Something More

The director gives the hand motion and the choir stands as one. We look out into the congregation. They stare back, expecting... what? Entertainment? Uplift? I don't know. Having been in the audience, my usual reaction to the choir anthem was to hope it went quickly. We wipe those thoughts out of our minds and give our attention to the choir director again, scanning only briefly our music to be sure we're on the right page. Done, and done. The piano starts tinkling away. The harp begins to pluck. Our lead Soprano steps forward and begins to sing a beautiful solo aria. Her words soar and sail around the clear acoustics of our new sanctuary. I am filled with her voice. Our que comes and we start in softly, backing her up - then more forcefully, as our voices blend and we stop singing the song and start feeling it. And then it happens. The words fade away. The dots on the page stop having any meaning. The song becomes something more, something that transcends the music as written, something that has life and soul, something that is pleasing to the Lord. The music becomes worship. And I can feel His pleasure bathing me in wonder and in awe that He should find such a pathetic thing as my voice pleasing to Him. It brings tears to my eyes every time.

Which isn't to say that I get this reaction from every piece of music I sing, nor from only classical music, nor from only church music. Any piece of music that transcends the boundaries of Earth, any piece of music that He finds pleasing, any piece of music that makes me forget that I'm singing - I can feel His hands lifting my spirit, elevating me. Otherwise, I might as well be singing in the shower.

I have had the reaction only a couple of times in the audience, so I imagine that for the most part, people just sit there and wait for it to be over, or garner there own limited pleasure from a pleasing performance (at least they weren't flat this time ;). I am getting older now and my voice is no spring chicken anymore. I no longer have the range I had even five years ago. But I don't think I could ever join the audience again knowing that even my crappy singing is pleasing, occassionally, to the Lord. I'd rather be active in worship than passive. I'd rather in meant something more than a tick mark on my heavenly attendance card.

In 2000, when I returned from Las Vegas, and before I started work at Yasutomo, I began an active campaign of weekly hikes to Norcal locations. One week, my friend Jay and I decided to hike a new trail in Big Basin Park. It was fairly long (something like 8 miles), but it had a waterfall at the half way point. I was convinced that this was something we could do.

We began the hike with a quick uphill struggle. I have never liked going uphill - even when I was in spectacular shape. Fighting gravity sucks. But this was fairly short, maybe a mile at the most, and then we were at the top of the ridge. The trail dove off the other side of the ridge and continued down to the waterfall.

We practically ran down the hill - it was a nice wide trail and not steep at all, the kind of path I used to love to run in cross country. It just kept going down and down and down. After about a mile and a half it leveled off and went relatively flat (though, deceptively, we were still descending) for another mile or two, until, viola! There was the waterfall. Not some pansy fairy waterfall either. This was one you could have stood under and taken a shower - even in the summer.

The path continued... up the waterfall. We grinned and bore it. We had never yet found the perfect Escher trail (downhill both ways) and this didn't appear to be it either. Besides, the waterfall was tall enough. We'd climb up to the top and be back on the ridge and then after a short hike, we'd climb back down the first part of the trail and be back to the car. Or so I thought.

Apparently, we'd come quite a ways downhill. We climbed up the trail and reached the top of the waterfall and I was seriously spent. But I knew we only had a little more ways to go to the top of the ridgeline, so we continued forward... and forward... and forward... and forward...

In three hours, we still had not found the top of the ridge. A series of switchbacks and up and down valleys had meant that for more than three hours we had been climbing steadily uphill with no end seemingly in sight. I was literally pulling energy from the very last of my fat reserves and the sun was starting to set in the tree infested park.

Jay knew that I was done. And he knew that there was no way he could go to the car and get it and come back for me. If he left me, I was going to have to crash there in the dark park by myself until help could come. And what was help going to do? Nothing. They couldn't carry me. All they could do was help me walk. I was out of water, out of trail mix, out of strength, and out of patience. I was near tears. So Jay did the only thing he could do, he got behind me and pushed me up the hill.

Physically, he pushed, prodded, yelled, poked, and motivated my ass up that hill, and up the hill after that, and finally, up the last hill until we stood on top of that ridge and looked back down the seemingly innocent downhill trail that led to the waterfall. We didn't have time to ponder such philosophy though as it was nearly dark and we still had the last mile to hike.

I stumbled the rest of the way and made it to the car and when I finally got home that night, I slept like a dead man for about fourteen hours and I was sore for two weeks.

I was reminded of this on Sunday as I suddenly felt the holy spirit wash over me in the middle of singing. I've been feeling out of sorts lately - a natural let down from the exuberance of fishing and hiking in God's country and the return to civilization. I've been feeling drained, lethargic, spent, and distant from God. And then, all at once, during the mechanical process of singing, I felt His pleasure on me and I was uplifted. And then I remembered Jay. And I realized that I was receiving this gift as a form of reinforcement - that God was now behind me on the path, pushing me uphill again.

Its a long climb with moments of sheer beauty and many hours of sweat and monotony. Sometimes we just wish it would be over soon. And sometimes we get a glimpse of something more, something beyond that which can be seen or experienced without outside help, and we can feel His loving support of us and know that we are loved and will never be abandoned on the dark trail.

The Lord's Moving Company

The Lord moves in mysterious ways indeed... and gets us to move as well. For the first time in over ten years, I had a really strange thought last night - It's ridiculous to be as old as I am and still be living at home with my parents.

Now, to be fair, there are many reasons I've never had this thought. First of all, there is just no way I can afford to live in the San Francisco Bay Area. If I scraped together every spare nickel I had, I couldn't even afford rent. The friends that I have that do rent apartments (or parts of apartments) all live month to month just to pay the rent. They exist. They don't LIVE. And as for buying or owning a home? Forget about it. Without some serious infusion of cash into my life, that will never happen. So, that's the major reason I live at home with my parents - its economical to do so. If I had to leave, I would move out of state - a long ways out of state - the further from California, the better.

Second, my parents are getting older and they really need help around the house and in the backyard. When they're on vacation, I look after the house and the pets and what not. But even when they're home, I am there as a helper - a fall back position for errands, and construction work, and all sorts of other projects.

Third, I get along really well with my parents as we have a lot in common. This is one reason I have never felt strange or ashamed about living at home before. In terms of roommates, you couldn't ask for a better pair than my parents (and they keep to themselves).

That being said, this thought came to me last night out of the clear blue, and I knew it was more than just a thought. It was a suggestion. A hint. A, dare I say it, command. God was telling me that it was nearly time to move on - to move out.

The question is... where? As I pointed out, economically I can't afford to even live in my car. So, I'm not sure what He has in mind. But I will keep you posted.

The Secret Revealed

Read the Bible.

No charge. Just remember where you heard this startling advice first.

Okay, I'm back now. Fishing is safe for the rest of you once again. I have many amazing adventures to relate... someday... when I'm not so busy catching up with all the work I avoided while on vacation. But for now, its back to the coal mines...

Heigh ho!

See You Soon

GONE FISHING!

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no and NO!

But the pursuit of material happiness is just fine with some New Thought leaders, including Lett, who says, "God never said it wasn't OK to be well fed, well clothed or drive a nice car. You have to take care of yourself, as well as others."

Mark Anthony Lord, minister at Chicago's Center for Spiritual Living, echoes that sentiment.

"America was built on having a wonderful life, on being all that you can be," he says. "If you generate a feeling of self that's capable and worthy, you'll attract what you want. I don't care if you use it to get a car."

Emphasis mine.

I think this says it all...

16Now a man came up to Jesus and asked, "Teacher, what good thing must I do to get eternal life?"

17"Why do you ask me about what is good?" Jesus replied. "There is only One who is good. If you want to enter life, obey the commandments."

18"Which ones?" the man inquired.

Jesus replied, " 'Do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not give false testimony, 19honor your father and mother,'[d] and 'love your neighbor as yourself.'[e]"

20"All these I have kept," the young man said. "What do I still lack?"

21Jesus answered, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me."

22When the young man heard this, he went away sad, because he had great wealth.

23Then Jesus said to his disciples, "I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. 24Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God."

Matthew 19:16-23

Do not be misled. There is only one Way into God's Kingdom and it does not involve positive thinking or your bottom line. Do not be led astray.

I will see you all in another week. I'm off to go fishing. Keep up the blogosphere for me while I'm gone.

Peace.

A Better Pleasure

There's just no way around this. I'm going to sound like an old fuddy duddy by the time I'm done. I can't help it. But perhaps this is an ecclesiastical moment for me.

There is too much. No matter how we slice it, we have too much. We have outsmarted ourselves. We have begun to equate suffering with stupidity, when, in fact, its the other way around. Only suckers suffer, after all. Only the lazy and indigent and sinners and those unfortunate stupid people who don't know any better suffer. If you suffer, its probably because you weren't paying attention.

Bored? We have four hundred channels of TV for you, On-Demand Cable, Youtube, movies on DVD, radio, satellite radio, ipods, any form of entertainment you can imagine right at your finger tips. Hungry? Fast food on every corner. Thirsty? Starbucks everywhere that soda vending machines are not. You don't even need to look for a water fountain anymore because we have bottled water for you. In pain? We've got a medicine for that or a cure or we're spending billions of dollars on research to find a cure. Unhappy? There's a book answer for what ails you... or drink... or drugs. Lonely? We've got the answer for that online. And if you don't have time for meeting people or dating? We've got speed dating. We've got e-mails that take 30 seconds to write. Or text-messaging that takes 30 seconds to write. Or, heck, just call them whereever they are on their cell phone. There is absolutely no reason to suffer, whatsoever. No reason to wait. No reason to be hungry. No reason to not have anything you desire. If you want it, technology will provide it for you. Who needs religion anymore? It is an outmoded form of thinking. We stopped needing God when we discovered that we could talk to people on the other side of the planet by pressing a button. We can kill those people too in much the same way. Who needs God for anything? If I'm down now, technology will pick me up.

