The Barefoot Poet

Of the Rambling Variety

2007-09-09T19:46:00.000-07:00

Whoa, I'm posting with slightly more regularity! I miss posting, and I'm glad to be writing again.

This morning our band at Rivendell was awesome. I mean, it's not like we normally suck, in fact, I really like what we have going on. Today we were really on. The music was great, the worship was great, and I'm still buzzing from it.

Joined facebook, and it's a lot of fun. I've connected with people from my past, and I like the conversational side of it. It's a nice addition to blogging.

Don't want to make hair a consistent subject on this blog, but I got to say this. I kind of understand that for some of us, the process of our hair falling out is just a part of the normal trajectory of life. I mean, life is a span, with a beginning and an end, right? I get that for part of it you grow stronger and bigger and then you start down the other half. I don't mean that in a depressing sort of way, just, that's human reality. I do have a question or two that are buggin' me. Why is it that as hair loses interest in growing on top of your head that it gets interested in growing elsewhere? I have a hair or two growing out of the middle of my forehead. Like a freakin' unicorn. No, it's not remnants of my old hairline, it's new growth. Some springing up on my ears, too. Now don't expect to see it either place, I cut those bad boys off immediately. But still, the question remains, why? If the hair wants to fall out in the natural progression of life, fine. But, please, don't get some, uh, hair brained idea to just grow at random in other places. Is that too much to ask?

The Lost Isle

2007-08-31T21:13:00.000-07:00

It was once a continent, thick with growth, ever changing in color and density and length. Then, it began to look like a peninsula, as the sides narrowed in. Now, it is just a lonely island, surrounded and by itself. What am I talking about? The little island of hair that sits alone at the front of my head. I've been thinning for several years, in fact, I grew my hair out a couple of years ago, kind of one last hurrah. When it first started thinning, I had all the terrible feelings. Now, I mostly just miss messing with it. I used to grow it out, color it, spike it, just generally look for cool cuts and let my stylist go to town. For a while, although it was thin, I left it longer and styled it and it looked alright. Then, for whatever reason, more of it decided to go on permanent vacation, and it became pointless to try and make it appear thick. So, I made the move. Is there a story coming? Naah.

Ok, ok, I was giving my son a haircut. Yeah, I cut it, because the little warrior, so appropriately named, goes in to full scale battle mode when the clippers come out, and I will not subject a stylist or barber to that insanity, nor will I subject my pocket book to it. So I cut it. A couple of days ago I was trying to trim up the sides with the clippers, then use the scissors to trim the top so we could spike it up or faux hawk it, or whatever. It became a Braveheart or Helm's Deep type battle. So, I just used the clippers and buzzed his whole head. I don't mean bald, just real tight and close, which is a cool cut these days. He went from looking like he was two to looking like he was five. My wife was thrilled by that! (Read previous line with dripping sarcasm)

Well, if it's good for the baby goose it's good for the daddy goose, right? Yep, took the clippers after myself next. Geez, i hadn't seen that much of my head in a while. Isn't your forehead actually supposed to, well, stop? You know, I LOVE IT! I feel like I can run real fast, you know, no wind resistance! It takes like, 3 seconds to wash it. If I don't shower and fix it, guess what? It looks the same! Yes, no more showers! (Kidding baby, I'm all about being clean : ) )

Now, do they make clippers for your waistline?

One Rocked Rooster

2007-05-18T19:44:00.000-07:00

About a week before our wild ride with my son's sickness my dad read an article about a local festival, Rooster Days in Broken Arrow, needing bands to complete their lineup. He called me and I was game and he decided to check into it to see what they wanted/needed. They indicated to him that our band might be a good fit, and said all they needed was a demo tape or cd. "No problem" says dad, "when do you need it?" "Tomorrow." So after a little negotiating, and their desperate need for acts, we bought ourselves a few days, the weekend. We got together at our drummer Robb's church and "recorded" a few songs. Recording in a live setting without proper gear as opposed to a studio is a difficult thing, and, to not mince words, our demo sucked. Hard. However, we were out of time, and we turned it in. I couldn't help laughing at imagining their faces as they listened. I quit laughing when they called and said "can you play the Sunday 3:30 slot?" "Sure!"

Then my son got sick and everything rightly took a back seat. Suddenly, we were home and gaining health and we were playing our first true public event in three weeks and we hadn't practiced a single thing. After a few false starts we finally got together and started getting some stuff down. Did I mention this was Thursday, and we were to play Sunday? Yeah, well, it was.

Surprisingly, we actually began to get our short set of music pretty decent. I went out Friday night to check out the sound system. Quick background, I worked a booth for the ceramic studio I was employed by at this festival about 9 years ago. It was boring, lightly attended, and just a nice little small town carnival. The weather was really poor that year, and I was misled by the attendance. Friday night, I get there to see a really cool stage, large sound system, and like a jillion people. There were rides, fair food, everything. I began to feel the panic.

The Sunday previous I had begged our fellowship to come support us, and they came in force. I had also sent emails out to my family and friends, and they too, came. It was great! They screamed and behaved like we were actually good! Without pay!

There was really only one controversial undercurrent. Since my dad was the original contact, and because we hadn't had time to come up with a name, the festival had listed us with his name: "The Dan Quinten Band". We tried to no avail to come up with something we liked, but, frankly, we were busy panicking over how we were going to sound on minimal preparation. As we stood waiting to go on stage, Robb says "Lost in Translation". All four of us loved it! That was to be our name. One small problem, it seems some folks were a little "emotionally invested", shall we say, in the "Dan Quinten Band". Two guys made homemade T- shirts declaring their loyalty. When the emcee welcomed "Lost in Translation", I'm pretty sure I saw people pick up rocks and the like. This blog chronicles one fans heartbreak (just a note to those not there, not everything happened exactly as portrayed here, you'll know what part I'm referring to). It was an awkward moment.

That debate continues, but it was an amazing time, and I loved being on that stage and in that moment. And, actually, we were okay. You know how we are, us musicians, we can pick ourselves apart. Unless they were straight lying through their teeth, most of the folks in attendance had really positive things to say.

Up top's a shot of Lost in Translation's first bonafide public gig. That's Chad at the right on lead guitar, Robb in the back on drums, Dan to the left in the cool hat on bass, and your's truly up front on guitar and vocals. Thanks again to all who supported with their presence as well as with their good thoughts and prayers. Here's hoping that was just the first of many...

Scattered

2007-04-28T21:00:00.000-07:00

Catching up on a few things. If you've not used my links to Dino or Heather in a while, they both have new things going on and the links are updated to those, so go and enjoy.

Tonight I went and visited a guy from our fellowship who had an appendectomy among other things. I decided to drop in on the PICU where we had lived, so to speak, to see if any of my boys nurses were there, and, in fact two of the ones who had provided most of his care were both working. There were hugs and good reports to go around. In the room right next to his when we were there a little baby was dying. When we were transfered to St Francis, they estimated the baby had five to seven days left. Even in the midst of our struggles that was a sobering reminder that things could get worse, much worse. One of his nurses, Crystal, came out of that room when she saw me there, and I got caught up visiting with her. I did finally glance toward that room to see who was there, and, shock, it was still that mama and little baby. The mama waved at me and held up her little girl, who was awake and looking around! I was just blown away. His other nurse summed it up best: "miracles still happen". Wow! That baby is getting better every day, just amazing.

The road back to eating well has been slow. It's been a lot of factors, including that it's just more expensive to eat healthily (is that just bass ackward?), and just finding our stride and sense of normalcy after our experience has been a bit slow. I've gained back a small amount, but my resolve feels the same. This weekend we will once again restock with more appropriate foods and reembark on our journey. I will resume reporting and posting pictures.

Well, truly that is a short and sweet version of life in the poet lane, I look forward to a bit more frequent posting.

Oh yeah, a couple of my favorite bands listed to the side have had big events. I'm saddened much like everyone else on the untimely passing of Boston's Brad Delp, he of the pristine vocals that were a hallmark, along with the famous Boston guitar distortion, of the band. I'm also saddened at the rumors and accusations floating around regarding this, and hope that it all settles and we can remember Brad with a sense of peace and soberness at how he left us. (This happened during our hospital stay, and I'm just getting a chance to post). Also, much to my excitement, The Police are reunited and touring, here's still hoping that Chad and I will catch a show. If you'd like to contribute to the "Buy Chad and Lindy Police Tickets" fund, just let me know: )

17 Days

2007-04-04T20:50:00.000-07:00

"I wish the ring had never come to me." "So do all who live to see such times."

My son acted like he didn't feel well, it was Friday, and he had a little cough. By Saturday, he was good and congested, mostly in his chest, and we started with over the counter meds to clear him up. Wasn't the first time he'd had some congestion, certainly wouldn't be the last. Sunday his breathing seemed a little more difficult, and throughout the day although he continued to play, we knew something wasn't right. We called his doctor and he gave us instructions to do through the night and we were to be at his office by 8 am. By about 11:00 that night we knew there was something really wrong with the way he was breathing, so we went to the ER. We expected to get a couple of breathing treatments and probably a shot and go home. At 2:00 am we were informed we were being admitted into the hospital. We would live and sleep in that and one other other hospital for the next 17 days.

That first night we didn't sleep, our little warrior wouldn't let us put him down, and I don't blame him. His breathing continued to labor and get worse, and I began to have real fear inside of me for his health. After two more breathing treatments, he was struggling even more, and I was feeling angry. Why wasn't God doing something, this is my son! Why is nothing working, where is the doctor, this can't be right! Our respiratory therapist decided to try a different breathing treatment, and, finally, he seemed to make some progress. Still, after a pulmonary specialist had seen him, they decided to admit him to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, or PICU, so they could more properly monitor him and give him more frequent breathing treatments. It seemed that Tuesday passed and he continued to improve. Then came Tuesday night. He quite quickly began to struggle to breathe, with even more difficulty than when we checked in. We spent another sleepless night watching his breathing slowly deteriorate. At that point we had slept for six hours in a 72 hour period, and we were filled with anxiety and worry and had the heartbreak of watching our precious, beautiful boy fight for every breath.

By 7:00 am Wednesday morning the specialist prepared us for the fact that he may have to be intubated and put on a ventilator so he could rest and his lungs and throat get clear of the croup and pneumonia. At a little after 10:00 we walked out of the room knowing it would be 3 to 5 days before he would be awake again and we could hold him. I felt empty, exhausted, angry, afraid, and deeply saddened. Good thing we didn't know it would be 12 days before he was carefully lifted off of his bed and placed in his mommy's arms.

He finally began to rest with the breathing tube, and seeing him no longer labor had a degree of relief to it, even though we couldn't hold him. Throughout this process our friends and community wrapped their collective arms around us and refused to let us crumble. That first night we were unsure if we could go get sleep (the hospital had a room for us) and leave him alone in the PICU, so Kyle came and stayed up with him all night, reading and praying over him every thirty minutes (my computer screen is getting blurry from my tears as I type that). What also blew me away was that Kyle's wife Cathy and Steve and his wife Cathy were willing to do the same thing, to take turns taking night watches so we could rest. Dear God, I hope I'm that kind of pastor and friend to those in my life.

The next five days became quite frustrating for us. He just hit this plateau and quit getting better, and no one knew why. Everything they tried didn't work. I stood at my son's bed alone begging God to do something. Look, I know you work through doctors, but dammit! Do something! I felt so impatient and angry! And in the midst of those angry moments, cussing, crying, I would feel this peace begin to creep in, and I felt my trust and faith begin to stretch. You know, I never felt compelled to confess and ask forgiveness of my Heavenly Father, it was like He said, "About time you trusted me enough to be that honest".

At six weeks old my son had a procedure done on his heart, and the doctor at St John's decided it needed to be checked out. After a test and after speaking with the Intensivist at St. Francis, they decided to transport us. Those couple of hours when they believed that maybe it was a problem with his heart felt like someone tore something out of us, my wife put words to what we both felt "I'm afraid we're going to lose him" (blurry screen again). That night, a big group of people showed up at St Francis, our friends, our family, the voice, hands and feet of Jesus. Once they had him hooked up at the new hospital, we went to check on him and visit with the intensivist. He decided to clean him out, an intimidating procedure to watch, but I stayed in there. They squeezed air into his lungs then pumped on his chest to help him cough then sucked out what he was coughing. My teeth were clenched so tight they should have exploded. Then, boom, after they finished, his stats began to change, the first actual positive move in several days. Then the doctor pointed to one of the readings, and said basically "if there's a heart problem that would be different, but I have found a patch of pneumonia that is still really bad. We're going suction him like this every hour, and give the antibiotics time to work." Relief began to flood over me, a sense that we would be okay hit me for the first time in several days.

A little less than 24 hours after that the turn happened. One particular stat they were monitoring, his oxygen saturation, suddenly shot up to the levels they should be at, and they began to ween him off the ventilator. Over the next four days they weened the settings until he was essentially breathing on his own, then, out came the tube, or, in their terms, they extubated him. Shortly after that, they had some oxygen running to his nose and he had several iv's connected, they carefully handed him to my wife. By the next afternoon, which was Sunday and two weeks exactly from our original trip to the ER, he was free of all but one IV.

Three days later, on Wednesday, my wife and I's 10th wedding anniversary, we walked out of St Francis and came home, and our 17 day journey was complete. I had missed 3 weeks of work, my wife would miss two more. We have an appointment one week from today to do what should be our final chest X ray to make sure his lungs are clear, and he will be cleared to go back to church, to go see the fellowship that wrapped him with prayers warmer and softer than any blanket, and to bring to an end this chapter which will have stretched into nearly two months.

I'll do a follow up post to talk more about community and relating to God and each other in a crisis.

"You are bigger than songs, greater than words. And if words escape us now, you will still be God. So hear, hear our souls crying to You, for You, You are good, faithful King.

You are good, You are good. We are free, You are good. You're alive, we're alive and You are good. You are good."

Tribute

2007-03-21T21:24:00.000-07:00

Behind me on our bed sleep peacefully my beloved, beautiful, strong wife of 10 years (today!) and my courageous, strong, and yeah, beautiful, son. You want to know what beautiful music sounds like? Slow, peaceful, easy breathing, that's what it sounds like. On Sunday, March 4th, we took our son to the ER as he was working extremely hard to breathe, and today, 17 days later, we sleep in our little duplex together again. I promise to blog shortly on the initial impact of those 17 days, but tonight I have a real struggle, trying to say thanks in a way that captures what our heart feels.

