Cecilia was a peasant woman working in a factory.  This factory produced fine clothing, worthy of dukes and dutchesses at the most brilliant of parties. 

But Cecilia rarely saw daylight. 

The rules were clear and fair.  You must work to earn the room and your food that the factory provided. Anything you earned on top of that could be spent on what you would like. 

Some people were very good at this.  They had worked hard through their young years, being responsible and spending wisely.  Most of them were now comfortable, confident managers in charge of those who had not risen so high. 

Cecilia had not risen so high.  In her youth she had “borrowed” one of the dresses so that she had something to wear to her sister’s wedding.  It had gotten stained when wine spilled on it.  Her manager caught her and made her pay for the dress.  She didn’t realize that the dress cost over a years worth of her wages.  So now she worked from before dawn until late into the night every day.  She barely had enough energy to eat before she went to bed.  It had been this way for years, and her debt somehow seemed to be almost the same as the day she earned it.

Her managers knew that she was in great debt and they used it against her on those days that she was sick or was so tired she could barely stand.  They would say, “if you wanted nice things in this world- like time to rest you should have thought of that when you stole the dress.”  And on those days that she absolutely could not work anymore, the only way she could convince them to let her go home was to give them some of her gift. 

Her gift was her voice and people gathered to listen to her songs. 

As her managers were getting ready to leave and she was begging them to let her go home instead of working through the night they would say, “Hmm, shall we let Cecilia go early tonight?  I don’t know.  She owes an abominable amount of money.” 

And she would say quietly.  “Master, please let me sing a song for you in exchange for postponing my duties of my loan for a day.”

And they would gather their other manager friends around and laugh at the humiliated state she had worked herself into.  And then they would shout out names of songs.  She would chose one and she would sing.  When Cecilia sang, everybody stopped.  Even on her most tired days her voice traveled like lightning bolts to people’s hearts; it was clear and clarion. 

And then her managers would say, “Alright, i say we let her go an hour early. Say, 9 pm tonight.” And they would laugh and leave her almost alone in the factory to work while they went and ate and drank with their families. 

One day Cecilia had coughed up blood.  She feared she had turbuculosis, for it had spread through some of the factory workers.  She couldn’t let anyone know, or she would not be able to work and would be put into jail for her debts.  The factory was dark and the air was damp and moldy.  It was not a healthy place for someone with Tuburculosis.  That evening as she saw her manager wrapping up his things to go, she went to him, her head hanging low. 

“Sir, i am not feeling well. I know that i have much to catch up on tonight, after performing poorly this week.  But i beg of you, might i leave before midnight tonight so that i might rest?”

The manager called another manager to come over and look at this sorry sight.  They laughed at her and said, “You know, young woman, all these hardships stemmed from your trespasses and you deserve every bit of it.”

“Yessirs.  I know this.  I must pay for my debt to the owner.  I am grateful to have a job that feeds me.” 

“You should be.  What shall we do with you?  Today i will have you sing a comical song, to lighten our spirits for tonight is my son’s wedding party.  Do you know ‘Tis Jolly the Day Before Wed?”

“Yessir I can sing it.”  She cleared her throat and began.  The words of the song were silly and sarcastic, speaking of marriage like a ball and chain, but when her voice began to rise and fill the factory, people stopped what they were doing as if they had never heard a note of real music sung before.  She sang loudly, passionately, for every new note was the possibility that one of the managers might let her go at 11 or 10 pm perhaps.  By the end of her song.  Tears ran down her face.  And the managers buried themselves in the nominal duties of packing up because they couldn’t let her see they were crying as well, because of the beauty of the song. 

“Sirs may i leave before midnight, tonight, please?” she coughed quietly in her hand, and saw the blood again. 

One of them swallowed hard, finished putting a gown that he felt he had earned for his son’s new wife into his bag and cleared his throat to answer.

But another voice spoke up- a man’s warm voice from behind them.  “Your debt is cancelled my dear.”

Everyone turned around and saw a young man walking towards them. 

He stood behind her managers.  They turned to him.  He spoke.  “You are Cecilia, correct?  The one who took the dress for her sister years ago?  Yes, then.  You have worked hard enough.  your debt is cancelled.  You no longer have to work longer than the rest.”

The managers scoffed at him.  “Who are you? And who gives you this power?”

He looked at them and held out his hand.  “You know Senor Vishan. The owner of this factory?”

“We know of him but rarely do we hear from him or see him.”

“I am his son and he has given the factory to me.”  He looked at the woman and smiled. “Gather your things my dear.  Go outside and enjoy the daylight, and get healthy.”

Cecilia scurried to her station and gathered her jacket and her small bag of clothes (that she was going to use if she had to sleep in the factory)

The managers raised their voices in protest!  “How can you prove who you are is valid?  We have never heard of such a son.”

He said, “To prove it to you, the factory will begin half an hour later tomorrow. Have a good night, gentlemen.  Perhaps i will see you in the morning.”  That is what he said. 

Cecilia ran into the warm, dry air of their town and it was like medicine to her body and medicine to her soul.  For the rest of the afternoon, until nightfall she rested in the plaza near the beautiful fountain amidst the lush gardens and busy, happy vendors.  And to everyone she talked to she told them of the wonderful factory owner’s son. 

The next morning, the managers waited for the work bell to ring.  And as sure as it rang, it rang 30 minutes later than normal. 

Cecilia worked that day with a new heart within her.  She was excited for this new boss, the owner’s son.  He would run things differently.  She actually WANTED to work if it was for this man.  She loved him in a deep way already. 

Cecilia’s manager had actually climbed to the bookkeeping room during the 30 minute delay that morning and asked to see the balance of Cecilia’s account.  They brought out the large book and saw that the night before, the balance had been subtracted to zero.

On his way down, the manager walked past a room that was usually unoccupied.  It had been cleaned and there was a man scribbling, huddled over a single desk in the middle of the room. 

The manager knocked on the door and the man looked up.  It was the man who claimed to be the owner’s son.  The manager had suddenly regretted knocking.  The young man stood up and invited the manager in.  He poured a saucer of tea and brought it to the manager.  He said his name and said, “good morning.”

He refused the tea as he began to feel more and more foolish.  He looked at the ground as he said, “Sir, I believe now that you are who you say you are.  I apologize for how i talked to you last night.”

“Do not worry, my friend.  You didn’t know.  But now you do.  And now you know that this factory is under new ownership.  My father has put me in charge and though he did what he needed to do to build a successful company, things are going to change.”

The manager looked up and saw the young man’s face.  It was tired.  He handed the manager the tea again, and said, “Take it.  It’s good.”

The manager obeyed and reached for the tea.  “Sir, you look very tired.  Did you not sleep well, last night?”  In his heart the manager hoped a little bit that the owner’s son had stayed up at night regretting his decision to cancel Cecilia’s debt.

“No, i didn’t sleep much last night.  I stayed up most of the night looking at the books trying to figure out how i could eliminate waste and pay for cecilia’s debt.  I believe i have almost done it.  Perhaps ask me after tomorrow night and i will be able to tell you exactly how i was able to cancel her debt.  Now, go.  Work is about to start.”

The manager drank the rest of his tea and said thank you as he left.  He was quiet the rest of the day.

That evening, a town meeting was held in the square to annonce the change in ownership of one of the town’s most important industries. Many people gathered, stately business owners, dukes that wore the factory’s clothing stopped by to see, and many of the factory workers stood in the plaza to watch and hear the truth about this mysterious new owner. 

They introduced the old factory owner, an old gray and soft spoken man.  He introduced his son and said that he was very pleased to give his factory to him and that he had faith that where he had not been a good owner, his son would excel because he worked hard and he deeply loved his workers.  As they were wrapping up the ceremony the cloud began to clap.  Then a clear and clarion voice began to rise from the back of the crowd. 

the audience suddenly hushed as Cecilia’s voice filled the plaza with life and color. Every heart was struck and silenced as her words humbly formed.  She sang the same verse three times.

Never a man have i known
That is so worthy in character
Could redeem and heal a tired slave
And treat her like a daughter

The crowd rang out in joyful praise of the new owner. 

The factory was a new place for the rest of the new owner’s life.  People grew to know that the new owner worked harder and longer than the rest of his people so that they could be healthier and have more time with their families.  he walked the factory floor with his workers and talked with them about their lives and their work.  Together they figured out better, more efficient ways to work and rarely did any of the workers, of the ones that really knew him, ever skimp on their hours, or work less hard than they knew they could.  For they knew that the owner they loved, would willingly do the work that they neglected to do because he loved them so much.  And they knew that he would do what he needed to do to make his company thrive, even if it meant working himself to death.

(Luke 7:36)

March 7th, 2010 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

Roughly translated from a strip of paper from a scrapbook of a family that lived in a Nazi concentration camp:

January 4, 1945: we are more skeletons then men: hope is basically dead in the camp (like most of my people) and we have basically given up.

not a mouse or even a bug has been seen for months. there is nothing nothing NOTHING left to eat but the couple bits of bread they give us once a day.

Jan 5: my daughter, Meredith died in Meghan’s arms this morning.  the unhumans made me dig her grave. Perhaps they will have me dig my own soon.  This paper may be the only thing left from me in a few days.

Jan 6: The unhumans announced today that our rations are decreasing.  it’s down to a peice of bread about the size of my thumb and i think the water is drawn from the sewer. Meghan broke a rib today in a coughing fit.  The blood from her coughing has decreased. Is it possible we barely have enough blood in our bodies?  All of our faces are simply limp rags on brittle cheekbones.

Jan 7: More coughing. Less blood.  very little food.  It does no good to drink the water.  less than a quarter of us left.  100 of us left out of original 500 people- If we are even considered people anymore.

Jan 8: a man was brought into camp today. he is a large, strong man, bigger than many of the unhumans.  He is dressed in rags like us but he isn’t afraid to yell at the guards.  Today a boy took two pieces of bread instead of one and they started beating the boy for it.  But the new man protested.  He  picked up a bench to throw at the guard but the guard shot him. It only hit his hand but it stopped him.

The unhuman and the new man yelled at each other and the unhuman said, “What are you doing? Do you think you’re one of them?!”

The new man said, “Do you realize what YOU ARE doing?! You have the power stop this!”

There is talk of revolt among us.  My people are saying that the new man can lead them.  But he insists that is not the right way.  they say it is the only way.  He says that we just have to hold on a little bit longer.  some of them hate him for this. If we wait more we will be dead.

The new man is a little bit funny.  Whenever the guards are not looking, he teases with the children. They adore him.  Only he is able to make them smile anymore. 

Jan 9: the new man snuck into our barrack last night. He started waking people up so he could tell them, “The allies are coming.  They should be here soon. you just have to hold on a little longer.”

I yelled at him, “Why should we believe you?!” It was too loud but I was angry.

He responded by saying he was on the outside just two weeks before.  This camp was his punishment for speaking against what the Nazi’s were doing.  But he says he knew he needed to come tell us to hold on just a little bit longer. 

I yelled at him again, “but how can we? We will all be dead in a week!”  I had done it again.  It was my fault.  The unhumans came in.  But they took the new man out instead of me.

Jan 10: this morning they punished the new man for us all to see.  They wanted to make a point.  They wanted to break even the strongest among us.  They almost did.  After they untied him he stumbled up to me, put a finger in my chest and whispered, “Would i do this if what i said weren’t true?” And he limped to the barrack. 

tonight he came over to my bed.  The coughing and the people moaning in their sleep was loud but the new man asked me, “What do we need in order to make your people survive a little longer?”

I simply said, “food.”

he replied, “i don’t have any of that.”

i poked the big muscle on his well fed arm and said, “It looks like you used to have plenty.” I turned over and ignored him. 

After a minute I heard him whisper under his breath, “I just wish there was some way i could give it to you.” When i finally turned over he was talking to Hans.  Nobody likes Hans.  Hans steals children’s food.  He’ll do anything for food.  Why is the new man talking to Hans?

Who is this new man? Is it true what he says? Why would he do this for us? How could we hold on, even if they were coming to save us soon.  My wife lays in her bed all day.  She cannot speak anymore.  mostly dying of thirst i think.  I am strings and bones. we have all but starved to death.

Jan 11: this morning the revolt started . . . and then it died.  Several of our men attacked a guard with a shovel and then suffocated him.  The new man found out what they were doing.  He ran to them.  He was very upset and he said, “This is not the right way! We just have to wait a little bit longer!”

Then another guard found them.  The new man took all the blame.

They quickly gathered everybody.  We all watched as they stood him against a wall.  He was looking at us when they shot him in the head.  We helped bury him.  Just like another one of us. 

I am in my bed now. Wondering if what he said was really true.  Even if someone saves us tomorrow, I don’t think my wife will make it through the night.  She is barely breathing.  She got a big sliver today and not a drop of blood came out.  It’s not even red.

Hans just snuck out.  He’s probably going to get sick.  I must stop writing in case they see him and come in.

. . .

Hans returned a few hours ago.  He brought a handful of raw meat in his hands! It was dirty and wet with blood, but i do not care.  He must have found it in the guard’s kitchen.  but it was not frozen or salted.  Again, i do not care.  I took the wettest peice and put it in my wife’s mouth. She started to move again.  I took some for myself as well.  Hans would not say anything except that we must eat it.  then he went and came back with more until everybody had eaten some. 

A spark of hope is alive.  It is very late. i must sleep.

Jan 12: today Hans wouldn’t say anything.  When we asked him, he just shook his head and held back tears.  I’ve seen most people cry but not Hans.  And he was different today.  As he cried i think i could see a deep, secret, sincere smile.  When people asked him, he just shook his head and started crying again. He sat at Meghan’s side today and helped nurse her while i was working.  He would never do that before. He usually sleeps during every spare moment like everybody else.

tonight he brought more meat.  it was still dirty and raw but it wasn’t bad.  Im afraid to ask where it came from but all i know is that it is pure life for us.  My wife woke up long enough today to tell me she had a dream.