Anything God does to try and temper us, to try and refine us, we can counteract with some sort of man made invention. We have become bloated. We have become complacent. We have become defiant.

We don't mean to be. We don't mean to seek human answers for human problems. That is just our nature. And even though the human answers don't quite satisfy, there is some relief from our suffering - some temporary respite. We get used to the pain. We get used to the isolation. We get used to telling ourselves that we are happy.

But we're not happy. We're not free from worry. And the more that we have, the less happy we are.

But there is a pleasure that can only be found on the other side of pain. There is a pleasure of sacrifice. There is a pleasure of discipline. There is a pleasure of hard work and struggle. There is a pleasure in valleys that can only be experienced by visiting them, and coming out on the other side.

Submitting to God, choosing that path, means that you must walk through His valleys before you can climb to His peaks. You must submit unto death. You must die to become alive.

Death is the end of all things worldy. Resurrection is the inheritance of all things of true substance. There is a better pleasure out there than anything we have here - but it can only be found on the other side of death. We must die to this world and be reborn in Him if we are ever to obtain our true inheritance.

I am afraid to die... because I am afraid to live.

S.A. - Sinners Anonymous

10While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew's house, many tax collectors and "sinners" came and ate with him and his disciples. Matthew 9:10

Hi. My name is Will and I am a sinner.

I have been sinning since I was a little child. I don't want to sin - it just happens. When the time comes and I know I'm supposed to do something one way, somehow I do it the wrong way. I remember as a young boy being annoyed that my Mom always picked my Dad's birthday present for me. So, one year, I asked for some money so I could buy my own birthday gift for my Dad. I went to the store looking for a gift for my Dad and instead I bought a Hot Wheel - knowing full well that my Dad would not keep the Hot Wheel but give it to me instead. I knew it was wrong. I felt really bad about it. But I did it anyway. I can not help it.

I have been trying to follow the 12 Step Program for Sinners. I think I am on number four so far - maybe this counts for number five?

1. I admit I am powerless over my sinful nature — that my sinful life has become unmanageable.
2. I have come to believe that a Power greater than myself can restore me to purity.
3. I have made a decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of God as I understand Him.
4. I have made a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself.
5. I have admitted to God, to myself, and to another human being the exact nature of my wrongs.
6. I am entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. I will humbly ask Him to remove my shortcomings.
8. I will make a list of all persons I have harmed, and become willing to make amends to them all.
9. I will make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. I will continue to take personal inventory and when I am wrong promptly admit it.
11. I will seek through prayer and meditation to improve my conscious contact with God, praying only for knowledge of His will for me and the power to carry that out.
12. I will have had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, and will try to carry this message to other sinners, and to practice these principles in all my affairs.

This is a tough list. I am not sure I will be up to finishing all 12 steps. But with God's help I will try.

The question is, am I the only one who sees the irony of the Matthew passage above? It is often said that the Pharisees and others were upset with Jesus for speaking with and associating with sinners. But the reality of the Bible is that we are all sinners - every single one of us. Therefore, anytime Jesus is talking to any of us, he is speaking with and associating with sinners - as do we all. We are all trying to remove ourselves from sinful people, to be free of guilt by association, but there is no humanly way possible for us to do that. We are all in the same boat and we are all sinking together. Only Jesus can calm the storm.

Once again, my name is Will. And I am a sinner.

The Road to Damascus

I'm on the Road to Damascus and I can see lightning striking all around me and I am scared - not afraid of death, but not yet ready to be blinded either.

When we meet someone new we go through stages of relationship that ultimately lead to friendship and something even deeper if we're lucky. We're reluctant to meet this new person at first, and then our anxiety goes away when we get to talk to them and realize that they are not so bad after all. Maybe even a friendly feeling grows between you and this new person. You begin hanging out, learning more about each other, starting the long process to becoming friends. Eventually, you are friends and you see each other all the time and know alot about each other. And then, after a few crises' your friend might become something more - a brother or sister - and like is replaced by love. Ultimately, friends become more than family. The bonds are stronger. You would willingly throw down your life for this friend of yours, and they would do likewise for you. But each step on the path from meet and greet to ultimate love for a fellow human being is met with a period of hesitation and a commitment and an opening up of yourself to pain and betrayal. Nobody ends up with life long friends without a few scars along the way. No friendship survives long without some tempering.

When I was young, I was introduced to Jesus as if at a party - see that man over there, he's pretty cool. Gradually, as I grew up at my church, I got to know this Jesus dude. We were acquaintances. I wouldn't exactly say we were friends. While He seemed to know alot about me, I didn't know much about Him. After I joined the Navy, I came to a realization that I wanted to know more about Jesus. I began to ask the questions. The process was slow, but eventually, I came to the point where I trusted Jesus with a lot more influence over my life. We grew closer. We started hanging out together a lot more. And eventually, I'd say we became friends. But it hasn't always been easy. My friend always seems disappointed in me. He seems to think that I can be something more than what I am. He asks me to consider a greater world and a greater role in making that world a reality. I don't know that I could ever live up to these high standards that my friend has for me. For one thing, to do what He wants, I'd have to sacrifice quite a bit. I'd have to not only spend time with Him in my daily life, but I'd have to open up and let Him into my heart.

To be honest, that scares me. I don't want to lose control. The world is a wild and scary place and sometimes the illusion of control is all that I have between sanity and chaos. Giving up control, or the illusion of control, means trusting in Jesus completely. I can't do that by myself. I can't just willingly suspend control. I can't just willingly trust completely. I would be opening myself up to heartache and scars. I will need help. The kind of help that only God can provide. If I give in, if I take that next step, there will be no turning back. I will be following my friend into the Valley of the Shadow of Death and I will be trusting in Him to bring me out to the other side - alive and well and in a better place.

Asking Jesus into my heart means replacing all the junk that's in there now with pure love - talk about a shock to the system. I believe in Jesus. I believe that He's God. I believe that He is the way and the truth and the life. But I'm scared of losing my life to Him and for Him. I want Jesus in my heart, but only part way. And that is unacceptable.

I am at a crossroads. I can continue down this road blindly and hope for renewed sight, or I can remain blind and hobble back home without ever seeing the true world. I don't know which way to go.

The Durn Near Most Useful Thing Ever Invented!

Last night on David Letterman, a new invention was revealed which could just be the most useful invention ever made - a beer sling for your refrigerator. You simply aim the refrigerator towards the couch and then go sit and watch your favorite sports show. When its time to beer up, you press a button on the remote, and a robotic arm slides around to gather the beer can that is pushed out of the top of the refrigerator. The robotic arm rotates into firing position and FWAMO! A beer comes flying across the room and lands in your outstretched hand. If you aim it correctly, you will never have to leave your couch again for a beer.

Of course, eventually nature will call. So, we might need to invent some sort of contraption for that. But these are minor details in the ongoing quest to develop the perfect NCAA Basketball viewing experience.

Next up - Pizza Delivery Speed Dial button on your TV Remote!

Is that the beauty scale or the richter scale?

Hot Enough? Dating Site Mimics Studio 54
By DANIELA FLORES
AP

TRENTON, N.J. (March 21) - Jason Pellegrino (an 8.2 on the attractiveness scale) says the problem with Internet dating services is not enough really hot-looking people. So he and a business partner have created HotEnough.org, a sort of online version of Studio 54, the exclusive '70s disco where gaining admission was a pitiless Darwinian exercise.

A New Kind of Velvet Rope

Mike Derer, AP
Jason Pellegrino says he and his business partner came up with the idea after concluding that most dating sites attract a lot of brave and desperate people, but not particularly attractive ones.
Talk About It: Post Thoughts
The site, HotEnough.org, is for "fit, good-looking" people.

Prospective members must submit pictures and must be rated an 8 or higher by people already in the club. Once they're in, they are permitted to e-mail other "hotties" for $9.95 a month.

"It's definitely hard to get through that rope, but once you're in, you're in and you're part of the party," Pellegrino said. "But you know there's going to be a lot of people outside waiting."

The 33-year-old Nutley resident said he and his partner, Sean Cohen of Fort Lauderdale, Fla., created the site after concluding that Internet dating sites attract a lot of brave and desperate people, but not particularly attractive ones.

A few months after its launch, membership is just under 1,000, Pellegrino said. In the beginning, only 8 percent of those who applied made the grade, but now about 25 percent of applicants do, he said.

Candidates must send in three pictures, including one full-body shot. Active members rate the pictures online without knowing anything else about the people in them.

"People can say that the site is shallow, they can say it's superficial, but I think we're all a bit superficial when it comes to dating," Pellegrino said.

One of the "hotties" accepted into the club is Jimmy Ziomek, a 29-year-old from New York City who rated an 8.2. Ziomek, who said his job in real estate keeps him from going out much, is 5-foot-11, has blue eyes and light brown hair and goes to the gym four to five times a week.

Using HotEnough.org "saves time and it does the searching for you, narrows it down to the people that you are interested in meeting," he said.

Among those who didn't make the cut was Jeanette Ponder, a 28-year-old Internet blogger from East Orange who considered herself an 8 or 9. She said she applied because she thought it would make a good story.

"I got rated at like 5.7," she said. "When you put yourself out there in any situation, even if it's one which you're not taking seriously, it's going to sting."

