September 02, 2011

Fatherhood

On August 26th, at about 9 in the morning, I became a Dad for the first time.

Joanna's water broke unexpectedly on Thursday night, and we labored through it together (in a sense) all night long.  She pulled it off naturally, with some light drugs in her IV drip to take the edge off.  Still, I've never seen her in more pain - and have never been more proud to stand by her side.  She progressed quickly with the "help" of pitocin, and by 8am, it was time to push.  I held one leg while the nurse held the other, and watched as our daughter came into the world.  It was surreal.

I tried mostly in vain to read the Psalms and pray aloud during Joanna's labor - I was so overcome with the experience, and seeing her endure so much that I choked almost every time I opened my mouth.  It's something I've seen my own Dad experience countless times before.  Jo's father has similar moments when he will "fall silent" in prayer or conversation if he's feeling especially emotional.

For me, it was the feeling that an explosive sob was lurking just below the surface - threatening to emasculate if I so much as spoke another word.  A week later I can see that the deeper cause was more like a consuming gratefulness.

Gratefulness to be married to the woman of my dreams, to have the opportunity to become a Dad, to have a healthy and whole child, and to know that God had chosen Jo and I to be her parents.  Although we were surprised to discover the process was beginning in December of 2010; walking through the moment, contraction by contraction, it couldn't have felt more on purpose - meant to be - even orchestrated.

And it left me speechless.


Through it - I felt engrafted into the fraternity of speechless, grateful Dads; verklempt and unable to utter a sound.  Not emasculated, but reborn as something "more man" than I was before.  Metamorphosed into something deeper perhaps.  I wonder if it happens each time you have a child, or if it even happens to every dude who becomes "Dad"?

Finally, as I cut the cord and Everly Ivy Tongue was placed on Jo's chest for the first time, I cut loose and did burst into sobbing tears.  No good reason to hold back - no chance to pull it off if I had tried.

August 25, 2011

Learning - by Doing - by Sitting

Summer was kind to me.  With lots of changes in the NLSW, getting licensed as a pastor, and a baby (any day now!) to cap it all off - it held my attention well enough.  Still, the biggest surprise of summer happened to be an extra vertebrae that ironically frustrated my efforts to fully enjoy the aforementioned summer season.

Discovering that spare bone back there (pun intended), my mind became alerted to the gentle ache - that while not terrible threw my mental fortitude for a loop.  It's taken about 2 months to heal physically, and get over it mentally.  Along the way I've had a few new experiences - "rights of passage" if you will.
The strange; at the end of a ride, pulling onto my sidewalk passing a haggard, shirtless guy who called out even as he recoiled to one side, "Can I have your bike?"  I surprised even myself with the speed of my reaction - thoughtless, instinctual: "No!"
The universal; walking back in cleats after a flat when I forgot a spare, getting rescued from miles of cleat-walking, spending an hour trying to fix my first flat, and that first ride back out on a tube I changed myself.  Freedom.
The terrifying; a "Hells Angels" kind of guy on a polished hog made a last minute left in front of me.  He wasn't looking.  I was resting my neck for a split second - staring at my spinning ankles - and when I looked up it was almost too late.  My tires squeaked, leaving rubber on the road.  It was much closer than I ever want to experience again; inches.  
Although I might call it adventure, Jo wouldn't be happy to hear about my afternoon 'endo' at 30mph.

Of course, if you're not a rider yourself, these things aren't half as interesting as they are to me.  What I discovered  this summer was an underlying fear, an insecurity.  "What if I'm doomed to life on the couch?  What if despite a fortitude for fitness, I'm unable, and slowly degenerate into neglect and apathy?"  This battle has been as much mental as it has been flesh and blood.

Getting back into some speed work last week, thinking over how well I'd recovered, the verse in 2 Corinthians came to mind: "If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!"  As things do while riding - it began to just run through my mind over and over, until I added my own piece to the finish - "the new has come in me."

That 'newness' is more encompassing than any of us fully realize, not limited to our physical bodies or occasional circumstances, but the depths of soul and spirit, joints and marrow.  Thanks God.  My summer journey of bike and bone, mind and spirit helped me remember anew; "I will not fear, He holds it all."

August 19, 2011

European Rhythms

After a long, 2 month summer break from leading worship, I was ready to get back into it.

I lead worship for a men's prayer meeting, that creatively enough goes by the same name, "Men's Prayer."  I took over for Ross Parsley in January of 2010 as he prepared to plant his church that fall, and have been doing it ever since.  I have to be there at 6am each Thursday for sound check and a 6:30 start time, and since I live about 30minutes from the church, I get up at about 4:45 on Thursday's.

After the service, I head to Chick-Fil-A with the band; a tradition we've carried on together since very early on.  Some days we talk about the set, the service, or ways to dig deeper into what we do each week with the men of New Life.  Other days the conversation diverges to work situations, avant-garde chiptune concerts, and the varied perplexities of life from just as varied generational perspectives.

Usually, but not as regularly as I'd like, I head to Starbucks right afterward.  I arrive at about 8:23 each week, and have discovered the beauty of routine.  Specifically, I've seen the same elderly couple at this specific Starbucks whenever I come - for at least the last year.

There's something mysterious and beautiful about them; him with his hard-of-hearing loud-talking, her with her too-strong-for-public perfume - and the both of them with thick Jersey accents that endear them almost immediately.  And there's something about their routine, a rhythm that every Thursday helps me feel I've been transported to a side-street bistro somewhere in Italy, and that time itself has somehow been made to wait for the day to really begin.

I look forward to this moment, coffee in hand, like an "after worship dessert" every week.

I think it's the rhythm of it.  The respiration, the sipping of the hot coffee, the morning sun, the familiar faces all help me pause and reset - just in time for the weekend as fate would have it.  These moments help me remain, and become, the person I want to be: someone centered by a routine and not bound to it.  A person who can "lean back in the saddle" of life, and take a look at the scenery as it goes by.