She said she saw our daughter Meredith standing at the door of our barrack, glowing like an angel as we slept.  She saw tanks and guns shooting at us all around outside but Meredith held out her hand and none of it could reach us inside.  Meredith saw me stand up and go to fight the men outside but meredith said,

“This is not the right way, Daddy.  Just wait a little bit longer.”

And then my wife said the sun started to rise in the dream and she could see the light on the treetops, about to reach us.  That’s all she said and she went back to sleep. 

Jan 13: people seem to be improving.  Some are actually laughing.  It has been a long time since i have heard laughing.  Hans still wouldn’t tell us where he had gotten the meat.  We only knew that nothing but that meat, and now hope, was sustaining us. 

Jan 14: there is a strange commotion among the guards. they are fighting amongst themselves.  One of them left the camp by foot today, in front of everybody, despite his officer’s orders. 

Jan 15: last night Hans brought the last of the meat.  He still would not tell where he got it.  He smiles and cries more than he ever has before- it’s a good type of cry, i think.  It is like Hans has come back to life.  he helps everybody else.  He was the most hated reject before, but something has changed in him.  he is acting like a father to us.  he gave my wife Meghan a long hug today and as he cried he said, “we Just have to wait a little bit longer, Meghan.”

Jan 17: WE . . . HAVE . . . BEEN . . . SET . . . FREE!

The British troops arrived and the unhumans surrendered.  We were taken to the closest town, Rierhstadt and they fed us and gave us beds. 

We were sitting at a restaurant in the town on the second night when i saw Hans.  He was sitting by himself.  But he seemed happy.  I went and sat next to him. 

“Where did you get the meat, Hans”

Hans looked at me but looked away.  He didn’t want to cry again.  He shook his head.  “Sorry.”

I waited. 

Hans swallowed and said, “He told me not to tell anyone or else you wouldn’t eat it.  He did it for us, Erich.  He did it for you.  He did it for Meghan,” Hans gestured to my wife, “he did it for me. He said that someone had told him that food was all we needed.  And this was the only way he could give it to us- he gave us himself, Erich.  He told me to dig him up and bring pieces of him to the people when he died.  He said to give his body to all of us because we just had to wait a little bit longer.” Hans barely finished talking before he began to uncontrollably cry again.  he left the bar.

Whenever i saw Hans after that he was either sitting and gazing at the sky and thinking or helping the women carry their bags or playing with the children- yes, he was usually playing with the children. 

—

The Romans often accused early Christianity of being a cannibalistic religion because the Christians insisted that they were eating the flesh and blood of a man.  It sounds insane and digustingly pagan, but that man, the man who they trusted with their whole hearts, told them to do it.

And we still do it today.  That man died to sustain us.  And his message still spreads like a whisper among the people. He is saying, “You just have to hold on a little bit longer.  My kingdom is coming.   Eat of me and i will sustain you.  i will begin to grow into life on the inside.  And it will be enough for you.  Like Mana in the desert, it will be your daily bread, until i come again . . .

. . . and set you free.”

January 30th, 2010 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

Arly was the apple of her father’s eye. Carl came home from work every day to the sound of patterring feet and the sight of Arly running to him, arms reaching out.  She would sit beside him at dinner and recount everything that happened that day, and he adored it.  He usually watched an hour of sports or played World of Warcraft on the computer each night but other than that his evenings were hers, until he tucked her in with her little teddy bear and told her a story. 

The stories were usually about a battle that had to be won- A man fighting for his one true passion.  sometimes in the stories the man fought to save a city, tame a wild horse or save his love. 

Arly loved the stories.  she loved her father.  But she also loved her mother and knew that her mom was sad. 

One night, after Carl had finished a story of dragons and wizards and about a man fighting to save a princess, she said, “Daddy?”
“Yes, my dear.”
“Do you love mommy?”
“Of course i do, honey.”
“Do you love her like the man in the story loved the princess?”
Carl knew his pause said what he didn’t want to say.  He spoke, “Of course, my dear.”
“then why don’t you fight for mommy?”

Carl came up with some made up answer, kissed his daughter goodnight and went to bed.  he didn’t know that would be the last time he would kiss Arly. 

In the morning his wife, Darlene looked out the window and asked Carl if he could take Arly to school that day for her. “It really snowed last night,” she said ”and you know your car is a lot better in the snow.”

Carl was in a hurry and knew he didn’t have the time to wait for Arly to get ready and still get to work on time.  “Darlene, you know i don’t have time for that. Just drive really carefully.  Take it slow. pump the breaks if you slide.  You’ll be ok.”

“Please, Carl. It looks really bad.  Can you call in and say you’ll be late?”

“Darlene, listen. I have to get to work so I can provide for this family.  You’re over-reacting.  It’s only five miles away.”

On the way to work, Carl thought about his decision.  He was pretty sure Darlene was over-reacting, although the snow was still really coming down.  But then he remembered what Arly had said.  ‘why don’t you fight for mommy?’  Instead of fighting for her, he hadn’t even offered to help.

At 9 AM the ambulances finally made it to the accident.  the snow was worse than expected and it took an extra ten minutes to get there.  Arly was already gone; bloodless and silent in her mothers’ arms.  People came around, helped as much as they could, but finally resorted to cursing the snow and letting Darlene say one last, long, bitter goodbye to her daughter in her lap. 

During the days and months after Arly died, Carl drew himself tightly into a shell.  He used his work and sports and video games as a distraction from the pain- the only battles worth fighting anymore. He kept telling himself there were a dozen things Darlene could have done to avoid the accident.  He didn’t want to face the truth.

Darlene, on the other hand, knew that all she had left was Carl.  She did what she could to love him.

“Darlene, will you please stop making all that noise! All i can hear are pots and pans clanging together! I’m trying to watch my football game!”  The TV room was right next to the kitchen.

He had to ask her the same thing every now and then and eventually the clanging of the pots and plates stopped all together. 

Other times Darlene would play the piano which was in the same room as his video games.  “Darlene! I know you like to practice the piano but i can’t freakin hear what the other dudes are saying in the game.  I need to be able to hear in order to play this game, ok?! I’m sorry.”

Even in their bedroom, when he finally tore himself away from the videogames she would try to keep him up.  She would come out of the bathroom and say, “Carl, i got these today.  Do you like them?  Do they fit me?. . . Carl? . . . Don’t you want to see?”

His tired head was already on the pillow so he didn’t turn around to look at her.  He said, “Darlene! I’ve got to work in the morning.  I’m exhausted.  I’ve got to make the money you seem to keep wanting to spend on Clothes!!!  I know we mourn in our own ways but just remember spending money isn’t going to help the situation.”  

Like he requested, after a few weeks, she stopped trying to cook when he was watching sports and never tried to play the piano any more. And when he came up to bed, she was already fast asleep.

Then one morning there was a huge snow storm.  Darlene woke up first and said, ”It doesn’t look like you will be able to go to work today.”  She looked over at him.  “It was a year ago today, Carl.”

Carl peeled himself out of bed and squinted out the window. the snow was half way up the doors and completely covered the cars.  She was right.  There was no way to get to work. He looked at the date on his watch.  sure enough. It had been one year since Arly had died.

he stumbled down to the kitchen.  It looked so barren and disinfected and cold.  Darlene hadn’t cooked for months.  he rummaged around and found the coffee maker.  He started the coffee, got a blanket and sat down in front of his TV.  He clicked the remote but nothing happened.  He growled and cursed the snow.  He pulled the blanket around him and cursed his life.  He finally decided he would try the computer.  He got up and went to the computer room.  He pushed the power button.  It had no power either.  He just sat in his chair, wrapped in the blanket, and fumed.  His only passions in life had been stolen from him.  “It’s way too quiet.  If Darlene just hadn’t killed Arly.  Dangit Darlene!”  He kicked the leg of the computer table. the computer mouse fell off of the table and swung and hit the wall. 

He sat in Silence. He looked out the window at the heavy, white blanket of snow.  He thought of Arly and suddenly thought, “I’m too lonely to let myself miss you, Arly.”

He felt so empty.  Without Sports and Video games to live for, to fight for, he was dry.  But suddenly, now that they weren’t here, they seemed so shallow to him.  What did they care about him?  What were these things he had been fighting for?

He turned slowly around in his office chair.  He saw Darlene’s piano.  A stack of scribbled pages set above the piano.  He squinted at the title.  He rolled closer.  The title was: “We’ve lost you”  The following lines read.

My dear we’ve lost you
And i’m afraid you’re never coming back
in our vulnerable hour you withdrew
And left me open to attack

I’ve called for you with this weak piano
but was treated like a fool
I’ve cooked to heal your injured soul
but you’ve left me for the wolves

I’ve tried to win my lovers heart
with beauty in our tower
but i was ignored, left apart
and slept alone our darkest hour

Carl looked and saw the stack of pages upon pages of his wife’s scribbled songs, crumpled from desperation and smeared with tears.  He realized she had been just as devastated as he yet she had tried her best to fight for his heart.  And he had deserted her. 

On the coldest day of the year Carl’s heart melted.  Something inside of him quelled.  This was no time to cry.  His love, so long deserted was in the same house. He realized his fault, and it hit him like a fist in the teeth.  He only had to go to her.

He mounted the stairs with determination in his heart.  His face set on the thought of Darlene.  He would go to her and be everything she needed and more. He would rescue her from sorrow.

But when he opened the bedroom doorway his heart fell.  All that he saw was her two feet sticking out from behind the bed.  he ran to her.  “Darlene! What have you done!”

He kneeled over her and touched her.  She jerked and shoved his hand off of her.  she was sobbing into a pillow on the floor.
“Oh, i thought you were dead.  I’m so sorry, Darlene.  I realize what i have done.”
“Get away from me.”
“What?”
“You were never there when i needed you.”
“I’m so sorry.  I didn’t realize that you were trying to love me.”
“You don’t realize that i cry on this floor for hours every day.  And when i finally had the strength to come down and try to love you, you stomped on my heart.”
“Darlene! I know, I know. I’ve never been so mad at myself in my whole life. I’m ready to fix it.  What can i do for you?”
“Just get away from me.  Let me cry by myself.  Arly couldn’t help the way she hurt me, but you hurt me over and over with no regret.  I hate that stupid TV.  I hate that stupid computer.  I hate you.  Get out of here.”

Carl lifted his hand off her and she shutterred.  His heart was beating hard.  Was this really happening? he slowly backed out of the room, his head in a daze. 

He sat down in front of his TV.  He scowled and gritted his teeth.  He picked up the remote and pushed the power button out of habit.  The TV of course still didn’t work.  He stared at the TV with disgust.  He had loved his sports more than his wife.  He started hitting the remote against his leg, until it hurt.  “No.” he thought.  “I will need every bit of myself to fight for her.”  He stood up slowly.  The blanket fell off of him.  He dropped the remote on the ground.  He lifted his foot and stomped hard to crush it.  It took three heavy stomps with his heel to crack the remote’s casing.  He had slain the first enemy.  Then he looked up to the beautiful tempting hi-def wide-screen TV.  He set his jaw and walked over to it. He picked it up and tugged it out of the wall.  He walked it out the sliding back door. He pushed through the huge snow drift and threw the TV against the cold, snow covered corner of the cement porch.  It screeched and banged and fell to the ground, its broken screen facing the sky. 

Soon the computer was broken too, laying on top of it. 

When Carl entered his bedroom again, he was ready to fight.  A blanket draped over his shoulder like armor.  Arly’s teddy bear was clasped in one hand, and a cup and saucer of coffee rattled in his other hand.  he knelt down at his wife’s feet.  She was silent, still clasping her pillow on the floor. 

“My dear Darlene.  I am so sorry.  I am barely a man any more.  and i am truly nothing without you.  May i come to you?”

She lifted her head.  He never talked to her anymore, and he definitely didn’t talk to her like that anymore.  She looked at him.  “What did you break downstairs?”

Carl swallowed. “I broke the TV.  And i killed our computer.” He looked up at her as if to beg a sort of forgiveness for destroying their stuff. 

“Why did you did that?”

He just shook his head in his own shame and said, “I’m so sorry, Darlene.  I have neglected my first love for a whole year.”

“It’s been longer than that. . . Are they really gone?” She hesitantly asked.

Carl nodded. “I killed them dead.”

A single, muffled sloppy laugh slipped out between her sobs.  He laughed a little bit too and spilled a bit of the steaming coffee on her bare leg.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry.  So sorry!” He put down the coffee and tried to dab her leg with the blanket and then realized that it was her grandma’s old blanket and gave her a frightened look.  She laughed again. She sniffed and wiped her tears.  “It’s ok.” She pulled her legs back underneath her and sat up.  She was very slow at looking back up to him. She looked at Arly’s old teddy bear first. Carl held it out to her. She slowly accepted it.  She held it to her face and smelled it.  “I miss her, Carl.”

He nodded.  She finally looked up at his face.  and saw his wet eyes.  he nodded again to make sure she saw it.  She looked down at the coffee spilled over and filling the saucer.  She smiled and picked it up. she sniffed and sipped it.  You still remember that i like the vanilla creamer.

He nodded again. “It was way back in the shelf i had to find it.” 

they both breathed in deeply and then she sobbed again.  The coffee spilled all over her and she put it down noisily on the saucer.  She doubled over, squeezing the teddy bear.  Carl slowly reached out to her and started to put the blanket on her.  when she felt his hand on her she flinched.  He drew back. 

This was going to be a long battle. 

he sat with her for the rest of the day.  There were times where she yelled at him, and he listened with bowed head and mumbled “I know, I know, I’m sorry, Darlene.”