But she also reasoned: "You cannot make a relationship by being arm candy."

Like it or not, HotEnough.org operates according to a principle that watchers of the singles scene have long recognized: "People tend to end up with partners who match them in physical attractiveness," said Margaret Clark, a professor of psychology at Yale University.

Pellegrino, whose day job as a project manager for a construction company in Maplewood leaves little time for dating, is 5-foot-10 and 180 pounds, has brown eyes and a bright smile, goes to the gym at least three times a week and gets his stylish haircut touched up every two weeks. He was happy to make it onto his own Web site.

"I see myself more in like the 7.5 range," he said.


This is reality staring at me in my face. Every time I start to think that just perhaps there might be someone out there in the world for me, I read something that only confirms my suspicions about the visciousness of the dating scene.

No thanks. I'd rather be lonely than rated like a bad musical act on Dick Clark.

By the way, I'm an 11.

BLORK!

I feel bloated. The kind of bloated that makes you sit around doing nothing. I don't want to write. I don't want to be creative. I don't want to work. I don't want to sing. I don't want to eat. I don't want to exercise. I don't want to read. I don't want to be entertained. I just want to sit here and exist.

Its given rise to a new theory of how Dungeons and Dragons actually rules the universe. You see, in Dungeons and Dragons you create characters and send them off with the idea that they will battle the evil dragons of this world. And they try, with mixed success and believe themselves to be quite good actually until something bigger and nastier comes along. During their fantastic quests they learn things and gain experience, collect rewards for their daring, and create a reputation as either a hero of some renown or a loser thug thief of some cunning and a nasty temper. This pretty much describes the real world. D & D was Second Life thirty years before Second Life was invented.

But... (and this is where the new theory comes in)... what do these characters do when they're not running around doing feats of derring-do, when their creator is not actively using them to rid the world of evil? I imagine they hang out with their buds, think about that castle they've been meaning to buy and fix up, maybe wench a little and dream of one day settling down and having a brood, watch the jousting tournaments with their friends and bet on the outcome of the field of 64 brave knights (65 if you count the ritual slaughter to decide who will make the final spot in the jousting tournament). Or perhaps they spend their time in ritual replenishment, fasting, prayer, and arguing over what sort of golden gild leaf they should use on the altar of their deity. Whatever the outcome, I imagine life between adventures is probably pretty tedious and an incredible letdown after fighting dragons.

Live life on the edge the entire time? Nobody can play that much D & D. And besides, without any sleep even the best gamers quickly lose focus. Not to mention the fact that you can quickly scrape off the paint of your best 20 sided dice through overuse - and someday you're going to need that sucker nice and fresh for when you take on the evil prince and his dominions trying to conquer the world.

So, you see, perhaps its a good thing to let your life lie fallow every once in a while, to rest up your weary self, sharpen your sword, wipe the blood off your shield, and reshoe your horse. Bigger and harder battles are yet to come.

When you put down the dice and the character sheet for a while, remember, you're doing your creations a favor. Just as our creator does for us. Someday soon, we will be asked to prepare for battle - and then I hope you have your dice in hand and a good supply of root beer and pizza.

Stock up, the battle is coming!

GO! NOW! DO NOT WALK!

Andy has an absolutely BRILLIANT post over at Mile from the Beach. Click on the Mile From The Beach link on the side of the page and GO NOW! You will not regret it!

Live Life Off The Wall

[1st Verse]
When The World Is On Your Shoulder
Gotta Straighten Up Your Act And Boogie Down
If You Can't Hang With The Feeling
Then There Ain't No Room For You This Part Of Town
'Cause We're The Party People Night And Day
Livin' Crazy That's The Only Way

[Chorus]
So Tonight Gotta Leave That Nine To Five Upon The Shelf
And Just Enjoy Yourself
Groove, Let The Madness In The Music Get To You
Life Ain't So Bad At All
If You Live It Off The Wall
Life Ain't So Bad At All (Live Life Off The Wall)
Live Your Life Off The Wall (Live It Off The Wall)

[2nd Verse]
You Can Shout Out All You Want To
'Cause There Ain't No Sin In Folks All Getting Loud
If You Take The Chance And Do It
Then There Ain't No One Who's Gonna Put You Down
'Cause We're The Party People Night And Day
Livin' Crazy That's The Only Way

Off The Wall
Michael Jackson

When I was in Fifth Grade I was a complete and total nerd - a lovable nerd, to be sure, but the signs of nerd abuse I was about to experience in Jr. High were already beginning to rear their ugly heads. I was not cool. No way. No how. Until Michael Jackson saved my life.

One day, as I was sitting in the school yard playing with my Star Wars action figures and imagining worlds far away and adventures that would one temper my future novels, I heard this infectious beat coming from the kick ball grounds. All of the black kids were over there listening to some new songs on a portable radio. I picked up my toys and came over - starting to hover nearby. The black kids were going crazy for the soul/rock type jams coming from the radio. I asked one of them who was on the radio and they looked at me like I was crazy.

"Man, that's Michael."

"Michael who?"

"Michael Jackson."

"Turn it up."

Soon I found myself not only listening to Michael Jackson's newest album, Off The Wall, but I was able to sing along to the tunes. They were jamming. To this day, I still think this is Michael's best album. In fact, pretty much after Thriller, I stopped listening to him.

Suddenly, I was alright with the black kids. They took me under their wings, taught me how to dance, taught me how to groove, and watched my back. One kid, Dwight, was the most popular kid in my school. We didn't necessarily become friends, but we enjoyed Michael Jackson together. During the school talent show that the fifth graders put on, I even joined the black kids on stage doing a dance routine to Off The Wall. It was the highlight of my Cool Career. For the rest of the school year, the other kids left me alone.

I was thinking about that this weekend not as a reminder of bad times or safety measures but in the way that I loved to groove to this song. I was cool once. This weekend, I was cool again.

It took me a while to get over my own self-induced repression. It took me a day or so to readjust to the sort of wild joy that I remember from my youth. I admit to being quite guilty for a while. I kept making half baked promises to God and I couldn't understand why He was upset with me. And then, all of a sudden, it occurred to me. God was giving me this weekend as a present of pure joy.

Anyone who knows my friend Russ knows that he is fun. All the time. When we get together for our weekends, we get more done in three or four days than most people get done in two weeks. This weekend in Vegas I managed to go to a mountain resort, win money, shop for two hours at Sam's Club, sit in on a toddler's gymnastics class, play with kids in a park, eat at a Benihana's knock off restaurant, have ice cream, catch flying shrimp in my mouth, and squeeze in time to watch some basketball highlights. And that was just on one of the four days I was in Vegas. I spent money like it was going out of style - treating to dinners and movies and tipping extravagently - and the best part was that none of it was my money, or at least, it hadn't been at the start of the trip. ;)

I smiled. And I felt elated. And I didn't grumble but once during the entire four days (three hours to get out of a parking lot is a little excessive even for 160,000 NASCAR fans). I came home feeling refreshed and renewed and ready to tackle whatever challenge might come.

Perhaps there is another point to the whole Prodigal Son story that we keep missing. Perhaps there is a need to go away in order to come back. Perhaps joy is best expressed only after a traveler returns. Perhaps life is lived best off the wall.

Blacked Out

Last Thursday night I flew off to Las Vegas. That was the last thing I remember until Monday evening when I returned to San Francisco.

As is usual with a vacation, the more fun you have the more screwed up things get while you're away. I've walked back into a series of complications in my personal, religious, and business lives. These things will take time to sort out and straighten up.

But it was all worth it... I imagine... since I can't remember anything I did in Las Vegas. So don't ask.

More Later...

Life In A Hermetically Sealed Box

Its human nature to seek security and safety. When we are young, we seek the protection of our parents against all manners of scary things - real and imagined. We seek the shelter of a warm home. We assume the abundance of good food and clothes and time to play with our friends. As we get older and discover more of the world, or as the world challenges us by removing some of our safety blankets, we grow up and realize that this child like view of the world is an illusion and that our safety is very much unsure.

We leave our homes and seek a place in the world. We first make certain that we have a shelter, and that we can eat, and that we have gainful employment or training for some sort of gainful employment. Eventually, when we are settled in our way, we seek out other things - friendship, companionship, social interaction. We build up walls of a safe and secure life.

When we were kids we thought nothing of riding our bike without helmets on the hard streets, now we obey the rules of the road and wear helmets lest our brains get dashed on the pavement. When we were kids, we'd eat anything before us, now we pick and choose the foods that we know, and that we know are good for us. Our walls begin to grow thick and strong and we start using them to keep the rest of the world out.

We don't talk to strangers - even neighbors. We're very cautious about that foreign couple down the street - they seem very edgy and strange. We watch our children like hawks - buying nanny cams to make sure they're safe, using GPS locators in their clothes, staying home rather than risk losing them in a crowded place. We stop going to movies and order them online instead.

We have perfected the safe little world and have locked it up tight and secure in a hermetically sealed box. Nothing gets in. Nothing gets out. We are very happy here.

I hate leaving my hermetically sealed box. I don't like to try new things. I don't like the anxiety of adventure. But ALL THE BEST THINGS IN LIFE ARE OUTSIDE MY BOX! They won't come to me. I have to go to them.

I have to lose my Monday and Tuesday evenings to take film classes - even though I already have a college degree and a good job. I have to lose two more of my evenings to be an unpaid intern on a TV show that I can't even watch because I don't get cable - because that's where I might want to go in the future. I give up my Saturday evenings to run a youth group - just because its fun and because it pleases me. I give up my Sunday's to sing in the church choir- purely out of the joy of my ability. I visit friends and family and fly to Vegas and drive to Idaho and take vacations when I don't have the money. Financially, I live life on the edge and it scares me. Professionally, I do not have a secure, high paying, job. Socially, I have many friends, but no girl friend. The anxiety of all the insecurity in my life can be very high.