I've grown to cherish my early, sleepless Thursday mornings.  Time with God, the men of New Life, and an hour of solitude with my coffee has helped shape my vocational ministry in a should-have-seen-it-coming-but-didn't kind of way.  For that, I'm thankful.

July 21, 2011

Reading What? (part two)

This article, "Books Without Batteries: The Negative Impacts of Technology" by Bill Henderson, is something of a plug for his new book, "Book Love." Here Henderson explores the cents and sense of the E-reader debate with regards to the ecological impact this technology promises. (continued from part one)

Some think that the e-reader will save trees. Soon, according to a recent New York Times article, we will possess over 100 million e-readers. What a savings in our forests, right? Wrong.

Here’s what an e-reader is: a battery-operated slab, about a pound, one-half inch think, perhaps with an aluminum border, rubberized back, plastic, metal, silicon, a bit of gold, plus rare metals such as columbite-tantalite (Google it) ripped from the earth, often in war-torn Africa. To make one e-reader requires 33 pounds of minerals, plus 79 gallons of water to refine the minerals and produce the battery and printed writing. The production of other e-reading devices such as cellphones, iPads, and whatever new gizmo will pop up in the years ahead is similar. “The adverse health impacts [on the general public] from making one e-reader are estimated to be 70 times greater than those for making a single book,” says the Times.

Then you figure that the 100million e-readers will be outmoded in short order, to be replaced by 100 million new and improved devices in the years ahead that will likewise be replaced by new models ad infinitum, and you realize an environmental disaster is at hand. We will have lost a chunk of our planet as we lose our minds to the digital juggernaut.

Here’s what it takes to make a book, which, if it is any good, will be shared by many readers and preserved and appreciated in personal, public, and university libraries that survive the gigantic digital book burning: recycled paper, a dash of minerals, and two gallons of water. Batteries not necessary. If trees are harvested, they can be replanted.

I co-edited Book Love – a collection of observations on writing, reading, and the tradition of printed and bound books – for those who still love books. Books are our history and our future. If they survive, we will, too. Books, readers, writers – on this tripod we keep the faith.

Book Love, edited by James Charlton and Bill Henderson is out from Pushcart Press on April 23, the International Day of the Book.




Check out Part 3 in the days ahead for some of my own brief thoughts about this subject.

July 18, 2011

Reading What?

This article, "Books Without Batteries: The Negative Impacts of Technology" by Bill Henderson, is something of a plug for his new book, "Book Love." I think it's a challenging and heartening perspective on the powers of technology and our response to embrace it, or not.

The resent onslaught of e-readers was announced with a veneer of the best of intentions. The book needed improving, said one maven, who also sells diapers and soup online. An MIT visionary predicted that in five years we will read almost no paper books – just digital devices. The book would become a relic, a collector’s item, the e-experts agreed. And of course with the death of the book, our bookstores and libraries would wither and die.

The e-experts said that in the future all information and literature would be available on the device of the moment (sure to be replaced by the device of the next moment). You may never have to leave the comfort of home or bed. The latest bestseller – indeed, millions of out-of-print books (you didn’t know you needed so many) – could be had at the click of a button. This was billed as an improvement.

Lots of people are making lots of money telling us this is for our own good. Tweeting away, we never stop to think. In fact, we may be losing out ability to think.

In The Shallows: What the Internet Is doing to Our Brains (Norton, 2010), Nicholas Carr notes that after years of digital addiction, his friends can’t read in depth anymore. Their very brains are changing, physically. They are becoming “chronic scatterbrains… even a blog post of more that three or four paragraphs is too much to absorb.”

Carr continues: “For the last five centuries, ever since Gutenberg made reading a popular pursuit, the linear, literary mind has been at the center of art, science, and society. As supple as it is subtle, it’s been the imaginative mind of the Renaissance, the rational mind of the Enlightenment, the inventive mind of the Industrial Revolution, even the subversive mind on Modernism. It may soon be yesterday’s mind.”

Because our brains can no longer think beyond a tweet, we can’t write well. And we can’t read well either. The idea of reading – let alone writing – War and Peace, Bleak house, or Absalom, Absalom! is fading into an impossible dream.

In any case, what serious writer would create exclusively for an e-reader? It’s like farting into the wind. Writers hope, mostly in vain, that their work will endure for a few years or even centuries, in handsome printed and bound volumes. Why bother at all if your words are to be digitized into instantly accessible and disposable battery-dependent gas?




Part 2 soon to come!

July 09, 2011

Cloudy with a chance of Creativity

Perhaps as a result of my spending so many of my growing up years in Colorado, I've come to expect a routine of sunshine during the day, splotchy rain in the afternoon, and crisp nights.  In the heat of summer, in our 2nd floor apartment in a home built in 1890, I appreciate those crisp nights.

It's a very typically gorgeous climate, and the reason I'm sure so many people continue to flock to this perpetual Valhalla (especially Texans and Californians).  Colorado is the full color "OZ" to the rest of the world's "Kansas" of black and white.  Who wouldn't want to live here?

In a nomadic Air Force family, I've lived several stints away from this glistening paradise.  I've seen worse places, and many would fall into that category of opinion, though to allow their locals a measure of dignity I'll leave titles out of it.  But I've also been to different places.  Places which, for all their perplexity and bewitching power have left an enduring image that the occasional impression will bring to mind.

Specifically, cloudy places.

Places like Aberdeen, Scotland.  Seattle, Washington.  San Francisco, California.  It's true that Colorado can be cloudy too, but thanks to a majority of happy, chipper and sunny days - it just doesn't have the same association for me.  What I find interesting is the way a cloudy day can shape my creative mood.