There were times she cried and recounted memories of Arly.  Each time she shot a glance at him to see if he remembered.  She had always assumed he had been trying to forget Arly with all the TV and Video games.  Each time he would nod at the memory and tears would often come to his eyes. 

As the sun went down on that quiet, white day Darlene had spilled most of three cups of coffee on herself and Carl had brought every blanket in the house to her to keep her warm.  It looked like a giant nest tucked in all around her in between the bed and the wall as Carl shivered at her feet.  “No, no it’s ok” he kept on saying. “I’m warm enough, keep the blankets.  Do you need anything else?”

That night, though he knew she still was not ready for him to hold her, like he really wanted to, she said one thing that let him know there was hope.  As her exhaustion overtook her and her eyes were closing in the maroon light of silent sky, she said, “Carl, would you tell me a story please, like you used to tell Arly?”

He nodded slowly.  He swallowed the lump in his throat.  He thought for a moment.  It had been a long time since he had told a story.  He swallowed.  ”Once there was a man who was ready to fight to save his beloved bride.  He knew there were many dragons in their past that he would have to slay, but he was ready to give up even his own life to save her.” Not one of his most poetic stories. But he got the point across.

he could see a smile creep across her face as she fell asleep.  He whispered to himself.  “I’m so sorry im so late, Arly.  But now i know what i have to do.  It’s time to fight for your Mommy.”

If we only knew that this, the fighting type of love, is the fierce love of our God for us.  He is there providing for us our daily bread, and singing to us; he is fighting to win our love even when we mistake most of it as an annoying racket.  But when we finally do hear it for what it is and turn to him, our battle has just begun.  We must fight an incesent battle against our own temporal, selfish desires to love him back.  it’s not easy, but in the end, we believe it will be worth it.

How much passion and love must a man have to die for someone?  Apparently that’s how much God loves us. 

January 3rd, 2010 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

Have you ever seen someone so desperately in love that it drives them to absolutely ridiculous measures?  It is a thing of imbalanced teenage girls

. . . and the God of the Jews.

Hank Shepherd wrote a song that made him famous.  When he was only 21 “Momma’s Eyes” Swept the charts and the hearts of the Country-western world.  Until she died his mother had raised him on honesty, hard work, and faithfulness.  And that was what he was known for.  Everybody knew of his vow to purity until marriage and his unusual respect with which he treated women.  when the girls offered themselves to him after each show, he passed out a rose and a kiss on the cheek to each before he dissapeared into his trailer to work on his music. when they asked him why was he so different, he always said something like, “there was just something special I saw in my momma’s eyes.”

He said she taught him everything it is to be a real man, but the main thing he remembered from his mother was her patient endurance through a multitude of abusive men, all because she wanted him to have a father.  She had been used, abused and dumped over and over. And it had all been for him.

So you can see why it baffled everyone when Hank proposed.  The tabloids made their millions but not one country-western heart was happy to hear that the impeccable gentleman, Hank Shepherd proposed to a smoking, drinking, loud mouthed bar whore who lived with her alcoholic grandmother.

He said it was love at first sight- even if she WAS drunk when he passed her at a small town country festival.  And she said that she had hardly noticed him.  She didn’t know who he was.  In fact she still says she doesn’t really like country music.

The engagement was quick. He proposed to her on his mother’s birthday on top of a ferris wheel with a song that eventually raced up the charts as well.  He courted her in the old fashioned way and insisted on nothing more than a kiss before they parted each night.  Although SHE usually went back to the bar after that. 

And they married. 

Hank was crazy about her.  but it was very hard.  His ensuing album was heavy and morose.  Deep, powerful songs of unrequited love.  He never exactly suggested it in the songs, but everyone knew the sad truth.  She was not being faithful.  Every young cowgirl cursed her name whenever Hank’s songs played.

Hank stopped eating. He would take no advice if it told him to drop or disrespect his wife.  He became a hermit.  Waiting day and night for his beloved wife to come home.  he wrote song after song that he would play to her to try to win her back- when she would listen.  When she did stop to listen to a song he begged to play for her, she usually responded with “It sounds alright.  But you know I don’t really like the sound of country.”

Every song that Hank wrote grew better than the last because of his ceasleass ache for his wife’s love.  Hank’s albums filled the airwaves with a love that built strong marriages by breaking hearts.  Couples vowed to be faithful to each other as they sat in old pickup trucks listening to Hank’s heart slowly breaking.  Men sang the songs of his uncompromising undying love to their wives on their wedding days. Every one knew that to love like Hank meant forever.

Hank’s love was undying. but his body was not. 

Cowboys left their tractors in the fields and their wives waited for them on porches on the day Hank’s body was found, bent over his guitar, fingers stiff on the love-sick A minor chord.

The lyrics of his last and final love song were weakly scribbled on a shred of wrapping paper found resting on his knee. it answered the question everyone had asked from the beginning- ‘why did he love her so much?’  The lyrics read:

So long i’ve sought the weary sound
so desperate my guitar it tries
to reach the one girl i found
who has my momma’s eyes

Sometimes i think i can hear the love sick chords that drove the God of the Jews to desperate measures.  the ridiculous love that allowed itself to be hurt over and over for an unworthy bride, until it led to a lonely, love sick death- hung up on a spike of wood on a hill for everyone to see.  Jesus loved us to death- all because he sees his beloved father’s image in us, and because he just wants us to have a father again.  

But we have our own excuses that keep us from listening to the song.  Like Hank’s wife, we say we just don’t much like the sound of Country. We totally miss the ubiquitous message of unrequited love- all because we don’t really like the culture of the people listening to the music.  we miss the eternal, aching love song of the creator for his beloved created, just because we don’t really like the sound. . .

. . . of religion.

December 25th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

sometimes i wonder if I’m lying. All this stuff i tell people about God- what if it’s all fecundity of sub-factual fish feces?  This is such a broken world, with so many irreparable people.

. . .

A couple weeks ago i complained these thoughts to my friend, Cliff.  He looked at me from across the table and bowed his head.  He prayed that i would meet God face to face in a way so real that i would see the features of his face and the callouses on his ancient hands- so i would know him. Really know him.

I went home exhausted.  A phone call from my schizophrenic friend Bonnie woke me up at midnight.  I had fallen asleep in my clothes on the floor.  I listened until 3am, about her friends and the government conspiring against her for money she’s sure she’s won.  At 3am, from a desperate place in my heart i found myself yelling at her out loud.  She was quiet for the first time since i have known her.  I apologized. We prayed. I prayed for her healing several times, in several ways. But it didn’t seem to fix anything.  she kept talking my ear off with frantic dilusions.

I finally forced her to say goodnight at 3:30am and i hung up.  I lay in bed, crying out into the emptiness of a lonely house:

“WHY ALL THIS PAIN!?
WHY ALL THIS SADNESS!?
AND WHY DON’T YOU FIX THINGS I PRAY FOR!?”

“Go for a walk”

“What?  At 3:30 in the morning? I need my sleep!” it was a ridiculous request. After wrestling with the idea for a few minutes i smirked back to the ceiling, “Ok, God. Just so you know that i’m doing my part in the deal. I’ll go for a walk.”

God was waiting for me a couple blocks away in the lonely, crisp pre-dawn air. 

I had started telling him how angry i was with his absence, when i realized he was there with me.  I believe i saw his face in the most real way i ever have.  Not like i could see the features of his eyes or nose or lips, but i could see the look on his face.  It surrounded me like a cloud.  i could see his emotion as if i were looking at your eyes which told me you were sad.

The look on his face was sadness. But it was peaceful.  Peaceful sadness.  I walked and talked with him, as the air chilled my wet eyes. 

“Ross, I know it hurts.  I didn’t want it this way. but i have a plan to fix it some day.  I am writing this story.  Right now is just the sad part.  You see Bonnie’s pain for a couple hours every other week.  I feel it ALL the time. Can’t you stay awake for a little while and just walk with me.”

He had been waiting for me.  Like he had longed for companionship in the garden of Gethsemane when he had said, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.”

Over the next few days i realized i had answers to my questions.
-Why all this pain?  I don’t know, but God has a plan to fix it some day.
-Why all this sadness i see so often?  I don’t know, but God feels it all the time.
-And why doesn’t he fix the things I ask for?  I don’t know, but when i ask, i am sharing the pain with him, and offerring to walk with him for a while in a very lonely garden.

December 21st, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

admirer

I have learned so much from my friend Cliff.  I want to teach some of his thoughts to the world to honor my friend and share the wealth.  Thank you for everything, Cliff.

 Cliff has learned that God has made everything beautiful.  Breathtaking beauty can be found in a blade of grass, a child’s smile, a stormy sky, and even in pain is a beatiful story being written.

In Isaiah 6, Isaiah saw a vision where the angels called to one another:

“Hoy, holy, holy is the the Lord
      Almighty:
the whole earth is full of his glory.”

So let us look for God’s beauty and glory in the pleasure and the pain in this whole world over.

December 19th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

herald

Cliff has taught me that in times of trouble or confusion, guilt or shame, we can think of three things to remind us that God is good and he will take care of us.

1)   What has been done: he died and forgave my sin.  Therefore have no more shame before the one that really matters.
2)   What is happening now: I am being made new.
3)   What will be done: God has a purpose and that purpose involves making us perfect.

I have learned so much from my friend Cliff.  I want to teach some of his thoughts to the world to honor my friend and share the wealth.  Thank you for everything, Cliff.

December 19th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

servant

I have learned so much from my friend Cliff.  I want to teach some of his thoughts to the world to honor my friend and share the wealth.  Thank you for everything, Cliff.

Cliff says the key to evangelizing is not to realign a person’s perception, but instead their perspective.  What i learned from this is that to win a person over to Christ you must not only make the case that God exists, but make them want him to exist. Let them see that God makes a life so much more worth living, even though (and maybe because) he calls us to give it away.

Cliff used to go to a high profile church with a famous pastor.  One day when cliff was talking to visitors who were in line to meet the pastor he felt the need to tell this to a man named Jose: ”if you give your life to Jesus, he will transform you in such a way that you can change the world.” 

A friend of Cliff’s that happened to know Jose said that Jose had stayed up that night thinking about the message God told Cliff to give him.  And he told Cliff that he could already see a difference in Jose’s life.  If there is a possibility in person’s mind that God exists, sometimes the only thing keeping them from believing is the desire to.

December 19th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

shepherd

I have learned so much from my friend Cliff.  I want to teach some of his thoughts to the world to honor my friend and share the wealth.  Thank you for everything, Cliff. 

Idea #1:
More important than believing that God exists is believing that God is good.  This is because if God exists and is a purely selfish God, then we wouldn’t want to follow him anyway. 

But if you’re still struggling with the existence of God, here is Cliff’s proof:  Ants, ducks, penguins and his humming mother.

Ants:  Cliff accidentally stepped on a line of ants one time.  He stooped to watch them.  The ones who kept working walked around the smooshed ones and continued their invisible navigation.  The others carried their dead brothers back to bury them.  Reason for God’s existence #1: Ants are so complex and they have the morality to bury their dead. 

Ducks: Cliff saw a duck standing over an dirty pile of rags in a parking lot. But as Cliff got closer he realized it wasn’t rags but was another duck that had been run over.  Reason for God’s existence #2: In a world where only the strongest survive, even ducks have love.

Penguins: If you’ve seen the March of the penguins you know that female penguins leave their mate and travel 65 miles to feed while the male watches the baby. Then she treks the 65 miles back and finds him so that he can do the same, having not eating for four months.  Reason for God’s existence #3: the characteristics of God’s devoted love exists even in antarctica in the hearts of penguins.

Humming mother: Cliff’s mom has a mental disease that traps her in a lonely mind.  At one point Cliff prayed intensely for a week that God would be her companion inside her broken mind- because as hard as  they tried, they weren’t able to.  One day when Cliff was washing dishes he heard her humming. He stopped and listened. It was a beautiful song he had never heard before.  And he didn’t know where she would have heard it before.  In fact not he nor his step dad had ever heard her even humming before.  But Cliff said, she looked content.  For Cliff, this was his answer to prayer. God visited her and placed a song in her heart to bring her joy. 

So maybe all of these things are trying to tell us that God not only exists but that He is good.

December 19th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

A new friend and his wife invited me out to dinner last week.  I thought, that’s nice . . . until i showed up and he said, “You get to choose between chicken or steak.”

It was a pyramid scheme marketing dinner.  The men up front were trying to sell me a product.  I was put off a little bit at first. No one wants to be tricked into being sold something.  Was i mistaken to think that the couple really wanted to be my friends?!

but I sat there dumbfounded because as i listened i heard almost the exact things that we say, when we’re trying to sell Jesus!
-i was broke but now i’m well taken care of
-it does take some sacrifice, but you’ll be rewarded ten fold
-tell your friends how your life has changed and they will want in

On our way home i rode in the back seat with my head almost in my hands, trying to figure out the difference between Christianity and some big marketing ploy . . . until the wife said to me, “I don’t know if maybe you could do me a favor. . .”

Oh great; here it is. they need money or help painting their house or something.  I guess we ARE always just expanding our network of friends because we make some sort of commission on each one.

She continued, “I’m really worried about my Jason.  He’s really struggling in school and I’m worried about the friends he hangs out with.  I know he likes you.  Could you maybe talk to him a little bit?”

Why was I reluctant to spend 3 hours at a free dinner that could make me rich, but as soon as i was asked to help a mother’s beloved son even when i had nothing to gain from it, i was sold on the spot?

I don’t think God’s kingdom promises money, but you do gain more love. What i mean is that we begin to love people more.

Maybe that, truly, is the great commission.

November 21st, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

when i sincerely pray for something, and it absolutely does not come true, i begin to ask myself, ‘are we just fooling ourselves?’

I have two options at that point.  I can say, ‘God must not be real,’ or i can say ‘God must not work in the ways i expect him to work.’