And so, I like to retreat to the safety of my box. I like the close the doors and windows and pretend that I am happy and safe and secure in my life - maybe watch a little TV, maybe just read for a while, maybe tinker on a project here or there. I like to pretend that complacency is the same thing as security.

But to borrow a phrase from the 1970's Battlestar Galactica, "Life here started out there." I may store my safe and secure life in the hermetically sealed box and let no one in, but life is not in there. Life is out here. Life is messy. Life is dangerous. Life is thrilling and crazy. Life is fun. Life is never complacent. Life is always changing.

I think, from now on, I'm going to roll back the stone that covers my hermetically sealed box and embrace life as much as possible and leave the dead things in the hermetically sealed box where they belong - only to visit them with the respect of one who is visiting a tomb.

Won't you join me?

She's Rich...

Errrh!
I'm listening.
She's rich, powerful... look, if you were to rescue her, the reward would be...
What?
Well more than you can imagine.
I don't know, I can imagine quite a bit.

And all you have to do to get this treasure is pretend to be stormtroopers, break into a prison cell block, shoot up all the guards, rescue Princess Leia, escape from the trash compactor, escape from the Death Star, fight off tie fighters, and then dogfight with the Death Star until it is destroyed. Simple.

How well can you imagine that treasure? Well... that's nothing!

I've only just started in John Piper's "Desiring God" or How To Become A Christian Hedonist, but he had me hooked with one thought - God isn't disappointed that we think so highly of earthly pleasures. He's disappointed because we aim so low.

Or, in other words, we're easily amused. We think we can imagine quite a bit, but God's treasures are infinitely more vast, infinitely superior, infinitely more satisfying than anything we can imagine.

Wow.

I can imagine quite a bit, but I'm not sure I can imagine that much. I used to think that to be a Christian on Earth meant that you had to suffer. Treasures were to be stored in Heaven - a bank account like a post-retirement account. On Earth, we were to be dirt poor and we were to love our enemies and we were to look like Ghandi and die like so many millions of martyrs. Where's the fun in that? But Piper has opened my eyes. God doesn't want us to not enjoy our pleasures and suffer. He wants us to enjoy His pleasures and celebrate!

What might those pleasures be? Love, instead of sex, for one. Family instead of lonliness. Prayer instead of solitude. Joy instead of depression. All the things that we embrace for pleasure are nothing as to what God can give us if we just ask Him.

Piper says it better though. I'd buy this book and see what he has to say.

Will - Out!

P.S. I got the internship. I will be working for a for real TV show come April which you'll be able to watch come August. I'll give you more details as I can.

The First Step Out On The Limb...

A while back I declared that I was ready to move on and gave a target date of April in 2008. Since then I've... done pretty much nothing. My mind has kept the target date and the concept of moving on alive in my mind - seeking opportunities and new prospects. But if someone were to ask me what I planned to do come April of next year, I would have probably just shrugged my shoulders.

Well, all that intentional planning has paid off. Through no fault of my own, I'm probably going to be interviewing for an internship with a production company next week. Probably. Maybe. The thing is that I still sort of have a job and that kind of thing can get in the way of working for free as someone else's virtual slave. However, the internship does come highly recommended from the potential slave master, so I might have to reconsider.

If I'm being vague, well, I just have to be. Of course, the surest fire way of getting new readers here at ICON would be to blab to the whole world about how cool my new internship is going to be and then let every potential future employer in the world come and look at my blog. It might not do my possible future career any good, but it'll drive up readership!

Anyway, vagueness aside, I have finally taken a possible potential first step away from the safety of the tree trunk out on to the limb of life and with any luck, I might be able to finally step all the way away by April of next year. Or not. It all depends on what happens next.

You know, sometimes for fun, I take my hands off the wheels just to see what will happen ;)

(Of course, the car then bounces on the center rail a couple of times and the ride people give me a mad look and I stop pretending I'm five years old and driving on the Autopia for the first time and start driving normal again. E-Ticket, my patootie!)

Ego Enlargement

Harlan Ellison described the process of writing beautifully as a manifestation of a person's ego. In a manner that can only be described as egotistical, Ellison noted that to be a writer, to get published, etc... you needed to have a very healthy ego. Because the first challenge to any writer is to overcome that doubt that says, "Who wants to read what I have to write anyway?" To be a writer is to be confidant that what you have to say is of vital importance to everyone. Not, please read this you might like it, but, READ THIS! IT MIGHT JUST SAVE YOUR LIFE!

Being egotistical is hard work for someone like me. I wear ego poorly, like a coat that's two sizes too small. Its not to say that I'm not confident about who I am or what I like, but more the fact that I don't want to flaunt it. My choices are not your choices. I know what I like. I'm confident that what I like is great. But I also recognize that you and I might have different opinions about what's great and what's not. That can be a problem when it comes to writing because it can manifest itself in a desire to write something that EVERYONE will like. I have always been at my most succesful when I just tried to please myself while writing.

So I have to fight this urge and get my ego groove on in order to write. I have to be extremely confident that not only is my novel good, its quite possibly the greatest single document in the history of the English Language. Sometimes, I go through the motions, but I don't feel it. I say how good my novel is, but deep inside, I'm feeling like the thing is the biggest pile of feces in the history of the English Language. And so I have to struggle with these feelings of inadequacy by asking myself why I feel the novel is a moldy dung hill and how I might improve it. Sometimes, the feelings go away on their own. Sometimes I do find a change I like. Sometimes I just mope until I feel better. My novel makes me bipolar. My novel makes me crazy.

Is it any wonder I just want to be done with it?

Anyway, I'm half way through now. It gets better every time I touch it. In fact, I think its safe to say that it may well be the greatest thing ever written, next to the Bible. But ask me again next week and I might tell you a different story.

Have You Got Your S*** Together?

Recently at my church we had a Sunday of good old fashioned Gospel music and Mardi Gras fun. We sang traditional spirituals and gave some glory hallelujahs some time out of the religious closet. The children's choir even did a great rendition of the gospel classic, "Ticket To The Promised Land" complete with train whistle.

Everyone had a good time. Some more than others. I heard comments afterwards. "They just don't understand that we're much more intellectual here in San Francisco. We like High Church. We're more sophisticated than some of those suburban churches." Now, don't get me wrong. I love my gospel. But I also love my Mozart. And I know that in the past I've balked at some of the hillbilly changes proposed for our church like modern music and electric guitar praise band because I've considered those methods of praise to be beneath a church like mine. We're much better than that.

It got me to thinking about the gospels. They are so different, one from the other, and in some ways portay Jesus in a different light as well. I'm currently rereading the book of John and I find that the theology of John is very sophisticated compared to the "simpler" gospels of Matthew and Mark. I'm finding that I like John the most this time around. But, in putting the two thoughts together, I came across a revelation that seems to cut across the four gospels.

Everyone in the gosples that has their s*** together is screwed! Every single guy that society would have portrayed as being respectable, sophisticated, and above the rabble is, in fact, way too worldly for Heaven. Or, to put it another way, if you ain't broke, you ain't getting saved.

Wow. I think we've all overachieved. We live in a world that praises us for being useful, respectable, sophisticated, and above the rabble. If Jesus were to happen today, most of us would miss the boat entirely. Not only would we not know Jesus, we wouldn't even know He existed. He'd be off talking to the really screwed up folks - the folks that even Jerry Springer won't have on the show - and healing them. He'd be telling us that everything we think we know about God is wrong. He'd be going into our sanctuaries and turning over our money making ventures. He'd be walking through the bad parts of town as one of them. And the people who knew Him would be praising Him in whatever way they could manage, and telling their friends. And what would we want to do to Him. We'd want to see this trouble maker dead, of course, for bucking the system and for challenging us to do His work.

Its all well and good to want Jesus to return because we picture Him arriving in a golden cloud and fixing all the troubles of the world with a glance. But just like the father who comes home and takes out the trash that you were supposed to but forgot about, you'd better be prepared for a whooping.

Being together. Being unbroken. Being responsible. Being sophisticated. Being respectable. Being quiet and polite. These are all well and good. But let's not use them as walls between us and God.

James Cameron is a Poo Poo Head

Just some odd thoughts, cheap shots, and connect the dots on this lazy Tuesday afternoon.

James Cameron is a poo poo head. And not entirely because he produced a rather salacious and stupid documentary about the Tomb of Jesus being found in Jerusalem. The whole concept of the documentary is just insane and the worst sort of science. I'm an archaeologist and I've just uncovered a tomb in Jerusalem from 2000 years ago and, HEY LOOK, there's some ossuaries with names written on them and one of them says Joshua, son of Jesus. THEREFORE, 2000 YEARS OF RELIGION MUST BE WRONG! Cause, quite frankly, that's the ONLY conclusion we can reach from this chain of events, right? Dumb, dumb, dumb - idiots! But rhe real reason James Cameron is a poo poo head is Aliens, T2, Titanic, and then... The Tomb of Jesus. Wow! Way to underwhelm me, film guy. I'm the KING OF THE WORLD! Now let me take off my clothes and run around naked in the streets! Get off your lazy money grubbing butt and start making real movies again and leave the theology to the professionals before you hurt something!

