then, one lazy night while watching TV at midnight, you see your gadget selling out on QVC. Later, you go online and see it selling like hotcakes on various sites. Hearing news reports of the phenomenal success of this item and the millions made by the creator, a feeling rises up within you.

Is it rage, or pride?

"Creativity is judicious immitation."
Go to a modern art museum. Have a docent explain the artwork, the concept behind it and how the artist executed it. I guarantee you, you will say, "I could've done/thought of that." Yeah...but you didn't. Now, as an artist, time and time again, I come up with some extraordinary idea for a project...and then read a book or go to an exhibit only to find it's already been done (incidentally, it's all been done). There are 2 option at that point: rage, frustration, envy, jealousy; OR pride, encouragement, confirmation. Are you mad when someone beats you to the punch, or happy that at least you wer punching at the right target? Recently I've been delighted to hear that others have already thought what I've been thinking. I feel like a freakin' genius. I made a comment on prayer, and a friend told me CS Lewis said the exact same thing in his book, "Miracles." I posted here about the falacy of infinite choice being equal to freedom, and then was directed, within the last week, to a book called, "The Paradox of Choice," written on the same topic. And most recently, my thoughts--formed in isolation with sociological observation, of a sort--on church (particularly owning a building, facets of ministry, service, community) were confirmed by a pastor and his reference to similar conclusions being reached by pastoral leadership all over. I don't want to get cocky, but how cool to observe, think, pray and discover on my own, and then find out I'm not on my own. It is evidence of a rebirth of thought, desire, insight, influence, growth..and dare I say a return to ministry...which has been occuring in my life recently. My prayer is that Jesus would continue to reach into my life and grant me wisdom (James 1:5) and through wisdom, "the knowledge of witty inventions" (Proverbs 8:12, KJV).

Ma la hoo

MA LA HI

And now...Deep Thoughts

This post is for anyone out there wondering what I have been thinking lately.
Lots.
But as it is still a jumbled mess in my head, I will not try to lay everything out just yet.
Just know that school has resumed, I am busy, frequently tired, my teeth are tingling, I'm lying on the floor of my office, my eyeballs hurt...and all of this somehow adds up to an as-yet-incomplete skull sitting out in my studio.

Thanks for keeping track of me.

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.