Maybe it's just me, but watching a fog roll through adds a measure of mystery to the day.  A sprinkle of rain that just wets your nose and shoulders wakes you up.  Staring at a downpour approaching off the coast, sitting with coffee and journal in hand from the grounds-filled air of an indigenous shop is thought provoking.  Why?

Clouds obscure what was previously in full view, and they change the look of things we've seen countless times before.  The lighting is muted.  Colors dull.  Imagination takes over to fill the gaps in visual perception.  I think for me, it's those not knowing experiences that give me the freedom, or even force me to perceive whatever I will.

Thanks to Brianne Nichole Photography!

This morning, the crisp air held my thoughts captive for only a moment as I woke up.  "Maybe it's a little cloudy outside," I thought for an instant before I opened my eyes.  Sure enough - the blue sky is piercing, the birds are singing, and the hot sun was rising over our baked landscape.

Although our next vacation is a little ways off, I think I'm learning to search for those 'gaps' in the meantime.  Who knows what may come of it?

July 02, 2011

Two Things

This is a bit of a landmark blog for me.  There are two reasons for this.  Neither have much to do with this piece being especially well written, or the fact that I'll have the best stats to gloat over.  With that in mind - I write.

Yesterday, I was officially licensed as a pastor at New Life Church.

There were requirements, yes.  Meetings, yes.  Hard questions to answer, yes.  Easy, no.  It took me about two years to get through it.  I can now legally officiate weddings, and there are tax breaks included that help with the perpetually minuscule salary I'll receive (time to write a book or hit song??), along with a daily schedule that is oftentimes personally produced.  But for me, this is much more than a tax break and a title.  I want it to be.

I'm still discovering what it looks like.  Clearly.  I'm comforted by the repeat recollections of older pastors that affirm my hope: most of us have no idea in the beginning.  But what unites us regardless of tenure is a love for God, and a love of people.  The rest will fall into place along the way.  I'm blessed to be surrounded by the pastoral staff I grew up with; men and women who have been there and can help guide me along the path.

What's more, last week was my last as Director of the School of Worship.

I'm not leaving, no.  The switch came as no surprise to me, since Brad and I had been going through this discussion for months.  It was a combination of things - Brad getting more involved as President, finding the right slot for my talents, and addressing the holes within the program.  Coinciding with my licensing, I'll take on the spiritual formation and pastoring of the students.  I'm honored.

But honestly, in spite of the boldness I may exude, it hasn't been the easiest move.  Most everything about it makes sense, and our new arrangement feels right.  But I'm human.  Change is hard.  Adjustment won't be easy, and it's not supposed to be.  The new arrangement of personnel and my new job could be intimidating.  But I know one thing for sure, something that shapes who I am: I believe God is good regardless of circumstance - and I've chosen to trust him.  That carries me through the turbulent waters of wondering, of future fear.

I'm a pastor; it's what I'm supposed to say right?

Still I'm just as human as the next guy.  That hasn't changed and won't.  I hope to have even more honest conversations with people, searching for the truth and embracing it together.  I hope to bring hope, to encourage life, and belief in a God who takes us right where we are.

June 20, 2011

Issues... Pt. 3

My pastor, Brady Boyd, came to New Life in a foreboding environment filled with scandal, culture shock, and pain.  

Since then, he has helped to transform New Life into a growing church family worth being a part of - a church family grounded on the basics: worshiping God, connecting with one another, and serving our community.  We're all still figuring it out, and like any family we have our hiccups.  But the future is bright and we're looking forward - not back.

About 10 days ago, Brady went in for open heart surgery to replace a damaged valve.  It was a "routine" procedure - but far from routine!  This is what places him in a different category in my mind - though energetic and passionate on the platform he's dealt with this core physical defect his whole life - facing various surgeries, exhaustion, and no doubt some of his own internal struggles with things like 'fairness.'  

The operation was successful, and doctors expect a full recovery in a few months time.  Read more here.  

The apostle Paul described his own struggle in Second Corinthians, chapters 11 and 12.  According to him, he was given a 'thorn in his flesh' to keep him from becoming conceited.  Although he pleaded for it to leave, it remained and God said, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."  Paul goes on to say he now delights in his weakness so that "Christ's power may rest on [him]," and proclaims:

"For when I am weak, then I am strong."

I'm reminded of a scene from Pixar's "Incredibles," a movie about superheroes.  At the height of the villain Syndrome's monologuing he reveals his plot to give super powers to the whole world - saying something like "[soon everyone will be special, and then no one will be.]"

At the heart of my desire to be a mutant superhero was wanting to be special, set apart, looked to for hope as a hero, and able to offer that salvation.  But in this world, I must embrace both sides of the coin; I am both - mutant (on the 'extra bone' level anyway) with special "out-of-alignment back abilities" - and one of the 'more unfortunate' as well.  In a way I wasn't before I'm personally aware of the state of things in our fallen world, with a physical body that is bound to its fate.

But in a way, I also get to be the hero.  As a Christian, I am set apart, able to give hope to others in the good news of Jesus, and let him do the saving.

I've so admired Brady's candor and strength as he prepared for and went through the surgery.  Like him, but to a lesser degree, I have an issue that causes discomfort with some potential physical limitations.  And like the apostle Paul, we all share a measure of the thorn that reminds us to "delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.

For when [we] are weak, then [we] are strong."


**please continue to pray for Brady's recovery in these next weeks and months.

June 16, 2011

Issues... Pt. 2

The pragmatic side of me vanished and the emotional side took over.  On the outside I was calm, taking the news well.  "Wow, you don't say."  Under the surface, I think I gulped something to the effect of "This can't be.  I just spent a ton of money getting into this sport - and I've been having a blast!  I've been looking forward to this for months - Take it all back and buy two iPads, and I wouldn't have half the fun!!"

