Awesomely romantic.

This, thanks to TH's recommendation of oomsa.com

What was all the Hot Fuss about? A look back.

I remember it like it was yest'dy: My Chemical Romance was mySpace's poster child, the Brazil's tiny Obvio! was tempting us with petrol savings, and I had a real, paystub-issuing job. The year was 2007, and Arcade Fire's Neon Bible was the talk.

I looked back on the spring this week, by popping in Neon Bible. And what I found intrigued me.

I'm not that good at liking stuff that everybody's liking and telling me that I, too, should wholeheartedly enjoy. It's too much pressure. I back out. That's what happened with this record. I saw the lederhosen and clogs, or whatever they wear, saw the religious angst (which both repelled and attracted me), and saw the hurdy-gurdy on stage, or whatever they play, and thought "okay, I like the deconstruction, but is all that hopelessness really necessary?" or something. I listened just enough to have a qualified opinion, and moved on.

But on further listen, with everyone having moved on to the Motion City Soundtrack, or whatever, my thoughts had changed. For starters, I'm AMAZED, really amazed, at how dated this music sounds. This record absolutely will NOT age well. It sounds like it was made in 1988, and not the cool 1988. I mean like Flock of Seagulls 1998. I was in the gym this week, also, and Tonight, Tonight, Tonight came on, and I thought "Mullet-y Phil actually sounds more relevant than the record Arcade Fire gave us 9 months ago. Is that bizarre or what?" The irony is that AFire's throwback gear and sound would lead you to believe it will transcend the age. But kids, it won't.

I also had an impatience for what I perceive to be Win Butler's mania. He has a desperation about him, and not the kind, like John Baptist's, that you want to follow to Kingdom Come. Win sounds beyond all hope and reconciliation. Like Thom Yorke, I suppose that's a reasonable place to be in our world... but, like Thom Yorke, I just don't want to spend my discretionary time staring at it. Win seems to think that the more rabid he sounds, the more he'll get me to listen. But no. The more I want to marginalize him, is more like it. I do like the artiness of it all, though: I like that AFire exists, and that they do what they do in such unorthodox ways. Speaking of unorthodox, did anybody ever listen to the White Stripes' Icky Thump? Now that was some FUN wheels-off bang.

The other thing that struck me, that I haven't really thought since Wake Up, is how much I like Win's voice. It sounds terrific to me, like a hybrid of David Byrne and James' Tim Booth. I really dig it.

Lastly, I always expect to cheerlead people who want to dismantle religion. But what I find is that, when people are aware enough to want to dismantle it, they're usually clever enough to come up with something else in its place. And that's what they (rightfully) spend their time on, and that's what I usually disagree with. So I'll agree with Win's analysis of the problem, but that's only about 20% of what he has to say. He spends 80% of his time going to Apocalypse and all the terrible mutations, which doesn't help me or attract me. So I'll hug him if I see him--I believe we've been bitten by the same snake--but I might not sign my name to his declarations.

And, if I drive you to the record at all, please spend some time on No Cars Go, a hopeful and exuberant song that Win didn't write. "Women and children! Little babies! Old folks! ...let's go!!!"

On Hearing God's Voice

Making a Difference

Islam in Egypt

I woke up that first night, exhausted and jet-lagged and ready for about 18 hours of sleep, by the loud moans and whines of Muslim prayers. I later learned that there is a system of loudspeakers (situated in the towers of mosques that have to be no more than a mile away from one another) which BLANKETS the nation. Five times a day, the nation is terrorized by the sound of these grunts and whinnys. it's very 1984. And was disconcerting to me that night.

I started to talk to God about it, because it felt weird. "What is this?" I got the mental image of a twisted man, flashlight to chin, telling scary stories around a campfire. He wants the children intimidated and fearful, so that his influence over them will be greater. I became disgusted at that image. Then I started to hear voices. Or, I should say, I began to experience thoughts. Strange, non-Steven thoughts: "You are completely alone here." "You are so far away from Didi; you might never see her again. You certainly can't see her now." "You are unwanted here; you are foreign to this culture and you don't understand it." "You have nothing to give these people and they know you don't belong" etc. Pretty heavy conversation for 4am. I decided to pray against these voices, telling them where to get off and that I wouldn't listen to the garbage triggered by Moaning Prayer Dude.

That had the effect of a peanut against the Hoover Dam.

It felt to be a completely pointless stand. I imagined a gigantic spirit, hunched over the nation, with a slow grin covering his face as it dawned on me that a quick, desperate prayer wouldn't exactly jar this centuries-entrenched beast. I was still agitated, and still anxious. So I just worshipped, and reveled in God's shepherding fatherhood over me. That did bring relief, just focusing on him. I fell back to sleep.

That was my introduction to the spiritual state of Egypt. I later learned:

*the religious spirit, and certainly the spirit of Islam, always attacks the feminine. Women, you see, prophesy to the world about what it's like to be the Bride, the holy Object of God's affections. Through women, we learn how to submit and yet be strong, how to revel in sensitivity, and to explore creativity and the depth of relationship. And the enemy attacks them. I saw even pastors' wives used as pack animals and portable babysitters, and I was ashamed. And those women who wear the full on cover-me-up burkas? The clear message they receive is, "You need to be put away. You are human in shape, but not in position or in expression. You will carry a hole with you and you will reside inside that hole. You are to come out only when commanded to do so." It's terrible, and I'm attributing it to the controlling spirit of religion.


*Egyptian government recognizes officially-sanctioned places of "Christian worship". That is to say, you are allowed to meet in your official building and they'll keep their hands off. But if you get nutso and meet in homes, or in a public, non-sanctioned place, THEY WILL FIND YOU. Fascinating, no? The Egyptian powers that be say, "Have a meeting in a third-party building no problem! But meet in a home and you're TOAST." Why? Are they suggesting that non-institutional meetings are more powerful somehow? Weird. Also interesting is that the Egyptians we met with (all following the laws of the land, w/re: not sharing your faith, only meeting in recognized locales, etc.) reported that there's "really no persecution" in Egypt, save maybe getting passed over for jobs, visa restrictions, etc. Voice of the Martyrs, however, calls Egypt a persecution hotbed, and currently has 21 articles online to back it up. Isn't it weird that the people who follow the evangelism- and community-restricting laws, the ones that confine you to building-based Christianity, don't seem to face those hardships?

*One of the most disturbing things I saw in Egypt was the tattoo that ALL believers wear: it's a cross on their wrists or their hands. They say this helps them know if they're talking to a 'true believer' and can speak freely in public, rather than be guarded and halting in their words. I have many problems and questions with this:
-Could the Holy Spirit tell us with whom we're to speak freely, and with whom we need to be shrewdly silent?
-Is this at all synonymous with Paul's argument that no fleshly marking (like circumcision) could denote God's sons?
-Couldn't a Saul-type, out to destroy the believers, easily get a tattoo and infiltrate the ranks?
-Couldn't a well-wishing person get this tattoo, believe they're now 'marked' as a believer, but never know Jesus?
I know that I don't understand their culture or their background or their society, but boy do I not like this practice.

*At the gates of our retreat center, there were always 2 guards with big guns. This didn't bother me much; lots of guards use guns in South Africa, for instance. We all assumed that the retreat center (which is a Christian-owned business) had hired these guys. We only found out at the end of our stay, though, that these men were actually paid by the police to spy on the goings-on and report them. Ugh. Sinking feeling.