When I watch the breathtaking machine that is a firefly at dusk, or recognize the golden spiral in a chambered nautilus, or glimpse the harmony with which the intricate systems in our bodies play together, i tend to lean towards the latter option; His ways are more mysterious than mine.

And those things remind me that the god in my head is still much smaller than the real God that is writing a mysterious story with his creation.  I take joy in that.  After all, aren’t the best stories the ones that have perfectly fitting endings that we never even saw coming?

November 20th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

When my mom died, people brought over way more food than we could eat.  I started telling people to please stop trying to help.

but my dad taught me a lesson that day.  he said, “help them, by letting them help you, Ross.”

I have a friend that i help in lots of ways. He really owns nothing that i want, but i have learned that when he wants to give me something, even if i know he loves it much more than i would, I will gratefully accept it.  it is less important for him to own that beloved possession than it is for him to learn the joy of sacrificial giving that Jesus uses to water his soul.

November 7th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

the spiritual forces pushing the prevalence of homosexuality have been much more damaging to God’s plan than just increasing sodomy.   That is a clever disguise.  Modern culture’s increased acceptance of homosexuality is devastating to our work mostly because with it has come the common assumption that Christians “hate” homosexuals.  And this entirely undermines our most basic foundational tenant to love.  We are often therefore seen as not only haters, but as liars and hypocrites as well.

so please remember that we ultimately are not fighting against confused human sexuality.  we are battling to prove to the world that Jesus really did hang out with, and love us sinners to death. 

now lets march forward and fight for those dear hearts with our underestimated weapons of grace, compassion and unconditional love.

November 4th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

Hello sir or Madam,

it sucks when a boss tells us how to do something even though we think there’s a better way. how do we respond?  i’ve been known to do it my way anyway to prove myself, the Christian, right. 

when i walked out of my boss’ office the other day, after being proven wrong, i realized something: Our goal is to obey and respect our God as best we can, and what better model do we have to demonstrate that than with our boss at work, even when we think they are wrong.

November 4th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

i saw a deformed teenager hobbling out of Taco Bell today.  He was shorter than my waist.  He held the door open for me and then sincerely said “thank you, sir.” - as if i had helped him.  The thought of that tender boy has been setting on my heart all afternoon.

my dear schitzofrenic friend, Bonnie called me again this weekend.  I just listened for an hour as she relentlessly poured out her troubles.  She tries my patience.

The talented, charismatic people of the world are the ones that can help bring me riches, comfort and a good time. But maybe the best talents are the ones some people have to foster deep compassion, patience, empathy, or kindness inside of us.  riches and comfort are nice while they last but they often also breed a lot of selfishness and pride. the other stuff is what i want growing on my soul- if i can help it.

November 3rd, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

What God wants our lives to look like is probably pretty close to what any good parents would want it to.

Not necessarily religious- playing church with crosses, fishes, and Toby Mac plastered on your stuff.  i think he wants you to be the healthiest, most level-headed, most passionately alive person that you can be- just like any old mom and dad would want for their child.

If you are wondering what God would want you to do- a pretty good indicator is if you would want your own child doing it. For example, smoking pot may not be really that wrong, but would you want your kid to start?

But what i think some mom’s and dad’s don’t realize is that the healthiest thing- the only thing that will ultimately fulfill even your deepest forgotten longings- is only your eternal father, himself- even when you have to go through difficult things, to find him.  

i think even Toby Mac would agree with that.

November 3rd, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

A friend of mine is a lot like Jesus.  He tells people that they’re sinning bad and tells them to shape up.  Like Jesus told the woman at the well, the tax collectors, all sorts of sick people to in a sick world to toughen up and right themselves.

But some people won’t talk to my friend any more.  They call him judgemental.  I tried to reason with him to be more compassionate, but i had to admit that even Jesus gave a lot of tough love.

A couple nights later a different friend of mine admitted to me he had sinned in a big way.  I said I’d be over as soon as he had time.  I texted him that night trying to encourage him and the next day asked him what he wanted me to bring him because i was buying dinner.  I drove half an hour to his house and hugged him at the door.

As we ate at his table and bore each other’s burdens, i realized this, here, now, is a warranted time for tough love.  So I told him, “you need to tell her you can’t talk to her anymore.  Do it quickly and make it final.” 

Jesus did tell people they were complete sinners, but i think what Jesus did more than judge them, was that he healed them first, and that is what made them listen.  He gave the woman who was thirsty living water.  He healed the leprous men.  He gave the tax collector a new lot on life. 

So if we plan on dishing out some tough love, and help a brother defeat a sin, we had better earn it first.  We have to be there to heal them in whatever way we can.  Cry with them.  Give selflessly to them.  nurture their pained heart.  Give them water.  And only when they are certain that we love them even in their sin, then we can help them eradicate it.

October 10th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

It’s hard to analytically prove that Christ is God in this culture that says everybody can believe what they want and everybody’s beliefs can be correct.  And it is near impossible to invert the philosophy that has permeated this generation.

So how can we share the gospel working within this paradigm? 

This is how:

When someone says to you, “i can believe what i want.”

Tell him “Me too! Let’s believe in a God that is everything we have ever wanted him to be- but even bigger than that.  And let’s believe that this God loves me and wants me to do what will make me forever ultimately happy in the deepest of ways.  And that will be our God.  

Crap, now we have to write down all the doctrine and rules.  Let’s just follow Jesus instead.  He’s all that and he’s taken care of all the scripture already as well.”

August 27th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

Few words are more precious to me
than these.

As he cried he said, 
“You are an answer to my prayer.”

August 26th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

we live in 4 dimensions.  we can manipulate the three dimensions of space but are at the mercy of the fourth dimension, time. 

To understand what it is like to live in the fifth dimension, picture a book. 

This book covers the birth and death of every kingdom and every blade of grass and everything that anyone ever observed between the first and last words of the book.  The possibilty for infinite distances is there, but just not the time to observe it (that’s how infinity can exist between the covers of the book).

Ok, now picture someone who not only had the ability to write everything in that story but also had the ability to flip back and forth from the last page to the first (even with an eraser perhaps).  This means that this being can manipulate our four dimensions.  Although it may live at the mercy of a fifth, which could be the pages of a book itself, which could be written by someone in the sixth.  And so on.

Physicists say there are multiple dimensions above the four that we know.  I doubt that God lives inside any one of them because someone had to create them.  But it seems, at the very least, he is able to manipulate our four. 

Physicists also say that if you traveled at the speed of light, time would stand still.  If you were light, you could travel to the earth and bring it light and life without ever being at the mercy of time.  Isn’t it interesting that God uses light as a metaphor for himself?

August 25th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

Do I choose my destiny or does God?

Maybe, I choose my destiny, but God made me the type of person that would choose that destiny.

This way i am free to make the decisions i want, and God still gets his way.

August 25th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

I went to visit my friend, Trevor in Oklahoma City this weekend.  This friend regularly tells me stories about people that are healed when he prays for them!  We were walking through Oklahoma city together and he said, “I’m gonna try something crazy.” I look up and see people walking towards us.  I say, “Go for it, man.”

He stops the people and asks, “Do any of you have any pain I can pray for?”
They gave this weirded out look and said no.  They walked on.

Next he asked the same thing to a large family with kids and they seemed more accepting but again, had no pain they needed to be healed from.  This could have felt embarrassing if I had let it.

finally as we were waiting at a crosswalk, Trevor turned around and asked a tall, weathered, tough looking young man if he had any pain.  He said No.  Trevor pressed the issue.  “No shoulder pain or foot pain, or maybe back pain we can pray for?”

“Not really.” he said, ”But I’m trying to figure out whether i should go back to my wife tonight or not.” 

Suddenly my ears perked and i turned to fully face him.  We had found the pain.

Trevor persisted- he wanted to see a healing, “Are you sure you don’t have a wrist or a hand maybe that needs healing?”

I smiled but butted in.  “What happened with your wife tonight?”

Jake told us his story.  We went to Sonic and sat for an hour as he talked and we tried to council him.  That day he had gotten so angry at his wife that he smashed a vacuum cleaner and his fist through some walls.  After that he had gone to the bank, emptied his account and left on his motorcycle.  When we found him he was debating on whether to go back to her or go to Kentucky and start completely over. 

He had come from a past of prison, drugs and alcoholism.  He had rebuilt his life with his wife and said that he was blessed with great daughters, a successful business, a great church, and a beautiful house.  he hadn’t had a drink for ten years, but tonight he said he had been thinking what the hell, why not a beer. 

he said he had been running from God all day.  Several people from the church had texted and tried to call him but he turned off his phone because he didn’t want to listen.  He looked at us and said, but God found me anyways tonight. 

We listened and prayed with him and tried our best to give advice.  I’m not sure if we solved his marriage problems, probably not entirely.  He will have a difficult journey ahead.  but I think it could have been terribly worse if we had not stepped out in love and looked for someone who needed healing. 

Thank you God for using us.

August 23rd, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

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I like how good will, and creative generosity can be so contagious.  My dad told me a story about a couple that goes to a restaurant and picks out a patron and anonomously foots their bill– and that infected me. 

I ate at a restaraunt the other day and told the waitress to let me pay for “that couple’s bill”- I pointed to a middle aged couple that didn’t seem to have much to talk about.  ”And please don’t tell them who it was from” i added. 

from a distance i heard their disbelief and happiness.  I hope they had something to talk about on the way home.  Something contagious.

August 23rd, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

I had a thought.

A while ago I suggested that it is WE that choose whether or not we will enter heaven, because we are all forgiven.  We just must adopt God’s will to enter.

then i thought, how can that be true when Jesus says he will “…separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats…” the sheep entering eternal life and goats being eternally punished. (matthew 25:32)

It seems at first glance that Jesus does the separating and we have no part in the choosing.   However, how does a shepherd separate his sheep from the goats?  Well, Jesus also says, “…and his sheep follow him because they know his voice.” (John 10:4)

So maybe at the end of time Jesus separates us, not by force, but by simply calling out to us.  And the ones that recognize their shepherd choose to leave the goats and go to him- for they are his sheep.  And in that way, perhaps we DO choose whether or not we spend eternity with our shepherd.  If for our whole lives we’ve chosen to follow Jesus (or even just to follow that benevolent voice inside of us before we know the voice’s name) perhaps then we will also recognize and follow it at it’s final call.

August 17th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

Will we be able to sin in heaven?

I think sin is doing what God doesn’t want us to do, and that is usually something that hurts others for our own gain. 

but in Heaven i think we and God will be so united in spirit, that what i want for me is also what is best for you.  We will be like one big body where the finger scratches the head when it itches, and is happy to do it, because the finger and the head are considered the same body.

“I pray that you become one as i and the father are one.”  John 17:20-23 (thanks for the help on finding the verse, Patti!)

August 5th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

I used to think, if there is a God, he would have to be automatically known to all and the way to him should be written on everybody’s hearts- no instruction manual needed.

From what i’ve gathered in Christian church, the way to God requires that you say a specific name and you say a three step prayer as laid out in the Bible- or something like that. 

I think God originally was the obvious choice.  His law is written on our hearts.  Right and wrong seem to be the only thing we really know.  That would have gotten us to God, but then we decided to do our own thing and got ourselves lost and so God had to figure out plan B to get us there, which isn’t so obvious. 

Imagine a highway that leads us over the beautiful landscape straight to God, and it’s like fifty feet in the air. What easier way would there be to get to God! But then we decided we wanted to take our eyes off of God and climb down off the highway.  Now suddenly we are lost in the bushes and bogs and only now do we realize the highway is just too high and slippery to climb back up!

So now we do need a guide. and we need a very specific guide.  We can’t follow the dude named Larry that wants to take us to his carnival off to the north, or the sage that says, this mountain top is the goal of life.  We need to know the guide sent from God. And we need to follow his specific instructions- go east at the farmhouse, go 30 miles north around the mountain to avoid the mountain monsters.  

It makes sense now, why the way to God is so specific, but you know, it still doesn’t seem like it should be my fault if I have just never met the right guide in this world of impersonators.  Is it possible that those who are doing their best to go in the direction their good heart is calling them ARE following Jesus?  They might glimpse Jesus as a faint silhouette on the crest of the mountain before them, and all they know is that something is pulling them in that direction and that guy up there seems to know where he’s going.

“I am the way the truth and the life no one comes to the father except by me.  ”

I think a lot of us are following Him.  There is a very specific him, and a very specific destination.  But I wonder if perhaps some us just don’t know the name of the man whose footprints we are walking in.

July 31st, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

I think i’ve figured out . . .
Why did God put the tree of good and evil in the garden of eden? (*1)
Why did God have to threaten they would die if they disobeyed? (*2)
Why did God take our punishment when we ate of the tree? (*3)

Here’s a story that shows the whys.

There was once an ophanage that had been around for a very long time.  In this orphanage, the old wise house mother always picked one leader who she thought more deserving than the rest to lead the others and help her run the house.  The house leader was known by the backpack he or she wore everywhere.  A first aid kit, was in the backpack among many things.  There was also candy and snacks to give to the orphans when they were good, and the behavioral sheets that counted each orphan’s rewards or punishments.  Walkie talkies were attached to talk to the house mother wherever she might be.  It was a great honor to be the house leader, but also a grave responsibility. 

A pair of twins, Lupe and Raul, lived in the house.  They had good, upstanding parents who died in a governmental coup when Lupe and Raul were three years old.  Having no other relatives, Lupe and Raul were brought to the orphanage.  At the time we start our story, they are ten years old- younger than most of the other kids in the house.  They were old enough to understand the rules but young enough that they hadn’t yet seen anybody who had received the house mother’s worst punishment.  Everybody knew that the very worst punishment was to be locked in the tiny dark shed in the back of the back yard away from all the other children with no food for days at a time.

