Stock Values: Down.

Today I took a look at my stock positions on E*Trade. This is what I saw:

What I want you to notice here (if you can read it) is that, altogether, I paid $938.19 for stocks that are, together, worth $1.10 today.

That means, if I were to "cash out" of my 2,210 shares of stock held by E*Trade, I could not afford to purchase a carbonated beverage at the local convenience store. I would need to add a quarter to my stocks' aggregate value for that soda pop. Or, considered another way, I would need another 578 shares of stock to buy the refreshing fizzy drink.

In this, I have been 'unlucky' with the stocks.

Allen Stickney, 1940-2008

I was first told about Allen Stickney by my friend Karl Nyquist. I was hunting for a shepherd/mentor in Dallas, and Karl told me there was a "hard core anti-institution" guy that I should look up. When I first called Allen to see if he had some time for a guy like me, he inquired about me and I said I discipled men as a matter of course. There was a pause on the other line.

"Well where do you come from?" he said in his severe southern drawl. "Because guys like YOU don't run in herds..."

I soon learned that, to Allen, "ministry" was all about making disciples. One life breathing into another. He had no time or patience for any religious effort that didn't translate into mature disciples of Jesus. Needless to say, he wasn't a church fan. One of Allen's famous lines was "the greatest enemy of the gospel is the red brick church house on the corner." He used to berate his old pal Bud for only spending his time around churchmen, instead of the bars that Allen liked to frequent to fish for men. "I tell him, I say 'WHEN, in the name of GOD'..." (This is an exact quote, because once I started hanging around Allen, I took a tape recorder with me to capture his pithy greatness) "...WHEN are you gonna make something that looks like YOU? ...Instead of these phony-balonius, sanctimonius CRAPHEADS..." The guy was, understand, 58 at the time. Aren't you supposed to be a little more... REFINED by that point?

Allen's experience with the Christian Religious Complex was extensive: he was the "head pastor" of the First Baptist Church of Augusta, Georgia ("Oh, sure, there I was preaching on television every week, thinking everybody NEEDED to hear what I had to say...") until the racism of his governing board forced him to leave in disgust. His wife Alice (who Allen never referred to but called her "Alice Faye, Baby"- which, pronounced by Allen, sounded like BAY-buh) complimented his passion for taking the good news about Jesus to the very least, so they relocated to Kenshasa, Kenya, and had a career as missionaries, until family problems brought them back home to Dallas.

Scores of men, and the hundreds they impacted, are glad God brought Sticko back to Texas for a while. My life was certainly changed. Allen was one in just a small handful of men who've seen the LORD's purposes in me, called it out, and befriended me while watching over my soul. I learned from Allen that the church can meet over fried catfish or in a living room easier than in an auditorium over a Sunday bulletin. I saw a middle-aged man who was still frank about his struggles with the flesh, and who was still ravenous toward the Father, the scriptures, and humbling himself in prayer and worship.

In 2002, Dora and I were honored to have Allen officiate our wedding. He and Alice were the single most encouraging couple with regards to our relationship. They saw God's plan long before we did, as Alice and Dora had started to spend time together too. Alice is, like Allen, a person who is completely aware and open about her shortcomings, and simply trusts in the LORD to see her through in spite of them. She pays no attention to Alice, trying to get herself perfect. Her attention is given over to the Perfect God. She and Allen always playfully called me a knucklehead, saying that I was so in love with Dora that I couldn't even see straight enough to know it. But they were for us through all of our romantic bumps, and told us so repeatedly.

Allen and Alice Faye Baby dreamed of returning to Kenya, where their hearts were, but they received the terrible news that Allen had developed prostate cancer. Undergoing the painful humiliation of chemo, the troops rallied around Allen and did what we could to serve him and Alice. One of my most precious memories of Allen is when I visited him in his bedroom, catheter and all, and sang songs to Jesus with him. He said I was like David with my guitar, giving comfort to the afflicted Saul through the peace of music. Nobody knew how long he was for the earth, but we knew he was hurting and struggling. That pain laid him open to God like never before. He became desperate, cried out to God (and how!) and he was healed of that cancer. Really. It was gone.

Once the doctors were satisfied, Allen and Alice headed back to Kenya, full of youth and energy and great plans for the kingdom of heaven on earth. But they could only stay a couple of years, as Alice had some eye problems, and they returned to Texas once again. Didi and I had dinner with them last year, and we were amazed at the openness and faith of Allen especially, and the ebullient peace that Alice always seems to exude. He was talking with God in terms of a deeper intimacy than he'd ever had. It was astounding. Ever heard of a 67-year-old, who grew up steeped in the Baptist religion, turning to the LORD anew, changing his theology, and being baptized in the Holy Spirit? Yeah, me neither--until Allen. He's one of the very few Christian lifers I've ever met who became MORE malleable, MORE humble and simple in his faith, and MORE open as time went on. Most of us become crusty in our theological certainty, aloof in our self-righteous satisfaction, and arrogant of our knowledge. Not Allen.

Then the cancer sprang back to life, more aggressive than before. In no time, Allen was gone. He crossed the finish line on July 6 from a nondescript hospital room in Dallas. But to me and Didi (who he lovingly called Dora BAY-buh), Allen Stickney was a shining star of a man, rough-hewn and beautiful, ornery and gentle. I will love him as long as I live, until the day I see him again.

The words he spoke over our marriage have become an anthem ringing over our lives. Allen took to the Message, all raw and common-sounding, and this is how he liked to say I Corinthians 2:9:

"What no man ever saw or heard, what no man ever thought could happen... is the very thing God has planned for those who love him."

You Crazy Galatians!

Last weekend I did something I rarely ever do.

I went to a good old-fashioned churchhouse sunday-go-to-meeting. I could say a lot about this experience (I certainly thought many things), but I'll limit myself to two main ideas. First, this:

You know how obese people deal with self-hatred, so they hate themselves somewhat and give up on their bodies so hate themselves a little more so give up on themselves a little more so hate themselves a little more? That's called a Downward Cycle.

You know how people who work at StressMoney, Inc. deal with performance so they work a little harder (producing a little more success, as they've been trained to define it) so they snuggle up to performance a little more so they work a little harder and do 'better' so they snuggle up to performance a little more? That is, also, a Downward Cycle.

You know how people who have a history of bad-ending relationships often deal with rejection so they act in ways that inevitably lead to their being rejected again so they engage in more feelings of rejection, then project that rejection on the NEXT person they meet so that feelings of rejection become automatic, and they deal with more rejection? Again, an ugly cycle. These are all also called ADDICTIONS.

There's another cycle out there which also gets a lot of play. It goes like this here. Ready go:

*I feel that I am a not-all-I-can-be kind of person. I should try harder. I should be better. I should clean up.
*I would feel less loserly if I got me some of that Old Time Religion. That churchhouse makes people betterer, I hear tell.
*I go to church and yep, they affirm my suspicions. I AM a loser. They don't say that outright, but they do identify all my shortcomings with expertise. They are good at this. I am... not.
*They indicate (in accordance with the belief that made me come in here in the first place) that regularly attending their performances and giving them my money will help abate the loserism I deal with.
*I continue to attend, having more shortcomings identified, being told more ways to outwit the loserism which is in my very fabric (I'm really not good at implementing their tips, which is... a bummer), but feel that if I come here more, this will somehow help me out of the quicksand.

Sound familiar? Might we call this sort of thing a Downward Cycle? Or addiction? I will. And here's the bonus round:

*I am actually a TRY-er, and over the years, have generated such buy-in that I attend the Varsity Prayer Meeting at 6:30am (or I'm on the Special Set-Up/Take-Down Team, or I find myself in a Leader/Staff position, or I get Bible Colleged, or I'm on the Donut Brigade). More of this is better, right?
*I soon learn that the stakes, here, are even HIGHER. Whatever I started doing before (I AM, now, reading some Bible once a month. Okay, God?) isn't as good as it MIGHT be. If I pray 10 minutes, I might should bump it to 15--you know, to show my 'commitment'. If I feed a homeless guy, I'm "challenged" to feed 10 and make sure they get into a local trade school. If I WAS giving them X% of my money, X+4% would be even more "humble", "godly", "mature", "self-sacrificing", or whatever the carrot is. There should always be Just.. A... Little... Bit... More out of me.
*I try. Boy do I try.
*I return to the top of this list, realizing that self-hatred, performance, and rejection are ALL there! Wow! This IS the bonus round!

[Caveat: I'm not saying there's anything wrong with helping homeless people get into trade school.]

So I recognized that cycle while I was there last week. I hadn't seen that before.

The second thing I'd like to relate was an actual poem that was dramatized for us all. I'll help you know what was going on so that you don't miss the theatrical aspect of this performance piece or, more importantly, what I thought about everything (wink!). [And yes, I did ask for a copy of this thing specifically to pass along.]

--------------

PAINT ON THE WALL

There was a church upon a hill [by this, they mean a churchhouse building: bricks-and-mortar. Not, you know, the church.]
Where everything was fine until
The paint inside was getting old
And peeling in some spots, I'm told
[Do you like it so far? I do.]

The pastor called a business meeting [now see, this is a blatant bastardization of the term pastor. Pastors don't CALL F-ING BUSINESS MEETINGS, THEY WATCH OVER THE SOULS OF HUMAN BEINGS, FOR THE LOVE OF THE GOD WHO SHINES IN HEAVEN. Ahem.]
And after the preliminary greeting
The deacon cried, "Come one, come all!
What color shall we paint each wall?"

They gathered in the sanctuary [don't get me started on what is a candidate for sanctification and what is a superstitious article of witchcraft, based on the powers we ascribe to it]
Each determined, and contrary [Oo!]
Sister Gayle said, "What do you think
About a very chartreuse pink?"

Brother Dave said to the crowd
"Isn't that a bit too loud?
I prefer a subtle blue-
It makes the walls look clean and new!"

A woman rebuked, "I wanted gold
It seems much warmer-blue's too cold."
A man in the back began to bellow
"Yellow! Yellow! Yellow! Yellow!" [repetition for comedic effect]

From that point on, all their voices grew stronger
Each selfish plea whined longer and longer
Then strongly and sternly, a voice of great love
Silenced the church as It spoke from above:

[Here, 'church' is used as a general location, as in 'the auditorium erupted with applause'. Just so you know. Also, know that at this point, the performers slowly began to bow their heads as an unseen performer using a microphone spoke these words as deeply as possible. Also remember that this is a Voice of Great Love.]

"You wonder why you can't hear my call
When your greatest struggle is paint on the wall [good grief! the rhythm of this thing!]
Paint your church the color of skin [Here, God also refers to drywall as a church. Whoops, God!]
For you let no other races come in.
Paint your church a wealthy green
For you ignore the starvation you've seen
Paint it white and clean as uncalloused feet
For you refuse to share my joy in the street.
I agree that your church could be painted in blue
For your hearts, so cold, are given to so few.
You're experts at church as a highly skilled game [I think God is now referring to the workings of the entire outfit, which isn't really any closer...]
But reality demands you serve men in MY name
You pray using eloquent "thee"s and "thou"s
And yet forget about here's and now's [I'm not sure what God's saying here but I'm certain we've been bad.]
You struggle to be an earthly saint
But my love must not be covered in paint [Again, God may be misusing a metaphor here]

----------

I'm tempted to just end there, but I just can't. I don't think anything on this page has ever embarrassed me more than that piece. It made me angry to retype it. Somehow, this piece went from being about people who bicker about color preferences to a long list of our shortcomings. That God really rubs your nose in it, huh? When this thing was done, and my mouth was AGAPE, the performers silently took their seats and people in the crowd raised their eyebrows and looked at one another as if to say "boy, something to think about, there. Mm-hm..." And then everything moved right along, as if this was totally understandable and normal. I was looking for Alan Funt. Nobody presented a plan for helping the hungry, we just all sat soaking in the guilt and shame juice which had just been poured all over us. I wanted to scream and cry and vomit and kick those freaking V-Drums to hell. How dare they so blithely screw with the God's kids' perception of his attitude, you know?

I asked myself this: do people walk out of here today feeling endorsed by God, or under suspicion? Do they think God is excited about them, or generally disappointed with them? Do they want to aggressively seek out love because they've been given so much by a good Father, or are just hoping to appease the Great Frown--I mean, uh--Voice of Love? God help us. Please.

Movie Pitch: Behind Closed Doors

Okay, got a crazy idea for a movie.

I’m open, shoot.

A beat-up, rusty robot is all alone.

What’s his goal?

Well, uh... he has no goal, per se. He crushes and stacks trash.

And this is the star? The beat-up trash compactor?

Yeah, but.. but he does things that enDEAR us to him.

He tells us his hopes and dreams? He fantasizes about becoming a real boy?

Well, no, like I said he doesn’t really have any goals. Maybe he’s lonely?

And he conveys this how?

Beeps and mechanical purrs. ... You know, R2D2 has ALWAYS been loved…

Son, even loon-ball Lucas wouldn’t hope that R2D2 could carry a movie though! He has to communicate SOMETHING to us… what does he do that’s endearing?

He… gathers odd bits. That he finds. An old Rubic’s Cube, for instance. People LOVE that thing, am I right? And, uh… he has an old video tape... ready?... of My Fair Lady. Classic, huh? Do kids love My Fair Lady? Yeah they do!

I… don’t… ...Tell me about his world. It’s beautiful, he makes friends with people?

Well, no. It’s a sort of Mad Max world—completely desolate, destroyed planet. Not a stitch of greenery. No humans left on the planet. At all. Just totally barren. Ever read the Road? Maybe we see a… cockroach?

A cockroach? What are you, stupid? So it’s a movie with just this depressing robot on this depressing planet and maybe a cockroach?

Oh, no. I’m not STUPID, sir. There’s a love interest! Yesir!

A love interest! I’m listening…

Well, she’s also a robot…

Talking? They start talking?

No, no… no talking between them. Boops and bleeps. You know, boops and bleeps.

Uh, huh. Two robots that don’t speak on a godforsaken planet, collecting trash with a sidekick cockroach. This sounds great. And action-packed, I might add.

Wait! There is action! About halfway through, they make it up to a spaceship full of people…

People! Finally! Somebody we like? A Dick Van Dyke sort of guy up there who takes them in, gives us an emotional figure we can sink our teeth into? Gives them a family and shows them how to love? Tell me yes.

Well, that’s a negative, too, I’m afraid. See, all the humans are overfed, underexercised, and spend their days in sort of hovercraft La-Z-Boys plugged into video monitors. I mean, ha, just TOTALLY fat and gross--completely pathetic. The humans are deplorable. They don’t really interact with each other, or with the robots. It's crazy on this ship.

Geez, man, you’re... kind of depressing me, here. Are you aiming this movie at Goth college students, or what? Is a killer going to be let loose on this ship, or are they going to be sucked into a black hole? I mean, who do you hope will watch this?

Uh, children and families, actually.

…

There are some really nifty chase scenes around the space ship. Oh, boy, it’s fun. And one human decides he wants to STAND, which humans haven’t done for like 500 years. It's kind of campy/inspirational, because these LOSER humans are FINALLY going to MAYBE start to STAND, for cripes' sake, and we think MAYBE...

…you know WE’RE humans, right? This is like making a Christian album full of songs criticizing church. Is there even any HUMOR? Do you have ANYTHING?

Oh sure! In several places! In one instance, the robot accidentally runs over his cockroach buddy! Ha! Maybe he runs him over a couple of times! Snort!

…?

..and, uh, the girl robots BLASTS a huge boulder, and there’s a reveal of the guy robot just COWERING behind the remaining rock—I mean, he’s absolutely scared for his life! He thinks she’s going to kill him! He's TERRIFIED back there!

Oh... I just… I’m feeling sorry for you right now. ...So... how, in your mind, is this film supposed to be fun or attractive for children? I mean, in ANY way whatsoever.

Robots open and shut, like Transformers and Iron Man…

…yessss…

Did I mention the chase scenes? There are two different ones, for sure.

You did. Listen, friend, I really appreciate you coming to me FIRST with this idea, but unless there’s something AMAZING you’re not telling me about this non-talking, future-despairing, humans-are-simps, plotless funfest of yours, I think we’re going to have to pass. I do hope that… SOMEone will give it a good, hard look, and…

Oh, and did I mention that Pixar’s going to do it, and we’re going to use really cool computer imaging and early test group results suggest that 20% of all moviegoers will buy a tie-in product of some kind?

Is $200 million enough to get you started?