So, what I'm saying it, it's not good. Our believing friends admit that Egyptian culture=Muslim culture, and that constricting snake weaves through the countryside even more deftly than the great Nile, on which the nation was built.

Chew Presents: Literature Corner

HUGE day of Home Maintenance. Getting ready to move Didi into her new home office, and what a job THAT is. But it's meant the streamlining of STUFF, particularly regarding the storage of books in our home--and I love throwing out old crap!! I now have about 250lbs of books in my car. I could not bench press these books. Should I give them to my local library, which I adore? Should I get $17 for the $1800 worth of books from Half Price Books? Dunno, dunno.

I was amazed at some of the junk we've kept on our married/mixed shelves (A Separate Peace? Really? The Collected Works of Smith Wigglesworth? Do I need ALL that?), and I also came across some old friends--books I've not cracked for years. They just got boxed up every 18 months and moved to my new residence. I will now regale you all with a wonderful passage from Thomas Dubay's The Evidential Power of Beauty. I used to kind of be into the philosophical stuff, and I am still into the subject of beauty, as many of you know. Here we go:

Because elegant music is profoundly mysterious, moving, and delightful, it invites special attention... Plato conceived the purpose of music to be the love of beauty. While this comment is an incomplete account of the matter, there is much to be said in its favor. Everyone with a moderate education and a degree of culture recognizes the lofty relationship between the best of classical music and the elevation of the human spirit, not to mention the experience of exquisite delight. Biologist Lewis Thomas made the provocative remark that professional musicologists, for whom he professes "the greatest respect, haven't a ghost of an idea about what music is, or why we make it and cannot be human without it, or even--and this is the telling point--how the human mind makes music on its own before it is written down and played". Thomas adds that "the biologists are no help here, nor the psychologists, nor the physicists, nor the philosophers, wherever they are these days. Nobody can explain it. It is a mystery, and thank goodness for that."

There is no doubt that music is deeply baffling, and that no one can tell us much about the mystery of it, but it is not quite the case that no one can throw some light on its reality and on why its beuty can so thrill the human mind and heart. Yes, any genuine melody is profoundly mysterious. It is a mathematical and yet a flowing reality, appearing and then immediately disappearing--but with lingering effects. It can leave behind a flowing delight, even at times an exaltation. If I may coin a word, it can musify a perceptive listener capable of appreciating its splendor.

Melody and harmony lie at the border of the material and immaterial. On the one hand sound waves are picked up by our sense of hearing, and yet on the other there is in music a strong intellectual and spiritual element, both in the composer and in the listener. Edward Oakes comments that "music is first and above all an ideal reality--as we know from Beethoven's own life, who wrote (and conducted!) his Ninth Symphony when he was completely deaf."

I dig it.

Tales from Joan, Warrior Princess.

yes, there's much more to say about Egypt than tales of gumbo spackle. Quote me on that phrase, by the way.

I will tell you about this woman. her name is Joan. She lives in Seattle. She just happened to be part of this same trip that Peb and I went on. (If you're interested, there was a sort of retreat/conference for a couple of religious organizations and Peb and I both went as teacher/seminar-leader-types.) Joan is not used to joining up with organizations; she believes that the Church is really a network of relationships that spans the globe. She and her friends meet in homes with glad and sincere hearts, break bread and generally yuk it up while sharing about Jesus. She and her husband have felt a pull toward Peru, and have made lots of trips there, establishing some orphanages along the way. [aside: don't you love it when people just GET OUT THERE and execute their calling, not waiting on some organization to bless or anoint their effort? There was no "go establish orphanages in Peru" mailer that came to Joan's house. She just went out there and made it happen.] And she has some TALES FROM PERU, which I'll share with you now. HOLD ONTO YOUR HATS.

*ITEM! Joan was driving in a car on a Peruvian mountain road (they got those Andes out there), when Some Mysterious Force smashed into the car, throwing them off the road and TUMBLING DOWN THE SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN. Yes. Joan's car. Rolling down the mountainside. Joan cries out to God. In the next moment, the car is BACK ON THE ROAD, and they're traveling along, right where they got knocked off. Everybody in the car says "what do YOU think just happened? I thought we just got knocked down the mountain..." There wasn't a scratch on the car. When they arrived at the village, their contact said "we know that you had great trouble in coming here. The LORD has shown us the four evil spirits who camp around our village and make war on us. He showed us that those spirits left their post here to destroy you on your way. They didn't want you to come. But we've been praying for you, and we praise God that you've arrived to us safely."

*ITEM! Joan was diagnosed with a brain tumor 3 days before a trip to Peru. She wouldn't have surgery; she was committed to the trip. She had people helping her, as her balance was shot, half of her body was paralyzed, and her vision was going. She arrived at a new town, meeting a new contact for the first time. A man was greeting everybody, but when he saw Joan, his face lit up. "You're FINALLY HERE!!" Joan goes "um, I don't think I know you." "Yeah, but I know you! Three years ago, God showed you to me in a vision. You were coming to my village in need of healing. I thought God gave me a responsibility through that vision, so I've been praying for you for these last 3 years. And three days ago, God showed me that you were here in my country. We were so excited that all the believers in this village have been praying and fasting for you since then. We can't wait to pray for your healing!" So yep, Joan was completely healed that day. She went on a mountain climb that very day and had more strength and energy than all the locals (of course, they'd been fasting for 3 days)...

*ITEM! Joan was at a meeting of the church (which she understands to be a network of relationships that spans the globe) in a Peruvian village when she and her team just thought that God was there and wanted to heal people that night. So they just invited anybody who wanted to come forward to come receive. A little girl with a cleft palette came up in faith, hoping God would heal her. They laid their hands on this girl and prayed and, according to Joan, THE GIRL'S FACE WAS RESHAPED BEFORE THEIR VERY EYES. "Okay," they thought to themselves, "God really IS in the house and wants to help people." So they said again, "Anybody that wants healing should come right up here where we are. We believe that God is willing to heal anybody that will ask..." Just then [get ready for it] a dog walked in the room from outside, and walked right up to the team. It was a 3-legged dog. It just waited at their feet.



























Okay, you tell me what you do in that situation.



























The team looks at one another and says, "Why can't we lay hands on this dog? God likes all kinds of healing, right?" So they do. And... I know it's nuts, but... THE DOG GROWS A FOURTH LEG. Then it trots back out the door.

These are Joan's stories. Peb, tell these gentlemen that this is, indeed, accurate to the stories Joan told us at the tikka cafe. Go on, Peb, tell em.

Quick Hits

From the field of travel.

As some of you know, I recently visited Egypt. Here are some QUICK HITS from the journey:

*Nope, nothing tastes as bad as complimentary airline toothpaste. It IS commendable, though, to think that these people never looked into any products currently on the market as a reference point. Completely blank canvas. To start with absolutely nothing, and come up with this (while nowhere near the quality of experience that one of the "big brands" can give you) is pretty remarkable. Better than I could've done.

*If everybody on my transatlantic flights spent as much time in the bathroom as I do (~45 min per 8 hrs), and there were enough bathrooms to accommodate them, there'd be room for roughly 34 seats in here. I use EVERY product and facility in there. I try to MAXIMIZE my time in there. It's the roomiest place on the plane!

*When you smell so terrible that I earnestly try working up a fart to IMPROVE the air quality, you really, really stink.