It was well known in the house that there had not been an orphan leader for at least ten years.  And whenever any of the kids had asked the house mother about it, she kindly said, not to worry, that she had it all planned out. 

One day the dear old house mother came into Lupe and Raul’s tiny room and said she had a surprise for them.  She said their room was needed for some new orphans but that she wanted to show them something.  They followed her up the dusty stairs to the lonely, locked door at the highest place in the house.  She stopped at the closed door and knelt down to talk to them.

She pulled them close in her arms and began.  “You two have made me so proud.  You are so well behaved and you always get along with the others.  I need to use your room but I want to give you a new one.”  She unlocked the door and pulled on the chain switch, lighting up the attic room. 

Lupe and Raul’s eyes got big (the house mother was so pleased at this.)  The wooden attic was filled with old toys that had been recently dusted and laid out around the edge of the room.  There was a beautiful soft rug on the wooden floor and two simple, quaint beds were on either side of the rug. 

“I give all of this to you two.”  She said as she watched them scanning the beautiful room in awe.  “There are a lot of toys up here that you can play with, and you can share them if you want to.  You can let others play in this room, but you set the rules and teach the others how to get along like you two.”

They nodded and said thank you over and over and hugged the big soft house mother.  She said they were welcome with a mysterious smile in her eyes as she looked up to the high peak of the attic above the frosted round window.  They looked at the place too.  There was something there they had not noticed before.

There on the shelf high above their beds sat two big boxes wrapped in shiny new red wrapping paper. 
“What are those for?” Raul asked her.
She replied, “Oh yes, the presents.  I almost forgot.  Listen to me closely.  Those are for you but do not open them yet.  If you open those presents, you will see the punishment of the shed.  That is how much I need you to obey me.”
“Why can’t we look?” Lupe asked respectfully.
“Oh, don’t worry. Don’t worry.  Just trust me, my dear.  I have a plan.”
The House Mother kissed them and she left them to get settled in.

Over the next week Lupe and Raul laid down some rules and invited the other orphans to play with the toys in their room.  The kids were overjoyed at the beautiful wooden rocking horses and yo-yos and little metal cars.  Everything was going smoothly. . . except . . . some of the kids could not resist knowing what was in the two presents in the top of the room.

“We can’t open them yet.” Lupe told the little boy that was begging her to.
“Why not?  You could just open it and wrap it back up.  House Mom would never even know.” He was older than Lupe was and he made sense, she thought.
“But House Mom said that we would see the punishment of the shed if we opened them.” Lupe replied.
“You know she wouldn’t do that just for opening a present!” They boy looked down and scoffed at her. ”That doesn’t hurt anybody!  She’s probably testing you. She really wants you to start to make decisions for yourself when you know you’re ready for the presents.  Why else would she put it there right where you look at it every day.”

That made sense to Lupe.  She looked over at her twin brother, playing with the cars on the floor with his friends.  She slowly turned and dragged her bed over in front of the window where she could stand on the head board to reach the shelf.  She was nervous.  Why did she feel so sad, she thought?  She wanted to see what was in the box.  And maybe it was really a test to see if she was mature enough for the present.  That would make the House Mom happy.

As she tugged on the bed it skipped over the wooden slats and jerked over to the space beneath the shelf.  All the kids heard it and now all eyes were riveted to her.  She slowly climbed and stood on the tip of her toes to reach one of the boxes.  It was barely within her reach and she pulled it down and it fell onto the bed.  She looked down at it and a little tag on the top (though now tipped on its side) said Raul.  Raul got up and picked up his present.  It was heavy.  He shook it and there were lots of little things and one big thing inside.  Lupe struggled some more and pulled hers down and it also fell onto her bed.

Together on her bed they both slowly opened the presents.  All the kids watched them carefully peel off the tape so that they could rewrap later.  That was why this was ok.  If this wasn’t a test of their maturity, she would never know.

within one minute they had the paper off and they were ready to open the cardboard box itself.  They looked at each other, knowing that they must open them at the same time.  And they did. 

Lupe was the first to pull out the backpack.  A beautiful red bag with tools attached to the outside and a first aid kit showed through the mesh on the front.  And in the side pocket was the shiny black walkie talkie.  The house mom meant for them to be the next two orphan leaders.  And now everybody knew it.  They were two of the youngest in the whole group but now, they knew that they had to carry all the responsibilty of all the orphans.  They had just lost the rest of their childhood. 

“Lupe! . . . Raul!” the house mother’s voice was muffled through the door an hour later.  “All the other kids are already down here for dinner!  Come down.”

When she didn’t hear their usual pleasant voices she called again and knocked on the door.  They still didn’t answer.  She opened the door and came in.  She saw Raul sitting in the corner behind his bed with two little metal cars grasped tightly in his hand.  Lupe was under her bed.  House mom heard her crying quietly.  “What’s wrong with you two!  why didn’t you answer?!”  She looked up and the presents were on the shelf right where they were supposed to be.  “Raul!  Why didn’t you answer me, my dear boy?”

He struggled to speak for half a minute until it finally came out.  “I don’t want you to see me.”
A knowing sadness fell over her face and she approached him slowly.  She knelt down beside him and rubbed his shoulder lovingly.  “Lupe, come over here, dear.” Lupe shuffled over and House Mom wrapped her arm around her and pulled her to her soft bosom.  “Why didn’t you want me to see you, Raul?”

“Because i don’t have something on.”
House mom tried to look into Lupe’s big brown eyes. “You too?” Lupe buried her face deeper into House mom’s embrace.
“Are you talking about your backpacks?”
They both nodded as if releived to get it off of their chests. 
Her tone was now very serious.  “You opened the boxes?  I told you not to or you would see the punishment of the shed.”
“We know.” Raul turned away from her.  He tried not to cry anymore.  As an orphan leader he had to be strong.
House mom sighed very deeply.  “Ooohhhh, my dears. Now you know that the others will resent you, right?  If you had waited until your 16th birthdays, you would have been one of the oldests and finally ready to be the house leaders.”
There was a long silence.  She held Lupe tightly and rubbed Raul’s shoulder lovingly like children, cherishing it as if she would never be able to do that in the same way ever again.  She got up and said, “Come down to dinner if you two would like.  Tomorrow we’ll talk about the shed.

The next day there was a very somber meeting.  No one had talked to Lupe, nor Raul since the incident.  House Mom addressed them all, “There has been no house leader for ten years.  That is because I had a really bad experience with the last one.  But I thought when Raul and Lupe got older they would make very good house leaders.  And now you all can see what I was planning.  I know they are too young now, but now you all know who I had planned to be it.  It cause more problems if I picked someone else now, who is less qualified.  I just ask you to please give them as much respect as you can.  I had to threaten the punishment of the shed to show these two how serious i was (*2) and you need to know that i keep my word so I cannot go back on my promise (*3).”

Raul looked at the ground.  Lupe whimpered and looked frantically for a friend among the crowd.  They all avoided her eyes.  

House Mom took Raul and Lupe outside and talked to them on the porch, the dark, overgrown shed looming in the distant corner of the yard.  She hugged each of them and said.  You two will do ok alone.  I’m sorry that you opened the presents and I’m sorry that you have to see the punishment.  I’ll miss you guys for the whole week. 

Raul, feeling as much a man as an ten year old could started walking to the shed.  He was growing up very fast.  Lupe began to cry. 

“Wait!” House mom called to him.  He stopped and slowly turned around, looking at the ground. 
“No, come back here, Raul.” He slowly walked back towards the house like he saw no purpose in it. She continued, “I’ll be out there for a week.  If you can just bring me a cup of water every day, that is all someone in the shed receives.  and i cannot talk to anybody.  You two must lead alone while I’m gone.  You can do it.  I know you can.”  And the house mom walked out to the shed and commanded Raul to lock the pad lock and take the key. 

Lupe cried out, “No! you can’t go in there.  We’re supposed to be in there.  You can’t do that! Why are you doing that?!  We can’t do it without you!”

But House Mom would not break her rules; she was a woman of her word; she would not speak. 

Raul and Lupe grew older in a hostile house.  No one was their friend.  No one played in the attic with them.  The jealousy spread through the house and caused fights.  Lupe and Raul struggled to make peace between all the members, but that was their job.  They walked around with their back packs, laying down rules so that everybody would get along.  They mended skinned knees and had serious meetings with the House Mom to ask for her help with the problem children. 

The ability to lead and the decisions of the two yound leaders were doubted and questioned almost every day.  Some of the older kids questioned why the House Mother had placed the two presents where they could all see them, and it was questioned if the mother knew all along that they would open them.  But there was one thing that was never questioned and never doubted again while the kids still lived in the orphanage.  That thing was the depth of the love that the House Mom had for all of them, no matter how they disobeyed, proven by the horrible lonely punishment she took for a disobedience she didn’t even do. 

***

On Raul and Lupe’s sixteenth birthday House Mom told them about the last House Leader.  She said, that he had told all the other kids that she didn’t really love them- that she was just using them to get money from the state.  And they all turned against her and only trusted the house Leader, who controlled them, turning the house into basically a slave house where all the kids had to prove themselves worthy to stay in good standing. 

The House Mother told Raul and Lupe, that she was sorry that they had gone through so much pain for the last six years.  But that she believed it was worth it.  It was worth it because more important than knowing pain and difficulty was that the orphans truly knew in the depths of their being that they were loved by somebody and there was nothing they could ever do to lose that.(*1)  And she did it because she thought that only something like what she did would stick with them for the rest of their lives.

July 27th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

I realized the other day that I spend a lot of time in Church, Bible studies, accountability and discipleship groups.  I look a lot like a Christian.

Now if I were out helping the needy then I might actually look kind of like Christ. 

Ok, gotta run.  Got bible study tonight.

July 23rd, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

Question1: why were we put on earth instead of just staying in heaven?  We could have just skipped the arduous step of living on earth- at which some of us fail so miserably. 

Question2: why on earth weren’t we given any concrete proof of who God is and what He is like? 

Maybe being on Earth is the only way for us to prove and practice faith, because, unlike heaven, the mysteries of God are hidden here!  And maybe faith is one of the many qualities he needs us to have to be fully mature some day.

1 Corinth 13:13: “Three things will last forever-faith, hope, and love. . . ” It seems pretty important we gain faith if it will last forever!

July 22nd, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

I have a friend who breaks horses.  He said he is trying to train a young horse to not be afraid of water.  He spent an hour this week just trying to get this horse to step into a puddle.

I have a wonderful, safe life.    I work hard to keep a consistent job.  I brush my teeth and shower.  I have just enough social skills to maintain some friends.  I do enough to get by, spiritually. 

In short, I avoid puddles.

I think of the horses that carried riders into battle or helped pioneers forge onward- splashing through rivers pulling their riders.  What great things would not have happened if horses were scared of water?

I can think of a few risky puddles in my pasture that I try to ignore.  Would I be willing to give up the hope of getting married if God asked me to?  How much money would I really give if someone needed it?  Could i tell my friends the hard truth, at the risk of losing their friendship? 

I could ignore these for the rest of my life and my life would probably be better for it.  But my faith would wither.  What do You have waiting for me on the other side of momentus rivers, God?  I will never cross rivers if i don’t first look up, hold my breath and dive into some puddles.

July 9th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

What makes you mad? traffic jams? Your wife making you late to a party? When the thing you’re building keeps falling apart?

I think that Anger manifests when something gets in the way of something we want to do. 

I want to drive to work and get there on time.  BUT ALL THESE CARS WON’T GET OUT OF THE WAY!

I want to get to the surprise birthday on time, BUT BETTY KEEPS CHANGING HER OUTFIT!

I want this patio deck to be sweet and sturdy, BUT THE BOARDS KEEP CRACKING!

There are ways to manage this anger (about which there are many books i assume) and there is a way to pull rug out from under it altogether.

To do that you must understand that i get mad when something gets in the way of something i want to do.  So to avoid the anger, just temporarily stop wanting that thing. 

I WANT TO GET THERE ON TIME! UGGH! but i can’t do anything about it so I’ll stop caring and the frustration just dissapears.

HURRY FREAKIN UP, BETTY! WE’RE GOING TO SPOIL THE WHOLE PARTY!  Well you can avoid the anger by ignoring the urgency of the surprise party, but that might still ruin the party.  I don’t have any advice for that.  But you can tell the other guests how to stop being mad at you.

And for that deck that keeps cracking, for a minute just tell yourself cracked boards are so beautiful and the anger will disappear.  then with a level head maybe you can figure out how to fix it.  good luck.

July 7th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

there was a strange thing about being in China- it seemed like there was a wall between God and Me.  It took so much effort to offer a prayer to him.  I DON’T KNOW WHY!

It was a challenge to me also because it seemed the image of God i had built in my head was being swallowed up.  Being somewhere so new and foreign made me think.  Gosh, God doesn’t really fit into the little mold i had built for him in my head.  How do I speak to him now?

Though I did NOT do well with verbal prayer on the trip i started thinking about how everything in my life was somehow a communication with God.  A second look at a busty girl was telling him something.  I didn’t have to be addressing him to be communicating with him. 

So what can we learn about this silly little entry? That God is a lot bigger than English or Mandarin or anything in my tiny head.  He talks to us by putting events and people before us.  And we communicate with him by how we act in those situations.  What are we telling him with everything that we think say and do?

May 12th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

After a week straight of being around each other, and a few immature mistakes on my part, one of my coworkers seemed to be quite peeved at me. 

They all knew that i had given up alcohol for this trip but it was at the company dinner, while everyone was drinking, that someone told me that this coworker was so upset with me. 

I recieved a moment of insight.  The reason I had been abstaining from alcohol was to set myself apart as a Christian.  What i now realized was that though it is good to be blameless, it is bad to use it to build a division between myself and someone.

I picked up two Coronas and walked over to my coworker.  I said something like, “I’m not sure how I’ve messed up things between us so badly.  But I’d like to make it right.  I’m really sorry.” I handed him the beer.