How do you say thanks to a community that has been life and breath, the very words, hands, and feet of Jesus? "Community" has become, unfortunately, just a buzz word to many, but for us, it became peace and truth in a time of upheaval emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

How do we thank my dad and mom and my mother in law? All three endured every moment with us; faithfully, strongly, gently, and consistently. They called their life off to be by our side all day long, and even all night when we changed hospitals. My dad was strength and calm and reinforcement for me moment by moment. What words fit here?

How do I thank my sister who could not spend every moment at the hospital, she has a six month old precious girl, but who endured every moment on the phone, who's questions helped me ask the right questions of the doctors and nurses, and who was most importantly, my sister? And to my brother in law for coming and offering encouragement and strength when events from his past made that extremely difficult emotionally and psychologically.

What can I say to my sister in laws, Terri and Tina, who brought food, love, and laughter? Terri even brought up blankets and pillows for some folks at the St Francis waiting room who had none.

How do we thank my dear, dear friends and pastors, Kyle and Steve? What my wife and mother and mother in law needed from me was strength, courage, calm, and faith. How do I express what it means to me that when I needed those things, they were there, hands on my shoulders, lifting me physically, emotionally, and spiritually? I just don't have the words, my brothers! Kyle even came and stayed up all night at our son's bedside his first night on the ventilator praying so that we could get some much needed rest.

How do we say what's on our hearts to: Chad, for coming and allowing me to get lost in music for just a few minutes, and for bringing his unique sense of humor where it was so needed; to Cathy M, for keeping an early morning prayer vigil and giving my wife some relief and holding my son so she could sleep; to Kara B for coming and holding his hand and gently speaking encouragement to him, and us; to Heather, for coming and giving a really good hug and encouraging words; to Dave for simply coming and offering great conversation and warmth; to Cathy D for two meals, much needed smiles and hugs; to Laura E for listening to us ramble and for a really fantastic salad; to Angela for the use of her laptop, for dinner, and for just thinking of the little things that were so helpful; to Jerry and Jaime for scrambling up after work and getting dinner and superb brownies to us; to Laura L for being there and bringing pillows and blankets; to Daniel for your reassuring presence and smile; to Athena for the gift card, magazines, and drinks; we are so grateful!

To J.D. and Shannon, and Matt and Adrienne, for your deep friendship and support (and for the Bueno, J.D., diet be damned!)

To so many whose prayers weaved amazing support and strength, it was something that we could tangibly feel.

To all those who came to the hospital, to those who couldn't come but prayed fervently, to those who I've undoubtedly forgot to name, you have all been Jesus to us. We feel both incredibly humbled and incredibly loved, and we love you.

First Returns Are In

2007-02-20T19:46:00.000-08:00

Well, here it is. I'm actually a little shocked that I can see a difference. Very helpful for the old psyche, and well, emotionally, physically, everything.

Here are the specifics. First a little correction. Matt, J.D, and I weighed New Years Eve after piling down pizza and the like and I weighed 325, as I previously reported. On the morning of January 2nd, when I actually started eating differently and changing my habits, I weighed 320. This morning, just slightly over six weeks from January 2nd, I weighed 287, a weight loss of 33 pounds.

I'm excited and motivated again, but not inhuman. I've found myself more tempted in the past few weeks with some of the food choices I used to make. Finding the balance of occasionally enjoying those things, in other words, keeping those times as the exception and not the rule, is a continual battle. I think Dr Phil's book on weight loss (haven't read it) has a chapter title that captures this: "Weight is managed not cured". It won't be "fixed" one day, it will be a lifetime of making the choices.

So, there it is, the first six week update.

By the way, I hope I'm posting often enough for Kyle, who has talked of "weeding" out infrequent posters. Please, don't delete me, please... ; )

Worth a thousand words...

2007-02-11T14:18:00.000-08:00

So coming up soon I'll be posting a new picture of myself. I actually started my new lifestyle on January 2nd, so I've decided to post the first side by side comparison photo approximately six weeks from then. That adds up to about the 16th of February, but that falls on a Friday, and I actually weigh on Tuesdays. In order to give updates on weight lost, I'll be posting the picture on Tuesday, February 20th. I'm pretty nervous, but maybe not for the reasons you would suspect.

Having already crossed the line once, I'm not so nervous about putting a picture out there. What I'm mostly concerned about is if I will actually look any different. I'm actually doing quite well, I won't reveal my current weight loss yet, but I'm getting into an area where I've bailed before. When you have a significant amount of weight to lose, and I believe I need to lose anywhere from 130 to 140 pounds, even significant early losses still leave you very much overweight. In the past, I've lost more than 40 pounds, and then looking in the mirror and seeing virtually no change, I've gotten very discouraged and quit.

Certainly things are different this time, I believe that. However, I know that I'm coming up on one of the mountains I've failed to climb, and it makes me a bit nervous. I guess I'm facing a reality that I've tried to escape in the past. This is a lifestyle change, not a temporary program. I think I used to get so discouraged because I was looking forward to getting my weight off so I could get back to eating whatever I wanted. I think we all want to be able to win our battle, whatever it is, then be done with it and go back to our previous habits. No wonder we are so defeated and discouraged at times, because that is a false hope. To change means exactly that, to change. It's not a diversion, a sabbatical, it's a complete directional shift.

I think that applies to anything in life, and I think in our desire to live without thought and responsibility we sabotage ourselves. We must accept the truth that true freedom from a struggle does not come because you take a temporary route to get it under control, but freedom comes when you take responsibility for the defeat and do something different. Freedom from food abuse does not come when I can eat whatever I want, freedom is when I can eat what's best and turn down what's not.

The Wardrobe Door

2007-01-30T10:35:00.000-08:00

When the four Pevensie's exited the wardrobe back into the old mansion after their first adventures in Narnia, they came back looking exactly like they did when they went in, but they were most certainly not who they were when they went in. Hidden and buried in the wardrobe lay their true identity. If you read the stories you know that everyone who went into that "hidden" land and came back out were never the same. Inside that place they were confronted with who they really were, both the good and the bad, and found the courage and strength to no longer hide either.

I said I never "hid" my weight problem. I talked about trying and failing to lose weight on this very blog. What I revealed, however, was basically like cracking the door of the wardrobe and seeing the fur of a few coats. Finding the truth would require someone pushing their way back through the rows of coats until you hit the prickly trees. In this case however, I stood on the inside of the door furiously guarding what was inside. Then something changed. I don't know if it was one thing or a series of things that led to it. A conversation with my dad about how his dad died of a heart attack in his early fifties, after losing a lot of weight, was certainly a sobering, sit down and rethink type moment. You see, I never knew that grandpa, but he was big and built like me, or, I am built like him. When he finally lost weight, the damage was done, he waited too long. That and other things were certainly eye opening "aha" type things, but I also believe that something outside of me had to draw me. The way something drew Lucy to open the door in the first place.

The result was this, my version of flinging open the wardrobe doors and saying "this is it, here I am, no more hiding." Something changed. I knew it then, I know it even more so now, this time is different. I'm not sure if I could've explained it at that moment. In fact, in having a discussion with one of my pastor's and best friend's he pointed out that somehow no longer hiding was a very significant thing for me. I reread that post and found something I had written then but it didn't hit me: "I haven't found it yet, but for all that is a warrior in me I will not hide, at all, anymore".

I think most of us would acknowledge that naming and facing your problem is the first and most important step to overcoming it, I've said that lots of times. I'm certain, though, that I never really understood what that meant, what it means to face and see it for what it really is. That's what I mean by hiding. Can I encourage you and challenge you a little? Find out what it means for you to throw the doors open to your own wardrobe. If it means posting a picture, do it. Don't post a picture if that's not what it means for you, because then the picture just becomes a decoy, but DO something. Post it on your blog, or if you want, I'll post it here and we can struggle together.

Edmund was a traitor, sure enough. I think we feel like if we throw open the doors we'll be found out as well. Uhhm, yeah, actually, you will be found out. It is what it is.

Something else was found out, Edmund was a King, and a hero, and his actions were a pivot point to victory for an entire "nation" of "people".

First Steps

2007-01-13T20:13:00.000-08:00

Here are a few things that are playing really important roles in my journey to this point.

Remember the bottom line (gotta be a joke there). No matter how you go about it, there's really only one rule in terms of losing weight. Burn more calories than you take in. Low fat, low carb, South Beach, Weight Watchers, doesn't matter, they work, regardless of all other claims, because they lower your overall intake of calories. I'm not saying there are not provable health and medical benefits of a low fat diet. All research makes it clear that a healthier heart and cardiovascular system result when you lower bad cholesterol. There's no doubt that restricting your carbohydrate intake, especially of specific kinds of carbohydrate, levels your blood sugar and helps you get a better read on your appetite. I'm not saying all the provable researched facts are worthless, it's also proven and you can ask any doctor that regardless of how healthy your food choices are, eat more than you burn and you will gain weight. Remembering this helps me with my second thing:

Pick your battles. I am following for the most part "The Biggest Loser" diet. There are some things it asks that I cannot do. One is the switch to only whole grain breads, pastas, and cereals. I've switched tons of those choices to whole grain, but some things, like the whole grain pastas I've tried, nope, can't do it. So, if I make choices that are outside of this particular diet's "OK" list, I remember the basics, track the calories, and move on. I do have some things that I'm simply training myself to eat. Like veggies. In general, I don't really like anything but corn and green beans. That's it. So I'm learning to enjoy asparagus, broccoli, cauliflower, bell peppers, and the like. Long term health depends on that, so it's a battle worth fighting. Pasta's not. Neither is low fat cheese. See, I need to make permanent change. The easiest way to set myself up for failure is to force myself to choke down stuff I can't stand in the name of losing weight. So I have a few chips now and then, and though I will rarely have it (and haven't since I started), I'll eat regular bacon, not turkey bacon. When I do this, however, I meticulously right down and track the calories. Righting stuff down, that leads me to my last thing.

I have several diverse forms of accountability. My wife beautiful wife is following this with me. I've survived at least two moments when I was ready to pick up fast food simply because she reminded me to ask if it was really worth it. I also right down everything I eat and it's caloric content religiously. I can't tell you how much impact it has to see it in black and white, what you've had, where you stand in terms of calories, and types of foods you've eaten. It also is a good deterrent, Jenni and I decided not to eat Mexican food out one night last week just because it would kill us to have to right down the exhorbatant calories we'd just packed in. I have this blog and a decision to post a picture of myself (brave? insane? not sure which) and to continue posting them. I have a bet with a couple of buddies in which we will weigh in six months and the person with the highest percentage of weight loss will collect from the other two. Then we're gonna weigh again in a year, with more on the line.

It just seems that the more I have in place the better. My life and struggles are not just a neat scripted diet to follow. Sometimes I need to pray and cry out to God, sometimes its a perfectly timed word from my wife, sometimes it's seeing my food log, or thinking of the next picture I promised to post here, or just losing to my boys when I want to spank em. My life is filled with different kinds of struggles and moments of weakness, and giving myself the freedom to be moved and motivated by a variety of people/things is something that I haven't incorporated before, and neither is a no nonsense remember the basics of weight loss.

I'm truly starting to believe that I'm gonna do this. I know some of you are struggling and trying as well. I'm clearly not a weight loss guru, but I've learned some from, oh, 12 years or more of trying and failing. You can do this. I hope any of my thoughts are helpful. I'd love to hear from those who are fighting this fight or other fights.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with...

2007-01-07T17:24:00.000-08:00

So, a bit of promised info from the last post:

Starting Weight: 325

I would argue that surely I'm not that big, but, uh, did you catch the picture on the last post? Uhm, yeah.

An interesting thing has been happening this last week. I think I know how to do this. I've been doing a lot of reflecting on past failures and realizing that though they have given birth to discouragement, hopelessness, frustration, and the like, in the midst of that have come some valuable insights to seeing victory. So, I'm gonna post about it. I need to get these thoughts down, see how they read, if you know what I mean.

This post I'm thinking about the seeing the big picture. That's realizing that this problem is physical, spiritual, and emotional. It's happening on more than one level. Now, let me just say this, I'm going to focus on these seperately, but we all know that in real life they don't divide all nice and neat like.

What I have to remember physically is that I'm broken. I've heard it said that "my body knows what it needs if I would just listen to it". While that is true to some extent, I have to acknowledge that I have cravings and desires that my body simply doesn't need at best, and are dangerous and life sucking at worst. That means an intentional plan for how and what and when you will eat is incredibly important. It is practically important to have options within the plan of attack, but the plan needs to be in place. Written, tracked, and followed.

Spiritually I had to realize that I just didn't have bad eating habits alone, but I had placed a value on food that had become an object of worship. If you just see singing or praying as worship, that may sound weird to you. If you see the process of valuing and serving and yielding to as worship, it probably begins to clear up. Honest confession and repentance of raising up an idol needs to be a daily and sometimes meal by meal process.

The emotional part is strongly connected to the spiritual part. The difficulty is at times realizing that God has given us so much to give us joy and a lift, and sometimes a good meal is what He gives. He gives relationships, wine, music, film, and so much more. Being able to let the gift of good food be something that is from God and turning to the food as the Source of emotional healing and soothing and fulfillment are at times foggy lines, but I have to engage and recognize the difference.

I'm off to a really good start, and I see these as things I've not included at some point in my past attempts, or attempted to leave out one or two. I'll post more specifically about my plan and how I'm dealing with the daily temptations next.

Desperate Times.....

2006-12-18T18:47:00.000-08:00

Yeah, thats me, nothing held back (well, mostly nothing held back, and I hear your grateful whispers). I nearly threw up when I saw this picture. I've blogged pretty openly about my struggle with weight, about trying to find the balance of motivation, disgust, good habits, and the spiritual, emotional, and physical issues that complicate. I continue to take some steps forward, then gloriously wipe out. You know what they say about desperate times, about what they require? This picture posted on a blog that my church family reads and looks at, this is my desperate measure. What is that thing that finally takes you across chasm of defeat into victory? People do cross it! I haven't found it, yet, but for all that is a warrior in me I will not hide, at all, anymore.