*When I look up from my seat in horror, expecting to be confronted with a post-workout groin or some other mildewed organic concoction, but only see you pacing the aisle... then I watch you all the way back down the aisle just to watch similar expressions on other passengers' faces (which, admittedly, is therapeutic)... again, too stinky.

*Not only did I deeply appreciate Michael Moore's "Sicko" (an expose on health coverage of the west), I actually teared up. Twice.

*I found the Simpsons movie to be LESS entertaining than any half hour episode I've seen. Surprising.

*Tranformers. My heavens. Transformers. BOLDLY galloping out into title contention for Worst Film Ever Devised. What the heck was that thing? Since when do robots sound like demons? Are all military and/or bad guys morons?

*Harry Potter movie. I could see the symbolism that Jiff raved about (Smiling, institutional rule-wonk squelches out life, joy, power from those who're supposed to benefit), but I can't get past all the sorcery and witchcraft. I know that makes me un-post-modern. Sorry. I don't do that Potter kid. And from a creativity standpoint, are you telling me that Rowling couldn't have been more original and given us a new world, instead of going with the standby of witches and warlocks, brooksticks and spell wands? Really? She did some innovate things, granted, but why not just invent a whole new vocabulary? it worked pretty well for Tolkien and George Lucas, as I recall (but I guess she's been fairly successful here, too).

*Man, does ESPN Magazine have the formula cracked for informative/humorous/entertaining sports coverage. Having grown up with "Sports is Real. Important. Stately. American." coverage by the Sporting News and, to a lesser degree, Sports Illustrated, I appreciate the light touch. A LOT. I mean, why can't everything be like that? Couldn't politicians, anchormen, preachers, and professors ingratiate themselves to us all with a little more mirth and self-parody mixed in with all their gravitas?

*Speaking of which, I made a VERY rare stop by SNL last week and caught NBC's Brian Williams' episode. I genuinely dislike this man (for being a news anchor. His smugness repels me into the lake), but that show was funny! Serendipity!

*The #1 thing that bothers me about sparrows is that they're so often seen with their mouths open, looking all terrible and intense. I don't like that; that is a freaky look. Shut your mouths, sparrows. [#2 bother: Sparrows killed my mother.]

*Whenever you're around missionaries or mission trip junkies, they always want to brag about how many countries they've visited. They always find a way to mention that INCREDIBLE meal in Tajikistan or that FASCINATING custom in Laos. I always want to interrupt and just ask, "Should we all just whip them out here and compare body parts? I mean, really, let's just cut to the chase..." but I do not. Churchmen are uncomfortable about penis talk, generally speaking. Quote me.

*I trust that the studies and reports and journals and scientists have some merit (I'm just going to concede that one), and that sitting on public toilets IS a sort of germy suicide, but NOTHING could make me feel nastier than using those tissue-paper seat covers. Which I tried out. YEEECCCK. Nasty.

*But not as nasty as what I left behind, kids! I HAVE NEVER SEEN NOR HEARD OF ANYBODY LEAVING BEHIND WHAT I DID ON FLIGHT 441 FROM FRANKFORT TO CHICAGO. I flushed 4 or 5 times, but all that happened was that the water made a channel through that unholy mound of gumbo spackle. What could I do? I could push the "call attendant" button, but that would only embarrass us both. So after using all the products in the lavatory (Moisturizer- check! Facial mist- check!), I boldly walked away from my slop, winking at the middle eastern man waiting outside. I am not proud of this move (okay, a little), but I was out of options. I also hasten to mention that our breakfasts in Egypt consisted mainly of oiled red beans.


More about this trip real, real soon.

Cavalcade of Star

I think parades are bizarre. Although they happen in various forms around the world, they seem a uniquely American tradition ("Hey OTHER PEOPLE--look at me!!"), and appeal to the voyeuristic, spectacle-loving patriot in all of us. "If you enjoyed the film Pearl Harbor, you'll love our parade!" Weird. I try to attend Ft. Thomas, KY's 4th of July parade because it's quaint and Americana, even if I want to stomp those Shriners when they come by in their innocuous-looking little cars, throwing candy to children. "Keep your Tootsie Rolls, old man. My kids won't be coming over the dark side anytime soon..."



The only thing more stagnant than an actual parade, though, is a TELEVISED parade. I was eating my kibble this Thanksmorn and was shocked to find that the Macy's Parade is still happening. What? Boy, nothing says 2007 like marching bands and gigantic inflatable elves, am I right? And am I to assume that people will sit through this broadcast, just to wait for the Felix the Cat float or the Santaman on his golden throne? Well, I guess **I** did... when I was 8.

Stranger still is continuing to see Hanna Storm on these national broadcasts. I think she has a gig on a morning program now, but this is the same ambitious woman who did the courtside beat for the Rockets in the 80s on our local affiliate. [By the way, Ronnie, I'm old enough to remember when Channel 20 was the 'new kid' in Houston. When I was a young pup there was channel 2 (NBC), 11 & 13 (ABC/CBS, can't ever tell the difference), 8 (PBS-nothing there for a youngster back in the day), and 49, KHOU-TV. And that was it. IT. When Nickelodeon came to town, with Moose and their green slime, it was a crazy revelation from Canada. Canada!! Before that, it was Bill Worrell and Hanna Storm courtside at channel 20.] She's done a lot more high profile gigs, but today she's doing the Macy's Parade, of all things. Well, congratulations (I guess) Hanna. You made it, girl.


And as the checkout guy at Meijer said last night, "Merry Thanksgiving, Ya'll."

Why not.

Time to Learn a Lesson

There have been many people I love, and there are some now, whose lives have worked into a pattern of disobedience or sin or repetitive pain, for themselves and for those who love them. Maybe we have a tough conversation with them, we pray for them, and we tell them outright that what's happening isn't good for them, isn't honoring to God, and isn't, as best we can see it, "the way it's supposed to be." That is a tough spot. I think "I love this guy, but man he's making it difficult..." or what have you (or such as). I'm not saying I've never been the object of someone ELSE's prayers and concerns, I'm just saying I've been in this position a lot, and increasingly over the last months.

Our tendency in these situations, after we've endured what we feel to be an acceptable length of time in prayer and travail, is to throw up our hands, spiritually speaking. We throw in the towel, and that often sounds like this: Well, God's Just Going To Have To BREAK THEM I Guess. We say, God will have to bend them over his knee and spank them until they cry out in humiliated terror and decide to do anything he says (which mysteriously lines up perfectly with what we think they should do). I have said this many times, I have heard this from other people, and I have prayed this for many people in the past (God forgive me). We say something to the tune of "unfortunately, they have crossed a line here. Now they're going to have to Learn a Lesson. Oh well... Go ahead and slap them around, God..."

But if the goal in these situations is for people to repent (and I'll just go ahead and say that IT IS), God's slamming you into the dirt is not the best way to get there (there's a tip in here for married people and parents, too). There is a way to be led that is gentle and strong, not with waffling or mealy-mouthiness, but with compassion and grace. I believe the Bible shows us that God's intention is not to give us a hard line then smack us when we try his patience, as if that will produce loving allegiance (far from it! That tack, as evidenced by the religious system, produces resentment and bitterness and a twisting of the soul). The Bible shows us that God's methodology for engendering repentance is--surprise surprise--love. To wit:

"First we were loved. THEN we loved. He loved us FIRST." I John 4:19

"When sin increased, GRACE increased all the more." Romans 5:20

and the show-stopper on this topic:

...do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, tolerance and patience, not realizing that God's kindness leads you toward repentance? -Romans 2:4

Wow, okay. So the avenue toward true repentance is love? Not spankings or punishment? But that's what RELIGION taught me was the best way! But, wait. I guess, as I look back on all my friends that didn't go on in their faith, that that really didn't work out so good. And I guess it is true that all of us gravitate toward wherever we feel the most love in our lives, not necessarily toward what we feel is the most Right. So yeah, that love stuff is a pretty effective magnet, huh? And as somebody gets a good draught of God's perfect, totally-satisfying love, all the false loves and broken wells kind of start to fade, don't they? Okay, I can get that.

So let me just encourage you today, for all your sinful friends and relatives, that you not give up on them, and just love them where they are. This will break YOU, as you mourn for them, and bear the burden of their victimization by the enemy, but love never fails. It will produce grace in you and will be hope for them. God's kindness leads you to repentance.

Same Guy!

Get Ready for Funtime!

See this bad boy? Roger and Linda have something like this (not sure it's this large), and it's about to cart me and Didi on the highways (and byways!) of America's autumn. Does spending 9 days with your wife and parents in an 8'x25' space sound like fun to you? It does to me!

What will be great is that, knowing my dad, we'll stop at every flea market and tomato stand that looks half-interesting, as well as hitting the planned places (Jack Nichlaus museum @ OSU, NFL Hall of Fame, Gettysburg Battlefield). I love that we could be sitting down playing Mexican Train, then 5 minutes later be looking at the birthplace of Eli Whitney or somesuch. or such as.

Anyhow, talk among yourselves for a while, because after that, I go diRECly to Egypt for a conference. I'll be back in the saddle Nov 15. Till then, happy halloween, cowboys, and when you see the red and yellow leaves blow over the asphalt, think of the Kid, out there on the road somewhere, eating a fried pie.

This woman is consternated at the warm deliciousness of her pastries. She is, however, a Cowboys fan, so there's that.

Introducing Our First Guest Poster... Jiff!

Jif worked for Second Church Place Cityname for 2 1/2 years. He was
asked to come in and start up a Funky Brand Worship Service that would
reach out to people who have decided that Traditional Brand Worship
Services just don't appeal to them. He was given money and limited
resources to do so. And, so he did.

But, his relationship with Mr. Management was rocky from the start.
Mr. Management loved (LOVED) to control. Nothing slipped through Mr.
Management's hands, without him placing fingerprints all over it. So,
if Jif made a decision, Mr. Management scrutinized it, and then
printed out 3 page lists of things to fix.

(Keep in mind Mr. Management had tried running a similar service a few
years prior, on his own, and no one came.)

Jif and Mr. Management butted heads, often. Jif was told to "push
back" when he disagreed with what he was being told. When Jif did, he
was "frozen out" (a common term used around Second Church Place
Cityname describing this phenomenon) and referred to as "not a team
player." This wore on Jif, bigtime.

The final pinch points came as Second Church Place Cityname started
telling Jif that the people who came to the Funky Service he ran
needed to be more "Second Church Place Cityname"-type people ---
coming to the various functions, becoming members, "serving the
church," and tithing. This was all pretty crazy to Jif, because he
knew the folks who came to Second Church Place Cityname were either a)
already doing lots ot make Second Church Place Cityname run (i.e.
volunteering in the youth program, or they were on staff with Second
Church Place Cityname) or b) so burned, in their past, by being used
to make the Big Machine Run that they were just plain not interested.

These folks wanted God. But they didn't want "His" institution. They
just liked coming to sing, hear some talking, and then going out and
living it out.

After consistently terrible annual reviews, Jif knew that the fit was
terrible. But, he wanted to wait to hear God say, "NOW, get out."
But, He didn't get that message. Kept waiting, but no message.

His immediate boss (Mr. Jr. Management) kept after Jif, telling him
how bad a fit the whole thing was. He was pretty explicit saying Jif
wasn't the guy for the job. Jif told Mr. Jr. Management, "Just tell
me what to do, and I'll do it," and Mr. Jr. Management did, and Jif
did it, and a couple weeks later Mr. Jr. Management would come back
and say (again) what a bad fit Jif was.

Finally, a week ago Monday, Jif was at a committee meeting that he had
to be at. Someone there was from the People Who Work at Second Church
Place Cityname Oversight Committee and said that they had big goings
on at their next meeting. Something in Jif said, "I wonder if that's
about me? About firing me?" Jif tried to blow it off, but to no
avail.

Jif set up a meeting with Mr. Jr. Management for two days later.

Two days later, Jif went into Mr. Jr. Management's office. He said,
"Am I being paranoid? I heard She-She from the People Who Work at
Second Church Place Cityname Oversight Committee say that big things
are going on soon and, well, am I going to come in and find out I'm
fired next week? I'm wrong, right?"

(Long silence from Mr. Jr. Management.) Then, "Yeah, probably."

Then, Jif and Mr. Jr. Management went at it. Jif was upset that Mr.
Jr. Management had not telegraphed him the FIRING was possible. But,
after seeing that conveying how strange that was to Mr. Jr. Management
was about as likely as pissing all the way up a rope, Jif relented.

Then, a weird peace came over Jif.

Jif got 3 months severance (for choosing "resignation" rather than "firing").

Originally, Jif was supposed to just slip out and not really say
anything -- to be moved out of his office in a day and a half.

But, then, Mr. Jr. Management came back and said, "Why don't you speak
at Funky Service on Sunday night and you can do your last hurrah and
tell people that you and your wife are just heading in a new
direction."

So, Jif did that. And it all came to a close.

WHAT JIF LEARNED...

These institution places EXIST TO EXIST. They love to get people
involved so that they can get the people to service the insitution.
"How else are we supposed to run?!" they scream, when you question
that philosophy.

The tail wags the dog.

Ezekiel 34 talks about people using the sheep to accomplish their purposes.

That sums up the Insitution to Jif.

Jif feels a spiritual release. Jif feels like something is "off" of
him. Jif thinks that, because he had chosen to submit to something
bad-otherworldly, he was under constant peck-peck-pecking by something
Bad. Once Jif said, "I'm out," he felt free.

Really free.

Strangely free.

So, now Jif is unemployed, but he really thinks that it's easier (less
taxing and unencumbering) to function in the Kingdom outside the
Institution Machine than inside it.


An addendum... a friend of mine works for a Popular Youth-Oriented
Ministry Machine that helped lots of people came to know the Lord in
high school. She, though, works for that Popular Youth-Oriented
Ministry Machine's "college ministry" branch. It's a great outfit --
they basically help disciple college kids who ain't interested in the
Institution Machine, but have some familiarity with this Popular
Youth-Oriented Ministry Machine brand.

But, here's the rub... she says from September to December, her job is
a dream. Disciple, love on, and lead college students. But, then...

The Spring brings an Institution Crush. She's told (explicitly), "You
know that Popular Youth-Oriented Ministry Machine's main focus is high
school kids. And, so, we need you to take those college kids you've
been working on from September through December, and turn them into
leaders for Popular Youth-Oriented Ministry Machine for next school
year. You've got one semester. And we're all counting on you. GO!"

And this woman finds that, in the spring, she hates her job because
her authentic and deep relationships with college students has turned
into a sales ploy. Bait and switch. "You've received from us... now
what can you DO for us?"

And that's how the Institution Machine operates.

Dat's de shiz

If you read deep into the comments of the last post, you saw that Ben and I spent time with and prayed with a guy late into last night at my pad. Well, here's his account of the whole deal. I thought it was quite provocative and, depending on your stance, pretty inspiring...

--------

I grew up in a small Baptist community. I never accepted the concept of "gifts of the Spirit" or gave credit to people's experiences with God (outside of the Bible and prayer). In college, I came to a point where I believed God has the ability to do what he wants (give dreams, tongues, visions etc.) but still was doubtful. Lately, I've come to believe that God truly works through these…gifts. I now want to tell you about a dream, a horrible night and an experience that broke me wide open.

Sometime last spring or early this summer I had a vision. I was lying in bed and felt I was between sleep and consciousness. I tried to breathe, but my mouth was shut. I couldn’t open my mouth; I struggled to breathe. Suddenly, I saw God come down in front of me. He put his lips on mine and blew into my mouth. I immediately was filled with breath. I gasped and breathed. I woke up.

For the last 2 weeks I would be alternately emotionlly high, then crashing. It wasn't drugs, but the drug of self-fulfillment. There's a lot of stuff I found freedom from by self-gratification, (anything to take my mind off life, anything to distract, anything to give me a rush.) and self-mutilation. (Pain has always given me an endorphin rush) –

I take 3 pills a day for depression and yesterday I took 5. I believe the crash of the medicine and the lack of being able to find comfort in the things I tried to find solace in threw me into my darkest hour to date. I stayed late after work. I was supposed to go to my friend Chris’ house, but didn’t want to bring my terrible state on him. I finally chose to go see him as he is, after all, a friend. During the 20-minute drive to Chris’ house, I cut myself up and down my arm. I got to Chris’ and made a desperation call (because I realized I was out of control and couldn’t stop) to Ben, who offered to pick me up. I said no. He said he wanted to call Steven and meet as a group. I said to call Steven and hung up. I let Chris in on a little and Chris prayed for me... later, I made it to Ben’s house and started crying with him. I was completely at the end of my rope. We drove to Steven’s house and was greeted by a caring but strangely-cheery Steven.

After much struggle (and irrational conversation on my part), Ben and Steven started talking about being baptized in the Holy Spirit. I fought my religious background and desperately held on to my one experience with having a vision and seeing a power that was beyond me. Ben talked a lot about Peace. I wanted that. I've wanted that for 28 years. I knew Jesus as my Savior but never knew peace through the authority given in the Holy Spirit. Steven told of his experience being baptized in the Spirit. His attitude was, "Why not? If I can have more of Jesus then I want it." That triggered my desire to give in. I wanted that. I'll give it a try. I was scared. Weirded out. I was desperate. Then God started to work.

As Steven talked, I got anxious because I didn’t want to listen…I wanted to ask for forgiveness, be done with my past, and do this on my own, in my strength (like I always have). But, at this point, there was no more me: I was at the end of my physical life and my spiritual life. I wanted to restart, I wanted to be filled with 100% Jesus and his authority and this was perfect because there was nothing left of me at this point. I layed down on the floor and spread out in a posture of nothingness. I prayed for forgiveness. Then I forced the words to come out and asked for what I didn’t have but wanted. “I want your Spirit.” You have to realize, I’m not too rational at this point, because I'm literally crying out to God. I was, however, able to wonder what would happen. I kept praying. Ben started praying in tongues. (sounded like Hebrew to me) The guys had their hands on me and Steven had his hand on my back. [2 days earlier my wife scratched my back and, suddenly, I felt her hand kind of turn into the hand that wrote on Nebuchadnezzar’s wall. I figured it was God but resisted. My irrational self resisted God and ignored it.] Suddenly it felt like Steven became detached from his hand and the hand on my lower back was God’s hands. The hand of God was on me, that's all I can say. At this point, I realized that God was showing me something so I fell into…the Spirit. This time I let God touch me. (I guess, basically, I just went with it and tried just to be aware and present.) I tell Ben and Steven about the hand. Ben and Steven then start praying in tongues…it gets crazy, weird here! When they prayed in tongues, I saw two creatures at their sides. I was scared. I felt like throwing up. I was really scared. Ben’s hands felt like they were poking me. The 2 creatures were accusing my innermost soul. (The creature to Steven’s side took on the white aspect of his sweatshirt. It looked more like a scorpion. Ben’s guy took on the black aspect of his shirt and looked more like a spider/crab.) I was so scared. I told the guys there was warfare to my sides and God’s hand was on my back…and soon Steven was singing Psalm 23. Like exhaling, peace fell over me. When I started I didn’t know how this would end but the peace was clear. What can I say... the demons were gone. I stood up and it felt natural to say that it was over. It was clear. Steven played some worship songs, we sang, I sat there stunned. Then ben took me home.

Dora (who had been upstairs the whole time) later told Steven that she swore she heard the front door open and shut while we were singing. Scott later interpreted that as the accusing demons leaving. So long sucka’s.

yeah, crazy. Awesome. If you think this is weird, that is ok. I even think it sounds crazy. This isn’t everyday but if you think God doesn’t move like this I would suggest getting on your stomach, having no expectations, and crying out to God to show himself to you.

If you didn't know already, I'm OUT

Gotta say no to that Christianity.

Once again, I recently heard Jesus described as the "founder of Christianity." Really? Does that most reliable of texts, the Bible, really back that up? Jesus did say that he would build his church, but can we really look at the Biblical definitions of his church and even stretch our minds into believing that what he came to establish was the mutibillion-dollar industry that squats over the West on its gigantic, self-righteous haunches and calls itself the Kingdom of God? Really? We're talking about the Jesus who hung out with hookers and talked about drinking blood and one kernel of wheat dying and being the slave of the whole world? The guy who didn't really own anything? The guy who had a grand total of about 15 people who believed in him after 3+ years of teaching and doing miracles? That guy?

My pal Sam told me this morning that he grew up in a Christian church. I didn't understand what he meant, until he told me that there's an actual denomination called the Christian Church. Oh okay. Awesome. So "we're THE Christian Church" would be a totally common statement around those parts. No problem. Just like I went to an elemenary school that was Church of Christ. Oh, so YOU guys are THE Church of Christ. Wow, bold claim. Except, what about the Christian Church? Who's right? If you're both what you claim to be, shouldn't you be... the same organization? "Oh no, we don't believe what those bastards believe. They believe in post-trib, TULIP, one-baptism, transubstantiation. They are perverted idiots. We believe in pre-trib, Armenian, 3-baptism, dispensationalism." And for their calling the bride of Christ a slut, I want to beat them with a nail-studded 2x4. And on the other hand, I just want to walk away. (And on the other hand, i want to love them and forgive them, but that is sometimes a tiny, palsied hand, like Paul Reubens had in that hilarious 30 Rock episode.)

The great Allen Stickney, in one of our first conversations, told me "you know what the greatest enemy to the spread of gospel is, at least in America? The little red brick church-house on the corner." That challenged me at the time, but it's fairly difficult to refute. That group of organizations (there are over 30,000 denominations, if you didn't know, and the very fact that we have a word -denomination- for the institutionalization of our bitterness and arrogance is offensive in itself), if we judge them as a whole, has done no more practical loving of the world and healing of God's children that the rotary club or (gulp) the Masons. That's a sick thing to say, but there it is. We know of more people hurt by their involvement with these organizations that we've EVER known to have been led to Jesus by them. We have a friend who was raped on church property by her minister as an adolescent. We have friends who've been rejected and emotionally blackmailed by being employees of these organizations. We have friends (and I would include myself in this group) who're STILL trying to get over the mind-jobbing their religious education produced in them, toward God and their fellow man. Did you know that the Catholic church (one of my favorite man-worshipping, magic-practicing, Jesus-demeaning, power-craving demoninations) has admitted to killing over 25 million people through history for what they thought were heresies and "crimes against the church"? (And by 'church' they mean, of course, themselves.) AND that that number is miniscule compared to reality, as over 3/4 of all Catholic records have been lost? And what of the Christian publishing and entertainment empires? Is there anything even remotely comparable in the Hindu or Muslim worlds? It's like Rosemary's baby: What IS that thing? It's 'Christian'? "Of Christ"? HOW, exactly? Oh, all the profits go the the poor? Oh, okay, well that makes some... oh, the profits go into the stage outfits and the grade of tile in the agents' bathrooms, and the LED screen on the producer's refrigerator? Well, gee, that's different, then...

I was in a religious building this past weekend (admittedly, creepy) in which they'd fabricated these ornate colored glass window renditions of Bibley scenes (David with sheep, Jesus putting his hands on somebody's eyes, the disciples listening to Jesus -who was lily white, by the way). [You know, there's that one commandment that Moses brought down from Sinai, that God wrote onto a piece of rock wth his own finger, about having no graven images... but who cares about those old laws, right? Let's forget about that for the minute and just let that slide for now...] Well, right beside these Bibley images, there were pictures of Bible subjects doing things that are never talked about in the Bible! Mary creating the world? Wait, that doesn't seem right... Jesus standing on TOP of planet earth with a peace sign? What is that, exactly? Peter receiving a literal key from Jesus (did that happen?) and then wearing a huge hat and holding a weird staff in his hand? Where's our record of that? Then there's the All-Seeing Eye of the Illuminati incorporated into this confusing religious stew. What is this, anyway? And what must people have thought who couldn't read, and this was their only access to the scriptures, this pictures (the organization made sure of that, you know, by not having the Bible in a known language)? The organizational, institutional history of this religion called Christianity, that jesus had NOTHING to do with, is perverse and blood-stained and stands in direct opposition to Jesus' words about love, forgiveness, unity, and lowliness.

Now, what do i do with that?

Mitt Romney's wife, Ann, is very articulate and likable. She parrots the Mormon maxim that "polygamy is part of our past, it hasn't been around for 120 years" or whatever. Though we know that statement to be false by doing nothing more than reading the newspaper, let's take it at face value. I would say to Ann "YOUR RELIGION WAS FOUNDED ON THIS PREMISE. YOUR FOUNDER WAS A POLYGAMIST. You can redact his words all you want, you can change your practice of the religion that he made up, but THAT'S YOUR RELIGION, AT ITS CORE. YOU are the oddball, historically; the Mormon polygamist is NOT. YOU'RE DOING YOUR RELIGION WRONG IF YOU'RE NOT INTO POLYGAMY." So it's fallen, it's corrupt. PERIOD. There's no persuading me otherwise.

Likewise, the religion called Christianity is superduperscrewedup. The shafts of light that have escaped its vortex have been more from men who've quietly rebelled against its trappings than those who've been a party to them. Anybody with a 'church' background knows that instictively. Sam told me that, in high school, he loved sharing his faith and being a source of love to his unbelieving friends but, in spite of his 'youth minister''s guilt-laced prodding, "I didn't want to take them to my [organizational meetings]. I didn't think it would help them along in their faith or help them know Jesus more." And here we are at one of the base problems with the system we see:

Introducing people to Jesus is not a viable profit center.

So good luck or whatever, Christianity. You borrow the equity of Jesus' good name (as much of it as is left, anyway, after your filthy fingerprints have marred his image to the world) and think of yourselves as the bastion of his words and values, while opposing them with your actions at every turn. And, you know, we do need Jesus... We just don't need you. You're like an old cocoon that the butterfly couldn't wait to jettison. I guess you'll go on doing what you're doing, because the flesh of man is always going to be open to shrewd marketing, but I've tasted the good stuff. You can blow up your cheeks and you can stick out your chest, but you're not going to fool me. You're pathetic and corrupt, just like the Mormons, or maybe worse, I don't know.

Whatever. I am NOT a Christian. I just follow Jesus. Christianity?-- out.

Low Rider

It's a festival of new hair! All you dudes are invited!

Same Guy!

We Need More Of This Downtown!

Took this photo this morning; it's city council time around here. But... I'm not even going to take a stab at pronouncing this name, nor am I going to make any jokes about it. As Jef said on our visit to Lake Mead, "insert your own dam joke."

Somebody's Gonna Be Popping Proper Soon

StinkoManuel!

You can't read it, but I cut and pasted my way to glory on HamStray! Don't worry about the not reading part, it's not really funny. More odd.

Having Said That

I can't TELL you how pleased I am at my new purchase from ebay: the Air Jordan II. I was never in a position to acquire these shoes when they were released back in... wait for it... 1986. '86!! I was in 8th grade. Anyway, I need some shoes and I have the wherewithal to procure these now... slightly used, anyway. If the thought of wearing used basketball shoes grosses you out, well, I don't know what to tell you, execpt that you obviously didn't think of Jordan the way I did when you were 14.

Money!

When Cool Dies, What Happens?

I’ve written recently about the subject of fame and cool, and how that temptation plagues the current-events-conscious American. It’s just part of our lives. Cool means that I don’t volunteer reasons for you to not like me, and that I stay up on the trends, so that people who’re into judging cool might also approve of me. Of course, being deemed Acceptable by a human court is still having been judged by them, and the same poison gets into you whether you were condemned or affirmed. Either way, it’s a fallen, demonic system.

I made a trip to San Diego a couple of weeks ago, and stories were recounted to me of the Jesus Movement and guys like Lonnie Frisbee. That generation, at that time in history, was like nothing we’ve ever seen. HOARDES of people would congregate at a beach then, moved by a speech, all be baptized. Entire groups of people got knocked over by unseen winds that they regarded at the Spirit of God, and everyone “felt God’s presence”. I’m not here to say what any of that means, I just know that these people were, if I may paint with a sidewalk-sized brush, NOT cool. They wore their hearts on their sleeves (and many of them still do); they weren’t trying to massage anything for P.R. purposes. They didn’t look like the airbrushed ads of the time; they were OUT OF STEP with culture. They made silly jokes (have you heard any recordings from that time? For that matter, have you heard Jason Upton speak extemporaneously?), wept in public, and were just plain Ready To Believe. Let me put an even finer point on it: they were more gullible than we are. We Know What We Believe, and have it all figured out. They were living on a wing and a prayer. We Strategize, and they looked like they were flung to and fro by the wind. They were even, and watch out now, because it’s gonna get tense… cheesy. They were cheesy. They had cheesy clothes and cheesy hair and cheesy music and cheesy statements about a cheesy, simply belief in God and the Bible and the Eternal Truth of it all. I mean, come on. They act(ed) like they didn’t even know there was a standard of cool. What are you, stupid?

I have a friend who grew up on a hippy commune in Canada (defectors), and Damien is one of the most pun-ready goobs I know. He could possibly compete with Totila in this area. But MAN is he easy to talk to and be with (again, Totila). No judgments from Damien. No quick evaluations and summaries from him. Nope: though he’s a believer, Damien asks (aloud, in groups) some of the most basic, problematic questions (Why don’t people get healed when we pray for them? IS God playing hard to get, at least sometimes?)... and actually waits for the discussion to ensue. Interesting guy. Damien, for what it’s worth, is the manager at a Red Squirrel, which is a diner downtown. He’s incredibly intelligent and articulate, and socializes with corporate brass, but he’s really into serving people, and putting good food on their tables is a really gratifying way for him to do that. Now where did that ethic come from? The commune? I dunno; his sister’s in marketing for some huge corporation. But I see things in Damien that remind me of the Jesus Movement—and I like it.

Maybe the last vestiges of the religious spirit’s pummeling of me are 1) that enduring nag to act in such a way that I feel I justify myself before God, and 2) the reflex to judge/evaluate/criticize. I think a little less Beck irony/self-awareness and a little more Keith Green openness and cheese would be a good prescription, at least for me.

Ps- I know that there was definitely a 'look' for those people, but I never see judgment from these people for anybody who looks different (even people who're branded or buttoned-down). That's all I'm saying.
AND I know that there were plenty of problems with all that stuff. But I'm not talking about that. I'm just talking about cool and cheese. Keith Green once yelled at the devil for being a 'creep' in a recording. Wow. Not cool.

Come Clean, Soaps of the World!

Worst smelling hand soap?

Dial is unacceptable because it smells mildewed and old. It seems like it should be in an underfunded elementary school's BOYS room. Or something wildcatters use to cut through the oil and grease on their hands. I don't need this. I'm a creative; I'm white collar. I want to enjoy cleansing.


Best smelling hand soap?

Jergans is wonderful because it smells like almond extract. If there was a Jergans cake I would eat it without icing. And it's so rich and lathery! COME ON!

I didn't ask which soaps are aimed at my demographic, and I didn't ask which soaps are cool. I'm going for scent and enjoyment in the hand wash, that is all. Not cool packagaing (which isn't lost on me, by the way), not hip ads or marketing. And if you have Dial in your home right now, I am sorry.

The Thousand Acre Goods!

Have I talked about my Pooh Theory before? I hope not.

I love Pooh and have a theory dating back to 1996: I think that AA Milne was trying to portray the world's people groups and their travails at living together. To wit:

Pooh, the happy Latino: he naps, he bums food to fill his chubby tummy, he's harmless.
Piglet, the nervous Asian: he frets, his insecurity leads to overwork and, because of his size, he only feels comfortable when surrounded by friends.
Eeyore, the sullen Slav: he's big and slow and depressing. All he needs is a kerchief.
Rabbit, the frantic Jew: he strains at amassing goods, demands control, and doesn't trust his friends.
Owl, the pompous westerner: thinks he knows everything, thinks the English language belongs to him, and doesn't help worth a crap.
Tigger, the thoughtless African: he's silly and loves dancing and joking and pranks. Outrageously athletic.
Kanga, the confident Australian: she doesn't seem to want a husband. She's helpful and positive and doesn't wear a bra.

These groups (horrible, horrible stereotypes here, I know. But if I don't tell the truth about what Milne purposed, who will?) try to get along in a cosmic struggle (1000 nations, more like), and do their darndest to solve problems, create together, meet one another's needs, etc. They do so-so. But they really don't know too much about the real world. Their logic is flawed, and their character is questionable. Who do they call on when they're completely flummoxed? Who is the one who comes from OUTSIDE THEIR WORLD and steps in like a god-man to confidently, but with sympathy, set things aright? Is it not CHRISTopher Robin, he of the smock and patent sandals? It is.

I tell you, as sure as Milne was a repressed Englishman, he wrote the tales of the tribes of our globe into his son's fantasies, as sordid and laughable as they all are. And he taught us that in Christ(opher) is all the help we need.

Who's with me on this theory? Eh?

Christ, appealing to the scriptures, just like you thought he would. That's an acronym for Jesus Animated is Me.

Let Me Show You My Package

Eat it up, fans. This is a joke we made about 3 years ago.

In this city sports

lately, the Kid is up on all the sports news. You benefit by having the opportunity for some of my hot opiniones.

I've been working on my house a little, which means lots of ESPN radio (thank you Cincinnati for FINALLY bringing ESPN radio to me one month ago. Can you believe I live in a mid-level city of over a million and ESPN just now came to us? Boy are we ever backwater! So sad.), and never missing a podcast from Kornheiser nor Bill Simmons. Let the thoughts begin:

-I am more informed now about the playoff picture in Major League Baseball than I have ever been since 1986, when my DisAstros faced Doc Gooden and his Mets in the championship series. And let me just reiterate what we've all known for a while: BASEBALL STINKS. It's just perfectly irrelevant. The only name anybody cares about in that entire sport is Barry Bonds, who's our biggest picture of going around the law since O.J. And O.J. could take that mantle back soon, making Bonds, and all of baseball, that much more of a footnote. Baseball was called America's pasttime, because people would tune in to pass the time. Passing the time is no longer an issue with anybody, as far as I'm aware, thus we don't have time to give 4 hours to watch a guy throw a baseball back and forth with his catcher, interspersed with occasion tip fouls and guys hitting the ball into the air, after which the ball is almost always caught by someone waiting below. I have more to say, but I'll move it to another point:

-I and Mrs. Kid were treated to a Reds game a few nights ago (verses... the LAstros! Alright! by the way, do you know how many names I recognized from the Houston roster? Two! Lance Berkman and Biggio! Alright! I would also like to point out that Cincinnati has a pitcher named Jon Coutlangus, which is a very private matter between a husband and wife and I don't know why that should be allowed at a supposedly family event like a baseball game), and we got to sit in the luxury box. This meant free food (disappointing, really--it was the pressed and ground pork products we find in sausage-based foods and other 'finger foods' like cheese quesadillas and Caesar salad. What I'm saying is that it was cheap food. By the way, anybody seen Fast Food Nation? I'm not a horror movie guy, but I bet even the most callous heart would be petrified and utterly revolted by their shots of the Kill Floor at a meat-packing company. I mean, some of the more horrible footage ever. Absolutely stomach-wrenching. Anyway, back to the quesadillas). It also meant being so close behind home plate that, while Mrs. Didi was up refreshing her grapefruit juice, a foul ball (they love those in baseball. It's one of the most exciting, get-the-fans-involved plays in all of the sport, and IT DOESN'T COUNT AT ALL) came SIZZLING at us, smacking right under her seat and careening to the box next to us. Why didn't you grab it? you might ask. Um, 1) I was eating cut-rate bratwurst, and 2) it was coming extremely fast, and 3) I couldn't name either the pitcher or the hitter in that situation, or the score, or even who won the game (that's a lie. The Reds lost). I didn't care.

Indiscrete.

-To football. I'm enjoying the Chargers' unravelling after all their mouthiness and talk of Tomlinson's huge season (And is he allowed to call himself LT? Didn't Lawrence Taylor already take that? Does Tomlinson intend to supplant one of the great linebackers of all time? And what would happen if Elton Brand started calling himself Magic? Wouldn't he be looked at ASKANCE? Kudos to me for using "askance").

-Hey, can anybody out there name a black tight end?


-I wish gambling wasn't so closely linked to football. Simmons spends a good 15 minutes each week just talking about the betting lines with certified meathead Cousin Sal. Why tarnish sport with the filthy lucre? Oh yeah, we're in America.

-Hey here's a newsflash: the Bengals secondary... wait for it... STINKS!! Hey, there's something you don't see every month! Nope, you have to wait till September to see that. Having a porous secondary helmed by Deltha (or is it Delta? I don't care to look it up) O'Neal is a Cincinnati tradition on a par with Tall Stacks (a riverboat festival. Sound awesome? It is, it is.) or funky chili. Man is that team poor. And Carson Palmer looked terrible last week. And our receivers didn't like catching (shades of Jeffires from Oiler teams of the 90s. Anybody?). But you know what? It wouldn't surprise me if they got blown out by 30 Monday night, or won by 12. They are that stupid.

-Speaking of Monday night, I'm going to be out of town, but I will NOT be missing that game. I'm still a Colts fan, and I know there are plenty of people who do not feel this way, but I'm fascinated by that Pats team. I wouldn't say I'm a fan, but I do enjoy watching that team and I definitely don't hate them. Can we all at least agree that Brady's PRETTY GOOD? Are we all aware that he's completing 80% of his passes, and that his rating is like 145 right now? That's crazy! So crazy, I have to move on to the NBA

-I fully expect the Mavs to put together a somewhat better-looking team this year. I expect that we'll shore up whatever miniscule weaknesses the front office thinks they see, then we'll look "pretty solid... pretty darn solid!" during the regular season, then get a bucket to the shins in the postseason. I say that team should be blown up. You can't have two playoffs in a row like we've had and not have it mess with your brain. You can't tell me that, come late May, in a must-win game 6, Dirk or Jerry aren't going to look around the floor and think to themselves, "Well, this is pretty much the same crew. What could possibly be the difference this time around? Nick Fazekas?" I would also just like to point out that Kevin Willis is on the team, and that Kevin Willis was playing professional basketball (for Atlanta? not sure) when I was in the ninth grade. NINTH grade. That means, I think, that Shaq was in the 8th grade. What I'm saying, I guess, is that Willis is old.

-If you think I'm going to go out of my way this year to watch as many Celtics as I possibly can, i think you're right. KG won't know what to do with PLAYERS wearing the same jersey as him. I'm intrigued to know what this will do to his fantasy numbers, but Daddy says they're going up. He's such a performer that he would never want to be perceived as the weak link, even surrounded by two other superstars.


-The dirty dirty sinner in me wants to see Marion traded to a nothing team like Utah, and Kobe to be exiled to bad L.A. teams forever. How dare Marion gripe about being with Scrappy Nash! Little Stevie's the best thing that ever happened to him, because he opens up the floor and makes the game frenetic. I find Shawn's trade request because he's 'underappreciated' reminiscent of Latrell Sprewell's insistence that $14M/year wasn't enough money, because he had "mouths to feed". I love that one. So Mr. Marion, here's hoping you find a contender on par with these fabulous Suns because, buddy, you won't. And when you're the only player on the floor, and the defense is cueing off you, and you struggle to put up 15 points a night, I don't know what to tell you. You'll have your ego to keep you warm, I guess.

-Enough sports. This took too long.

Please oh please click on the title of this post.

Strip it way back, way back, way back

I can't really explain what this does to me. This is the son of a friend of mine, playing with his dad. I have a permanent grin plastered on my face when I watch this. It nearly makes me cry. This isn't about trained skill trotted out for show, it's about joy and passion. And I could be wrong here, but I think the reason this 3-year old is cool with doing this loud, raucous thing on a stage in front of a hundred people is because he trusts his father. When he looks up at dad while he's playing (1:25), that gets me big time. Enjoy this on whatever level you want, Sam's time is pretty terrific, I mean listen to his fills! I ripped this off Thad's blog, which you can go to by clicking the title of this post.

My Big Balancing Act-o

I know that some people in some states (Texas) see me as the out-there, crazy charismaticky guy. I was certainly looking for dreams and visions and tongues and demons and miracles when many of my friends were not, so that's not an unreasonable thing to think about me. Fair enough. I chafe against the labels, of course, but I guess I did that to myself. I was also seen as That Guy Who Believes in the Kooky at my last job. Eh, okay.

What I've found in the last couple of years, though, is that I'm counseling more and more guys to just get stable; take it slow and be established by God. I'm very sensitive about people who're tempted to go after that spectacular stuff, but are a little ambivalent about discipline and faithfulness (maybe because that sounds a lot like me). It feels a little odd to be somebody who believes in that Spirit baptism stuff and thinks he's had dreams from God, etc., who then says to guys, "you need to get a haircut and a job and start faithfully paying a mortgage." You get me? There's some residual angst from my 20s that says "sellout! Go for the Crazy! Hey, do you want a combover to go with your American conservatism? Can I get you a latte, you loser?" But here's what really typifies where I'm at these days, ambition-wise. It's about Moses, the most humble guy in the world, and the guy that God talked to face-to-face. Listen to this:

Numbers 12 God says-

"When a prophet of the LORD is among you,
I reveal myself to him in visions,
I speak to him in dreams.
7 But this is not true of my servant Moses;
he is faithful in all my house.
8 With him I speak face to face,
clearly and not in riddles;
he sees the form of the LORD.

Now God was very proud of his relationship with Moses, and he's bragging about it to Miriam and Aaron. What he says is "I have prophets who I speak to in flashy, showy, 'wonderous' ways, but it's not like that with Moses. With Moses (who was also a prophet), because of our FRIENDSHIP, I don't do all the fancy stuff. I just talk to him normal-like, and he gets it. He sees what I'm doing, and that's all I need. The spooky, mystical displays are unneccessary with Moses. He just sees me."

MmmmmMMMMM! Anybody smell that? You know, I really, really believe in the verse where Jesus says that we'll do greater works than he did. And I'm excited to see them. I just talked to my friend Dave last night, and he's seen 2 people in the last 2 weeks get healed of pinched nerves in their backs, with which they've struggled for years and years. And I say YEEEAAAHHH!! when I hear that. But I'm not asking God for those greater works. And I'm not asking to be taken to the third heaven like Paul. And I'm not asking for angelic visitations or open visions. I'm just not asking for anything 'amazing' to happen to me. I'm open to that, of course, but that's not what I'm after. I'm after friendship with God. If he wants to send those messages to me in crazy ways, okay, but I'd rather he talked to me while I'm rummaging around the fridge or working on the house. I'd rather I was an easy get for him, so that he could speak "clearly, and not in riddles." Also, I see here that Moses could see the form of the LORD. That's a clear parallel, to me, of properly discerning the Body of Christ (which is what Paul said had to happen before one took communion, by the way). I want to recognize the true Body, and the Kingdom, and just walk with God. Somebody else can have tongues in the night. I'd rather be like Moses, a humble friend of God's.

I did a little study of faithfulness last year, and GOD REALLY LOVES IT. To him, it's the defining trait that makes someone trustable. He would set people up as elders, make them the leader of his people, reccommend them before the devil hisowndamnself, etc. just based on the virtue of faithfulness. I have (silently) taken shots at faithful men in the past because I didn't see 'the electricity of the Spirit' running through their lives. Well, that was pure immaturity on my part. Humility and faithfulness have no equal in the LORD's eyes, and I feel like I'm coming back into balance on this stuff. SIMPLIFYING, ISN'T IT??

ps- I do not hate coffee drinkers.
Also- I found this. Always loved the idea of Frankenberry for breakfast, but was never allowed.