He looked down at the beer in my hand.  He looked confused for a moment and then got pulled away by someone before he could say more. 

Eventually he turned back to me and said, “I thought you weren’t drinking.”

I said, “It’s worth it.  I’d like to share a drink with you.” I held up my beer and we clinked bottles.  Again he got pulled away by someone (it was quite a party) and I started to walk away.  I hoped he got the message.  Had i done the right thing?  What will people think when they see me with this beer? 

suddenly someone saw me with that beer.  This person’s eyes lit up and he yelled over to the coworker I had offended, “Ha! I told you he’d crack! You owe me $100.”  My coworker had bet that I would stay true to my commitment to not drink.

I dropped my head.  I could seem to do no right by this coworker. 

but a few minutes later, my coworker turned to me and said.  “I really appreciate what you did.  Thank you for doing that.”  He looked at me and nodded.  It seemed, by his face, that the loss of $100 wasn’t even a consideration.

I doubt that my vow NOT to drink had as strong of an effect, as did braking my vow to mend this relationship.  I like how God humbles my petty actions and resolutions to make way for his greater story.

May 12th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

Already on the first day I found myself at the first factory and I had already messed up.  I had forgotten my computer.  I looked at my watch.  I had slept in and had gotten up an hour after we were supposed to leave.  I didn’t even have the right dress clothes on.  And on top of that my boss was making fun of me in a more personal and severe way than he ever had before. 

That’s just not in his character.  i suppose he’s capable but. . . this can’t be real. 

I forced myself to wake up.  My alarm clock said it was way past when i was supposed to get up!  I Had slept in! I rushed around, put myself together, and headed out.  I hadn’t gotten to practice chinese like I had wanted.  I barely had time to get dressed correctly.  This time as we got out of the SUV and started to walk to the factory, i realized i had left my backpack with my computer in the SUV.  I went backand found my backpack but it didn’t have anything in it.  This can’t be mine.  I put it in the back seat and found my backpack.  I was relieved.  But as I opened it, this one didn’t have my computer either.  i looked at the other backpack.  It had changed its colors as if it were trying to prove to me that it wasn’t at fault.  That, it hadn’t tricked me. This can’t be real. 

I opened my eyes finally and it was daytime.  I’m not sure what time it was but I had a visitor at my hotel room door.  totally unexpected!  It was an old friend that had somehow found me.  He came in and we started to catch up.  I got out of bed and went over to large panaramic window.  My friend was a big guy.  Really nice guy, usually, but he had a strange look in his eye.  He was getting closer to me and I was getting scared.  We were in a strange hotel room and he could do anything to me if he overpowered me.  I reached out for his hand.  He grabbed mine.  I twisted it and forced him to the ground with a little bit of trouble.  I stepped over him and we laughed it off like the old wrestling days in highschool. 

I was across the room when he said, ‘hey’.  I looked over and he had a pop can in his hand.  It was open.  He threw it over to me and I caught it without spilling.  I looked at him and said, “woah did you see that?”

Then something started moving in the can- a heaviness scratching around inside.  Syrupy brown fizz started filling up and overflowing the can.  “What is this?” I said calmly.  My friend had gotten up and was looking at me with a sly smile. 

little black, sharp footed locusts started to pour out of the can and I dropped it and watched them spread out over the floor, on the carpet and into the bathroom.  I looked at my ‘friend’ and said, “Now I know you’re not real.” 

The true urgency reached my body.  My eyes were really heavy but i forced them open.  My limbs were almost weighed down but i forced my arm up and I rolled over.  I could hear the china men in the room next to me talking and I could smell the cigarette smoke somehow seeping into my room.  i turned on the light on the nightstand and saw that it was 1:45.  It was still dark outside from this skyrise hotel looking out into the Chinese city.  I saw my bible there next to my ipod.  I reached for it and began to read in Luke where i had left off last night.  I turned on my ipod which was queued up to play Third Day. 

I read where the servant of an important centurion was sick.  The people said this centurion is a man that does great work for this city and the temple.  He deserves for you to heal his servant.  The centurion told Jesus, I understand that you can say something and it will be done for you because I can tell the people under me and they will do it for me.  Just say the world and you can heal my servant.  jesus did and was amazed by this man’s faith. 

I don’t know if i have ever tried to wake from a dream and had to try three times to really escape it.  I don’t know but perhaps this was an attack.  I prayed and read and I am not worried.  I have dedicated this hotel room to God and whatever it was that was there with me, was trespassing on holy ground.  I am not scared.  I am a faithful servant of God, and i can do great work here for his kingdom.  God, just say the word.  Heal me.  Protect me.  I have faith.

April 12th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

I went to China about 5 years ago to help rebuild an english school.  We worked with mortar and bricks to build a wall in a kitchen.  We called it a missions trip.

But i think this trip, with business, has the potential to be much more of a mission. 

I just arrived in China.  I will be here for three weeks with my boss, my boss’ boss, and the owner of the company, along with my company’s whole team that lives in China. 

I don’t think this will be easy.  We will work 16-18 hours a day which could breakdown my defenses.  It is a foreign country that will saturate you in every desire for just a pinch of american money.  The temptations are available and cheap. 

I have recruited a team to pray for me every day while I am here.  Cliff, Kurt, Chris, my two brothers, and my Dad.  I have dedicated this month to be a living sacrifice for my God.  I want to stay entirely pure for this trip.  I want to be pure of sexual acts, but still be fulfilled.  I want to work the hardest, and still do the best work and keep a clear, powerful mind.  I want to savor the local dishes, and have my stomach be guarded.  I want to abstain from all alcohol and yet be the life of the party.  I am an ambassodor for God.  Such a high standard to meet and I will do my best but Lord, I need you with me.  You see that i have dedicated this hotel room, that i am sitting in right now, to you.  This is a holy place.  And i will find refuge here because I will be alone with you each night. 

I can already feel the temptations scratching at my vulnerably human surface.  I thought i saw a large playboy bunny cutout standing by the door to the club in our hotel.  Our taxi driver told us where to go to find girls and everything else we want to buy.  I feel a twinge in my stomach that has come and go since I ordered this strange spinach and chicken an hour ago. 

So far I am not being who I had hoped i would be.  My boss is already belaboring over instructions because I didn’t understand them the first time.  I seem to be constantly looking for my wallet, passport, and room key.  I felt like the downer as we walked through town to dinner. 

God, I know your plan is different than mine, but I will do my best to be a noble representative of your kingdom for them to see.  I want them to see something different in me and turn to you because of it.  Lord, I belive you not only save us but you transform us.  Be with me now.  Be the light that shines through this broken, vulnerable body.  Make them see someone who is wise, and loving, and non-judgmental and someone who is abstaining from impurity and because of it, lving more abundantly.  May they see you.  I claim these things in your name, Jesus Christ.  Amen. 

Please pray for me.  That I will point people’s eyes to heaven for this whole month.  Xie Xie (thank you)

April 12th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

We had such a good time giving the money at the coffee shop last time that i decided to do it again.  This time I asked one of the most promising kids in the youth group, Dalton, to help out.  He said he had been wanting to do the same thing for a while.  He brought two friends and the four of us drove down to the Christian coffee shop in Wichita. 

Dalton and I wrote a note that said something like, ‘don’t tell anybody who did this but use this money to pay for as many people behind us until it runs out. If anybody asks who to thank, tell them to just pass on the blessing.’

We got there and i tried to give the note and the money to Dalton but he wanted me to do it.  We stood in line.  The middle-aged woman at the cash register was new and was fumbling with the most basic transactions.  Dalton turned to me and said, “maybe we should give it to the other girl or a manager or something.”  I watched her for a moment and replied, “I think . . . um, I think it will be ok.”

As I got up to the front, our two other friends stood unassumingly behind me so that the other people in line could not see or hear what was going on.  I handed the note to the woman.  She read it without changing her expression and said, “ok.” 

I set the pile of 20’s on the counter and she took it.  She looked up at me and very briefly smiled.  I ordered a coffee and a panini for my dinner.  we all sat down and waited.

When my panini was ready I went up to get it and the middle-aged woman handed it to me and said,  “That was amazing.”  i smiled and said, “Thanks.  This is the turkey?”  she nodded.  I saw down with the others.  

None of us had a very good view of how the people reacted.  But I felt like there were no significantly changed consumers.  Dalton said he heard one man’s response.  The man had said, “Um.  Ok.  Thanks.”  and waited for his coffee i guess. 

I felt like my experience here at the Christian coffee shop was less productive than the Starbucks i had gone to before.  Did people expect more at a Christian coffee shop?  they assume a Christians or Christian coffee shops should buy them coffee.  Does the world expect more out of Christians?  I would guess so.  That makes our job harder.  But that’s ok.  God has given us creativity and blessings and talents and ways to find new methods or reaching them.  Time to step up our game, Christians.  Live radically.  Be ready to sacrifice.

April 12th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

I still had the $602 that I had been given.  I was looking for ways to help people with it.

I found  my pastor on Wenesday and said, “Can you make sure this gets to the Petersons, please- they need it.”  I handed him a stack of 20s adding up to $100.  “I’d give it to them myself but I don’t want them to think of me whenever they need a bailout.  I’d rather just stay their friend.  The pastor nodded and asked, “Randy and Sarah Peterson? Yes I will make sure they get it.” 

I was praying with Randy and Sarah this week (we try to do 10 minutes of morning prayer several times a week) and Randy asked me, “Did you give Pastor Tim $100 to give to us?”

I replied, “Someone gave you $100?  Wow!  That’s cool.”

“Yeah, you’re the only one that we’ve told about our money situation.  You and Sarah’s sister, but we just want to be able to thank the person.”

“Wow, cool.” I said.  “Maybe they just thought you needed it.  Well it seems like the giver must be getting enough satisfaction by giving it that they don’t need to tell you who they are.  I’d say just pass on the blessing somehow to other people.”

The giver did get enough satisfaction by just giving it, but there was even more satisfaction in hearing their baffled gatitude.

April 12th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

I met a boy named Carlton a couple weeks ago. he showed up at my house with some of the kids from the youth group i help at. His friend had just died in a car accident and he had a lot of digesting to do. He poured out his troubles of fighting with his dad, losing girlfriends and dyre financial debts. He had just gotten a new job but he hadn’t paid his insurance and didn’t have gas money to get to work.

I offered my extra mattress to him if he needed a place to stay that night. He did and we talked late into the night until he finally talked himself to sleep.

Later I rallied some of the kids from the youth group to get some money together to buy him a gas card. I thought that was the best, safest way to supply for him. His most important need, was to be able to get to work.  then he would be able to pull himself out of many of the other problems he was having.  We accrued $130 and bought him a gas card.

(more to come on Carlton)

April 12th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

“…let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in Heaven.” (Matthew 5:16)

Breathe is a Wichita group yearning to bring ourselvs and others closer to God.  Please be inspired by these modern day “Acts” and lets go out and live our faith today!

This is the story of one of the members in Breathe:

“I designate a certain percentage of my paycheck to go toward charities.  I had not done my budget for quite a while and so i had a lot of money to give. 

One of the girls in the youth group i help out at was in a car accident in which her friend died.  I heard one of the prayer requests last sunday was that they didn’t know how they were going to get around because their other car was in the shop. 

Later that day I took a check for $602 to the older daughter in the family and said to use it to get a car up and going so their dad could go to work.  I told her that i trusted her to cash the check and give it to her parents and to not say who had given it to her.  And then i left.

A few days later I asked her if it got put to good use.  She told me that she just gave it to her parents because she didn’t have a checking account, but that there wasn’t a problem.  They could still get the money, she said.

A few days after that i went to a high school choir performance and stood at the back because I couldn’t stay long.  At a short intermission a man came up to me and asked me to step outside.  I told him he looked familiar but couldn’t place from where.  We walked into the hall, he opened his arms and said, ‘give me a hug.’ 

I smiled and then it dawned on me.  It was the girls’ father.  He wrapped me in a big bear hug and said, “thank you for the offer.” 

I said, “Will it get put to good use?  Is your car up and going?”

He replied.  “We won’t need it.  The insurance covered it all.”

So now, again I have $602 to give away, plus this month’s percentage added on top.  I think of all the possibilities.  I could buy somebody’s groceries again. i could take a homeless man out to a lavish meal.  I could buy coffee for everybody behind me at Starbucks again. 

He calls some of us to to sell all we have and give it to the poor and follow him.  If this is giving all I have to the poor, I had no idea it could be so much fun.”

This blog will hopefully record His giving adventures!

April 2nd, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

“…let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in Heaven.” (Matthew 5:16)

Breathe is a Wichita group yearning to bring ourselvs and others closer to God.  Please be inspired by these modern day “Acts” and lets go out and live our faith today!

this is the story told by one of the members of Breathe:

“I was in Atlanta for work and I went to a Wednesday night church service with my friend, Unree.  Unree’s church is HUGE!  Unree is black and his WHOLE church is black.  I’m about as pasty blonde white as a guy can be.  But as we walked out, i told Unree, ”this culture seems so kind and welcoming.  I’ve never lived in a place that was very diverse before!”

I had dropped 20$ in the offering plate, but after we got into our separate cars and were waiting for the traffic of the parking lot to clear out, Unree jumped out of his car and came over to my window. 

“I feel like God wants me to give this to you.”  and he handed me a 20!
“Haha! Really?  Are you sure?”
“Yeah.  I’m sure.  I want you to have it.”
“Well, thanks.  I’ll try to use it to bless somebody else.  Thanks brother!”
Unree ran back to his car and we’re on the highway 10 minutes later. 

My phone rang.  It was Unree.
“What’s up, Unree?”
“Hey have you gotten anything to eat yet?”
“I have some stuff back at the hotel but if you want to hang out some more, we totally should.”
“Yeah, we could just eat and have some more fellowship before you have to head back tomorrow.”