I find myself caught somewhere between "Wow, I'm a the mutant I always wanted to be," and "Blast!  If only I were normal I could do more of what I love" and leaning towards the latter.  To make matters worse - I ask, "If this is something genetic, some sort of recessive trait, what are the odds that my little girl will have it, or develop it?"

Whoa there big boy, step back.  I'll admit there's a fatalist tendency there I need to keep in check.  Overall I'm an optimist, looking at the bright side, glass half full.  But this is a doozy.  There's a feeling of defeat, of powerlessness.

Talking to Joanna about this, who is no stranger to back issues (see part 1), we faced the harsh reality that we may indeed pass things on to our daughter, and that we might face further limitations as we age.  But we also discussed the fact that chiropractic care has only been around for a hundred years, and prior to this advancement people still walked the earth with various difficulties and physical struggles.  And we also talked about the 'degree' of our own difficulties.

Think of the 'more unfortunate' folks you know.  The world is full of people who have "real" issues: cancers, cerebral palsy, victims of polio, malaria, and other rare and destructive diseases.  These are the faces we see on Sunday morning infomercials in Africa, and many times, on Sunday mornings in church.  I won't go too deeply into his story, but it turns out my pastor is one of those people - a person I place in the 'more unfortunate' category…


To Be Continued...

June 13, 2011

Issues...

I just discovered that I have an extra vertebrae in my spine.  Under normal circumstances, you might think this was cool.  I did for a few minutes myself.  Turns out 7% of humanity has an extra vertebrae, and when I saw the x-ray I thought, if only for a brief moment -

"Wow.  I really am an X-Man."

I've wanted to be a mutant superhero for as long as I can remember.  From watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, sneaking occasional episodes of soap-opera-styled X-men cartoon of the mid nineties, or enjoying the recent batch of Hollywood superhero blockbusters over the last several years - there has always been a glimmer of hope that I would be one, or even the one; first in a new wave of "human evolution."  Without knowing it, I guess I'd bought into some version of an Old Earth theology...

It was my first appointment to the chiropractor, thought not my first visit, or adjustment.  Joanna has a condition in her lower back that somehow allows one of her vertebrae to hang almost halfway off the one below it.  Sounds crazy - but if she keeps her core strong and watches what she lifts, she's fine.  She visits every so often in order to stave off inflammation, and I've accompanied her several times.  I visited the same doctor last week, and I'll see him again today.  Prior to this, I was informally adjusted by a friend's dad at a wedding, and since then had begun the sticking habit of "self adjustment."  

That was the reason I made the appointment; cracking my own spine started to creep me out.

But as he began to explain what had happened (and I filled in the blanks with my imagination), I realized this wasn't the mutant power I was hoping for.  It's sorta like discovering you're playing a role like Bruce Davison from the original "X-Men" movie - a regular person who is transformed into a mutant, against his will, only to later be slowly and painfully destroyed by it.

The news sank in sorta funny.  I could tell by his tone that it was fairly serious.  The pragmatic side of me could understand it fairly easily: I had a misaligned spot that was causing a rough pinch on a disk - along with inflammation and limited mobility.  Further, he said there was nothing he could really do since the bones seemed to have fused together!  Then the real blow, "you should probably pull back from cycling for a while…"


To Be Continued...

June 08, 2011

The [New] Way to my Heart

I've discovered that Joanna isn't the only one experiencing a shift in body composition as she becomes 28 weeks pregnant; I've discovered that the myths are true: sympathy weight gain in husbands is as real as a tight pair of pants.

The last few weeks have been hectic.  Hosting a graduation ceremony for 60 families, wrapping up a paper that has taken 2 years to write (another story), sending a team to Africa and life have been keeping us busy.  Our routine of regular exercise has taken a hit as Jo is more limited in what she can do, and I find myself preferring to hang with her (fun and easy!) instead.

I was a runner for years.  5k's, 10k's, 15k's, a half marathon up the side of Pikes Peak - three times, and a road race up the side of Mt Evans - twice!  I was the captain of the cross country team my senior year in high school after running 3 seasons prior.  2 mile records, an ORU Fun Run victory and such.  I was and have been 'that' guy.  There are traces of interest still left.  I could still run a full marathon someday, and I would still love to climb all 55 of Colorado's 14-ers.  That's really just a matter of time.

But cycling.  Cycling offers not only the chance to get in shape (if you're diligent), but also to see [more of] the world around you, feel a 100 year-old continuous feat of engineering beneath your feet, strut proudly in the tightest of spandex, and boast of 40 and 50 mile rides!  And it's different.

Conveniently, in the midst of this inertia embracing season, my birthday happens to be - today.  Yes, I'm a year older, and I can truly say that 27 feels lovely after about 5 conscious hours of it.  But along with the loving embrace and celebration of family, cake and hot dogs; today I'll enjoy gifts.  And this year, Joanna and my parents were especially generous.

My new [to me] 2010 Bianchi ViaNirone.  Fast.
At just the moment I needed a little help in sparking my personal fitness, Joanna agreed to the most extravagant present I'm likely to see for a decade.   I've considered this sport switch for a number of years - and today - I inaugurate it.

And as I do - I've remembered something important: To do things that make me come alive.  The list is fairly long.  Adventures, dates with Joanna, skydiving, leading worship, writing and reading... Cycling is just one more piece of it all.

In the hustle of life, it's easy to let your schedule dominate you.  There will always be demands, even when things seem slow.  If you're addicted to motion and action, you can always find things to do.  The trick is doing your part to keep the fires burning on the inside.  Find whatever that is for you, and schedule it, if you have to.

As the New Life School of Worship takes a break for the summer, as the other two thirds of the staff are in Africa, as I celebrate the passing of one year and the beginning of another and as we enjoy the brief lull before our first baby comes - I'm taking time to enjoy it.  I don't feel guilty for an instant - for I know the time I spend will greater invest itself into my future.

May those moments of coming alive (as John Eldredge might say it) come as often as possible.

May 10, 2011

Our New Governmental System

Of course by government, I mean the ruling policies that give structure to my own upstart of a nuclear family.  If you recall, George, Joanna and I have some company on the way that we're expecting to drop by in the later parts of August...

As part of the process, several weeks ago Jo and I had our "Half-way Appointment" with her doctor.  It was time for another ultrasound.  Seeing for the first time what actually looked like a baby; kicking, squirming, and very much alive, we experienced a new revelation of all we'd gotten ourselves into!  Classically, this is the ultrasound where you find out if you're having a boy or girl - but we had a unique thought in mind - and looked away when the tech told us she was heading in the down there direction.

The next day we returned home after the final performance of the Thorn in Colorado Springs.  Jo's parents were in town, and we all headed over to my parents home for a party of epic proportions.  Up until that point, we knew we were pregnant, but hadn't seen the baby in months.  Our viewing several months prior had looked something like a gummy bear.  As you can imagine, this left us expectant for something more defined - hoping that we'd see little hands and feet, and something that was more... human!

We did indeed!  "It" was healthy, with spine, bones, toes, even a nose (that bears striking resemblance to Joanna's) and yes (the tech could tell), a something (or lack thereof).

We delivered the result to the local Whole Foods Bakery, who made us ten delicious canolli's filled with either Raspberries or Blueberries for a girl or boy, respectively.  They messed up our order a bit, but you can read about that here.  That night my Grandma picked the number between 1 and 20, and took the first bite. 

RASPBERRIES.

In the words of Neo from the Matrix, "Whoa."

It wasn't that I expected a boy, but somehow I didn't expect a girl!  It was a rough first few days as I let go of fears that she wouldn't be shaped by our personalities, wouldn't be affected by my love of the outdoors, and wouldn't even want to play with her boring old Dad!  Thanks to Jo for her patient and enthusiastic approach to walking me through this I've arrived at a place where now I can't wait to meet this little wonderkid, can't wait to love her as best I can.

Her little life has taken on whole new meaning.  All the names we had thought were cute, we had to rethink - after all, this is an immortal soul!  This little girl will want to dance on my toes, play with dolls, and who knows what else!  Although I had a sister - it's not like I paid attention to all that stuff!  Raspberries meant that certainly, I would someday clean a shotgun in front of some punk kid who thinks he's got what it takes to date her, that one day I'd walk her down the aisle to give her to someone else... and that someday far, far away, she may bring over a little youngin' to bounce on my knee.

Here's to you kiddo.  Got a couple things: promise you'll ride on my shoulders on hikes, let me teach you how to play with legos, and fly a kite with me every so often?  Maybe we can play catch some too, watch fun Disney movies I've saved up, and play house with your Mom?  And even though I have two left feet - let me dance with you in the hallway with PJ's on, and waltz with you in my tux the day you wear your big white dress?  Figured I'd at least ask.  :)

"...Well George, it's becoming more of a democracy than I think we saw coming, guys gotta stick together..."

May 06, 2011

Attachment

Yesterday afternoon I had coffee with a student from the New Life School of Worship, a program based out of my church that trains people how to biblically, and lovingly lead others in worship of their God.  It's a program I have directed for the last 18 months.  As we talked about his new job at a church in Pennsylvania, and his impending move away from Colorado, something started to feel strange in my heart.  I began to experience a certain heaviness, a sense that a piece of my life was leaving, or at least that somehow something wasn't right.

Later I discovered the truth, having analyzed the complex amalgam of emotion; I realized it boiled down to sadness.

It seemed just yesterday I was talking in my office with this young guy and his Mom, trying to help him decide if the NLSW was even the place for him to come and spend a year of his life.  Now, having come, he is preparing to leave - to another fresh start, a place of service.  He is going off to do "in real life" what he spent a year learning to do here.  It's a success for him, and for the program!  We accomplished what we hoped to do; he experienced what I hoped he would.  Now he's got a date of departure.  And that's SAD!

I've been thinking about my position over the last few weeks and months, and observing the true oddness of it.  From a pastoral point of view, it's a unique and surprisingly taxing situation.  It's as if I pastor a congregation of 60 people that I handpick, invest my life into, and send away every 9 months having already begun the process again with a new batch of hopefuls.  Then I take 3 months off and bask in the Colorado sunshine (no, not exactly) only to begin the process again the next fall.

Weird.

And he's not the only one.  This year we've been blessed to have a truly stellar group of 1st and 2nd year students.  They come from all walks of life, with generational differences and various goals for this next season.  But as I watch them leave, something is clicking in me in a way it hasn't in years past (sorry previous NLSW classes!).  I'm attached.  And weird though it may be, it's something I think I should begin to get used to - with a baby girl on the way.  Parenthood.  Aside from a killer show on NBC, it's something that I'm realizing will slowly take away pieces of me - and this before my first child is even born!

To say I see this year of graduates as my children would be both incomplete and impossible.  Many of them are my elders, and I eclipse the youngest by 10 years at most!  But certainly, this year has helped me understand a wonderful part of life - in parenting and otherwise.  Despite the discomfort and unnatural feeling of their immanent departure, I'm experiencing a taste of what it means to have invested myself in something and see the dividend going to another cause.  Someone else will be the beneficiary.

Sheesh it's weird.  And actually it does feel quite right somehow.

Students - just promise to call every so often!

April 14, 2011

Like a Thorn in my _________ !

This is the third year that I have been a soloist for The Thorn, New Life's 700-member Easter production.  The show doesn't change much from year to year, which speaks to the excellence of the script and screenplay (Thanks Rob and John).  But having performed these same songs for several years, and having heard them since I was in grade school, it's easy to let this passion play become a routine, or worse - a show.

On one level or another, it begins this way like clockwork every year.  Word comes around that rehearsals are starting, that the martial arts team has already been at work for months in the gym perfecting angel sized muscles, and that the set is making it's way from ideas on paper to massive constructions of wood and steel.

My first year, it was easy to be swept up in the hype of the production, being involved on any level felt like an amazing privilege, and I was just blessed to play any part at all.  The second year, it became easy to be a little complacent and feel almost... entitled.  Believe it or not come year three, it can even feel like an obligation.

Honest, yes - but my intent is to expose the gunk that nearly crept in.

This is a time in my life when establishing boundaries and time management habits is crucial.  With a baby on the way, and our young marriage still on the front burner of my mind, drawing clear lines between what I do and who I am has never been more important or difficult.  The irony is that I was drawn to ministry not only for the significance it would add to my life, but because I wanted to raise a family in it.  But I'll keep that discussion for another time - it deserves it.

I'm realizing the Thorn is a type of marker for me.  Each year as I participate, and a huge burden is placed on my time and energy for a brief season, it's all too easy to become cynical and jaded.  In fact, that is the natural result!  But that's the greatest danger of all.  I've learned that my innocence of heart is worth protecting at all costs.  And it's not just the Thorn; all ministry threatens to blur the lines of work and family, counseling and recreation.  As this two week season of non-stop nightly rehearsals in both Colorado Springs and Denver beats down - if I'm not vigilant - the joy of the performance can vanish, and the joy of ministry become tarnished.

I'm a part of a quartet that sings "The Glory of the Blood" during the moments immediately after the crucifixion.  Watching the drama of Jesus reach it's zenith, I'm blessed each time to relive the wonder of the greatest miracle ever.  The sinless death that made a way, the doubt the disciples must have felt in the darkest days afterward, and the hope that held them together (Matthew 20:19) in the midst of apparent total defeat become real again.  And it's that moment that continues to refresh my soul - that helps me remember the reason for everything I'm doing - and gives glorious context to the fatigue I happen to be feeling at the moment.

(C) Ted Mehl, Thorn 2010
Thank God for his blood, shed for me - and his resurrection that made a way for life abundant.  These are the days I realize anew the truth that I'm bound to this man Jesus and what he did for me - and spreading that truth with all I am and do.

April 08, 2011

True Grit

In September of last year, as the lease on our first place was about to expire, Jo and I began to consider a move.  The rent was high and increasing at the apartment complex we had shared our first year at, and as we began to look around and consider our options and stage of life - we started to think living downtown would be a fun experiment.  You can read more about our first-hand experience here.


After all, we didn't have any kids!  It was just us - and we could afford to live a risky, grittier life - right?  Famous last words!


Lately, I've been thinking more about the idea of "gritty" living.  Linked with a loss of control (read here for more on that), I'm meaning things we've all experienced - but 'a particular attraction to' weeds, dust, cracked pavement, tilting foundations, artificially faded and tinted photos, independent films like Once, guitars with 'play-holes' in them, simple bands like Sigur Rós, used furniture, clouds, rain, hand-me-down scarves, designer jeans meant to look 20 years old and bicycles that really are.


Though I've never observed it before, the season of Lent has lent (couldn't help that one) itself to a certain growing connection in my mind.  I've realized that the world around me, downtown specifically, was growing in it's decay.  A strong word, but I mean come on people - I'm from the suburbs!  I'm used to manicured lawns, cookie cutter houses, immediate fixes to cracked drywall, following the cookie cutter style around me, and obsession with the newest and latest.  Now instead of seeing this 'particular attraction to' gritty living as a cultural phenomenon or generational trend, I've begun to see it from a more distinct perspective.


Observing Lent helps us to remember our finiteness.  We give up something in order to be reminded of our place in the cosmos, and to become more reliant on Christ.  Just the way each of us sometimes fills the heart-need to worship with something foreign and ill-fitting besides God, so I see this grit 'attraction.'  Although humanity as a whole is bent on dominion and exploitation, it would seem there is also something deep in us that wants to be finite, limited and out of control.


This grit-love points us towards the limitations of our world, the curse it is under, and the redemption that has already begun in the hearts of Christ's followers.  See it that way, from the side of eventual complete redemption and rebirth, and you begin to appreciate the beauty of a decrepit and failing system that points in every way toward a God who will make all things new again.


Although Jo and I love the vibe of downtown, the dust of lead paint chips around our windowsill is still cause for alarm and will quite likely push us out of our current abode with a newborn child!  I'm not about to go plant weeds and would still love a new bike.  Though I'll still plan on doing my part to bring order to things, I'm choosing to embrace the grit of life, to proclaim the truth of decay, and to celebrate the ruin of our present reality.  For each ruin will only stand to shape our understanding of the victory that has already begun!


And yes, I listened to Sigur Rós and Hammock while writing this blog.

April 07, 2011

It has come to this:

I have arrived.

That is, I've come to the place of being quite frustrated with my own attempts at being pithy, tart and smart.  Working towards an exposition of various ideas have recently left me in the lurch of of my own exceedingly high expectations!  Curses and thwartations!

Thwart-a-tions /thwahrt-A-shuhns/ - noun
1.  a terrific annoyance or disappointment
2.  an occurrence or situation bereft of success
    "Due to unending thwartations, his plans were utterly foiled."

Ever have that happen?  Word just cease to flow, and you end up babbling on about something or other - In conversation perhaps?  Someone you would have no doubt liked to impress with your whit and charm and instead you "open mouth, insert foot"?  No, I'm not really describing a recent or even real situation.  Though I've been there, no specific memory comes to mind worth the retelling here.

And at just a moment when I needed to be quite eloquent about something in particular (though I'm not sure what) in order to have the faintest impression that my own time was invested and not squandered as I work on this vague and tenuous practice of writing - nothing really comes to mind.  *sigh.

And yet somehow, the very completion of this brief and rather upsetting blog has left me with at least a small satisfaction at completing something!  Yet on the one hand, I can breathe deeply and know the seeming unending writers block has released me if only for an instant - long enough to compose something with perhaps an iota of potential at making someone somewhere pause with a wry smirk of delight.

Did it work?

March 22, 2011

Lecture from Professor Emeritus, Dr. George Tumnus III

Our cat George is precocious, demanding and incorrigible.

George moved in with Jo and I (although he pays no rent whatsoever!) about a year ago after living with Joanna's sister Jodie for about a year before that.  Prior to this, his story is a little less clear.  It's possible he lived as a frat house mascot, spent time as a model for Cats & Kittens Magazine, or perhaps starred in a super-hero show on ABC about an unlikely and generally mild-mannered feline house pet.  One thing we know for sure however, that a family locked him up in a shed (we discovered this later through craigslist) and after his escape he came to the sliding door of my parents home in the summer of 2009, pawing to come in.

And in he came, first to our home, and quickly into our hearts.

Still he's ruthless, intimidating, destructive and ... wonderful.  Truly, he is the Marley and Me of cats.  Although at times he's completely infuriating, other times he redeems it all through a sweet cry and rub against our leg.  Even though he eats any flowers I buy for Jo, his incessant purring and sighs upon our lap confirms the truth of the whole debacle: as much as he loves and needs us, we're equally bound to him.  Turns out he's a bit of an instructor as well.

Just yesterday I was up at 6, experimenting with a return to early mornings spent reading the word and praying for our family, the baby, all that is coming I can't see, and trying to align myself to a Source that is sufficient for the stress of a day on earth.  Noble intentions - utterly confounded as George followed me from the bed and began his regular routine of ripping up carpet, sharpening his claws on the furniture, and tap-tapping things off the coffee table and hutch.  Jo can tell you, I was so frustrated at the interruption that pens were flying his direction (though missing) and my hissing vilification of him was enough to wake her roughly 14 minutes before regularly scheduled.

It turns out he is quite the teacher indeed.

You could say I shouldn't have let it get to me, or that it's an exercise in controlling my temper.  I know because in the moment I thought that too - taking deep breaths, trying to bend time like Neo from the Matrix, and who knows what else - to no avail.  Twenty four hours later, I can mostly chalk it up to a loss of control, as humbling as that is.  You know what I'm talking about, it's that part of you that longs for order and sanctuary like a Buddhist in his rock garden, sipping tea and smelling the wind... and reaching over to trim his bonsai tree every two years.  Now really, is that so wrong?

Reality is, I've never been to a rock garden.  I don't even have one of those little sand-things on my desk!  Jo and I get ready in the rush of a single bathroom, drive to work in traffic, and bust our behinds all day long.  When 5pm rolls around, we're lucky to have enough left over for a trip to the gym and dinner before our eyes involuntarily slide shut around 9:30.  Sound familiar?

And yet, we're called to an existence of waiting patiently for the things that are to come.  Not only are we not in control, but the earth itself is moving toward a new beginning, "as in the pains of childbirth."  There is some of that in us too - a something that sees life as we know it as not quite right, that longs for things to be made perfect.  God put that in us, but it's all too easy to let it work itself out in an unspoken standard of perfection in the here and now.  We long for a easy commute, delicious meals each night, clothes that clean and fold themselves, cars that never break down, simple fixes, quick solutions... and even amiable, languid cats.

But we're not promised that life here; it may not come for another 10,000 years.  In the meantime, I find some encouragement that each of these "hardships" points us in a way to a time when the longing in us and all of creation will be fulfilled.  Even then however, it won't be our own control that takes over - thank heaven!

So Dr. George, thanks for the lesson.  I'll see you in the morning.

March 07, 2011

House on a Mountain

I love Ingrid Michaelson's song "You and I."

I'm a sucker for simple melodies, unassuming vocals, clever lyric, and duets that remind me of Jo and I.  That's the beauty of a universal love song I suppose, just about anyone could think it's been written for them.  Over the last few weeks though, Jo and I began to have a special attachment to this song as we quite nearly bought a "house on a mountain, making everybody look like ants..."  When I say nearly, I mean to say that we were under contract, and even paid the $400 for an inspection.

(darling)

I've never even come close to buying a home before, so this was quite a leap.  We found it on our own, driving around one day - that to say, we weren't really in the market or looking.  It was a quaint cottage nestled on a corner lot up the hill in Palmer Lake, and when I call it cozy, I mean it - 560 square feet of cozy.  It was the cheapest home in the neighborhood, and in truly great condition for a home built in 64'.  Looking into the sky on a third of an acre, with a steal of an asking price, killer interest rate, great broker, lender and even seller - everything seemed too good to be true...  In a way.

I have to admit, there's something in a respectable man (something I hope I'm becoming more of) that starts clicking into place when he gets married, and then rolls into high gear when he is becoming a Father.  It's this weird, protective, providing instinct that begins to take over his waking mind.  There began to be something in me that wanted this place for its privacy, security and dependability.  There was another piece that swelled in my to keep up with the Jones', get started on an investment of some sort, and find a place to 'tend' - to grow and develop by the sweat of my brow.  All the while, I was asking God for direction, for any hint as to what we should do.  Surly he has the corner market on what makes a good decision - looking at time from outside it and being omniscient and all...  But although I prayed, opened myself to hearing his voice, and tried to hold any idea loosely, I got nothing.

A test of faith if you will.

But, all of my instinct about the affair began to blind me to a truth, lurking in the back of my mind.  I had tried to ignore it, thought of ways around it, but still it remained: We couldn't afford to buy the house.

That's a fairly straightforward thing to say to the whole world on your blog, but there it is.  Let me add a caveat: we could have made it happen... maybe.  And this is where I was, yesterday even.  But then, yesterday afternoon we brought my parents into the equation and took them to see it; beautiful view, white trim, quaint town and all.  Gravel crunched under the tires on the dirt roads, and the trees swayed in the breeze as a bite in the air suggested adventure.  They loved it too.

Afterward, at coffee I laid out the logic for buying, and the logic for not buying.  I so appreciated the way my folks talked it out with us.  They didn't say much; they didn't need to.  Jo and I had already considered all the sides, all the possibilities.  Yes, it could have worked, in a very "tighten-your-belt-for-the-next-15-years-and-hope-disaster-doesn't-strike" kind of way... with a few mythical raises, second jobs, and "counted-on gifts" from family, we could have narrowly squeaked by.  But it ended up that God spoke indeed - through wisdom, and through his body.

CS Lewis said that "above all, [God] works on us through each other."  Proverbs 24:6 says it a different way: "Surely you need guidance to wage war, victory is won through many advisers."  There came a time in this debacle that I wanted to just hear from God himself; in the din of opinion it seemed people either widely encouraged us or discouraged us.  Ultimately though God worked through my parents who left us to our decision and supported us along the way.

So Dave Ramsey - eat your heart out.  We've re-arrived at the place of paying off debt, saving for a little addition called "Peanut," and being faithful with what we have and where we are.  In Ingrid's words, what we ended up finding is that we're a little closer to the "don't you worry there my honey, we may not have any money, but we've got our love to pay the bills..."

And I've discovered that's not a bad place to be at all.

February 22, 2011

Independence, Dependency and a Solution

There is this ideal, a lofty goal perhaps, especially in American culture that it's best to go off after high school and make it out in the real world.  It's this unspoken expectation in life that at some point after you graduate you should go off and find yourself.  College degrees, the gold rush, the "unclaimed West," the big city... it's a familiar tale.


You might call this "The American Dream."  I'm reminded of Sinatra's song, New York, "if I can make it there, I can make it anywhere..." and New York is, of all places, a "land of opportunity."  It's a very familiar tale.  16 year old son goes off to the big city to work for a few years with promises to return to the family farm, and doesn't.  He makes it big, and stays.  This has gone from exception to rule, and now to expectation.

But in a way, I think the US in particular has now had a wakeup call.  With a slumped economy, college grads have discovered they have to bust their butts to make it; jobs don't just throw themselves at you anymore and a bachelors degree isn't a ticket to prosperity.  Call it an issue with an entitled generation X if you will; all duped by rich baby boomer parents that they're smart, good looking and that the world is their oyster.

I'm of a different mind.  I tried that make it thing, and didn't quite pull it off.  The first time.  Well, that is, I'm not sure I've really pulled it off the second time (or whichever time this is), either.  But you know, I think that's ok.


From what I know, parents really expected (when they were able) to help their kids out over a long period of time back in the day.  I get the picture that the 'send off' period used to be much longer than the now typical three months in the summer after you graduate high school.  I imagine it used to be closer to 10 years - if not more.  The real surprise is a culture that so greatly values independence at all.  There is something to it - I'll admit.  I remember thinking, the first time my make it plan blew up in my face, "Geez, God help me so I don't end up like George Costanza."

I hope that prayer at least has been answered!

But as I read through a chunk of the Pauline scriptures, I find a different idea being encouraged; a novel approach to life becoming more and more appealing.  America is slowly discovering it through pain - and most certainly sees it as more curse than blessing.  They may call it dependency, but with the right heart - I call it interdependence.

Interdependence that offers a helping hand to someone in need, especially friends and family.  We remember when we were helped.  Interdependence that allows children without much direction the offer of time and support until they find their wings.  We hoped for the same.  Interdependence that hopes for peace in the midst of conflict - for truly we are all in this together.

Anymore, I'm not proud to think of myself as independent.  Yes, generally Jo and I pay for our bills on our own.  Yes, now we can afford to make it on our own, and for the time being have salaries that help us feel like we have it all together.  But we don't.  We need help, not just monetarily but relationally, emotionally, and spiritually.  We've learned to embrace the help we receive with hopes that when the opportunity comes, we can do the same.

Thank God for this interdependent life.


"For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others."
- Romans 12:4-5

"Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ."
- Galatians 6:2 

February 18, 2011

Almost, well - Sometime in August

Friends, the rumors are true.  Joanna and I are expecting a baby!

We're only 12 weeks along at this point, but have been to several OB appointments already.  Nothing quite prepares you to gaze upon the grainy screen, powered by some unknown magic or science, and see what must be your baby - so far only the size of a little lime - sitting it's sack of warm and delicious amniotic fluids.  The heart itself looked like two jellyfish swimming quickly in opposite directions with tentacles tangled up together, pumping blood to our baby - who last time we checked appeared much like a gummy bear.

"Congratulations Sir, you're the Father of a healthy, 7lb bouncing baby gummy bear!"

Instead of posting my own photos of a pregnant sweetie, I'll let her do it, and point you in the right direction.  I'm sure she'll be able to give a more firsthand catalogue of the tale should you be interested.  In the weeks ahead, sometime in early April, we'll be halfway along and get the chance to see more - including the presence or absence of a peculiar appendage that will tell our doctors a certain something about what exactly we can expect to receive in the later parts of August.  We'll be sure to spread the info to friends and family so they may adequately purchase either pink or blue.  That will be an exciting day indeed.

In the meantime, I continue to work within my wife's cravings (read more here), head to the gym when she's inclined to dance the night away, and offer more than the usual number of back rubs, scalp massages, and hugs.  No complaints here.  :)