I try to tell myself I really don't look like this picture, but, no, there it is, truth. So, do you see the starting date? That's me in front of my frig (freakin' poetic), on December 18th, 2006. Yes its the holidays, yes, we just bought some holiday chocolate, and I just finished Bueno, but really, if I wait until after the holidays, what will I find to put it off next? Something, I'll find something. So maybe instead of an American "Christmas" season of overgifting and overeating I'll have a genuine "Advent" season when the coming of Christ will mark when I am set free. Time will tell.

Here's how it will work. I will post a picture, regardless of results, as close to every six weeks as I can. Success, failure, whatever, the picture, along with this "before" shot, will be posted. The battery in my scale is dead, so I will add my weight as soon as I get a battery, and update that as well. Many of you have come this far reading and encouraging, now, ride with me again.

"What can men do against such reckless hate?" "Ride out to meet them.."

Of course, this post and picture may be like a wild night with my friend Captain Morgan: sounds great at the time, deep regret in the morning. Ah well, bottoms up!

The Edge of a Knife; The Turn of the Tide

2006-11-07T21:48:00.000-08:00

"But this I will say to you: your quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all. Yet hope remains while all the Company is true." The Lady Galadriel, spoken to the fellowship in Lothlorien after Gandalf fell.

"Be merry! We meet again. At the turn of the tide. The great storm is coming, but the tide has turned." Gandalf, spoken to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli in Fangorn forest.

I've been here before. No, I've been near here before. I've had moments when I knew I was in the middle of something significant about who I am, and who I am to become. I don't know if I've ever had this kind of clarity. At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, to fail this time (which would not be the first) feels as though it would be far more costly, cause far more ruin. While it feels much like the "edge of a knife", I also sense that the tide has turned. The storm that is coming is the battle which will decide if the reign and rule of Christ, the Kingdom of Heaven, will guide and direct my heart and life, or if I will continue my miserable reign. The first battle is food. While this battle looks as overwhelming at times as looking out at 20,000 orcs from the walls of Helm's Deep, I realize that it is just the first battle, and that the gates of Mordor await.

The Kingdom is breaking through in spots, like little beams of light cracking through darkness. Light has broken through in the way I lead worship. While I love and play the music of Charlie Hall, Chris Tomlin and David Crowder, I no longer try to be like them and sound like them, instead our band's sound is authentic to who I am and who we are. I understand more than at any other time that I can recall that the path of wisdom lies before me, and I can choose it.

My close friend Soulreavers referred a friend of his to my blog. After she commented on a post of mine, I checked out her blog and found lots of poetry. This poem asked some amazing questions about identity. I'm beginning to realize that alot of who I am is false. I don't mean that I'm intentionally hiding a secret identity (actually, aren't we all hiding a secret identity, who we really are, on some level?), I do mean that some of what I claim as "that's just my personality type" or "that's just the way I operate" is actually not true at all. Most of the time when I fail it is because I was simply too lazy or too scared or too prideful to do what I should, but I might excuse it by saying "I'm just the scattered disorganized artist kind of guy".

I'm not that kind of guy. Today, as I watched my son, I also spent the day cleaning and organizing our bedroom/office, the living room with all his toys, and did some work in his room. You ask, you did this with a 17 month old? Oh yeah, he was all over mattresses being thrown off of beds, daddy climbing on stools, toys being thrown all over the floor to sort through them. (I waited until he napped to take said toys to garage) A few weeks back I completely reorganized our closet. Make no mistake, doing this greatly pleased and helped my wife, and I love making her happy. However, sitting here typing at our clean and organized desk after watching election returns in our clean and organized living room makes me happy. I'm actually wired with a desire to have things right. To keep things "in order", things like my relationships, my music, my writing, my body, and yes, our house.

I would say something like "I'm getting control of my life", but the thing is, I've always had control. I've just chosen to eat unhealthily, more accurately, I've chosen to overeat unhealthily. I've chosen to not call people back, to watch TV instead of taking care of business, to leave something in the floor instead of putting it back where it belongs. Listen, I've met people who are authentically not the detail oriented type person, I'm not trying to suggest that's not a bonafide personality type. I'm just saying that's not me, just a place I hide.

The storm is coming, but the tide has turned. Now, I have people who deserve a phone call from me. Not only do they deserve it, I want to call them, but will I?

We Stand Alone Together

2006-11-03T20:31:00.000-08:00

I can't believe it's been a month since I've posted. I can't believe how fast time can fly. I've been thinking alot about discipline and habits and change. I've thought about people I know who have made significant changes in their lives, and how that came about. Left me with more questions, but also what I think may be some really important observations.

In response to the rugged individualism that is synonymous with American culture and American churches there is a heavy emphasis in emerging culture and emerging churches on community. This return to living life together is far overdue, and I'm grateful to the leaders and the fellowship at Rivendell for questioning and calling us back to this. What I've realized, though, at first glance appears to fly in the face of community. I need community, my fellowship, to journey with me and fight beside me as I deal with my demons, which right now is predominately food. My community cannot, however, make me eat differently, it cannot deliver me from overeating, or force me to connect with God in these areas. They can be a great encouragement, offering hope and fresh perspective, challenging and standing with me, drying my tears, listening to my whining, telling me to shut up and stop whining, well, you get what I mean. At some point, the change in me is very much personal and individual, and my responsibility. Journeying with a community in all the ways that God intended is a necessary part of what it means relate to Him, but the ethics of the Kingdom of Heaven must change me in a very personal way as well. Here's what prompted these thoughts.

I Tivo "The Biggest Loser". In short it's about a group of people who go to a ranch to lose alot of weight. They get personal trainers, diet help, and because it is "reality" tv they have little contest and vote each other off. The show is incredibly inspirational, and the before and after pictures are just stunning. This season they brought contestants from all fifty states, with only fourteen staying at the ranch, while the other 36 went home to diet on their own. They are at the six week mark, and now two of the 36 that went home, the man and the woman with the highest percentage of weight loss, get to join the others at the ranch and compete for the big money prize. The big shock is that those who have dieted and exercised at home, without the fellowship and safety of the ranch, have lost more than those there. It made me think. I know of two people who lost a significant amount of weight. In both cases, they disappeard for a period of time, actually pulled back from friends and community, and re entered totally changed.

The second thing that pushed these thoughts was a story about a former Nebraska and Carolina Panthers football player named Jason Peters. What began as taking a few pain pills for the slew of injuries and soreness of major college and pro football turned into an 80, yes 80, pain pill a day habit and eventually into an addiction to cocaine, pain pills and heroine. He left football and sought treatment. During that process as he struggled to be free of his addictions, he told the reporter that his dad had asked him: " Why can't you just stop?" Now I'm not trying to dismiss the slavery that addictions bring, but for Jason he realized that at some level he had to decide that he was done, that he wasn't taking any more pills. Oh yeah, that just didn't fix it, there was the painful withdrawal as his body began to recover, but he talked about that his father asking that question was key to him winning. He had to realize in the very deep parts of himself that he had not lost the ability to choose, to pick a path of wisdom.

Yes, I see how his community, namely his father, played an important role in seeing him free. I'm not trying to minimize the importance of community. I am trying to remind myself that I answer for my decisions ultimately, and part of what must take place as I incorporate disciplines in my life is I must reclaim that responsibility. I must also realize that while I alone answer for my decisions, my decisions and choices most definitely do not affect me alone.

This probably sounds confusing and could be simplified, but I needed to really pour out my thoughts. The point may inspire a "Duh, of course we're still responsible", but it is still not that well defined for me.

My Preciousss....

2006-09-29T19:56:00.000-07:00

So this is kind of a part two to what I started a few days back. Read this post to catch up. I'm not sure if I know how to divide this up, so for all of my ADHD "short post only" friends, I'm sorry. You know, actually I'm not, just suck it up and read.

In quick summary, I posted thoughts about who we were born to be, using an illustration about Gollum from The Two Towers. I concluded by mentioning a friend of mine who practiced the discipline of fasting to help put a struggle of hers in it's proper place. I got to thinking about disciplines and felt a rush of thoughts coming on. I've had this thought that the authentic practice of the spiritual disciplines is of utmost importance in our struggle. Ephesians says we "wrestle not against flesh and blood but against principalities and powers..", and I think we are losing this wrestling match on the deep personal levels, and consequently, on the public levels where we live and relate and have influence. I think we are losing because of how we "wrestle" and because of who we wrestle against.

I'm discouraged and depressed often about my inablility to win my battle against the bulge. Bulge really isn't a good word because for that would suggest pushing against my belt and "bulging" it out a bit. The reality is I have a full on prison break, the walls have given way and my belly runneth rampant. Not sure why the King James language there, felt right, though. ANYWAY, maybe part of my problem is that food is not really what I'm wrestling with. Most of my favorite foods, burgers, steaks, meat, are most definitely flesh and blood (go ahead and run amuck with that my vegan friends). While I'm not so certain that's really what Paul was thinking, I think there's strong application here. Our society is driven by consumerism, sex, food, excess. The reality is, for most of us who follow Christ we are driven by the same things. I guess the question I'm asking is if a person is addicted to pornography, is that person really losing to the pornography or losing on a much deeper level? I'm not suggesting that we don't name our sins and struggles honestly, I'm just suggesting that the outward expression is a surface sin, and we should name it as such, but we should also name the deep sins of placing ourselves and our needs on the throne of our hearts and lives. It seems bass ackward to me that it's more difficult to admit to certain surface struggles be they sexual, chemical, etc., than it is to admit I believe I make a better god than God. I just believe we need to rethink what it means to "wrestle not against flesh and blood".

How do we wrestle, though? I think this is where we must have a revisiting of the spiritual disciplines. Here's where I believe I have made critical errors in my life regarding these disciplines. First, I reduced them to a check list of habits to complete. Read my Bible, pray, attend church, witness, don't sin. Completing an activity is not the point, connecting with God is the point. I spent way to much of my walk following this cheapened and empty version of the disciplines believing it's what made me spiritual, all the while being chained to deep personal sins and being disconnected from God. Ultimately, through the faithful influence of Godly friends I recognized the emptiness of a legalistic faith. So I swung the other way and determined that any consistent action like that was just living a life of duty toward God instead of a life of love toward God unless it "felt" rightly motivated. How can I ever be rightly motivated, though, if I'm not connected with the only One who can change my heart? I think true spiritual disciplines are an important element in the pathway to seeing our lives changed and being set free. I understand that they are not THE deal, but I really believe it's so important for us to take a good look again. I don't have the answers. I know there are at least a couple of good books out there about the disciplines, one by Richard Foster and one by Dallas Willard. It would probably be good to read them, but I've read plenty of books that present things in powerful ways, and then not done a damn thing about it. How do we actually go forward, in a personal way and in community?

"Go Away, and never come back!"

2006-09-26T20:07:00.000-07:00

Gonna try to keep this short, probably need to post a bit more often. Posting's alot like exlax for me, keeps the shit from backing up. Sorry. But ( no pun intended) I got alot to purge out here, so hang on. Daddyman and I exchange emails encouraging each other as we both wrestle with strongholds and addictions in our lives. In one of his emails the other day he mentioned he had reread a post of mine regarding Gandalf, and offered some really cool thoughts about Gollum as the addicted and Frodo as the Christ figure offering mercy and kindness and help. As I read what he had to say my mind immediately went to a very specific scene as played out in "The Two Towers". Shortly after Sam and Frodo foil Gollums attempt to get the ring and "capture" him, pressing him into service as their guide, Frodo confronts Gollum but does something different, he calls him "Smeagol". On film it is a brief moment but the response and emotion so expertly captured on the face of the creature is stunning. Someone had called him by who he was supposed to be, a river hobbit with friends and family and a love for fishing, instead of spitting out a gutteral name given in derision for his addiction infested noises. Part of what we are doing in studying the Wisdom literature at church is allowing ourselves to get a Biblical view of what God says about things like alcohol, sex, friends, and work, and how all of these begin and end in our relationship with God. Most of these subjects are shrouded in denominational preferences and conservatism, which are far too often in opposition to the scripture. I confess I don't know how it should practically play out, but if we're gonna take scripture for what it says, then one of the things it says is that we were born to be something beautiful. "I call you friends" Jesus says, "new creation", "dead to sin", "free". It didn't fix everything for Gollum, he had loads of difficult choices, and he failed often and ultimately, but it was an incredibly important starting point that gave him a chance. I can tell you that I need to hear Jesus call me by a different name, either by His Spirit or by His church. So where do I, where do we, go from here? In a flash of restraint and wisdom I'm gonna leave that for my next post.

A great friend is pursuing one of the ancient disciplines in response to struggles she faces. There's something real important about that, and my mind is running rampant with it, so stay tuned.

R - E - P - E - N - T, Find out what it means...

2006-09-02T19:56:00.000-07:00

Kyle is preaching out of the wisdom (Psalms, Proverbs, Song of Solomon, Ecclesiastes) books for the next several weeks. I figured it to be good because Kyle is that kind of a guy. Last week he talked about the difference between wisdom and foolishness as not so much a specific choice about a one time situation, but as a pathway. This pathway is the way of wisdom leading to life, this pathway is the way of foolishness leading to destruction. Kyle is going to cover, at least at last report, wise and foolish pathways regarding friends, wine (alcohol), sex, work, and more. It had me wondering what would I do different if I looked at my struggles with food as not just a decision about what and how much to eat at any given meal, but as a journey down a foolish path that will lead to destruction. What is the larger decision regarding a change of direction, a change of pathway, in terms of the way I approach food? What have I bought into regarding food that guides me in the direction of gluttony, carelessness, and disregard? I'm not trying to ignore the reality that in any given struggle sometimes all you can do is just make the right choice this time, and not worry about what's down the road. Living in the present in that matter is often crucial. It has become somewhat clear to me, however, that addressing the bigger picture in struggles and making heart and path changes is an absolute necessity to see change. I'm pretty sure I'm talking about actual repentance.

I'm a confessing fool, especially since I started blogging. (Is that really a good thing? hmm...) I've said stuff in my blog with an honesty that is beyond what I've ever said in the past. I believe for sure that naming your struggles is very important. I've named them with increasing clarity. Forgive my bluntness but how the hell do you actually repent? Seeing things from a larger perspective and seeing a need for a deeper change than just eating habits is great, but how do you actually do this? How do you change paths? I understand and believe the language of Jesus and the rest of the New Testament writers when they said stuff like "the truth shall set you free" and "you are a new creation" and "tearing down strongholds" but my life just doesn't seem to look like that. I know I am not alone here, we all have that struggle, whatever it is. The one that owns us. I know we are broken, and part of this life is struggling and groaning for the time when we have ultimate victory, ultimate freedom. I also want to believe Jesus when he said that the Kingdom of Heaven, the reign and rule of Christ in my life, is here now. Where is the balance between these realities? How do we become what we were born to be?

Talk to me, people, let me hear where you see the same struggles. Let me hear where you see real change and repentance. Isn't this at the core of some of our real struggles? Our churches are filled with chained and bound people, me, and you, all of us. Yet Jesus and others in the Bible had the audacity to say we didn't have to be bound. I know struggle will always exist until God's kingdom is wholly restored, but shouldn't there be alot more broken chains laying around the altars and pews and dinner tables and baptistry's where we live and worship?

Kingdom of Heaven

2006-08-25T20:09:00.000-07:00

We have a DVR, powered by Tivo. It can be a blessing or a curse, this ability to digitally record any show you want. For my family, it's turned out mostly to be a blessing. I won't pursue the ups and downs of Tivo right now. I had tivoed the movie "Kingdom of Heaven" sometime back. You know the one, with Orlando Bloom, Liam Neeson, and many more about the crusades. I liked the movie. The seige on Jerusalem with the seige towers and catapults was mesmerizing. The battle was gritty and bloody, with men biting, choking, poking out eyes, and the ruin left behind after a bunch of people run at each other full tilt with very sharp objects in their hands. While it did romanticize war and warriors and knights to some degree, the carnage of the battle certainly balanced that out. The closing lines mentioned that a thousand years later there was still no peace in the "kingdom of heaven".

What is the Kingdom of Heaven? What does it mean to advance it? I, like the rest of the church, don't have a real good answer to that. Yet, that is what Jesus came to do, to usher in the Kingdom, and that is what we are to continue to do, so how do we not really know what this means? We wrestle with what a church service should look like, the music that should be played, programs and the like, to the point that it polarizes and divides brothers and sisters in Christ. Look, I think how church is "done" is something we need to revisit and rethink, don't get me wrong. I think some of those discussions are happening because we see an absolute lack of Kingdom ethics and life in our churches, and that makes those discussions important. Some of them are happening because we want butts in the pews, and we want to be hip and with it, and thats a vain pursuit that cripples.

Here's what I struggle with. Most talk of the Kingdom of Heaven is strictly end times oriented. I'm weary of an interpretation of Revelations that are narrowed down to scaring the hell out of anyone who would listen. I'm really weary of people who believe that a narrow, strictly literal version of the events in the Revelation is THE truth, when prophecy in the Bible is so much more metaphorical, pictures and poetry that reveal truth. We like to point to the violent return of Christ as interpreted literally as the time in which we will be justified for the way we've behaved, but we don't want to look at the way Christ lived, when He said the Kingdom is "here", "at hand", to see if our lives and ethics and treatment of people are even remotely close to what His return will restore. Look, I don't know how the events of the Revelation will be played out in the literal sense. I think we should all view them with a big dose of humility and caution, given how often the people of God have misinterpreted His prophets. I do know that He will return, and that He will restore the Kingdom of Heaven in it's fullness on earth. That should be a great comfort to us, not a source of fear and manipulation. I also think we should collectively as the Church quit pointing our fingers at each other and point them inward at ourselves, and revisit the way Jesus LIVED, not just His birth and death and resurrection. He was born, crucified and resurrected to restore us to himself, and to empower us to LIVE the same life He did, to continue the advancement of the Kingdom. I also believe that the advancement of the Kingdom does not look like scaring people into repeating a prayer, getting baptized and generally living a much churchier life. I believe the advancement of the Kingdom will be visible in how we treat the poor, the marginalized, the "drunkards and sinners", and yes, the way we preach the Gospel.

May we struggle together to see peace in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Ode to Gandalf(s)

2006-08-16T14:46:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I kinda had one of those spells in life where change happens rapidly, life spins at breakneck speed, and several weeks have passed. You guys doin' okay? What follows is likely a long ramble foolishly attempting to revisit my last post, catch you up on the last few weeks, and just, you know, reenter blogworld.

I'm nuts about the Lord of the Rings. I've documented this on some level before, and I want to reach into them as a way of saying "thanks". I reread the trilogy once a year, and I have for nearly 15 years. It's not that I plan it and feel like I have to somehow do my duty and read, it's just that at some point during the year I get the urge to read the books, so I do. I'm also a huge fan of the movies. In spite of mostly practical changes Peter Jackson had to make, he captured the spirit of the books brilliantly. One of the scenes that plays out a little differently is from the "The Two Towers". Gandalf, Legolas, and Aragorn have ridden to see Theoden, King of the Riddermark, the Rohan. They find him in awful shape, having listened to the lies of Wormtongue, Saruman's stooge for too long. The scene, book and movie, is high drama, a fight for Theoden's soul. Here's the part the movie left out. After Gandalf had removed Wormtongue and stood Theoden up and began to call on who he really was, he called for his (Theoden's) sword. In the book, the dramatic change in Theoden's appearance and strength happens when Gandalf hands him his sword. Wormtongue had slowly turned Theoden inward, convincing him that he no longer had what it took to be King, to live with purpose, that all he could do was look after his castle and his self. When truth reappeared, part of what his true friend Gandalf did was remind him that he still was king, and that he still had purpose and battles and impact. This was most notable when he gave him his sword. Why carry and grip a sword if you plan to be holed up in your castle feeling useless and defeated? I felt useless and defeated by food and diet. When I last posted, many of you did something figuratively that had the power of doing it physically. You stood me up, and put my sword back in my hand. So to all of you Gandalf's who offered hope, encouragement, and prayers, thank you. From the depths of my heart, thank you. Not only am I back in the fight, but a door has opened to a new job that simply will force me to get in shape. The nature of the work demands it. I'll blog about that later, but it's an amazing fit in terms of philosophy and style that has become my workplace. You'll probably be shocked at where my job is.

I'll stop there, but here is a parting thought from LOTR. There is a huge emphasis in the book and the movies that we are born with purpose. One of the greatest lines in the movie belongs to Elrond when he says to Aragorn (after, interestingly enough, giving him his sword) "Become who you were born to be". The most debilitating lies of the enemy are the ones that reduce our purpose and callings in life. Yes, we are broken, and we shouldn't forget nor hide from that truth. But we were not born to be broken. We were born to be a bride, a body, bearers of good news, we were born to be free. We were not born to be enslaved by food, sex, alcohol, cigarettes, control, etc., we were born again to be new creations, heirs, brothers, sisters. May this truth break through the bonds and addictions that bind us, and may we all, in Gandalf's own words, "breathe the free air again", or, perhaps for the first time.

"Nothing tastes as good as thin feels"

2006-07-21T21:15:00.000-07:00

Washed out. Defeated. S.O.S. (as in same old ...). I have suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of the diet monster. I'd say my butt was toast but at the rate I've been going I would have slapped some butter and jelly on it and knocked that sucker back. I'm at a loss. I don't know how to beat this. I'm sick of my brokenness.

When I look at my son, who's starting to think that his daddy is something, how can I continue to ignore the exploding warning flags around my physical condition? How many times will I struggle to stand up when I've been playing on the floor with him before I freakin' do something? Tonight we went to Mardel's to pick up some stuff for Jenni's classroom. While she looked he and I went to the music, we put on some headphones, then went over to the TV's. They have like six TV's all showing a Derek Webb video called "I wanna be broken". He pointed at the TV's and said "ah!" very excitably. Yeah, we both kinda got caught up in the song. I was mesmerized watching and listening, seeing the lighting of the stage, and I looked down, and my son was equally mesmerized. I leaned down and put my arm around him and he leaned his head back on my shoulder and we just stayed there caught up in that song and that moment. It was both awesome and beautiful. So when I've eaten myself into the ground before he grows up, who will tell him that story? I'd rather tell him myself. You'd think that would be enough to make serious changes, but I'm too damn broken and weak and I hate it. I HATE IT!!

My beautiful wife sleeps behind me. She loves me and thinks I'm the warrior and poet I dream to be. She apparently thinks whales are beautiful, because she constantly tells me how attracted she is to me and how good I look. My excessive overweight body is a hindrance in virtually every area of my life and our relationship. She doesn't think I could look better, but she would love to enjoy a lifetime together raising our family and serving God. Most honest men know our wives are way beyond what we deserve, but her grace and abiding love for me in spite of the idiot I am leave me shaking my head unable to think of what words I could say. You'd think that would be enough to make serious changes, but I'm to damn broken and weak and I hate it. I HATE IT!!!

I heard someone say recently that it really is a matter of choice. I may say I hate it, or that I want to lose weight, but my choices tell me that's not what I really want. I think there is some serious truth to that. The most serious part about following that train of thought is it leads ultimately to confronting just how broken I am. When I first started this thing I felt like Aragorn and the Dead exiting the boats at Pelennor Fields and doing some serious whuppin, or riding down the hill at Helm's Deep with Eomer and Gandalf. Right now I feel a whole lot more like Boromir with a bunch of Orc arrows sticking out of me, thinking that all the fighting I just did was in vain.

I don't know how to do this. The title of this is something a lady painted on a plate at the studio a few days back. It gave me this flash of motivation, but it faded. I'm in a bad place regarding this battle right now. I need help.

Obviously, this is bigger than just my waist size and the numbers on my scale. It's about deep seeded changes in what I believe about God, myself, and community. It's all much bigger than me right now (and, uh, that's pretty big).

Pop, pop, pop, pop music...and culture

2006-07-17T22:07:00.000-07:00

My dear friend, supermom, started a little back and forth, give and take kinda thing regarding a little pop starlet named Kelly Clarkson. Maybe you've heard of her (yes, in the name of all that's good maybe somebody hasn't). I tried to let it die peacefully, but no, supermom had to put a little comment on one of my posts, then, I earned an entry on her blog. Actually, I feel kind of special, I think she has about 100 million people who read her blog, and I was worthy of being a topic! I had to break Sting out on her. I know, that's pretty harsh, but, she said it was ON, so you do what you gotta, right?

Truth of the matter is, we are having a good time with it, but, dangit, it made me start thinking. Does anybody know how hard that is? Thinking? Anyway, the conversation we had when she along with her wonderful family treated my family to a lovely evening was that I wasn't a "believer" in Kelly yet. I appreciate that she wrote more on this last album. I appreciate the honesty in the lyrics, even if they aren't as moving and poetic as someone like Sting. I think "Because of You" combined with the video she filmed for it has some powerful redemption and reconciliation themes. I'm just not convinced that she won't go running back to "American Idol" teen pop crap if she has the slightest dip in record sales or TRL appearances. I made a crack in the comments about comparing Kelly to Brittney Spears even though she clearly is light years better as a singer and an artist. That was mostly to fire up supermom, and it was a raging success : ) There are some similarities that bug me, though. Have you seen some the rags Kelly's had on in some recent videos? Her "new" image? Pisses me off, frankly. Which brings me to what I really want to post about. My blossoming love/hate relationship with pop culture.

I love culture. What people are influenced by, how they dress, how they express themselves, their language and what fuels them. I think we have a distinct call as followers of Jesus to understand, relate, and even enjoy our culture. To be in the world. The things that move and shake and motivate our culture are also the places where people are likely crying out for God, and the places He is already busy at work waiting for His hands and feet, a.k.a. the Church, to say "here am I, send me." I think for the church to see the broken and hurting in this world find Kingdom Life we must love and embrace the culture.

I hate POP culture. This part of the culture at large is enslaving, deceitful, fake, and manipulative. It puts people on dangerous paths regarding how they treat their body, how they treat their family, and what they value. Another good friend talked about the marketing part of this in a recent post. Pop culture can disguise crap, like the Hillary Duff song supermom sarcastically referred to and put on her blog for all to hear (still have a twitch), and make a few people wealthy feasting on truth starved brains. It seems some people are experts at finding the brokenness of people and instead of offering healing they take advantage and deceive.

I guess I'm thinking we have a two faceted response to our culture. One facet is to embrace, understand, and live in. To let the religious leaders of our day see us as "friends of sinners, gluttons and drunkards". We're in good company, really good company if we're viewed this way. The second facet is to subvert culture, to offer something that is counter to the manipulation, lies, and chameleon like lifestyle our culture pushes. I'm not talking about the church sub culture, I'm talking about the message and lifestyle, the culture if you will, of the Kingdom of Heaven.

What if when Jesus said the "truth shall set you free" He wasn't referring to your belief about dispensationalism or predestination or women preachers but about who He is, and about who you are, and about the mission He is on that He wants us to join.

Okay, so I got a little reflective on some silly fun with some music. I can honestly say that I hope with each new release that Kelly stays the path, continues to get more authentic, and offers hope in what she has to say. Only time will tell. In the meantime, we can hold our lives up to the mirror of Truth and let it shine in the deepest parts of our souls.

"I've been kicked out of better...."

2006-07-09T20:04:00.000-07:00

First smile, first burp, first bowel movement, first giggle, first word, oh the joys of fatherhood. How 'bout first place kicked out of?

"Oh what a beautiful mooorning..." Day started with a birthday party at work. The mom who's daughter's birthday was being celebrated was one of those rare treats who was so controlling and such an order freak that she had been requesting meetings and showing up unnannounced at work to ask really stupid questions pretending to be smart. She was, after all, an event planner, and she clearly knew better how to host a birthday party at our studio that she's never been in because she sends her nanny with her daughter. I finally had to tell her fairly straightfowardly that through the painting part of the celebration we would do things my way, then she could direct as she wished after that. I know this is wrong but the painting went great, and the party descended into utter chaos once "event planner" mom took over, and I was happy. Wrong, I know.

"Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry..." Then on to the main event, an evening with the family at Discoverylands production of Rodgers and Hammerstein's "Oklahoma!". Discoveryland is an outdoor ampitheater that is acknowledged by Rodgers and Hammerstein's foundation as the official home of this musical. When I was in elementary and junior high and even a few years in high school we use to go to see the musical there every summer as a family, and occasionally a second time with a youth group. I always loved it. We performed "Oklahoma!" my senior year in high school, I was a dancing cowboy (Stop laughing. I mean it.) That was twenty years ago, and I had not been to Discoveryland since then. (Seriously, stop laughing.) This was a big event. Started great. We pulled up to the entrance, and a cowgirl was sitting on her horse waving and smiling as we pulled in. We knew one of my nephews had a summer job there, but we didn't know if we'd see him. Lo and behold, he guides us into our parking space. We went inside to eat, and Caedmon gets his first pony ride. He thought it was awesome. Walking beside him holding him in the saddle and watching him laugh and grin was a priceless moment. Dinner was a steak sandwich, kind of like you get at the Fair. Man, what a night. Off to the ampitheater to watch a group sing some cowboy songs (yeehah) and watch an Indian dancer ( awesome).

"Poor Jud is dead, poor Jud Fry is dead" The cowboy, or cowboy impersonator, that was introducing the show had a funny little quip, went something like this: "We'd ask that you turn your cell phones off or to the silent operation, and if you have young kids we'd ask you do the same". Once the show started, my son lasted approximately half of the opening song and he was bored, but, he was quiet. He got obsessed with the bald guy sitting in front of me, I mean, that dude's head had to be waxed. Caedmon kept reaching out to touch it, shoot, I kind of wanted to touch it too. Finally, he started complaining. Being dutifully courteous parents, my wife and I took him first to the top rows, where he still was a little noisy, then up to the top of the ampitheater by the snacks. We could still see, and he was no longer down with the paying patrons. BOOM! Shotgun goes off. Scared the crap out of me, and Caedmon kind of started whimpering. Not crying, just a little startled by a shotgun blast. (It was part of the play, and we were warned before hand, but, dude, it was loud!)

"And that's about as fer as he could go" I saw her coming. Little Discoveryland worker patrolling the area. With a fake smile and faux friendliness, she blurts "Sorry, you'll need to take him out there" pointing to the quiet abyss completely outside of the ampitheater. You would have to know my son to know the smile he shot at her. You would have to know me to know what I shot at her. He had officially been kicked out of Discoveryland. My wife and my sister were duly offended. I think my mom has potentially contacted special forces to storm the place. After a brief indignant moment, I began to feel proud. Downright giddy by this morning. Blogging about it tonight.

Okay, so if you're going to call yourself "family entertainment", maybe you ought to give a little more room for family. Look, we stepped out of where we were disturbing people, I get respecting that some folks spent $17 on a ticket to see a show that featured performers with half the talent that the theater was once known for. I think there were plenty of adults whimpering after that shotgun blast, I wasn't, I was mostly concerned about the status of my underwear. ( You're laughing again.) The noise of kids is a special thing. I know there are times when kids need to be quiet and respectful, and that is hard work for parents to do. I also think there are times when the laughter of children creates a beautiful backdrop. Ah, what do I know. I do know I'd like to go back to Discoveryland with about 50 or so kids three and under, and another 10 or so kids 8-12 years old to stir up the 50. I know, that plan is probably not from Jesus. So, the parenting adventure continues. I was proud to be pointed the door with my son, felt like a moment.

"Lightning bolts out of my arse!"

2006-07-05T21:52:00.000-07:00

So Kyle's blog sends me to this quiz, and I take it. You would think I rigged this deal I'm so happy with my results. I just need to live up to them, but, it's a start. Are you kidding me? William Wallace, Captain Jack and Maximus as a top three? Most of the time the only things I feel in common is with Captain Jack's love of Rum. But maybe somewhere in there there's a little of the rest of them. Here's what the results were:

You scored as William Wallace.

The great Scottish warrior William Wallace led his people against their English oppressors in a campaign that won independence for Scotland and immortalized him in the hearts of his countrymen. With his warrior's heart, tactician's mind, and poet's soul, Wallace was a brilliant leader. He just wanted to live a simple life on his farm, but he gave it up to help his country in its time of need.

William Wallace

83%

Captain Jack Sparrow

79%

Maximus

75%

Neo, the "One"

75%

Batman, the Dark Knight

67%

El Zorro

63%

Lara Croft

58%

Indiana Jones

58%

The Terminator

54%

The Amazing Spider-Man

29%

James Bond, Agent 007

Crank it Up

2006-06-27T21:47:00.000-07:00

Most of you know I play music with a band for my church. I love doing it, it's amazing. Our former drummer for that band (they were called to another church in their community) and I began talking a few months back about getting together and playing some. He plays some in his new church, so we were talking of a little side project mostly because we really enjoyed playing together. We both have really talented players and singers in our bands at church, and considered doing something like a jam night, which may still happen, but eventually we decided to have just a "stripped down" rock and roll band. Two electric guitars, bass, and drums. Really simple, and maybe a little harder than church, well, harder at least for his church, Rivendell lets us freakin rock! What a fellowship! (spoken like Yakov Smirvov) So yesterday he calls me and says something to the effect of lets get together and play this week, and, hey, why not see if we can play for the youth at my church? I say sure, and this afternoon, he calls and says "we're on!". So tonight we scrambled up and practiced a bit for our "big show" : )

Here's the thing. Good rock music was just meant to be played loud. Now, Rivendell lets us crank it up, within context , especially in comparison to the levels that are common in most churches, but even that is short of concert-like volume. We practiced and will play at that volume tomorrow, and man, it was just amazing. There's a certain energy that comes when you can really crank it up, and I just can't wait to play.

I feel so blessed to get to enjoy music the way I do. Thanks in large part to Steve and Kyle and the folks at Rivendell I have been freed to love playing in ways I felt restrained just a few years back. And I love the different contexts I get to play in. At our gathering, I so enjoy listening to Cathy and Daniel use their gifts to lead alongside of me, and I love when Laura is with us and plays one of her beautiful original songs. It's the coming together of different styles and backgrounds and we make some great music. I also like our little four piece that's playing tomorrow night. We all share a very similar music background and have the same preferences for style. It's a very pure electric brand of rock.

Tonight as we practiced was just another reminder of even though I've had some tough disappointments career wise the last few months, God is so very gracious to me to allow me to do something I love. I remember sitting at the "Coldplay" concert back in February and just first of all being so completely blown away by them as a band, but just thinking how great it is to play music with a group of people you enjoy being with. I love you all, my bandmates, of both bands, and I hope it is as enjoyable for you as it is for me. I love you, my Heavenly Father, and I am so grateful to you for allowing me to offer up my meager musical offerings for Your glory.

Bittersweet Symphony

2006-06-21T20:19:00.000-07:00

Ah, the big one year blowout birthday week (yeah, pretty much lasted a week) has concluded. He's now got more sh..oops, that was last post, stuff than any one year old should have. "So, how is your house decorated?" "Oh, we just love the new line from fischer price, and we have accessorized so nicely with baby einstein and the fabulous thomas the tank engine stuff. Yes, that's a new scent called 'poopouri', isn't it fresh?"

I lamented a couple of posts ago how quickly this has gone by. I've realized that parenting is alot like other parts of living in a fallen world, the sweeping movements of a bittersweet symphony. You love every moment they do something new, discover something, stand up, walk three steps, say "mama" or "dada" or "bye bye", but then you realize that every advance takes them closer to the time you have to let them go. It's like the gun went off at the starting line of the parenting journey, and you thought you were walking along, sleepless, then suddenly the "track" turned into a wild slide down the side of a mountain that keeps getting faster and you can't stop it. Ugh. But, there are the moments. The smiles, the deep laughter that only a child can have, the way he looks at you with the "that's my daddy" twinkle in his eye. I love this. It's just that its, well, a little bittersweet. Then I also consider my relationship with my parents now. They haven't really lost me. In fact, they are among my very best friends. It seems there are moments to enjoy and love and live in at every part of the parenting journey. Hmm, that was the sound of a deep breath, the sigh that only hope can bring.

Cover your ears

2006-06-21T20:10:00.000-07:00

I got this forwarded on to me. For those who don't know me well, I can only tell you that my faith doesn't take offense at cuss words, and this freakin' killed me. For those who take offense, please feel free to not read, I'll post something of more, uh, substance, maybe even tonight. For those of you ruined like me, read on and enjoy.

THE MOST FUNCTIONAL ENGLISH WORD

Well, it's shit ... that's right, shit!
Shit may just be the most functional word in the English language.
Consider:
You can get shit-faced, Be shit-out-of-luck, Or have shit for brains.

With a little effort, you can get your shit together, find a place for your shit, or be asked to shit or get off the pot.

You can smoke shit, buy shit, sell shit, lose shit, find shit, forget shit,
and tell others to eat shit.

Some people know their shit, while others can't tell the difference
between shit and shineola.

There are lucky shits, dumb shits, and crazy shits. There is bull shit, horse shit, and chicken shit.

You can throw shit, sling shit, catch shit, shoot the shit, or duck when the shit hits the fan.

You can give a shit or serve shit on a shingle.

You can find yourself in deep shit or be happier than a pig in shit.

Some days are colder than shit, some days are hotter than shit,
and some days are just plain shitty.

Some music sounds like shit, things can look like shit, and there are times when you feel like shit.
You can have too much shit, not enough shit, the right shit, the wrong shit or a lot of weird shit.

You can carry shit, have a mountain of shit, or find yourself up shit creek without a paddle.

Sometimes everything you touch turns to shit and other times you fall in a bucket of shit and come out smelling like a rose.

When you stop to consider all the facts, it's the basic building block of the English language.

And remember, once you know your shit, you don't need to know anything else!!

You could pass this along, if you give a shit; or not do so if you don't give a shit!

Well, Shit, it's time for me to go. Just wanted you to know that I do give a shit and hope you had a nice day, without a bunch of shit. But, if you happened to catch a load of shit from some shit-head..... ...... Well, Shit Happens!!!

Oh how the year went by...

2006-06-13T21:12:00.000-07:00

June 15th will mark one year since my wife went in for her weekly appointment (we were due July 11th) at about 1:00 pm and I carried my son to the nursery at about 5:45 pm. In between that time there was the "I think he's breached, you need to go over to the hospital" by her obgyn's midwife to the formal ultrasound to the wild run to the hospital from work by me (I was working for a lawn and landscape co. and I smelled like it) to the nurses "theres not enough fluid to turn him your gonna have your baby, today, in an hour" (yeah, an hour) to the emergency C section. Just your ordinary, normal day. Little warrior came home on Fathers Day, and much to everyone's surprise, visited ours and now his fellowship that night. This past year we have understood love in ways we never thought possible. There's a way you feel about your child that only a parent understands, it's impossible to explain. I don't say that to make those without kids feel left out or anything like that, it's just that I didn't get it until he was here, and during the pregnancy we had others try to explain the intensity of that love, but they always said something like "I can't explain it, you'll understand when he's here".

This past year we went to a pediatric heart specialist expecting him to tell us that the heart murmur is fairly common and he would live a normal life instead he said "this is how the heart works..." Numbness, fear, anger. "We need to do angioplasty to open up his pulmonary valve..." Panic, fear, shock. "Here's what you need to hear, we can fix this, he will live a normal life". Glimmer of hope, depression setting in. One week later he was hooked up to a million monitors in the neo natal emergency room, and then we did something I'll never forget in all my life. We carried him down to where they would be doing the procedure...and we handed him to the nurse, and she walked off with him. SHE WALKED OFF WITH HIM. The swinging doors closed behind her. Time was frozen. About two hours later, the doctor poked his head in the waiting room, but he was not in the hall alone, there, still stoned from anasthesia, was my wide eyed, large pupiled warrior. My eyes are teary even now as I type this remembering that moment. We respond to things different now. He's trying to walk, and he, being his fathers son, doesn't just fall down, he wrecks. Smacked his head on the tile a couple of days back, earned his first black knot. I hated it, hated that he hurt, but when you've pondered losing him, it's just not the same. Sometimes when he wakes up yelling at night, I feel like something beat me excessively, like being hungover without the party. Even in those moments which at times can be very frustrating when he won't let you put him back down, we still like being there to hold him, to hear him pierce my eardrums. I'd take that piercing cry with him over a silent night without him everytime, anytime.

Now one year later, he's changed a lot. Looks more like his mom than he did when he was born (very fortunate indeed). We've changed alot too. It's all good. His name is gealic. Caedmon Teague. Caedmon means warrior. Teague means poet. Warrior poet. He had to live up to his first name in ways we never imagined when the it was given to him. His mother is ready for the sensitive poet to show itself, and it does when pretty girls are around. He loves pretty women. First class flirt. Gets it from his mom. (The flirt part, not the love of pretty women part). Ok, just kidding. I love the aggressive warrior in him, the complete lack of fear. This is so early in our journey of parenting, and there is much laughter, tears, timeout, spanking, wrestling, etc., ahead. I hope it doesn't go as fast as this past year. He'll be graduating high school tomorrow if it does. I'm certain those of you with older ones will tell me in the comments that it goes at least that fast. Well don't. I don't want to hear it. Okay, fine, but say it gently.

Birthday Party Directions

2006-06-13T21:06:00.000-07:00

For my fellowship who will attend my son's birthday, here are the directions.

Take the Broken Arrow Expressway, also known as HWY 51 EAST to the Lynn Lane Exit. Exit here and turn left, or North. Go to 51st street, and turn West, or left. Across from the schools is the Trinity Creek addition (we have family who live in here). Take the second available entrance, which 165th East Avenue. The road has several curves and you will come to a circle intersection. The Clubhouse and the pool are directly in front of you, come on in.

Hope to see you there.

Tombstones in Arkansas

2006-06-06T20:50:00.000-07:00

Early in our marriage my wife's father was diagnosed with cancer. He was given 6 months to live. He lived six months, then left this world for the next. I' m thankful for the short time I was around him, and sad at how much fun it would have been for him to know our son. He was buried at my mother-in-law's family cemetary in the "mountains" outside of Clarksville, Arkansas. I have to put mountains in parenthesis because I've been to the Rockies in Colorado, and I can assure you these are tiny foothills in comparison. We make an annual trek to the cemetary around the first of June to lay fresh flowers on his grave as well as on my wife's grandpa and grandma's grave. Although there is a certain somberness about being there, the trip is always a very enjoyable time. This year as we wandered about the cemetary and looked at the tombstones, which, oddly enough, is part of the "tradition", there were a few that made me pause and think.

At the front part of the cemetary were multiple tombstones where the dates of birth and death ranged from 3 days to two months. Children. I felt a pain for those parents I never knew that I've never felt in my previous visits. When my little warrior woke up from his nap, I hugged him a little tighter, kissed him a few extra times, and just felt grateful. He had slept a grand total of just over five hours the night before, exhausting his mother and I, but I realized if he only gave me 2 minutes of sleep a night I'm blessed to have him.

The second tombstone was the one with my brother in laws name and birthdate on it. No date of death because he's still freakin' alive! And wandering around the cemetary with the rest of us, while his tombstone, all nice and pretty, is standing over there! I consider myself at peace with my mortality, but, dude, I've got no desire to see a tombstone with my name printed on it and a beautiful epitaph written. What if that's not such a bad thing, though? Maybe that kind of reminder would keep us from pursuing the trivial things we value so much, or at least put them in their proper place. Maybe if I was reminded of the eventual destination of this body I wouldn't be so concerned about what other people think of me and more concerned about doing what is right by my God and by those I love. Maybe the fact that this body won't last forever would help me not be so concerned about what tastes good and more concerned about how my eating habits will have a tombstone completely filled out long before I want it to.

The last two tombstones that impacted me were those belonging to a father and a son. Both lived decent lives at least in terms of length, over 80 years. Their wife/mother was buried between them, she lived a decently long life to, nearly made it to 100. Then I read something that seized my imagination. The father's said "Corporal" of the "Kentucky Infantry" Division 14 I believe. The son's said "Cavalry, Kentucky 8th Division". They fought together in the Civil War. I was able to put myself in both of their positions, as a father and as a son. The sense of pride, a bond of closeness already existing as father and son, now taken to a deeper and more complex level by the horrible realities of war. And the emotions they must have experienced! The father leading his infantry out first to establish the line. Did he often look back over his shoulder or out of the corner of his eye and see his son sitting on his horse with the Cavalry, and wonder if that was his last living look? What of the son watching dad disappear into the clouds of cannon smoke and into the screaming wounded and dieing soldiers on the field, barking orders as a corporal. Wondering if his compass, his coach, his friend, his mentor was walking away for the last time. How many passionate prayers were whispered on each others behalf? Then the line established, the rhythm of loading and firing the weapons are interrupted by the bugle sounding the charge, and the pounding hooves of horses as the cavalry mounts a charge. The father overwhelmed with contradictory feelings of pride and despondency, eyes shining with love and tears, as his son rides into danger. Responsibility and duty keeping him from doing what every father feels, placing himself as a human shield between his son and anything that would cause him pain. Finally, in either victory or defeat, the withdrawal from the field of battle begins. A father straining to see if he recognizes the empty horses that are led back. A sons eyes pacing up and down the weary soldiers as they march, looking for that familiar gait that belongs to his father. Duty fulfilled, all thoughts are on each other. Then, finally, eyes meet as the son slides off his horse and stands face to face with his father, relief, pride, a handshake that turns into a tight hug, then the retelling of the day. This scenario, countless times in countless battles. I stood there and heard the gunfire, smelt the smoke, listened to the screams. My heart pounded as I watched my dad walk off into mortal danger, and I felt angry and panicked as I watched my son ride past me maybe never to return. I loved them both more than ever, my father and my son.

So, what'd I do this weekend? Oh, not much, just a short visit to a cemetary.

What are you thinking about? nothing, really, nothing

2006-05-30T21:07:00.000-07:00

I've been in a reflective state of late, without actually reflecting on anything. I've been really thoughtful, but my mind is empty. Some of you are confused, some of you completely understand. I used to not like these moments, times, and sometimes seasons, at all. I like having my mind full of thoughts and craziness and sometimes poignant and sometimes gross and sometimes touching and sometimes... well you get what I'm saying. When I feel shut down like I have the last few days I can begin to feel a little depressed. Now add onto that the cold medicine I've been taking and presto, I've stepped into the phone booth and become..."stare at wall or tv blankly man". Long name, I know. Over the last few months since I started blogging, I've had a place to post the chaotic ramblings of my mind. This has made me miss those ramblings more than usual.

Tonight I got a brief insight during a conversation with my bride that has potentially changed the way I see these times. We were both yawning at some ridiculously early hour of the night, ready to go to sleep, and we wondered if we would ever be lively again. Then it hit me. Since she was done teaching for the summer, joined with the fact that our son is letting us sleep later, maybe we're actually catching up on a little rest. Now, grant it, my son doesn't sleep through the night, but he is generally staying in his crib for 12 hours. Since she has been out of school, we've been staying in our "crib" most of that same time. More sleep than we've had in a year...and we're both exhausted! I know you know of this phenomenon, you get more sleep, you feel more tired. But here's the point I'm slowly creeping up on. Maybe instead of being depressed by the quietness of my mind, I should embrace it as a time of God given rest. If little warrior is going to give us the opportunity to catch up on some sleep and rest, then, stop freakin' complaining and just sleep! It'll all even out, and I will be better off for it.

Now, for those who believe you know how to ramble, look at all I just said without really having anything to say. It's a gift, I know. I'm gonna crash now. Good night.

Theologically Speaking

2006-05-24T21:59:00.000-07:00

In the comments of a friends blog a theological discussion/argument ensued over whether or not the church was just for believers. The problem is that the original post was not at all related to that discussion. One specific line out of the post became a discussion. This, to me, is a microcosm of why the Church of America, in all its forms, is failing its mission horribly. A heartfelt challenge, that was convicting, unsettling, and thought provoking about the plight of the homeless and the indifferent, segregated response of believers turned into a theological debate based on one small piece, officially losing the Kingdom minded thrust of what was said. I'm not judging, my own comment was caught up in the fray, if you will.

I'm sick of the divisions between our churches and believers on theological lines. Ever notice how most camps of theology are named after men or the works of men? I thought theo had something to do with God. The church is enslaved to addictions and secret sins, the world has dismissed the life giving message of Jesus as just another religion full of politics, infighting, and arrogance, and we would rather talk about some dead guys five points and which one or all we embrace. God offers us the amazing, indescribable gift of Grace and redemption and restoration, and instead of being humbled, full of awe and love, and living a changed life, we argue over whether or not this amazing gift was predestined or whether we're free to reject it. Okay, let me warn you, hard to handle phrase lies ahead. I heard this called "theological masturbation". I have no idea how you respond to that, but if you're offended, read a little further before you bail. While the lost, the homeless, and the marginalized wait for the hands and feet and heart of Jesus to touch them, in other words, wait for the church, the church is caught up gratifying itself with it's endless pursuit of tiny "facts" that leave it feeling superior and satisfied.

Look, I'm privileged to be around some guys who are brilliant theologians, who are pursuing truth not for some self satisfying one upmanship, but to allow that truth to set us free to live out the Gospel, to practice the ethics and ethos of the Kingdom of God. You know who you are, this doesn't really apply to you.

How long before the Church values what God values, and is forever changed by the message, the life, the death, and the resurrection of Jesus?

I Plod, You Plod, We all Plod

2006-05-18T07:39:00.000-07:00

Plod. Now that's a funny looking word. For that matter, it sounds funny, too. My last two days at work have been extremely quiet, so I've done alot of thinking. I'm developing this train of thought on the "discipline of plodding". What am I talking about? Well, since you asked...

I'm convinced that I, and likely my generation and probably some ahead of me and many behind me have no concept on how to plod. You know, as in "I'm just plodding along". We typically have a very negative response to that thought. We get all poetic and idealistic and say that plodding is something like settling, like doing something because you have to instead of want to, because you're too afraid to take a risk. On occassion, all of those things may be correct. Most of the time, though, we don't have the discipline to stay a course when it ceases to be glamorous, when it becomes methodical, or just difficult and opposite of expectations. Look, I know this sounds like I'm preachin' at ya, but I'm preachin' at me, you just get to listen.

Alot of my life has been marked by an inability to plod since I walked off the football field at the University of Tulsa. Most of you know me as an artist and musician, but all that came after college. I did not play guitar, sing, paint (with the exception of the occasional ceramic piece for a gift, or on a r/c airplane) until well after I quit college. Before I was an artist, I was an athlete. I understood how to plod. I trained hard, in the weightroom, at the track, at home. I often didn't feel like it, was bored by it, or just would rather hang out with friends. But something in me understood that, at least for that time in my life, I was "called" to be an athlete. So I went to the gym, even after months of very little gains, and I worked. No one was watching, cheering, or anything like that. It was what I did, I plodded. Because I plodded, I got to play a couple of years at a Division I college, on a frame that was too short, too light, and too slow for major college ball. Along the way, I earned the respect of several guys who played in the league, you know, the NFL. Now, I'm not bragging, just talking about a point in my journey when I understood plodding, and how it worked itself out in my life.

I lost that for some reason after football, or, post-footballism, to sound more buzzy. It has been to my detriment in virtually all areas of my life, my weight, my finances, career, and struggles in those areas then lead to struggles in relationships. I'll draw this down to my struggle with weight since I've been posting alot about that recently. I'm off to a really good start. I'm fast approaching, however, the place in this struggle where I often wash out and quit. Some people assume that if someone is overweight it's because they don't have discipline. For me, that is true, but not how it would be presumed. In my struggle to lose, I have disciplined my body in ways that those who would accuse me for having the lack would never survive. I've been on a liquid diet where I ate one solid meal over the course of a month. I have given up everything that tastes reasonably good, I have simply starved. I've done this for months at a time. I can really discipline myself in those ways. I'm overweight because I don't have the discipline to plod along when you stop losing 6 pounds a week and start losing 3 to 4 pounds in a month. The discipline to stay the course when you have no visible change in your body for months. To keep making good choices when all passion to be in shape is lost, and it's down to a matter of the will. This is where I fail, and where with all the help available to me I hope to succeed this time.

Weight is not the only place I fail to plod. I fail to plod in my faith and calling. Let me talk about Joseph for a minute, maybe one of the greatest plodders of all time. Joseph got his calling at about seventeen. He didn't know all that it meant, but he had been given a dream from Yahweh, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and his father Jacob. In a terrible turn of events, not only did his calling not materialize immediately, it appeared to have been lost in a sea of betrayal, lies, and hate. Joseph could have decided he wasn't called to be a slave, and given up. Instead, at the household of Potiphar, he just began plodding. He soon rose to a place of authority in that household. When another encounter with lies and betrayal sent him to Pharoahs prison, he didn't waste away in his cell, he just started plodding again, doing what he knew. One thing he knew was dreams, even if it appeared his own would never happen. Then, one day, it happened. As he plodded along, he finally after many, many years, lived out his calling in fulfillment of the dreams he had as a teenager.

I believed several years ago that I was called into vocational ministry. The doors to that kind of ministry never opened, and I even began to wonder if there was such a call. The fact that we discussed that (while talking about a completely different call) Sunday morning may be what started me down this path. What I have done a miserable job at while waiting to fulfill that call on my life is plod. I've bounced job to job, never really engaging and really working at something. And while in the last several years I've attempted to do that, I've often not been disciplined enough to plod in a position I wasn't "called" to. Joseph consistently rose to the top in his various stops, I've not risen anywhere. I'm not trying to just hammer myself, I'm trying to name a very important hindrance in my life, get it exposed, and beat the hell out of it. The fellowship I'm called to lead worship in, I hope I'm there for the rest of my life. It may not be the place that pays me to do vocational ministry. Part of what makes the struggle with being overlooked at the ministry position I recently blogged about was that it was the seeming fulfillment of both calls in my life: to vocational ministry and to Rivendell. Now with that not being the fulfillment I thought it would be, what will I do now? My desire is to begin, for the first time in a long time, to plod. To live in this moment now, to give myself to where God has me vocationally at this moment, and where I may be vocationally next. The Bible, especially in the Wisdom books, seems to say, live your life where you're at right now. Enjoy the life you've been given. Plod with a grin on your face.

Wow, this is approaching novel in length. If you're still with me...good Lord you've been in front of the computer too long, get up! Okay, just kidding, but thanks for sticking around. There's another word that might work for "plodding": faithfulness.

Tributes, Thanks, and Towers.

2006-05-15T20:21:00.000-07:00

Some very close friends experienced the loss of their grandfather this past week. From what I've read he was one of those rare men whose loss more often than not goes unnoticed except for family, but thanks to blogs his passing has been mourned in a open and powerful way. Go here, here, and here to read some wonderful tributes. I've been without grandparents for over 12 years, and it's a loss I still feel. My love to all of you, my dear, precious, friends, as you walk through this.

Supermom chronicled a day from hell in her latest blog. I must say that for those of us who wiped tears from our eyes during a slideshow tribute to mothers, and for the beautiful little keepsake the mom's in our group got to take with them, her day was not in vain. Thanks, girl, you are so very appreciated!

I am officially fourteen pounds lighter than I was three weeks ago. I'm pleased, but not really super excited. I mean, I get that its a start, and its progress, and that's a good thing. But the reality is, about the time I've lost 3 times that amount (that'd be 42 pounds for all you budding math geniuses), I will still be 100 pounds overweight, and the only physical evidence will be what I feel, not what anybody sees. I'm guessing it will be 70 pounds into this before any real visible change happens. I'm not discouraged, or depressed by this (at this moment, anyway), just more aware of the scope of my battle. You know the look in the eyes of Aragorn, Legolas, and Haldir (the elf leader sent from Elrond) as they looked out at the massive orc army at Helms Deep in The Two Towers? That's the look I need. The lightning flashing of helmets made them aware of the size of the army, yet they were not panicked, they just had the hard stare of warriors who knew a long, difficult battle lay ahead. I don't have that look yet, right now I think I'm looking more like the kids who were standing on that wall, more overwhelmed than hard, more ready to run than fight. But you know, when it came down to it, they didn't run.

Neither will I.

So, It Begins

2006-05-09T20:33:00.000-07:00

Here's what faith for me looks like right now: keep moving. I have had a tendency in my life to really just freeze up when situations that are painful invade: job layoffs, financial frustrations, failures. When all this happened (see previous post to see what "this" is), I could not escape the whisper deep in my heart: "don't be afraid to grieve, know that I'm here in the middle of this, and don't stop". There are still things that I believe haven't been adequately explained to me, and I struggle with how far to pursue those who could be more honest about why certain decisions were made. At best I was misled and given false hope, at worst, I have been outright lied to and treated very poorly. Part of the struggle comes in that those responsible are old friends who I have had great respect and admiration for. The other part of the struggle is the belief that God wants me to trust Him, believe He is going to turn this for good, even if I don't see that clearly in this lifetime. There is a powerful change taking place in my Spirit, a deep belief in the goodness of God. I'm noticing that although the "how long?" cry's still come out, there is also an embracing of this moment, this time, an enjoyment of the fact that God is operating on my behalf outside of what I can see and understand, and I'm sort of enjoying the ride. Don't get me wrong, the fact that I return to my old job this week feels pretty heavy, even a little depressing. But it's not the only feeling, the only voice speaking. There's a chorus to a Third Eye Blind song that says "I've never been so alone, and I've never been so alive". It's amazing how the moments I feel abandoned by God are often met with the moments that my relationship with Him seems so alive. It seems that in the middle of the "how long" and "so alone" moments is where the "I'm here" and "so alive" moments are to be found. And, yeah, I'm kinda glad to be here, I'm hovering dangerously close to "count it all joy".

Here's one thing that I've come face to face with. One of my responses to this experience has been to bail on my diet completely. I know there's a mindset that says "hey, its understandable, given what you're going through", but that doesn't call it what it is. I've realized one of the places I've given food that it should not have. I'm quickly reminded that my battle there is still in a very precarious stage, and I could easily be defeated by this setback. You know, that just pisses me off. It was for actual lived out freedom I was set free. I've been beat back and into submission by stuff like this before, but I'm not that person anymore.

Yeah, that was the singing sound of a sword being drawn. It's on.

I was lost, crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed

2006-05-04T20:15:00.000-07:00

I've had better days. For the past ten days to two weeks I have been in honest discussion and interviews with a local ministry about taking a position with them. In fact, I believed that I had the job. It seemed apparent to me that so much of what had happened in my life and heart the last couple of years had prepared me for this place, for this work. I even told a few folks about my "new" job, mostly because I believed and understood that it was mine. Today, like a freakin lightning bolt, I learned that someone else had been hired. "More qualified".

I cannot describe the profound and deep disappointment I feel. It wasn't about not getting a job, I've applied for and been turned down for plenty of jobs. It was the overwhelming sense that this was something I felt called to, created for, however you want to say it, and in one phone conversation followed by an impromptu office visit, it's yanked away. I called my beautiful bride and just wept, had a hard time saying understandable words. She was a rock for me. I know she counts on me to be strong for her, but when I need her strength in return, I'm stunned by it.

My faith is being tested, I've never walked through this before. I've never had something that I believed was right and I felt called to not happen. Don't misunderstand that, I've tried for tons of things I didn't get, from jobs to dates (obviously pre marriage) to cars, etc., but I've only felt a sense of calling three, maybe four times in my life, and those things happened. My sense of calling and belief in that place has not changed, but I will not go there to work tomorrow. Why is this happening? Did I miss God? If I did, why did absolutely everyone I shared much detail with agree with amazing excitement that this had to be God? Were all of us wrong? The thing is, if we're not wrong, it's even more complicated.

It would seem easier to say something like "I must have missed God on this" than to believe that not only did I not miss God, He made sure all of those I had opportunity to share with confirmed this direction in my life. Because if all of that's true, and frankly I believe that it is, then I have to believe that God is turning this for my good and His glory. On His timeframe. That looks fairly spiritual as I read it, but I don't feel real spiritual. I'm heartbroken. And I'm mad. I'm more than a little confused.

You may say something like "don't count your chicks before they hatch" but if you were to talk to those who walked through this with me, you'd find that I didn't. You might want to rush to my defense and believe I was misled into thinking the job was mine. I may have been. I'm less concerned with any misleading on the human level, I'm wondering if I was misled by God. Ok, don't gasp and quote scripture at me because of that comment, but it does me no good to disguise and water down how I feel. Thanks to my good friend for his recent post on disillusionment, and his reminder that God is in the middle of that. I'm not ready to say I'm Ok with it as he does, but it spoke to me.

Maybe we're getting down to it, me and God. I want to know and relate to Him more, and He's taking me to places where my faith is tested, where trials turn to Gold. I'd like to say something positive and report how excited I am and trusting I am, but, lying doesn't accomplish anything, especially in relating and hearing God. So right now, this just really sucks.

Baby Steps

2006-05-01T21:35:00.000-07:00

For posterity, and sanity, and whining, and hope, I am going to chronicle my journey to become half the man I am now. I promise to post on other topics and offer my own blatantly twisted thoughts and ramblings for your amusement, but please allow for a large percentage of posts to be related to all things weight loss. If this bothers you, then you can...(sorry, my dissatisfied stomach is a little edgy).

Some people act like you can't gain wisdom and knowledge by perpetual failure. They're wrong. You don't get to write a book on how you achieved your great success, be on Oprah, and other things like that , but, boy, you learn like hell. I know alot about diet plans, what it means to eat and fuel your body in a healthy way, and even why most diets fail. I'm not following a book or a plan because frankly I've read 'em all, and I really do know how to do this, and what to do, and even why to do it, mostly. I know that success will only come if all aspects are addressed: the physical habits of what I eat, the emotional reasons why I eat, and the spiritual satisfaction I attempt and fail to find in food. I know this stuff. Oddly enough, for a guy who looks like I do, I'm a real fanatic of fitness and training, just, obviously, not my own. I read constantly the most updated technology, science, and medicine regarding how to train, feed, and best take care of your body. I love reading about workout plans. I once loved working out, and probably will again once I get started. I've learned all of this why trying and failing for nearly 20 years (18, to be exact) to keep my weight under control. For now, those failures are the stepping stones I'm using to survive.

I'm experiencing a new thing, though, and I don't like it: an overwhelming sense of hopelessness, that I'll never get there. I think somewhere inside of me, with all the ways I disciplined and trained my body, gladly embracing short term pain for long term gain through 2 years of college football, I believed if I ever really decided to get in shape and lose weight I could do it. Maybe it's that all those failures in the past as I lost then regained plus some have finally pushed the amount of weight and work it will take to make it so high that the self assured athlete in me no longer feels unbeatable. I don't know, I just know that the last few days I've not been overwhelmed with a craving for some particular food or drink, but I've realized that the journey is so long.

Sometimes it's good to see the big picture, but I think that picture is more than I can handle right now. Maybe I should just make a good choice tomorrow at breakfast, then try to do the same for the next meal, and the next.

Whew, this is gonna be something.

Its Just Another Manic Monday

2006-04-27T20:43:00.000-07:00

I changed something this week. I changed the way I eat. Four days, anyway. I had a discussion with a good friend Sunday Night about the only diet plan I've successfully stuck to for the last, oh, fifteen years. It's called the "I'm Starting Monday" plan. You stick to it six days a week, Monday being the exception. On this plan Monday is a day of great frustration. Most of it you spend beating the full hell out of yourself for your lack of willpower, discipline, and general ability to do anything right. You also make bold statements and promises to yourself about how this is it, the last week. It concludes late Monday evening by determining since the upcoming Monday you will be in total misery, you might as well go out in style: Mexican, cookies, McDonalds, etc.

This past Monday I did something different. I started. I got up and had a healthy breakfast. Not to hard, I like cereal, and actually like alot of healthy cereals. Went to work, got thirsty, went to the Coke machine, first real confrontation: hear the sounds of metal ringing as swords are drawn...see the menacing Coke machine grow in size as I appear to shrink, the lightning fast sword strokes from the "Coke" button, but, no, I still stand, more lightning fast strokes from the "Sprite" button, not as good as Coke but plenty of sugar, but wait...I still stand, then the music builds, and from the ground where I have been beat down, the thrust of my sword...I push the Dasani water button...the Coke machine slinks away like Shelob the Spider, wounded but not finished...I sip victoriously. Momentum is building, I'm getting better with my sword. I've defeated hamburgers this week, everyday at lunch. To hear that correctly is to know that I have on a regular basis had burgers easily six to eight times a week. Maybe I should say that so far this week I've survived hamburgers, victory is many battles away. If you've read a past post of mine, you know the size of the battle I face. If you've seen me, you know the size of the belly I face. If you've seen my knees and feet...could you describe them for me? Been awhile. Sorry I digress. I need to lose pretty much slightly less than an average size man. That seems more than I can handle. It is. Still, I started Monday.

Okay, yes, I quoted the Bangles in my title. Yes, I liked them in high school. No, it wasn't because of their music. Yes, I've seen the error of my ways. Now say goodbye...
"Goodbye, poet".

Sleeping Grace

2006-04-22T22:12:00.000-07:00

As the potential for some very exciting things continues to look more and more like reality, I am in awe of the grace of God. A very good friend listened as I talked through what appeared to be happening in my life and how it would have far reaching impacts and he commented, "you're really experiencing a time of grace", or something like that, anyway, he just excitedly reminded me of God's work in this.

Tonight, as I finish preparations for church tomorrow, my wife is sleeping behind me, and my son is asleep in his room. I paused, turned around and looked at my wife, she's so beautiful sleeping peacefully there. I got up and looked at my son, sleeping soundly with his little butt up in the air.
A reminder came flooding into my thoughts. Even if all the things that I anticipate completely fall through, my life has far more grace in it than I'll ever deserve.

The Deep Breath Before the Plunge

2006-04-17T21:20:00.000-07:00

You ever have moments when there's an amazing sense of momentum in your life, but you don't really have a grip on it? Or more accurately, it's like it has a grip on you, and you know it's gonna be one hell of a ride, and you think you should be at least a little scared (and you should and you are), but you're also more than a bit excited (and that kinda scares you too). My life is in one of those places where it's very possible for some really big changes to take place, yet even if some of the more prominent ones don't happen, I know some significant shifts have already taken place at the deeper levels of my soul. I have a meeting tomorrow that I scheduled a week ago concerning a potential new job. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to be specific, but the thoughts of the past week as I have reflected on this possibility have revealed some really interesting things to me about who I am and who I'm becoming. I have a father's heart. It's not just loving my son, I don't have the words for what happens inside of me when I see him, or think of him while I'm at work; I would lay all of me on the line to protect him (and right now there's still alot of me). I see in me a heart to protect, guide, counsel, and be present in the lives of those I love, and to be a strong and trustworthy person in their lives.

In the midst of these thoughts came Maundy Thursday, the night of the last supper on the traditional church calendar. We had a very moving time together that ended with Communion, then took turns watching and praying for one hour shifts all night long. My hour was 3am to 4am. I met with God. I get a little nervous when I hear people say stuff like that, or "God spoke to me", mostly because it's become more "church-speak", it's the way to have no one question your hair brained idea. I didn't come out with any new ideas, or a checklist, although I did write down some areas in my life where I need God to empower and change me. Mostly, I just sat in the quiet in His presence. I believe the value of this discipline, and all disciplines have been lost in the modern "checklist" mentality. We don't practice a discipline to earn God's presence. The discipline is a means of helping us remove the obstacles we have placed in our lives to hear God, and to enjoy God.

Resurrection Day was beautiful. Litlover absolutely blew out "Uninvited". You rock, girl! What a powerful moment as we confronted as a community our tendency's to keep God at a distance. Kyle and Steve both offered great insights into the impact of that day and it's affect on how we live now.

The title of this post? Something Gandalf said to Pippin while sitting in Minas Tirith, right before all hell broke loose, which was right before a stunning victory. I'm sitting here feeling a little like the deep breath before the plunge. I'm ready.

Beer, Rock n Roll, and Gas

2006-04-12T21:48:00.000-07:00

I had one of those moments today during a very quiet day of work when some thought or idea that bugs me gets lodged in my mind. The shop I work at is a couple of doors down from a bar, so maybe that's what started it. For some reason, I found myself wondering then growing frustrated with this idea that there are "manly" drinks and "girly" drinks, "manly" music and "girly" music, etc. You know the thought process. Don't get me wrong, I like beer, especially dark beer, but I also like most of the flavors of Smirnoff Ice. I do like some pretty crunchy rock n roll, edge music for us in T-town, but I also love Coldplay, and enjoy Josh Groban, and Sixpence. I think what irritates me is being part of a generation that desperately needs to rediscover what a man is, we've replaced genuine, passionate, manhood with stupid little macho rules involving the way you talk, what you drink, what you listen to, and the list goes on and on. So we drink beer, puff our chests out, cuss, fart and burp and figure we're men. Then, I went home tonight and discovered my righteous rant needed to be aimed inwardly.

Okay, side note here. I'm pretty much a barbarian. I cuss to often, I think the only bad burp is the one where you keep your mouth closed and let it fill up with air, (unless of course you intend to blow it in the face of an unsuspecting buddy), and I think farts are funny in pretty much every situation, even funerals (long story). I admire a good booger. I won't even talk about the toilet (I know you're grateful). I'm a man's man, right?

How is it that on a regular basis I fail to do the little things that I'm responsible for? In these failures I put undue pressure on my wife, let down my friends, and stay stuck in some stupid cycles that a little consistent action would free me from. You know what's really sad? The ladies who read this blog (if they're still with me after the farts and boogers...which, by the way, some of you think it's funny too, you're not foolin me...) will simply say something like "Yep, he's a man alright, they're all alike." Standing up when you pee doesn't equate to manhood, it generally just makes you biologically male.

I have my moments, when I'm strong, compassionate, safe but a little dangerous, gentle and still a little wild, a fierce warrior and romantic poet. Most of us have our moments, and our poor wives live on them for weeks and months. My wife deserves more, my son needs my example, and I want to be what I'm called to be.

Noble is as noble does

2006-04-09T21:43:00.000-07:00

I would call myself a Lord of the Rings fan. Everyone who knows me would then call me a liar because my love of the books and subsequently the movies is way beyond just being a fan. My good friend Literature Lover sent me to a site where she had seen a video she said I just had to post. She was right, and now it's posted. I'm gonna move quickly to what it is I have to say, but first one quick note. This is "My Sacrifice" by Creed, one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite groups. The video, however, features clips from the Lord of the Rings, all focused on Samwise Gamgee.

Kyle told a story at one of our gatherings about a King and his little daughter who gets lost. It was a great story (you just gotta hear Kyle tell a story). A number of things stuck with me but one of the "concepts" that landed on me was how that although the daughter is lost and separated from her father the king, she soon begins to lead, help, and inspire the group of runaways and orphans she connects with. I wish I could remember exactly how Kyle worded it, but the idea is that even though she was lost and so distant from who she actually was, to the point of no longer even believing those memories were true, her character as someone with noble blood eventually surfaced as she became the leader of her ragtag group.

Aragorn is one of my greatest heros. I want to be like him: brave, wise, compassionate, a leader. He is the righful heir to the throne, born noble, and he acts like it. I love Viggo Mortenson's portrayal of him. Viggo makes him cool, bad, and yeah, he's hot (secure enough in my manhood to say it). Maybe if I looked like that at least by appearances I would look like I belong with my wife. She's hot. I'm certain people see us together and the inevitable conversation of "How did that guy end up with her?" breaks out. If I looked like Aragorn, maybe they would say something like "Guys like that always get the hot ones!" (Until they talked to me and realized that I'm a buffoon who doesn't deserve her... good lookin buffoon though). Aragorn is a warrior poet, and he looks the part and acts the part because he is the part. So why at the end of "The Return of the King" is he kneeling before Sam and the other Hobbits? Because he recognized true nobility.

True nobility is a heart issue, not a title or position. Sometimes those with title and position also posses the heart: Gandalf, Elrond, Aragorn, Legolas; sometimes they don't: Saruman, Sauron, Denethor. Sam is loyal, true, brave, committed, passionate about his friend and master. He stays when all else would leave, he pursues when he has no chance of catching, and he is full of hope, encouragement, and common sense. In spite of the heroic deeds and actions of Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, and even Frodo, without Sam the quest fails, and Middle Earth falls. He doesn't look the part, but he is the picture of nobility.

I got adopted by the King. My bloodlines changed, the old ones passed and a new one came. I'm nobility. Maybe someday I'll quit masking my nobility in a fog of false beliefs about the King. I spent a long time letting those long separated from Him tell me what He is like, and now those much more familiar with Him sharpen me, and remind me that he is not a distant King, but my Father. Maybe soon my life will reflect the bloodline to which I am born, or, more accurately, born again. Maybe I'll be like Sam.

How long must I wait for it?

2006-04-07T19:57:00.000-07:00

An excellent discussion was started via email regarding a particular article on Christianity today. You can click here to read the article then pop over to my good friend Daniel's blog and jump in the conversation. I like the discussion we're having, and I really like the guys and girls who are participating. I trust them, and it's like listening to theologians who have something in mind other than winning an argument. It's as if they might actually be interested in truth. Novel concept.

The conversation has stirred up a big mess in my head. I mean, clearly my head is a perpetual mess so that probably isn't the best description, but I had this nagging unsettled feeling as I attempted to comment and participate. I wasn't sure why, so I've done today what I tend to do in these situations, I've been quiet and thoughtful and let this work itself in and through my thoughts. I think I know what is eating at me. I'm still waiting for some conversation/discussion/argument regarding theology and Christian living to catapult me into the type of intimate relationship with God that I envision. The nagging unsettled feeling is that if we "solve" (which is not the goal of those participating in that discussion) or reach some agreement on the thoughts presented in the article, I will still be in the same place when it is all said and done. What I want out of that discussion no discussion can give me. I've turned the discussion itself into an idol.

Kyle has a recent post that I really get about not hearing God. I love what I do in regards to worship and music. I encounter a living God in those times and I am humbled by all that He is. I see the gospel in movies, I hear it in music, I read it in my favorite stories. God is not absent from my life. I have an expectation, however, in regards to how I believe my relationship with God should look and feel, and how it should change my thoughts, reactions, and choices. My reality and my expectations absolutely do not match up. This could be a Romans 7 kind of thing where I do the things I don't want to do and I don't do the things I should, but it doesn't seem like it, at least not exclusively.

Maybe it's that how God and I should relate is based on my expectation and desire, not on Gods design. Maybe I'm saying all the right things about wanting to relate to God but in reality I only want that on my terms, or "my expectations". What popped in my mind as I said that was the verse that says something like God wanting to do more than we could ever imagine or desire (a little help on the reference from you true theologians, if I'm not making it up). It could be that God in His mercy and grace will not meet with me on my terms because my terms are so far short of His intentions and desires for me, and He refuses to settle.

I'm joining Kyle in placing myself in a better place to hear and relate to God. I am going to begin practicing some disciplines, i.e. solitude, silence, fasting, etc. I don't do these things as a set of rules to follow, or as a checklist to complete, but in an earnest desire to hear and relate to God. As Kyle issued an invitation I would also enjoy sharing this with a few others.

Between asleep and awake

2006-04-05T20:45:00.000-07:00

My son started yelling at some hour of the morning. I thought he was hungry, and he ate a little, but not much. I sat in the rocker in his room, wrapped my arms around him, and he buried his face into my chest. His breathing leveled, and he rested, he was safe. I felt like a warrior of old, sword drawn, metal glistening, fire in my eyes, nobody would mess with him. Then I realized there were things I couldn't fight, things beyond my "swordsmanship", so I turned and buried my face in my Heavenly Father's chest. My breathing leveled, and we rocked there, the two of us, somewhere between asleep and awake, safe in our Daddy's arms.

Theology for Baby

2006-04-05T19:53:00.000-07:00

My son was in the floor playing the other day, and I was down there watching/playing and somewhere in the recesses of my mind hoping I could get up. This morning as I drove to work I drove in silence, the radio in the vehicle I was driving doesn't work well at all. So I was thinking. I know, I know, fire away. I started thinking about theology (damn that broken radio!). I wondered why we so often refer to ourselves by our appropriate label: Calvin, Armani, Levi's, etc. I don't have a problem with using a label to help people understand something about where we are coming from, but most of the time it's like a team name, and we want our team to win. Here's the thoughts I started working around in my mind about sovereignty and free will (damn that broken radio!)

I had placed my son in a "world" I had created for him, complete with things to experience, challenges to overcome, new discoveries, and even a few dangers to avoid. I was laying/sitting in the floor, and in complete control of what was happening in his world. I wasn't moving him toy to toy, making his hands pick up a blue ball instead of an orange one, insisting he drive the little car, he was making those choices on his own. His ability to choose and experience consequence (which at his age I don't let him experience hurtful consequences yet, I intervene) did not remove control from me. He had a choice because I gave it to him, but it was his choice, and I responded to them as he made them. From my perspective, I knew the choices he was going to make, but I didn't make them for him, he still made them. Hmm, it seems that I was still "sovereign" and he still had "free will". Both existing at the same time? See, here's my deal. I know God is sovereign, but I know I have some responsibilities. I know that nothing I do can prevent God's purposes from happening, but I've been given a role in the Story and my actions matter.

I don't want to join some theological team and beat you down in a debate. Good theology is a tool that God can and does use to draw us into deeper relationship with Him, help us love others as He would have us do, and expose the vast array of insanity that the Father of Lies fires at us from every angle. I'm entering into a very significant battle in my life, again. (see my previous post) I need to trust and rest in the sovereignty of God in ways much deeper than I have to this point, and I also need to make specific choices and changes in the way I approach food, and nobody can make this choice for me. God is in control and I have choices to make. Both existing at the same time.
(deep sigh)...damn that broken radio...

Food, Worship, the Titanic, and a Quest

2006-04-02T20:33:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here to write this and my mind's racing so fast that even if my fingers could keep up I'm certain the random, attention deficit ramblings that would follow might change the face of blogging as we know it. (Masterfully overstated, huh?) Today has been one of those days when the truth I encountered in our gatherings seemed to land in some deep spots. I kind of smarted off about weight in my last entry but in reality there are some soul-deep issues involving worship, discipline, finishing, and selfishness that are working themselves out in the way I eat and the way I am shaped (like, the actual shape of my body, not my emotions and psyche and however else the hell people use the word shaped). I am compelled to start this thing by doing some real scary revealing (watch where you go with that, Kyle) about my current condition. Funny how knowing that some of your community reads this makes being honest both really cool and really scary all at the same time. Kyle has observed the importance of "naming" an issue, so I'm calling this one out...

I weighed 318 pounds when I stepped on the scale the other day. Nope, not a typo, sure, go ahead and gasp, whisper a cuss word with in a shocked manner(I will soon dedicate an entire blog to various emotions you can put with cuss words and how that changes their meaning), just about any reaction other than "lightweight" is probably appropriate. I snore to the point of sleep apnea, which is dangerous and generally difficult for others to sleep through. My back tightens up when I walk a ridiculously short distance, I love being in the floor with my son but it's so freakin hard to get up, and something usually feels "crampy". I don't fit in some cars very well, and I don't even fit in some seats very well. I'm a muscular guy, but on my frame a muscular guy should weigh 185 to 190, so, "do the math", yep, that's about 130 or so pounds overweight.

I wanted to put the numbers out there, so to speak, to confront some important stuff. We dealt with two primary things today: extravagant worship- involving the widow who gave a small amount on the surface but all she had in reality; and a lady who broke open a bottle of perfume and poured it on Jesus, and he called it "beautiful". The second thing or things were drawn from an introduction to the book of Jonah, which we are going to study. We looked at themes, and the two that impacted me most were "available ways to run from God" and the amazing pursuit of us by that same God we seek to run away from.

When we relate to God the way I believe He intends us to, and He reigns in our hearts, minds, and actions, I believe we respond with a "pouring out giving all" kind of worship. I believe, in fact, that whatever reigns in our hearts, minds, and actions we respond with a "pouring out giving all" kind of worship. When that is not God, the consequences spread like wildfire, or, in this case, my waist speads like wildfire. Steve said tonight: "There is always a ship to take to your particular Tarshish" and one of my ships is food. Heck, it's more of a Queen Mary/ Titanic kind of sea vessel. Of course, I've got a few small yachts, skiing boats, and a few dingy's I occassionally board for my run toward self rule. See, this is a lot more than will I just stick with South Beach or something, it's about what I adore, and will I follow through, and other things being more important than myself. Yeah, I need to lose the weight, make no mistake about it, but this is more than just the physical discipline of eating differently.

I'd like to say that these thoughts on the reign and rule of food in my life are new and revolutionary, but I've been here before. What might make this time different? Haven't a clue. What I hope is that this sense of the life of God in me, the Holy Spirit that I've begun to hear in more and more clear ways, the impact on my beautiful bride and my little warrior poet, and my community, will guide, counsel, encourage and empower a bonafide life change. So much more than ever is riding on this, for another truth we saw as a theme from Jonah is how my sin affects more than just me. I've always been moved by stories of noble warriors, chivalry, and causes that they have fought for. If ever there was a hidden "Aragorn" in me now would be a good time for his sword. Okay, an LOTR reference popped out, so, since it's started...it's off to Mordor. I need a fellowship, anyone interested?

I am feeling a little random, so on a side note, I think our band freakin rocked today! I just loved the way we sounded...oh, my brother Ben, my heart aches.

When are ya due?

2006-03-31T07:17:00.000-08:00

I stepped on the scale this morning...good grief, something has to change! I'll have to start putting pictures of hamburgers and pizza as the backdrop to our songs if I don't repent here. Sheesh.

Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be this hard...

2006-03-30T20:35:00.000-08:00

I grew up in a baptist church (progressive at the time, so not progressive now), gave my life to Christ at the age of 7 (got "saved" as they say) in my home. I don't recall being specifically taught this from the pulpit, but I got a crazy notion in my head that I would actually talk to God, he would talk to me, we would, you know, have a relationship. I couldn't have put those words to it at age seven, but I'm certain now something inside me changed, someone began compelling me to want Him. So, in response, I learned how to do church. That was what you did. Oddly enough, doing church was not modeled in my house, my dad actually related to, talked to, cried to, argued with, God. As I got older and more churchified, I actually thought my dad was a little less spiritual than me, now my own stupidity is much clearer. I really wanted to relate to God, and the church life was not helping. I was slipping into habitual sin and addiction, and powerless to resist. Between the ages of 7 and 22, I got "saved" and baptized four times, because I was convinced I didn't know God. I don't know how much you actually "know" someone as beyond me as God, but one thing was certain, I had no sense of actually relating to Him, so, down the aisle, say the prayer, freakin' freezing cold water, and...same old shit.

I should have walked out on church, but by that time I had started singing and leading worship, and there was something alive in me then that I could not deny, so I stayed. At least for a precious few moments, I found myself doing something that I felt made to do, and the ever elusive God that I said I served seemed so close, at times I know I truly connected.

I still have this crazy notion that God intends for me to relate to Him, that he's after an intimacy that I can't grasp. Only now I'm around pastors who say that it's not just a crazy notion, it's good theology. Great. Thanks. Over the past couple of years I've begun to realize that I feel these promptings, kind of still and quiet like, inside of me. I've grown to believe that it's the life of God in me, relating. I'm sure I don't always hear it well, but it's there. I felt it before, doing the church life, but it seemed to contradict what I was told the Bible said to do. Imagine that.

Why would a poor woman give all she had, (see Mark 12, hear Kyle Sunday), or another lady pour extremely expensive perfume out, (see Matt 26, hear Kyle Sunday), why would they do these extravagant things? I think why they would do this and how I relate to God are connected. What can I give that is of utmost value? What can I break open and pour out on the one who gave all for me? Do I want to do either?

Happy Fatherhood

2006-03-29T22:27:00.000-08:00

This morning little warrior started yelling because he was ready to get out of bed. Daddy was not quite ready, so he got to lay there a little longer. Little warrior sounded like he was wrestling with something, but I tried to put my head deeper into the pillow (such a wise daddy). Little warrior let out a battle cry, I got up, stumbled to the room and picked up a smiling, happy boy. "Man, his legs are freezing!" I thought as I laid him on the changing table. I grabbed a diaper and reached to change the "old" one, and...there was no old one! Instead there was a bare butt, that looked like it had been painted brown using a "splatter" technique. Hmm, the legs are also splattered. Hmm, my arm where I carried him is also splattered. Should I look at the crib? Ah, there's the diaper...oh man, this came out of him? Why is he smiling at me like that? Why am I smiling, feeling a strange pride? How many dang wipes is this going to take? Ah, fatherhood.