We went to a Chili’s and were seated by a really nice young black lady.  I noticed, again, that I was surrounded by black people.  They were laughing and smiling and enjoying their dinner.  I felt SOO comfortable there.  Almost like i was one of them. 

“Dude, Unree.  I was thinking.  What if we use the $20 you gave me, and I’ll match it with another $20 and we can give it to our waiter to totally bless him.”
“Cool. that sounds like a good idea.”
We had a great time of sharing about our families and dreams and working at the same company.  But. . . near the end of our meal the waiter just didn’t seem like he was the right one for the money.

“What about the girl who greeted us?”
“Yeah, that seems better.  For some reason she seems like the person it should go to.”

I gave the money to Unree and as we walked out I was totally expecting him to talk to the pretty young greeter.  But instead of giving her the money he asked, “Where was the young woman who was working here an hour ago?”

I was shocked.  I thought it was the same girl!  they both looked like pretty young black women.  It’s a good thing i wasn’t giving out the money.

So when the other greeter came out Unree said to her, “We felt like we were supposed to give you this money.” He handed the $40 to her and continued, “We just felt that God wanted us to give it to you to hopefully bless you.”
She was flattered.  “Thank you so much!  What are your names? Are you both from here?”

We talked a little bit and Unree closed with this, “I go to Change The World church if you ever want to go.  It’s just up the road.”
“Yeah, Ok.  Maybe I’ll see you there!” she replied.  “thank you very much!”

And we split.  Happy.”

This was the story told by one of the members of breathe.

March 25th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

“…let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in Heaven.” (Matthew 5:16)

BREATHE is a Wichita group yearning to bring ourselves and others closer to God.  Please be inspired by these modern day “Acts” and lets go out and live our faith today!!! We’d love to hear your stories!

this is the story of one of the members of Breathe:

“We stopped for gas in an area of town with drug dealers and prostitutes on every corner. I was with a coworker on a business trip.  He was filling the car and I was standing outside next to him.  A Short, tan-skinned man in a faded ball cap and dried snot from his nose to his mouth approached. 

“Hey man, could you spare some money?”
My heart was beating, i was suddenly being engaged by this dangerous world that was usually on the other side of the car window. 
“I will buy you food but I won’t give you money.”
Without a beat of an eyelash he accepted.  We walked over to the Mcdonalds. 
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Donald.”
“Nice to meet you.  I’m Ross.”  He looked at me, smiled and nodded.  He told me he was a roofer and that his boss had not called him for work in a couple weeks.  I bought him super value meal #2 and asked him, “Are you good, man?”
“Yeah, I got my hamburger comin, and my fries.  Yeah, I’m good.  Thanks, man.”
“Alright.  God bless you, Donald.”

I hustled over to my coworker, who was waiting in the parking lot with the doors locked.  I hopped in.  I said, “Let me in, I’m not a bad guy.”
He opened the door and said, “Ross, you’re a pretty good guy.”

If you are hungry, i want to feed you.  But who knows, maybe that wasn’t for the physically hungry man, perhaps it was for the spiritually hungry- those who watched me do it.

God, use me!”

this is the story told by one of the members of Breathe.

March 25th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

blameless army
for a mythical king
They look to us
to see if it’s the real thing

When my high school wrestling team walked into a tournament, people stopped what they were doing.  We were killers.  We were the best team in the whole state- we had doubled the score of the second place team at the state tourney my junior year, and were prophecied to massacre even more my senior year.  We were giants among men. We were more than a group of high school boys.  We represented a legend. 

When we traveled to a tournament, we wore ties and slacks.  We couldn’t smoke and we had to make good grades.  We picked up trash from the sidewalks on which we walked.  We protected the weak and the harrassed. It was our duty.  We represented something bigger and people were watching us.  People were looking for our achilles heel.  They wanted to see our weakness and prove we were fallible.  Wanted to prove to themselves that they could beat us and that our kingdom was still mortal. 

People stop when they see us with a Bible, or see us bow our heads before a meal.  And they begin to watch us, looking for our weakness.  They can’t wait to see us lie, or backbite, or cuss just to prove to themselves that they were right, our kingdom is just a myth. 

Though we are not perfect, we are held to a higher standard because we march for someone who is perfect.  Our captain has defeated all the powers of evil in the world, and all eyes are looking at his army asking themselves, is their myth true?  That is why I think Christ’s followers are called to a higher standard in everything we do.  We must strive to be blameless.  We must live life with the most vigor!  We must love the poor better than others.  We must be the first to help fix a flat tire.  We must do our best to hone our witts, and train our intelligence for the tests of words.  We must fix our worth in God so that no one can break us on our insecurities.  We must be the most refined gentlemen and women but must be the first to put ourselves in harm’s way to protect the innocent.  We represent a king that claims he can save the world.  And it is the world that looks at our lives for evidence, to see if it is true that they too can really be saved.

March 17th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

“…let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in Heaven.” (Matthew 5:16.)  

Breathe is a Wichita group yearning to bring ourselves and others closer to God.  Please be inspired by these modern day “Acts” and lets go out and live our faith today!

Cliff had the idea to go to a strip club and hang out in the parking lot and just see if God could use us.  This is what happened one Saturday night.

A large black guy walked up to our lawn chairs in the grass and said, “Hey what are you guys doing over here?  I moved from Florida and I seen you guys over here in lawn chairs all kicked back like your on the beach and I says to myself, ‘now those birds look like they’s on the beach- I gotta talk to them.’”

Cliff offered a water.  I offered prayer for anyone he knew might need one.  The man declined both but was amused and walked away with a smile on his face. 

After another half an hour Cliff and I decided that man may have been the reason they were supposed to come tonight.  We packed up the chairs and the water and the guitar and walked back to the car.  We had parked away from the other cars, except for a single truck.  And now a boy leaned against the truck, door open, smoking a cigarette. 

“Hey man, would you like a water?” Cliff asked.
“Um, sure. Thanks.  What are you guys doing here?”

Cliff and I put our hands on Ryan’s shoulders and Cliff began to pray.  A drunk Mexican man stumbled towards us.  I began praying. In the middle of my prayer The drunk man leaned against Ryan’s hood and began to pee. 

He called to us, “Hey.  Aaaarrre you guys praying? What are you praying fooouuuuur?”

I stopped praying to answer as patiently as i could, “Yes we’re praying, you can listen if you want but we are going to continue.”

But he did not let us continue.  “You guys don’t realize how purposeless praying is.  How purposeless trying to find God is.”  He zipped up his pants and stumbled up to us.  “I’m 38 years old and been through so much more than you can imagine.  Do you see that Suburban over there?”

There was a shiny white new suburban facing them. 

“That car is stolen.” He caught himself from falling over, “I brought my kids here for their birthday in a stolen car because I have no money.  I work 7 days a week as a welder and still can’t make enough money to keep our lights on.  Our electricity was cut off 8 days ago.  Seven days ago I tried to commit suicide.”

I leaned in close and put my hand on his shoulder, “Hey man there’s hope out there.  You don’t have to give up!”  I probably should have been more careful.  He could have stabbed me or something.  

The man smiled a sad smile, “you don’t understand.  I’ve killed more people than you know.  What’s your name?”
“I’m Ross. What’s yours?”
“I’m Jose. But what I was saying was that there’s no hope.  If you ever think you’re down, don’t because there’s always someone lower.  It’s me.  I’m as low as you can go.  Life for some people is just not worth living.”
“No, Jose.  There’s always hope.” I inserted. “What about your kids, man? What will that do to them if you aren’t around anymore?”
“They would have a better life.” Jose leaned against the car door and almost fell over when it began to close.  He regained his shaky balance and continued. You guys are so naïve.”

The conversation went on for a while but it seemed that nothing we could say could convince Jose to change his thinking or his intent to try to commit suicide again. 

Then Ryan spoke up.  “Hey, I don’t know if this would help at all but I think you should know that my dad committed suicide and partly because of that I have tried it also 15 or 20 times since then.”

Jose shook his head and began talking again.  “No, there’s no reason they would need me. You are so naïve.” We tried to tell him that God has a plan, and that there is always hope.  But an extremely drunk man does not respond very well.  He began to walk through us towards his suburban.  His kids were coming out and coming to the suburban.  
I reached up and put my hand on his shoulder as Jose walked away and I prayed under my breath, “Jesus help us.  Help Jose.” 

Jose shook his head and mumbled something about how naïve we were as he walked away.
Cliff, Ryan and I looked at each other.  “Wow,”  we all said. 
“Thank you for telling him that, Ryan.” Cliff said. “I just hope he really heard it.”

I left that night thinking, “I don’t know if anything that happened helped Jose or Ryan, but it seemed like we were there to bring them together so they would hear each others’ stories.  Maybe Jose needed to know how important it was to his sons that he didn’t commit suicide.  Maybe Ryan needed to realize that Maybe why his dad committed suicide was because he just was trying so hard to support his son and it was too hard thinking that he had let his son down.”

Whatever was the outcome in the hearts of the people involved, we were convinced that we had been where God had wanted us to be that night. 

February 27th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

“…let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in Heaven.” (Matthew 5:16.) 

As I pulled into a gas station I saw a large, red-faced man bundled up in lots of hoods and sweaters, sitting on a large bundle of random things next to the door of the gas station. I stuck the nozzle in my gas tank and got it started. 

Then I walked over to him. “Are you hungry?  Would you like to get dinner with me?”

The man gestured confusedly with his arms and mumbled a little bit and shook his head. 

“Well is there anything that you need that I could get for you?”

“I just am looking for a place to sleep.”

“You don’t have a place to sleep?”

“I think I will just go over there behind the building.”  He gestured and looked towards the side of the building.

“Well, would you like for me to get a hotel for you tonight?”

“Uh. . .”  he stuttered, “Um, the Days Inn over there is already full.” He pointed next door.

“Ok. Are there any others around here?”

“Um, I don’t know.”  He seemed discouraged and a little bit confused.  I should have slowed down my talking.  I should have been more patient. 

“Hmmm.  Are you sure you don’t want something to eat or something?”

He nodded.  “I already ate.”

“Alright. Well I’ll probably go check around.  I might be back.”  I drove to the Days Inn next door.

I walked in and said, “Do you have any rooms open? And how much are they?”

“Um, yeah.  They’ll be $59.99.  Smoking or non?”

“Oh, it’s not for me, but I don’t think he’s picky.”

The man gave me a blank look.

“It’s for this guy I met over there in front of the gas station.  It seems like he needs a place to stay.”

“Oh, Patrick?  No. We can’t have him stay here.  He’s been causing problems- No, sorry.”

“Oh, I don’t know what his name is.” I said, “Big guy- looks like he’s been traveling for a while.”

The clerk said, “Big bag thing that he carries around?”

“Uh, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, if it’s Patrick, we can’t let him in. We’re full for him.  That’s just what I was told.”

“hmmm.” I paused, lamenting the situation a little bit, “are there any other places nearby?”

“Yeah try the Holiday inn, they’re about the same price.  Or the comfort Inn but it’s more expensive.  But I think everything else is pretty much full around here tonight.”

“Ok, thanks.” I smiled and left.

I looked down the highway and couldn’t think of the Holiday inn or where it was.  I think I know where the comfort in is.  Plus, like the good Samaritan, I want to give this man the best that I can afford. 

“Hey you wanna hop in and we’ll go find a place for you to stay tonight?” I said through my rolled down window over to Patrick. He had just lit up his pipe. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, as if processing and then nodded and started to get up. 

“But you can’t smoke in my car. Sorry, man.”

He wheezed and struggled to get up, pick up his humungous bundle (about 1/3 the size of a VW beetle) of stuff and i helped him jam it into my back seat.  It BARELY fit- with some convincing.  He emptied his pipe on the ground.  Then he tried to fit himself into my car.  HE barely fit.  It was a ten second struggle for him to shove himself into the seat.  Once he was in, it was like this car had been made for someone exactly his size to get in.  No one bigger would have fit without straining or ripping something. 

We drove across the highway towards the Comfort inn sign. 

“So what’s your name?”

“Patrick.”

“Nice to meet you.  I’m Ross.  So what’s your story? You live around here?”

“I’m on my way to El Dorado.”

“what do you have going on over there?”

“Just wander around.  See what’s going on over there.  Life.”

“Cool.  Sounds fun.”

There was a bit of silence. 

We pulled into the Comfort Inn.  And I said, “I guess. . . should I just go and check out to see if they have rooms open?”

He nodded.  I started to get out and he said, “could you leave the radio on?”

I calculated in my head for a moment and then said, “Actually, I probably shouldn’t.  I’d have to leave the keys in the car and I don’t really know you yet.”  I laughed.  “Sorry man.”  I punched him lightly on his big sweatshirted arm and he nodded and smiled, reluctant but understanding. 

I remembered this hotel from when I had come out to interview for the job I work at. They had put me up in a really nice room with a Jacuzzi bath in it.  My girlfriend had stayed there with me, and that beautiful big Jacuzzi in our room made it very difficult to behave- but we did for the most part.

“Hi there,” i said to the young woman sitting behind the counter. 

“Hi”

“Do you have any rooms available?”

“Yep.  Smoking or non?”

“I don’t think he’s picky.  It’s a guy I found outside of the gas station out there.  It looks like he could use a room.  Ooh, I wonder if he’d like the Jacuzzi room.  How much is that one?”

She checked her computer and said, “$121.99”

Woah, how much is a normal room.

She checked her computer, “79.99”

“Ok, I’ll go out and get him.”