And speaking of dumb and stupid and wrong conclusions, I read a headline yesterday that made me check to see if it had been written by The Onion. But, no, in fact, it was written by real news writers who were actually reporting the real news. Crazy. It seems that the young actor who plays Harry Potter, Daniel Radcliffe, has been stretching his acting limbs in interesting ways. Trying not to be forever typecast as a teenage wizard who flies around on brooms, young Daniel auditioned for and received a role in the British production of EQUUS. He plays a troubled young man who has a thing for horses and, at one point, walks onto stage entirely in the nude - with his little wand hanging out for all the world to see. You can see where I'm going with this right? You can see the protests coming from parents all over the world that young Harry Potter is on stage with his little broom hanging out there? Well, you'd be wrong on that. There are protests all right, but not about wee nudity. NO! The Horror of the Situation Is... HE SMOKES! That's right! With Real Cigarettes! On Stage! There's no word on whether he lights up in the buff, but that hardly matters! When parents take their impressionable young ones to see Harry Potter in the All Nude Horse Review, their kids might be traumatized by Harry smoking a cigarette! Mr. Radcliffe, my advice to you is to get a sensible job where people don't give a crap whether you smoke or walk around naked with horses... um... I'm sure there's a job out there like that somewhere... probably in Vegas.

And finally, I just realized that if I lengthen my penis, enhance my breasts, refinance my mortgage, take hundreds of prescription medications, and help a poor guy in Nigeria with his financial windfall... I'd still have an e-mail cache filled with SPAM. Makes me want to go on a Viking raid!

An Inconvenient Film - Just When You Thought It Was Safe

To make a really long story just long, I am taking a film class and I had to make a 3 minute Super 8mm film this weekend. I chose to make the film at the beach.

Problem #1: Having already overcome the lack of equipment, and the lack of time to make said film, I finally only had the one weekend to make this movie, and it was supposed to rain - hardcore - all weekend long. So, Saturday morning, in the hour and a half I had before the basketball game I was doing stats for, I ran down to the beach in the darkness of a pre-storm morning and tried to make the film by myself. The first couple of shots, other than having to run away from the waves a couple of times, were just fine. But when I got to the middle of my film and a montage sequence of people walking, strolling, jogging, riding bikes, etc... I discovered a little flaw in my plan - there were no people at the beach besides me and the birds. Time was up anyway, and I drove home, wet and frustrated.

Problem #2: Problem already solved since I had already arranged help for Sunday from a friend of mine. Even though it was supposed to pour down rain all day Sunday, I figured there might be some sunlight. So when Sunday dawned bright with occassional showers, I was pleased. I ducked out of church early, grabbed my friend and headed for the beach.

"I need to be back home at 1pm."

"What?"

"Yeah, my Mom needs help hauling something."

We filmed five scenes (shooting over again with more light) and then had to go back to his house - then drive across San Francisco to Bernal Heights, pick up a desk, haul it back to his house, then go to lunch in the Inner Sunset at a great Indian food place where I had Chicken Vindaloo and Naan. It was 3 o'clock before we were able to head back to the beach.

Now rushing to finish ahead of the incoming storm (again) and the dwindling light, there was still the problems I had faced the day before, finding people to walk, job, run, etc... I was creative, but it wasn't easy and it took a big chunk of time. I got through that stretch of film as the tide started rolling in, only to discover that the next sequence on my shooting script calls for waves smashing off rocks - which means getting close to the waves and the rocks. Down I run to the waves, film, scream like a little girl, and then run away. At one point I was filming waves as water completely surrounded the rock I was standing on.

But I don't have time to slow down, I have to keep filming, the light continues to fade, the waves keep getting closer, my stuff keeps getting further and further back on the beach, and I keep getting as close to the waves as I can without getting wet.. ter.

Finally, with the filming done, my friend and I head back to my car and load the equipment inside and climb in. We're wet, chilled to the bone, and tired. And just as I start the engine, the rain started to fall.

You can take your Oscar anytime... to me, this is what film making is all about!

Bittersweet Bloke Bludgeoned By Buxom Biddies!

Or... Why I blame Ariel for this post.

Innocent me, minding my own business, I was strolling through the blogiverse yesterday, as I'm wont to do sometimes, looking for enlightenment, when I came across a post by Ariel at Bittersweet Life (see link in the side panel). This innocuous looking post reminded me of a certain apple on a certain tree. It looked juicy and innocent... but it hid the DEVIL! Or, to be more accurate, the Devil in the form of a link to another innocent looking post from an Australian blogger about Why Men Don't Attend Church.

Being completely naive about such things, I read the post and found that some of the words confused me and made me agree with them. I was bewitched I tell you. I started thinking things like, "Damn straight!" and "Ooh Rah! A man's gotta be a man!"

This, in and of itself, would probably not be so bad. And, in fact, it had no immediate effect on me. I went about the rest of my day and early evening feeling manly and not having an ill effect on anyone. Until I arrived at church last night for choir and met, "As A Deer."

For a guy who has been singing since I was in second or third grade, I have never once questioned the manliness of what I do. This is God's gift after all, and I usually get so uplifted afterwards. I have never, not once, considered the manliness of being a Choir Boy. But last night, after singing "As A Deer" I wanted to rip hairs off my chest, wrestle an alligator, or perhaps ride a motorcycle without a helmet at a high rate of speed while being chased by a Hell's Angel gang. But still, I was not in trouble. No.

The trouble came when I innocently noted to the entire choir, "This has to be the sappiest song I think I've ever sung." For some reason, I immediately had 20 sets of female eyes narrowed on me in that disapproving sort of way that says, "You've crossed the line buddy!" It didn't help that the three other guys in the choir all had their heads and eyes turned away from me in a manner that clearly said, "You're on your own, Rambo!"

I tried to explain. I tried to plead my case. But I was just too outnumbered. I had been done in by an Australian blog and a sappy song combining in my church like The Perfect Storm. I felt emasculated.

And so, I went home, opened the first e-mail I saw and ordered a Penis Enlargement kit... No, just kidding. Had you going for a second though, didn't I?

Unboobified

While I wish the title of this blog could refer to a miraculous reappearance of my manly physique, that is only wishful thinking right now. What it does refer to is the clean mental air I breathed last night on the first night of my TV fast for Lent.

I did not feel good last night. I think the oncoming symptoms of a cold finally started to train wreck me. So after spending a few hours reacquainting myself with my computer, and specifically with the programs I need to update my website (hint, hint, hint...), I crawled into bed early to read a good book. Had I known that there was only about three pages left in the book I was reading, I might have spent more time on the computer. Five minutes later, I was done with the book and I was too tired to do anything else. I just lay on my bed, not watching TV, and letting my mind wander.

I discovered something that I had forgotten. At first, it was just words. Then entire sentences began to race around my mind like kids rediscovering Disneyland for the first time in years. I suddenly realized that I was thinking... yes, THINKING! Imagine that. Ideas, thoughts, feelings, concepts... it was a smorgasbord of mental activity. And underlying all this delightful mental gymnastics was the single thought, "So this is what it's like when you turn the TV off!"

The cobwebs fade. The noise disappears into a mere echo of itself. There is no TV in my existence for the next 39+ days.

Thank God!

What DO you believe?

This blog post marks my 300th and I can think of no more appropriate discussion to signify the 300th post, let alone as a topic to begin Lent.

I've been disturbed of late by an ever more aggressive attack by Atheists on Christianity in specific and religion in general. Their arguments, though now conveyed by all the modern conveniences, have not changed in thousands of years. How can We believe in the things that are written? How can We believe in a man who claimed to be the risen Christ? How can We believe in an invisible creator who made everything, even us, and yet, does not reveal Himself to us? Isn't religion just a trap? Isn't it something make believe that We all want really really badly, so we made it up? There is no evidence for any of it and any of us who believe it, therefore, are delusional. The world would be better off without religion.

Perhaps they're right. We must, for a moment, concede the fact that We can not physically see God. We must concede the fact that much of the life of Jesus Christ is a mystery and that none of us can empirically prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that He existed, much less was raised from the dead. We have no proof that the universe was created. We have no triggering mechanism for life and nobody that We can see has ever stepped forward and claimed to be the creator. Religion has been the cause of so much turmoil and destruction that perhaps we would be better off if it had never been discovered.

And so what does that leave us with? What is the alternative to a world filled with religious belief and faith? What DO these atheists purport to believe in?

Anthropology can't grasp religion. Despite the fact that science has tried to understand the dynamics that make it work, change, and effect so many people, science can't grasp what religion is exactly. They can't define it. It is as elusive to anthropologists as the GUT theory is to physicists. They have tried to define it as a system by which a society controls its members. They have tried to define it as a social heirarchy that exists on a level outside of society, but that has a defining presence on any society that it contacts. But one thing pure science can not allow is a definition of anthropology that includes the existence of a divine being or beings controlling the universe - which is sort of like trying to define an Oreo without believing in the existence of cream filling. It can't be done. And when you really think about it, there is no such world that could exist without religion.

Many atheists say that they believe in a moral universe, not a religious one. But moral to who? And to what purpose? What does it mean to be good? Or evil? If there is nobody that will judge your ultimate actions? If our existence is merely tied to one life time on Earth, give or take all, one roll of the dice, and then... oblivion; what does any of it matter?

Without a backbone of belief, law has no meaning. Without a backbone of belief, good and evil have no meaning. Without a backbone of belief, existence is purely chemical. We are no more and no less important than the flea on a dog, or an amoeba. We exist. Our life is meaningless. Our existence is a cruel joke - a longer lived May Fly. To what end?

The universe boomed into existence. The universe expanded, cooled, created worlds, created Earth. Life formed. Life evolved. We're born. We grow. We procreate. We die. The universe cools. The universe dies. How very depressing.

If an atheist truly believes what they say they believe, then none of this matters. Life is just existence. Love is just chemical. Joy is just hormones. Sunset is just science. Money is just economics. Everything is controlled by an immutable set of laws that just popped into existence of their own accord and we are just cogs in the wheel of existence.

But I don't believe that for one second, and I don't think there's a single atheist on the planet that does either. You couldn't exist if you truly thought that. There'd be no reason to exist. There'd be no point in raising your child. There'd be no way for the human race to have ever survived. We'd have never had a reason to evolve.

God created every single one of us. We all have a purpose here on Earth. Each of our purposes is hopelessly entangled with each other's purposes, so that no matter what we do, it involves interaction with one another. None of us is more important than any other and none of us have it completely right. We all matter. We're all important. And we all share in the bounty of God's love.

You can decide what you want to believe. I can't decide for you. But as for me, I'm going to believe in something, because quite frankly, there really is no other choice.

Let It Be

I am not a patient person. I never have been. And while God has been working on me, my patience is still not endless. But I have managed to attain a certain amount of Godly wisdom over my years, whether I practice it or not, that there are times when the best thing to do is nothing.

When I was a teenager, the thing that scared the bejezus out of me was nuclear weapons. I used to wake up with nightmares. I'd be driving along in my car, panicked, in a hurry, and then I'd see a flash behind me and there'd be a mushroom cloud rising over San Francisco and then I'd wake up with a start and covered in cold sweat. Way too damn serious for a kid - and ultimately nothing I could do about it. I just had to hope and pray that God would keep me safe. Eventually, the cold war ended and nuclear weapons stopped being such a great fear, but by then I had moved on to other worries.

For me, anxiety is a full contact sport. I shake and shiver and wind myself up about ready to explode. I'm the kind of person who gets to the airport four hours early for a one hour flight - just to make sure I am safely checked in and past security before the plane leaves. When I reach my final destination, I can finally relax and move on to some other anxiety. But while I am gripped with anxiety, I feel like the other shoe is about to drop.

I have never really connected my anxiety with a lack of faith. I am sure that I'll be extremely anxious on the day of judgment as well - hopefully for other souls, and not so much for myself. But anxiety is almost universally a state produced by a lack of faith - whether in God or yourself. And its simple cure is to abandon your anxiety and throw it at the feet of God and let Him take care of it, which is usually much easier said than done.

In July of 2001, while I was driving in New York, I was trying to find the turnpike that would take me to Boston (I never did find it). I was driving by myself with only a rudimentary map and no previous driving experience in the area. As the city melted away into rural countryside and I started seeing "familiar" landmarks like Westchester County (home of the X-Men), I realized that I was what most people would refer to as lost. My anxiety was growing by the minute and I felt ready to pull off the side of the road and rage against my outrageous misfortune.

But then a calmness settled over me and I heard an inner voice speak up. "Will, you're the smartest guy you know. If anybody can get out of this situation its you. You couldn't get lost if you tried. And even if you did, with all your travel skills, you'll easily be able to find your way safely. You need to trust in your abilities. These gifts weren't given to you to be hidden away. Don't be afraid to use them occassionally."

I drove on, my anxiety forgotten. Ten minutes later, I found a highway that went east, and thirty minutes later, I connected to the turnpike that took me to Boston. I wasn't anxious for a single moment the entire rest of the trip - trusting in my God given abilities to navigate my way anywhere I wanted to go.

Sometimes when things seem darkest, we all need to be reminded to just let it be and God will handle it. That is the only way we grow in faith.

Mysteries of Faith - Part Three

This question only came to me recently while reading through the Gospels again, but I can't shake the question or its implication. So, I need people to weigh in with their opinions.

If the essence of being human is that we are flawed creatures who sin (we can not avoid this if you follow the doctrine of Original Sin), can we really say that Jesus was Fully Human and Fully God if he never sinned?

I know I must be missing something obvious. Please enlighten my dull witted spirit.

A Valentine's Day Message from Andy

1If I speak in the tongues[a] of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames,[b] but have not love, I gain nothing.

4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. 11When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. 12Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Love is not chocolates. Love is not flowers. Love is not dining at the fanciest restaurant. Love is not a Vermont Teddy Bear sent to the office so that your spouse's co-workers can admire you. Love is not a Hallmark card.

Love is making dinner when its not your turn. Love is taking out the trash every night, even in the rain. Love is climbing under the house to see if the kittens have been born. Love is staying home to take care of sick kids. Love is holding each other's hands when the doctor tells you the bad news. Love is swallowing the words you meant to say in anger.

Love is not Valentine's Day.

Love is every day.

While Andy's Away... Part One

While Andy (Mile From The Beach) is away tending to God's business during his Blogfast, I thought I'd turn things lively here in the old blogverse. I had suggested in a post a while back that one thing I'd really like to see is a debate about the idea of homosexuality and Christianity. What I'd like is a loving debate where both sides present their arguments, people read and listen to these arguments, and respond in a loving and compassionate way. NO FLAMING! NO DEROGATORY REMARKS! Peaceful, kind, safe, intellectual, heartfelt, and Christian in the best sense of that word!

Well, as it turns out, Suzanne left this comment to my last blog:

I wanted to talk about something and I hope that someone responds. Today at a church I started attending lately, one of the ministers (a women), in her sermon about "love", announced that she married another woman in San Francisco a couple of years ago. I didn't quite know what to feel about it. To me, even if legal it seems weird. But who am I to judge? I am certainly a sinner that needs to repent everyday. Now I am not sure if this is the right church for me. What do you think?

I thought, this is the perfect opener to this debate. So I'm opening the discussion to everyone. Please, remember to be Christian in your responses. And please, don't just say, "Because the Bible says so." If it does say so, please leave a Chapter and Verse.

Okay, everyone, let's discern the Will of God!

P.S. I will give my opinion in the comments as well.

I have so much to say...

I have so much to say, that I can't say a thing. My brain is in gridlock. Thoughts, feelings, strategies, reminders, contemplations, prayers - everything is jammed in there tight like Fibber McGee's closet (now I'm pre-dating myself! ;) But I feel like blogging darn it, so that's what I'm going to do. I'm communicating that which makes no sense to me. It might seem like rambling to you, but to me, its mental ex-lax (that's an image to keep you up at night - imagine if all the crap in your head came flying out at once; old locker combos, ex-girlfriends phone numbers, partially remembered recipes, half spoken prayers, lots and lots of useless trivia, gossip, and political diatribes. The entire world would be buried waste deep in smelly communication. Hey. Now that I think about it - that kind of describes MySpace ;)

My default meter is set to humor. I'm sorry if you don't think its funny. Its all my de fault. Ba da dum!

Somewhere lodged in my brain are the following things:

1) Atheists posting a challenge on YouTube asking young people to publicly reject God and Jesus. Thousands of kids, according to the news article, are taking them up on this challenge. Probably because they think its cool. This sort of story makes me sick to my stomach. I don't consider myself to be overly evangelical. I'm perfectly fine with some people being atheists. But this smacks of anti-evangelicalism. This smacks of the Enemy launching a major salvo at humanities salvation. Yet, I'm sure that Pat Robertson is too busy wondering how to assassinate Hugo Chavez to worry about something like this. Where is the outcry for things that really matter from our religious leaders? We're worried about two men kissing on a Snickers commercial but not worried about our youth being led into making public declarations against God?

2) I couldn't say no to the start of T-Ball season. I don't have the time for it. I can't imagine shifting everything around to add it to my schedule. But its something I need to do. Like smelling fresh grass every spring, tasting that first brat with spicy mustard, hearing the crack of a wooden bat, watching the man-powered scoreboard change in right field; T-Ball has become part of my hope of spring eternal.

3) My unfocused brain scares me sometimes. Last week I had a great story idea about a cruise ship for elderly people who wish to euthanize themselves. I'm scared to think what I'll think up next if I don't finish my novel soon.

4) No LOST, no Heroes, No NCAA Basketball, No Amazing Race: All Star Edition, No Extreme Home Makeover, No BSG, No Jericho, No Prison Break... what the hell was I thinking exactly? I may be ready to follow Jesus to Calvary by the time I'm done with Lent this year. I will have lost all will to live. Especially if LOST starts to get good again. ;)

5) Duke is down. USF doesn't have a prayer. CAL has lost five straight. Honestly, I picked a good year to not watch the NCAA's. Who cares about UCLA, Florida, or Kansas? Really? One of those teams, especially, seems so Self-ish. ;)

Well, I have to get back to work now. Thank you for letting me unclog.

Have a good weekend.

Overstimulated

As near as scientists can tell, an autistic person is one receives outside stimulus (lights, colors, touch, etc...) and has a hard time processing it. When things are calm and normal, an autistic person will react normally - even though they are being bombarded with things we consider normal - but when things are not calm and normal, when they are trying to deal with a confusing overabundance of outside stimulae or new stimulae that they've never dealt with before, an autistic person will freak out (that's not the scientific term). They have yet to discover what causes autism and I will not venture to guess here, but I did have a realization the other day that may help me to understand the situation.

I spent the day on Friday at my desk taking numbers from one computer, writing them down, and then reentering them into another computer. It was boring work and my brain was going on overdrive trying to process all of these numbers. At the end of the day, I climbed in my car and started the engine and the radio kicked on. I immediately switched it off as the sound of people talking was suddenly just too much. I accelerated out of the driveway, turned on to the road, and immediately became agitated driving behind someone who was barely going the speed limit. And that was when it occurred to me... I was reacting like someone whose brain was overstimulated and who suddenly found it impossible to handle all these conflicting stimulae without freaking out.

We live at a time where this is more stimulus than at any other time in history. We are constantly bombarded with images, sounds, thoughts, emotions, smells. Our phones can now take pictures, receive pictures, play music, play video games, send and receive e-mails, play TV, play video... and make phone calls. And these are just our phones.

Ten years ago I was manager of the Hyatt Movie Theater in Burlingame. During the six months I managed the theater, I had two days off. Not vacation days. Not sick days. Two days, period! And one of those days, I still went in early to open the theater for the employees. During that time, I remember one thing very clearly, the phone constantly rang - and everytime I answered it, it was bad news. I got to the point where I hated the phone.

I still do. To this day, I can't hear the phone and immediately go into sensory overload. My phone rings and a little touch of panic runs through me. I talked on the phone so much in six months, that I learned to loathe the device. Today, while I have a cell phone and a phone at home, I still use it very infrequently to call people. I much prefer e-mail.

I think we are experiencing a period in our history where we as a society are making ourselves autistic. We are cramming so much stimuli into every situation (its not enough to watch a good football game, we have to have 65 hours of pre-game, Billy Joel singing the national anthem while Blue Angels fly overhead, fireworks, a marching band with neon lights, 2.5 Million Dollar 30 second commercials, and Prince singing a half hour half time show with electric guitars and even more half naked cheerleaders) that we are literally overdosing on the stuff. It is causing us to freak out. We are unable to react normally to situations. All of this extra stimulation is preventing us from keeping a sense of perspective about life and about the world. We are ADD Cafinated Sugar Laden children trying to have a time of quiet prayer and reflection. Good luck.

Its no wonder we go into our homes and try to shut out the world. We'll happily trade the relatively quiet stimulation of an IPOD for all the outrageous stimulation that American life is trying to throw our way. We don't have to deal with too many things that way. We can try to be alone with our thoughts by blocking everything else out with a song that we've heard so many times that it no longer distracts us.

That's why I've decided this Lent to give up the one thing that overstimulates me the most - Telecommunications. For forty days and forty nights, I will not watch or listen to television, radio, video games, movies, etc... Unfortunately, I can not include computer on that list since I have to work on one (and I have film classes as well as a novel). I will spend the time instead reflecting and trying to work on real life relationships - stimulation of a positive and healthy nature - with friends, family, and God.

It will not be easy. In addition to missing Heroes, Battlestar Galactica, Lost, etc... I will also be purposefully missing March Madness. This will be a great sacrifice for me. But, hopefully, it will open up new channels of communication and allow me to exist in my world in a more satisfactual way.

How Long To Sing This Song?

(Sorry, Andy, but you got this song stuck in my head...)

With regards to my novel...

I've been putting off this post because many of you will be asking me what exactly is going on in my head. To be quite honest, I've been wondering the exact same thing lately. The ticking of the clock is a constant threat to me, as if I can look around the corner and see oblivion and obscurity awaiting me.

The short answer is, my novel has never been better.

The long answer is much more complicated. It seems that you can't just take the first act of a three act story and turn it into a full fledged novel with a few quick changes to the text. You see, stories have these high threshold demands - like a beginning, middle and end. And the first act of a story, as needs be, is usually just the beginning. So, when you try to convert one into the other, well... it turns out that you need to create a middle and end. So, the more I wade into this rewrite, the more that I discover needs to be done. I'm halfway through the novel and about half the material so far is brand new. Furthermore, in a three act story you can introduce characters in the first act who don't have anything to do until the third act. Its acceptable. But in a converted novel, you actually have to have a reason for introducing that character in the first act, which means you have to give them something to do that isn't a complete waste of time and space. See, much more complicated answer.

To top it all off, I've been fooling around with college again. Yup. I started back to classes a couple of weeks ago - taking Basic Film Production (a class I need like another hole in my head but that I have to have in order to take anything else) and a course in Film Producing. These classes severely limit my time to write, but then inspire me to want to create. So, as a result, when I have had spare time, I've been spending all of it working on my novel. But there hasn't been as much spare time as there was before.

Now, this may make you wonder how I can possibly think the Novel is in a better place than its ever been. Well, in just about the most convoluted way possible, the story has been strengthened incredibly in the last three weeks or so. You see, while at the library the other day, I picked up a film book to read in conjunction with my film classes. The book was written by a former head of the CAL ARTS Film Program and it was supposed to be about Directing. I thought it might teach me a thing or two about getting those darn actors to do something other than look pretty. Well, I was wrong. I haven't learned a damn thing about acting. What I have learned, however, is how to fix the problems with the novel. In breaking down the problems most beginning screen writers have with their film scripts, I realized that every single problem the former Director was talking about was a problem that I had with the structure of my novel. It was like he had been sitting with me for the past four years helping me write my novel and could recite the problems off the top of his head. Suddenly, in the space of 28 pages of this guys book, I knew where the problems in my novel's narrative lay, and had a solution for how to fix them all.

End result: For the first time in five years, I am confident that I will finish the novel and it will be published. It will still take me some time to finish the rewrite and then to do one final edit (some of the new material is pretty raw and could use some polishing). And then I'm done. Finished.

I know, I know... I should be done by now. Many times over. And it sticks in my craw every time I turn on the computer to start writing again. But the truth is, I started this project with the idea that first and foremost, I was going to learn if a) I could write a novel, and b) how to write a novel. I can confidently say that when I am done, I will have definitively answered both of those questions.

P.S. If you're still reading this and you want more details, go on over to The Thin Line blog. I will make a few comments on some of the changes coming.

An Ordinary Love - Chapter Five

Its funny the way we first begin to notice the passage of childhood. Its never obvious to us the day we walk out of the house. Its always something abstract, something normal, but not normal for us. Our first paycheck, perhaps, or the first time we rent a car or get a hotel room on our own. For me, it came in the Navy, in the third week of boot camp.

I'd always considered myself independent and emancipated from my parents. I hadn't really missed my family the first three weeks of boot camp. There was just too many other things to worry about - saluting correctly, our first inspection, our first physical fitness test, our laughable swimming test. I probably didn't even have time to realize how much I was changing, or had already changed. My hair was gone, sure, but it was growing back. My sense of humor was sincerely dulled, but it was just waiting for a chance to get out and express itself. Many of the same needs and desires I'd had before I'd joined the Navy were still there, so I didn't feel any different. But like a forgotten toy, when we put our childish ways behind us, we tend to forget that they were even there. We just become adults. And we don't notice the transition until something jars us back to where we used to be.

I received a letter from my Mom. I could tell she was having a hard time writing the letter. It was heart felt and aching in its text. She was trying to capture a feeling in words, and while the words didn't make sense, the feeling came through loud and clear. She missed me and she wasn't dealing very well with my departure from her side. In fact, she ended the letter by hinting that the pain was too much to bear and that she'd have a hard time going on living.

My Mom had spent many years in mental hospitals dealing with depression. By the time I was in the Navy, I'd grown used to her moods and such threats. Needless to say, I wasn't shocked. But I was concerned. I was in boot camp and I had no way of just calling her and finding out if she was okay. Suddenly the huge gulf between me and my home opened up before me and I saw how far I'd come in just three short weeks.

I went to the CPO Hill and showed him the letter and he let me make a phone call. It took me a few times to get through to someone - my Dad and he said that he hadn't discovered any problems at all. When I finally got my Mom on the phone, she didn't even remember writing the letter. I didn't remind her of it. To this day, I don't think she ever remembers the letter, but I keep it all the same.

Ironically, two days later, a kid from the unit next to ours jumped to his death from the third story of the Education building. His suicide rocked our brother unit hard. But for us, being young and invincible, the mandatory stand down time was used to relax, take a breathe, and get ready for more boot camp.

The following week, I was given a new job as assistant education petty officer because I'd scored second highest on the first exam (basic Navy exams like how to dog a door, and what Condition Zebra means). My job as runner up education PO was to help teach the unit during test cramming. As it turned out, two days later, the Education PO was busted and held back a week and I was promoted to full time Education PO. After four weeks, I shrugged it off. What could happen?

The next day, our education continued with Fire Fighting training. As Education PO it was my job to lead the unit during educational excercises. That meant that when it came time to fight the fire, I went it first. Now, if you've never had fire fighting training, I need to explain to you that we're not talking about a little dinky kitchen fire. No sirree Bob, this hear was a Class A jet fuel fire. They had a special facility set up in a giant warehouse and in the middle of this warehouse was basically a gas main that shot flames fifty feet into the air. If you were to stand next to the flame when it went off, you would probably catch fire yourself - no matter what sort of flame retardent suit you wore. As Education PO my job was to lead the first hose into the room, ease in close to the fire, and direct the nozzle at the base of the flame. The second team's job was to move in behind us with a giant sprinkler hose and spray us down so that we remained relatively cool. We had bulky fire retardent fire suits. It was already a blistering hot day. We were carrying a heavy fire hose under high pressure, and we were fighting flames that could melt us if we were unprotected.

No problem.

After all, I was an adult now.

What A Strange Long Month Its Been...

Dear Readers;

I am sorry for a lack of content. This month has been the strangest month in my professional career. At the end of December, I only had orders for seven loaves and two fishes. But all of a sudden, I've been feeding 5000 every single day. Metaphors aside, just this week I've been handling orders for $200K from Brazil, $60K from two different companies in the U.S., and I've had a complete product meltdown. Our biggest trade show is on Monday of next week and I've been trying to place orders for huge orders coming down the pipeline in April and May. Hectic doesn't begin to describe it and I feel at times like a quadraplegic juggler.

Anyway, I just stopped in here to say something. SOMETHING. And now I must get back to work.

See you in February... I hope!

An Ordinary Love - Chapter Four

The thing I most remember about Boot Camp is the fact that just when you started thinking you had it down, someone pulled the rug out from under you.

To march properly in Boot Camp you need all the necessary parts. To start, there is the Recruit Chief Petty Officer or RCPO and his assistant, the LCPO. Our first RCPO was a guy by the name of King. He was a New Jersey kid who we later discovered had been sent to boot camp as an alternative to prison. He was one of those natural born leaders of people - if you were looking to get into trouble. For LCPO, we had a kid from the south by the name of Latrell. Latrell was intelligent and quiet. He took orders as well as he gave them. He knew when to keep his mouth shut and when to tell someone off. We all liked Latrell, but I'm not sure he liked any of us. He was classic officer material. After that was the rotating list of squad leaders. Each one lead a column of the unit, but other than that, their role was pretty much ceremonial. These guys came and went so often, I don't remember any of their names. We also needed a guidon - the person who held our unit flag and consequently led the unit. There were two rear guardons as well who rotated. Their job was to rush ahead and block roads or passes while the unit marched along. And finally, the most important job, there was the caller. It was the caller job to call the cadence. Callers always started out lame, "Left, right, left," and always ended up extremely colorful, "I want your left, ow... Its mighty, mighty, to let it all hang out." Without these basic elements, we couldn't go anywhere.

To march, we would line up in six columns to start. The Chief would tell the RCPO to move out. At which point, the RCPO would call the company to attention and give the order, "Ready, march!" The caller would immediately start the cadence and we'd start shuffling our feet and then the RCPO would issue the marching orders, "By twos, column march," or some such. The columns would form into ranks of twos and proceed, or threes or fours or sixes. It didn't really matter. We'd start marching and it was up to the RCPO to change directions, "To the left... march!" And one by one, we'd turn left. We were told to never change directions without an order. At each intersection, the RCPO would call out, "Guardons, POST!" And the two guardons would run ahead into the intersection, and immediately stand in the way of oncoming traffic at Parade Rest until the columns had passed, and then allegedly await for the RCPO to recall them to the unit - this actually seldom happened since the RCPO was at the front of the column - and the guardons would usually just run back to the unit.

This all sounds simple. How hard can it be to walk, right? Wrong! The first two weeks of boot camp, in addition to losing your hair, losing your identity, learning to fold clothes and make beds and getting shots, was all about marching. March here and march there. After a few days of marching, though, we were starting to feel like we could do this thing - like maybe we had this boot camp thing figured out and it wasn't so bad after all.

As it turned out, King was not a very good RCPO. We discovered this during the second day of the King era when he marched us into a wall because he got flustered. This started a feud between him and a black kid from the Philly area by the name of Bubbles. Bubbles and King didn't like each other and Bubbles was sure that he could run the unit better. The day after King ran us into the wall, Bubbles and King had words and Bubbles took a swing at King. Unfortunately, he did it right in front of Chief Hill.

All heck broke loose. Chief Hill immediately stepped in like a East German referee in a Soviet Wrestling match. He parted the two men, took statements from the witnesses and then had Bubbles sent before Captain's Mast. Captain's Mast, we all knew, was where the serious punishments were meted out. We were certain it was the last we would see of Bubbles. The fracas had only lasted a split second. It was nothing more than what you'd see in a typical day in high school. But, suddenly, we were starting to understand the seriousness of our situation. One mistake could ruin your life.

As it turned out, Bubbles did return to the unit that night. He'd been given the ultimate punishment. He was allowed to stay with the unit until graduation, but he had to report to Marching Party every single night until then - which was nearly seven weeks away (let me tell you, Bubbles lost a lot of weight under the kind tutelage of the Navy Seals for 7 weeks).

A week later, distracted by a beautiful girl visiting the barracks of a graduating recruit, King marched us into another wall. This time, it was in front of a real life training officer. The officer demanded King's ceremonial RCPO sword and King was so flustered that he handed it to the officer - which was the symbolic equivalent of saying, "Sir, I surrender my entire unit to you." The officer was so stunned, that he told King to march us back to our barracks and report to Chief Hill. Less than five minutes after we reported to Chief Hill, King was fired as RCPO and was replaced by our new and final RCPO, Miller - who was a good old boy from West Virginia. He was also quiet and efficient, but there was the sort of fire in him that you knew he'd never surrender his sword under pain of death.

I didn't see a lot of Ron in those first two weeks. Once, at a large training session, Chief Hill asked if anyone had any questions and Ron asked why he hadn't seen me in nearly two weeks even though we'd signed up on the Buddy Program together. Chief Hill explained that we were in the same unit and that had to be good enough. After that, for a short time, Ron was given the nickname, "The Stupid Question Petty Officer."

At the end of the second week, I was just starting to get the hang of the daily program. I was starting to get normal sleep and to make some new friends. And then everything changed forever.

We were called in to the barracks and told to quietly sit on the floor. As this was not on our schedule, we all wondered what was going on. The Chief looked nervous and agitated. He called the company to order and then introduced a Lieutenant from the Division Headquarters who had something to tell us. The doors were shut and guards were posted.

"Gentleman, as of an hour ago, The United States is at war with Iran."

The air sucked out of the room. I could feel this cloud of oppression fall over me. Iran? War? Oh my God!

"Early yesterday morning, the Iranian Navy launched an unprovoked attack from one of their missile boats and an Exocet missile hit the USS Kitty Hawk (an aircraft carrier based out of San Diego at the time). There were over four hundred casualties and, unfortunately, the carrier was sunk. Last night, in retaliation, we launched an airstrike that hit several military targets and also destroyed many of their oil platforms in the Persian Gulf."

It was real! We were really at war! A shooting war! We all looked around at each other in shock and sadness.

"As a result of the declaration of war, this recruit training center is being ramped up to a war footing. As of now, all recruiting classes will be shortened to four weeks. From there, you will be sent out to the fleet to join a ship at sea. Also, any infractions of the UCMJ will now be taken before a full Captain's Mast and punishments meted out accordingly."

Slowly, imperceptibly, it happened. The shocked eyes turned into the eyes of the determined. I was going to live. I was going to get through this.

"Men, I know this is not what you were planning. But its time to grow up. The tiniest mistake could cost the lives of you or your shipment. You need to pay attention to details. You don't want to be the one that causes your entire ship to sink."

Everyone nodded. We were pumped up. We were ready to fight a war, if fight we must. We were ready to charge out of that room and storm the beaches of Bandar Abbas and kick some ass for all the Iranians that had messed with the U.S..

"Are there any questions?"

There were several practical questions about graduation ceremonies, making sure loved ones were taken care of, etc... For thirty minutes, we sat there contemplating the beginning of a war and our ability to fight it.

"There's just one more thing before I go," the Lieutenant said. "I'm lying. We're not at war with Iran. But had we been, this is all the warning you might have received. You have to ask yourself. Will you be prepared for it?"

The shocked looks returned and then our units Caller said, "Oh Thank God! I nearly crapped my pants!" And we all laughed and the tension left the room. But ever after that point, we took boot camp very seriously.

Faith Like A Child - A New Thought

Ariel over at Bittersweet Life was asking about the phrase, "Faith Like A Child," that Jesus used in one of his many lessons. Specifically He mentioned the fact that we should all have faith like a child if we wanted to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Ariel was wondering what we all felt that that meant. At the time, if I gave an answer, it was probably pretty lame. But the question didn't leave me. It was something I thought I understood intuitively, but that I couldn't quite place into words - and now I understand why.

I've often admired the way a really good pastor can speak to the littlest of children about God. They often have to take the most complex theological sayings and expressions and boil them down to their bare essence for the littlest ones to understand. Our Pastoral Intern started out this year, well to be generous, as a disaster. Conveying these thoughts is not easy and I've seen the attempt fail spectacularly. Little children have a tendency to see things about God that we don't expect - with often hilarious or unintentional results. They ask embarassing questions and we just smile because we know their questions are often the first ones we asked as well - "Where did Mrs. Cain come from?" And yet, we think its sweet when they sing songs like, "Yes, Jesus Loves Me," because we know that soon they'll be able to sing more adult songs like Handel's Messiah. We know that as they grow older and understand more they will come to appreciate God more fully, to know Him more completely. But for now, well... we just have to spoon feed it to them in tiny amounts that they can grasp.

On Sunday it suddenly occurred to me what Jesus was trying to say. It wasn't the full blown theology with the five hundred encyclopedic volumes of information that He wanted us to embrace and grasp. It was these kernels of spoon fed religious faith. He was saying that to get into the Kingdom of Heaven we have to believe that Yes, Jesus Loves Me Because The Bible Tells Me So. Its that simple. We, being skeptical adults and sinners, find that hard to grasp. Wait? Isn't there more to it than that? There's got to be more. What about...

There is no more. There is no what about... There is simply the truth and its core. The disciples didn't get it. And truly, as adults, we don't get it either. But kids grasp it, understand it at a fundamental level. They understand the concept that people can love them for just being themselves and that they will be sheltered and fed and clothed and taken care of by those who love them. They don't need to know any more. And really, we don't either.

Our Faith needs to be that simple - and man, is that a hard concept to grasp.

P.S. The continuing saga of "Phil and Ron in the Navy" will return as soon as I remember... I mean, as soon as I completely fabricate from scratch more stuff. ;)