I went out to get him.  I wondered, is he the type of man to bathe?  The last homeless man I picked up said that people on the road just get to a sort of equilibrium with the dirt and stink on their bodies and prefer not to mess that up sometimes.  Patrick smelled a little bit like urine.  I wondered if maybe the other hotel didn’t want him getting urine stink on their beds.  I opened his door.  He started the long process of getting out as I started to maneuver his bundle of stuff out of the back seat.  “They have rooms,” I said. 

“I smoke.” He said.

“Ok.”

“but not in your car,” he blurted as if he was scared I would take it the wrong way. 

“Yeah, it’s ok. They have smoking rooms.” We kept walking.  “Are you the type of guy to take a bath?”

He didn’t know how to answer.  We walked inside and he set his load down and went and sat in the sofas. 

            “The reason I ask about a bath is because this hotel has a great room with jacuzzi in the room and I thought you might want to wash up.” 

            “What’s a Jacuzzi?” he asked.

            “It’s like a bath with jets and stuff.” I swirled around my hands. 

            The lady behind the counter chimed in, “It’s a whirlpool bath.”

            It registered and he shook his head. 

            “Ok, lets just do a smoking room without the Jacuzzi.” I told the girl, “Thanks.”

            She got the paperwork done and handed us the key card.  “Breakfast goes from 6:30 until 9:30.”

            I offered to help pick up his bundle but he declined. He reached down and tugged upward on it to put it over his shoulders, but the strap (made out of a nylon gunny sack I think) broke.  He grunted his annoyance and bent over and retied it.  He then heaved it onto his shoulders again and we started down the hallway towards his room.  He lumbered under the big weight and wheezed. 

            “So you’re just going to El Dorado to look around? Do you have any friends or family over there?”

            “Nope.”

            “Just going to see what’s out there?”

            “yep, just to explore a little.”

            “Very cool.  I like the way you think.  Oh, here’s your room.”

            We opened the room and he inched his way through the doorway, squashing his humungous load through the doorway. 

I left my telephone number and email on a piece of paper.  And said , “here is my telephone number so you have a friend in Wichita.  And do you use email?”

“what’s that?”

“Email?  It’s the way to write letters on the internet.  I guess maybe you don’t know about it.  But at least you have my phone number.  Alright I’ll get out of your hair and let you get some sleep.  It was nice to meet you.”

            He reached out his hand but didn’t squeeze mine back, as if the gesture of holding his hand out in front of him was all that was socially required of him without having to engage his fingers in any way.  “Thank you.  Thank You.” He said

I left.  As I waked by the lady behind the counter she said, “that was a very nice thing you did.” I smiled and kept walking. 

“I lowered the price a bit for you too.  I took ten dollars off.” 

“Really?” I stopped, ”Thank you very much.”

“Here’s my name and here’s my phone number if you need anything.” She handed me a little post it note.

I said, “Great, thanks!  If there are any problems in the room or anything, it will just be charged to my card, right?

“the card doesn’t actually run until morning, so yeah it will. 

“Great.”  I smiled at her.  “Thank you.”

I left and went to get my dinner.  I wondered if the reason I was supposed to do this was because of her maybe.  Maybe she was to see that and be changed. 

The next day I was leaving from work and went down the road by the gas station.  As I waited at the stoplight I noticed Patrick trekking across the other side of the intersection with his large bundle, heading back to the area of the gas station where I had found him. 

I don’t know what his true story was.  I don’t know if he lied to me at all.  I don’t know why he was not welcome at the first hotel.  I do feel like I was a little bit too business-like about it.  I didn’t have the time to sit and talk to him about life, but I could have been more compassionate in my tone.  Should I have let him smoke in my car?  Did he even want a room?  Was it a waste of my money that could have been spent in a more productive generous way?  I kind of wonder why he didn’t know what a Jacuzzi was.  He didn’t know what email was.  Maybe he had difficulties in his mind.  Or, would an angel, new on this world maybe not know what these things

February 27th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments Off

“…let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in Heaven.” (Matthew 5:16.) 

Breathe is a Wichita group yearning to bring ourselves and others closer to God.  Please be inspired by these modern day “Acts” and lets go out and live our faith today!

I didn’t know exactly why I was in the grocery store.  I was hungry but I felt like I might be called to do God’s will in this store.  I wandered around, got some food and went to the registers.  Everybody was going through the self checkout but I thought maybe I was meant to talk to a cashier or something. I got in line behind a jovial black lady with lots of groceries.  She was having fun talking to the cashier.  I watched him scanning her stuff and the total going up.  Just before the last couple items were scanned and the total was at $133 I leaned in and said, “This will be a weird question but may I pay for your groceries for you?”

Without hesitation she exclaimed, “YES YOU MAY!”

I pulled out my debit card and looked for where to swipe it.

The woman exclaimed,“Are you serious?”

I nodded.  Both the cashier and the woman were staring at me waiting for something, or just in shock.  I broke the silence by saying, “I was just with some friends and they encouraged me to do something nice for some body.”

She reached out and hugged me.  “Thank you very much.”

“Pass on the love to the next person,” I said. 

“Ok, I will.”  She nodded and put away her check book. 

I swiped the card and paid the $144

She left.  The guy behind me said, “It’s good to know there are some good people still in the world.”

“Good.  Thanks.  Just pass it on, man.” 

I looked at the cashier.  “oops,” I said.  I guess I should have just put my items under that swipe too.”

“No problem we can just do it again.” he said.

He rang me up and then said, “I’m sorry I can’t move because my foot has gout.”
”Ok, I can bag my own groceries.  Would you like me to pray for your foot?  I know it could be kind of awkward, but I’d still like to do it if you want to.”

“No, that’s alright.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, no thank you.”

“Ok.  Well, thank you again.”

I gathered up my un-bagged snacks and left.

That was a lot of money.  If i did that every day, i would lose all my wealth.  But some people are called to give their wealth away to the poor.  I’ve heard of people doing that.  And they seem to end up happier in the end.  If that is what this is, and if every week, even, we find new ways to give lavishly to people, what fun it is going to be to give it all away to the poor.

February 27th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

“…let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in Heaven.” (Matthew 5:16.) 

Breathe is a Wichita group yearning to bring ourselves and others closer to God.  Please be inspired by these modern day “Acts” and lets go out and live our faith today!

I ordered a Naked juice and handed the barrista a stack of $20 bills wrapped in a piece of paper.  The paper said,

“(quiet) Please use this $100 to buy people’s coffee/snacks until it runs out. 

—  

Do not tell anybody who or why this money was given.  Thanks!  Shshhhh!!!”

On the way to this starbucks, having the money and note in my pocket, Cliff called.  Whle we prayed for it I realized that I was too excited for the wrong reasons.  After the call I turned my will to God and he said, “liquify your money.  Make it ready for me to use in any way, despite what you have planned for it.”  So I resolved that if something jumped out at me before I handed over the money, I would be flexible and spend accordingly. 

But the money, liquid in my mind was intact when I gave it to the barrista.  She looked down, read the note and nodded and I started to walk away with my Naked Protein Smoothie.  She caught me and asked, “do you want your change?”

I smiled at her, finding myself saying “NO, Duh!” with my eyes.  But I caught myself and smiled to cover my defensive nervousness. She nodded again and I sat down and opened my computer to write and pray.

I saw a big black guy coming towards my seat from the corner of my eye.  He stopped directly in front of my table, looking down at me.  I looked up at him.  It was not a big black guy!  It was MITCH in a black shirt!  “Dude, Mitch!  How are ya?!” 

            He shook my hand and we exchanged a knowing glance. 

            “I called Cliff and he told me about what you were doing.  This is awesome.  Sorry but I can’t stay long.”

            “Did you get a coffee?”

            “No, I probably should, shoudn’t I?”

            He came back with his coffee and said, “she just said that some guy gave a hundred dollars to be used for people’s coffee.”

            We talked and prayed for each other.  “…amen.”

            “Wait!” I said.  Cliff and I have found that after spiritual highs we usually fall down hard.  So we prayed for a fortress around us to deflect temptations and sin and keep this momentum going forward.  We shook hands, smiled that knowing smile and he left. 

The barrista came over to me and leaned down.  I looked up at her and then she said, “You’ve made a lot of customers happy tonight.  They want to know his name and I say he wants to remain anonymous.”

A couple of girls sat down at a table 5 tiles away and I heard them laughing.  “Haha!  That’s cool!  I want to go up there again and ask if I can get more!” one of them half joked.

Half an hour later the barrista came over to me again and leaned down, smiling.  “Some of them don’t know what to do.  One lady bought a pound of coffee and—well now there’s only like 11 dollars left, but–  They want to know who it is so they can go give him a hug!”

            I stuttered for a moment and then said, “Tell them to pass it on to someone else.”

            “Ok.  Um. . .” now she stuttered, “Why are you doing this?  Do you have some purpose behind it or something?”

            I shook my head, “No. . . um.  Just. . . me and a couple friends wanted to do it.”

People are laughing all around me.  the group of barristas behind the register are throwing their heads back, laughing at something and patting each other on the back.  The people at the front of the line all have a moment of bewilderment, and then look around, smiling.  Always smiling. 

‘Liquify your hearts,’ I think God wants to say.  “Be ready for the movement I want to make with them.  Be flexible and listen to me.  I will use you at the front lines of of my battle to give life to old hearts.  I will bring you living water.  I will make you smile.  I will make your smile contagious, i will quench your thirst.

February 27th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

Gregory James was uncommonly strange
but somehow they knew, it should be no other way
He compared himself not to other men we see 
but instead to the man he knew he could be

The people at Gregory James’ funeral didn’t know each other but as they told stories about him they knew it had to be the same guy.  He owned no TV because, he said, it would distract him from what really mattered.  He tipped 50% at restaraunts and he usually knew the life story of his server before he left.  He ate ramen and PBJs when he could so he’d have more money to give away in different ways.  He wrote prayer poems to recite for each of his friends every day.  He took chalk with him wherever he went so that he could write encouraging messages on sidewalks.  He took a year off to shadow 20 people at different jobs- because he wanted to make sure he didn’t miss his calling.  He would not fire his employees when there was no work.  He wrote an autobiography before he died but it was just about the lives of the people that had been in his life!  It seemed everyone knew this uncommon man, and no one knew another person like him. 

For Roscoe Jones, if most people think he is cool, he feels he’s probably winning the game.  When he gets to work five minutes late, but still before his coworkers, he considers it success.  He likes to be the one who contributes the most in the conversation about last night’s TV shows.  His circle of friends all wear similar sports coats and ripped jeans when they go out.  He rock climbs and camps because secretly he wants to post on eHarmony that he is outdoorsy.  He lowered his Honda Civic even though the bumper scrapes on dipping driveways.  He goes home and watches TV at night to kill time, because he is bored of this game.  bored with life.  Maybe he’ll get some rest from all this, he says, when he’s dead.

One thing that was different between Gregory James and Roscoe Jones is this.  Roscoe compares himself to the people around him and evaluates his success by the society he lives in.  Greg compares himself to the man he could be-that God has uniquely patented him to become.  He knew that his identity and purpose was best found in the eyes of his creator, and he did his best to find and become that for which he was designed.

February 24th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

look up, dear soldier

we are little but loved

unworthy but chosen

of pride we are above

with confidence, unfrozen

I keep finding infections in my soul that I could irradicate if I just realized two things.  first I must understand that I am very, very little in comparison to God.  Second, I am very, very loved.

Some days i can work a room or i can out-draw my coworkers.  That inflates my dirty pride and unleashes my untamed ego. This gets pretty ugly.  when all seems to say i am the biggest of humans, I must remember i am but a mite tangled in the carpet of God’s house.  Quite little, yes i am. 

And then on those days when some old church lady overhears my perverse sexual confession, or i am proven a liar at work, i tumble headlong into pits of unworthiness.  i become a stuttering, cloudy-headed nebbish.  But this cloud would dissapate the moment i remembered that the creator of the world still loves me enough to romance and ransom me at the price of his own life.  yes, quite loved I am. I am.

humility and confidence are not supposed to be opposites.  believe that there is one much greater than you, and you live in proper position with others- sharing in each others’ imperfections and judging no one.  then remember that no matter how you fail, He still has promised you a purpose and life in His unbreakable contract of love, which gives us confidence that we are still exactly who we are supposed to be.  By nature, we are unworthy in all respects, but the one who is most worthy has chosen us, and deemed us priceless above all the things He created.

February 21st, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

guys love to watch light-saber duals in star wars and supernatural fighting acrobatics in the Matrix.  I think it’s because we feel like we were made to defend and fight for something in epic battles ourselves. 

I’ve been discouraged lately at how weak my soul is.  When a temptation comes my way, i so easily give in.  It seems like a hopeless battle against an impossible onslought of ammunition. 

C.S. Lewis says (in Mere Christianity) “for however important chastity (or courage, or truthfulness, or any other virtue) may be, this process [trying to resist temptations] trains us in habits of the soul which are more important still.”

Our sins can have earthly consequences but our souls live forever.  What if each temptation coming my way is an opportunity for training and strengthening my soul.  I picture myself learning to wield a light saber. I can deflect every laser that comes my way with a well executed swing.  And with every laser that i deflect away, my skills are honed to be a little bit tighter and more masterful. And even if I err on some strokes and the onslaught singes my soul, I learn from them too. 

Seeing my soul as an eternal entity that can even today begin the long training to become a jedi, a Neo, or any other warrior that battles evil with perfected skill gives me a new inspiration to try again.  Eventually, we trust that our skills do reach into the supernatural and our efforts will overpower all things natural, because our power is from God. 

So lately I’ve pictured myself poised, clumsily holding a light saber.  And when an arrow or a laser of temptation barrels towards me, I swing my saber with a quick, determined, purposeful stroke, deflecting the temptation and taking pride in my first steps of becoming a warrior batting better than 50 for God.  Not because he needs me to fight in order to win but because my soul was fashioned in the beginning of time to take part in His epic war.

January 26th, 2009 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment