I'm amazed by the things we all mindlessly ingest and apply to our persons daily. They're telling us with a large degree of certainty that the aspartame we're all joyfully gobbling (and slurping... thanks RH) is killing us by degrees.
It's also commonly held that the aluminum in deoderant sticks, for instance, permeate the skin and heighten our amazing levels of American Toxicity (the name of my new album).

So what in the world is Shaving Cream, anyhow? I assume it was created because soap bubbles only did so much, and somebody saw an opportunity. I don't know the history of the product, but my guess is that it's some sort of petroleum by-product, which means I should smear it all over my head as soon as possible, and repeat usage daily. I did a little investigating (I'm not lazy, people.), by reading the ingredients on the can. You'd be amazed at what I discovered.

First of all, the number one ingredient is water, which shouldn't surprise anyone. Water is the number one ingredient in absolutely everything ever produced. But the number two ingredient (and this would round out the list of ingredients in shaving cream that I can confidently pronounce, which is a little nervous) is some kind of ACID. Yeah.

I don't monger fear, but just... be careful out there.

Friends, many of you will already be aware of this, but women are now wearing (giggle) PONCHOS around. I know. It's like a joke or something. This is a comment I'd have made in high school if a girl was dressed carelessly. "Well, Celeste, my goodness! Why don't you just throw on a PONCHO and call it a day!?" This fad is destined to last about 4 months.

With this development (I didn't say it was new! I didn't say it was new!), I have decided to simply say "I support women in all their enveavors" and cease trying to 'track' with them on some level.

Funny how traditions can be predicated on nothing.

Somehow, my wife and I got into this tradition where we buy one another dental products for Christmas. I know.


Remember that one rich kid that you knew in school who wore designer blue jeans and his mom drove a sports car, and that time you spend the night, he had an electric toothbrush and a pool table? Well, those toothbrushes aren't just for the rich anymore (the sports cars, yes. Still for the rich only.) Anyhow, I've given not-subtle hints to my wife that I like the cheapo electric toothbrushes that have become mainstream this last couple of years. I mean the $5 version that last approximately 5 weeks then die. This, to me, is a fun break from the monotony of having to brush my teeth analog-style, with the predictable push-pull sawing action.

So this past Christmas, Didi thinks she'll do me a big blessing and get me the suped-up $20 version, which will really bless me. Forget the fact that having a toothbrush where you can buy a new brush head and replace the batteries kind of screws up the novelty factor of the throwaway version. Forget it, I said. Forget it. DON'T forget, though, that a Jackson was paid for this thing, so it'll be expected to perform.

Two battery changes in (and it's still March! What do you think I'm made of, a lot of AAs?), and the batteries died on me tonight, leaving me to brush old-fashioned-y with this whiz-bang contraption in my hand. I mean, GIVE ME A BREAK. I can't afford to keep this thing in batteries! If you can't perform at a high level, CREST BRAND SPIN BRUSH PRODUCT, then stay in the kitchen, or on the porch... or something. Am I right?

Last night, in my Sit and Eat Hydrogenated Oils While Talking About the Good Book group, we ran across the electrifying story in John 9 where this yokel gets his blindness healed up, then gets nuts with enthusiasm about Jesus. I used to read about this guy, thinking about how he was such a gutsy witness for Jesus, and how he even stood up to the religious heavyweights of the day, who also had a lot of legal pull. Anyhow, I used to think, "Man! I want to be like this guy! I need more boldness! I'll take a stab at boldness, too!" This was a stupid idea; it led me to fly off half-cocked, speak my mind when my mind was fruitless, and just be a loudmouth. Pass.

What struck me last night was the fact that boldness came this guy's way simply because he'd had an undenyable experience with Jesus. He probably didn't think that anything he was saying or doing was "bold" in the least. He just recounted what'd just happened to him, and was unwilling for anybody else to say something untrue about his experience. Again, what appeared to be "boldness" or "conviction" was just reality to this guy. It wasn't that he gave some great, heroic effort; it was that he'd had a Life-Giver experience, and wouldn't back away from the greatness of that encounter.

Think again of the account of Peter and John in Acts 4: The rulers and leaders of the people "couldn't take their eyes off them--Peter and John standing there so confident, so sure of themselves! Their fascination deepened when they realized these two were laymen with no training in Scripture or fomal education. They recognized them as companions of Jesus..."

Where did this crazy boldness and confidence come from? These are blue collar guys, making speeches in front of the policymakers. They'd been with Jesus! And they were completely unwilling to back down from anybody who described their experience in false terms. This is all very instructive to me, who has always (again) wanted boldness and passion.

So boldness and passion are lousy goals in themselves, but they're natural consequences of receiving from Jesus. Isn't this interesting? Reminds me of a verse: "Seek first the Kingdom of God, and His righteousness. Then, all these other things will be added to you as well."

Let’s talk bodies. Doesn’t it suck that there could even BE a standard of beauty, like what I described below a couple of weeks ago? I’m certain that that idea of “iconic beauty” has only happened since mass communications have entered the picture. That’s extremely sad. Take noses, for example. Isn’t it ROBBERY (and I mean this in the full-blown, John 10:10 sense of the word) that somebody born with a big nose would see themselves as ugly or as less than because their flipping NOSE is a different shape than somebody else’s!? Isn’t that sad and pathetic? People are different, for God’s sake! We’re supposed to be! And it’s ALL beautiful (yes, Ronald)! Every size and shape of head, ear, hand, tummy, ankle, foot, rump, etc.—they’re all expressions of the breadth of the Father’s palette. We’re His art for goodness sake, are we not? I would be incensed if I wrote you a song, you changed one word, then ascribed it to yourself. You’d be totally disregarding my creativity, my authorship-- my gift.


Genesis 2:X God looked at what He’d made, and it was very good.

Flight review: United Airlines, Chicago O’Hare to Frankfurt, Germany:

Ladder 51 (or whatever number it was) and the Village were showing at the same time, which means that the terrible Joe Ackwin Phoenix (NOT his real name) was on two channels at once. Ugh. I opted for the Village, since I have friends who’re divided on the merit of the film. I don’t like Joe Ackwin, don’t like that guy with the big nose who was in The Pianist (a TREMENDOUS, MOVING film) (although, did I like seeing him play a retarded guy? Well yes, of course I did. I like anybody, pretty much, playing a retarded person. Have you seen The Other Sister? You should- it is great and will make you cry a good, wholesome cry.), and don’t much care for Sigourney Weaver. Always liked William Hurt, though, and am enchanted with the girl who plays Kitty on Arrested Development. Anyhow, the movie was a big shoulder shrug to me. I thought the whole thing seemed put on, so the big reveal that it’s set in modern times didn’t really do anything for me (this movie was such a non-event that nobody had ever revealed the big TWIST! to me). I did like the idea of some people making a primitive society, though—I thought that was a good idea. I don’t like Shamamananana as a person, from what I’ve seen, but I still say it was a good idea.

Now onto the fabulous bathrooms on the 777. They’re extremely well lit. I took a drink in there and just stood around in there a while. Unlike the commuter planes I seem to be on so often, I can actually stand right up in there while taking a whiz (this is a pleasure!). I kind of looked for blemishes in my skin (so much light! So easy to see!), worked on my bristlebrush hair, and looked in all the little compartments. It was great. Those bathrooms are NICE.

Bulkhead seats: legroom GOOD. Shoulder room TERRIBLE. I sat there trying to fold my deltoids into my sternum for 11 hours, like I farted in the middle of math class or something.

“Meat” option on the evening meal: YUM! It was brisket and taters, and there was a gravy that wouldn’t STOP! I usually avoid the dry, tasteless desserts on flights, but I hit that brownie too. Come on United! Cook it up for me!

On to my other great adventure of this trip: for the first time (I think) ever, and purely for the sake of experimentation, I tried out a sanitary paper seat cover, which is a staple of the nervous and Ever-Protected (I assume. Nobody will actually have this kind of discussion with me, so I speculate). This is a strange and disturbing invention. It makes me feel like I’m at the doctor’s office, which doesn’t exactly make me want to “get personal”. I always feel like I should be acting better at the doctor’s office—like I should’ve eaten more broccoli, should’ve avoided all ice cream, and eaten multivitamins as snack food. When it was time to end my visit to the on-flight apartment, I had to peel the paper seat away from my (skin) seat, which was unsavory, to be sure. It made me feel like what I had really just done was protect the seat from ME. I’m the oils-producing, bacteria-attracting, disease threatening origin.


Toilet seat covers. Pass.

Shane brings up a great point. Tomorrow, I am off to a place where the natives look like this:
Well, okay, this is a (young) artist's rendering. Here are actual photos of the peeps:
About the man and the kid in the river: I read that many people believe that bathing in freezing cold water is healthy and will help guard them against being cold.

The national dish is called Besbarmak, which literally means five fingers, describing the way it used to be eaten. It is a boiled dish with a base of broad noodles, potatoes and onions, topped with mutton. Kazakhs eat a variety of meat, including horsemeat. Bread must not be put upside down, nor put out in odd numbers as this means someone in the family has died. It is fed to animals rather than wasted. Kazakh hospitality is exceptional. The host is obliged to offer food and tea to each guest who comes to the door. Guests should accept, at the minimum, a piece of bread and two cups of tea, or the host will be offended. When a visitor arrives it is rude for the host to ask many questions. After the visitor has had refreshment and a rest, he then may tell his host whom he is, where he is from and where he is headed. Many people, especially the retired, are living in extreme poverty. For many, only the food grown at their dachas (garden plots) keeps them from hunger and some have been reduced to begging on the streets. High taxes and corruption inhibit the growth of new businesses which could improve the economy. The basic unit of traditional Kazakh society is the extended family called the ayul (camp). This is led by an Aksakal (white beard). Several ayuls form a zhuz (tribe) and all members claim descent from a common male ancestor, seven generations back. The tribes are divided among three Hordes: The Great Horde, the Central Horde, and the Minor Horde. Kazakhs believe they are all one family; so when two Kazakhs meet, their relationship will be established from their family trees straight away. Kazakhs practise Folk Islam, which is a mixture of Shamanism and Islam. Belief in the ‘evil eye’ is central to Folk Islam, and amulets are worn for protection. There are also many things Kazakhs practice or avoid for the fear of evil spirits. Despite all soviet efforts to curb these customs in the past, the Kazakhs have clung to them as symbols of their identity.

I am fascinated by these people, yet will probably have little interaction with Kazakhs. I'm going to spend time with 1) Baptist missionaries from all over the USA who've followed God to "the uttermost parts of the earth", who minister throughout the country. They get together once a year to pray, worship, celebrate, figure out what God's doing, etc. and 2) a group from Greenville, Texas, who're going to organize/lead this prayer retreat/conference.

Now you know all I do. Those of you who'll stand before God on my behalf can pray that 1) I will have discernment and know what God's saying to me. I feel that I am there to have pointed conversations as much as to lead worship. 2) I will act in authority and confidence, giving place to neither fear nor pride. 3) I will communicate love in a death-defying way. I feel that I will come against religion, heaviness/depression, the thought that God has left the building, and some fear. Love is a Person, and He will crush these mutated perverts like a bug. May God arise and His enemies be scattered. The hills melt like wax at the presence of the LORD of Love.

Thanks.

This post will complete the Religious Trilogy '05.

I kind of thought that we were supposed to have a multiple-pronged focus, as Christians. We should be worshipping a lot, and that should be a major focus, we should be loving other believers, and that should be a major focus, and we should be loving and serving the lost community at large, hoping that we can somehow love them so much that they will begin to trust and love us, too, and then we can share with them about Jesus. That should be a major focus. Maybe there were other prongs--those are the only ones I can think of just now.

Well, what has become abundantly clear to me is that we are to be People Of One Prong (POOPers). We poopers should pursue the heart of God. Alone. There is nothing else. My worship is a confession of my need for Him. My praise is a response for Him letting me get Him. My service is, again, only an avenue for getting Him. All my ministry--it is SO not for people--it is for Him. Paul said to Onesimus that he should be active in sharing his faith, NOT so that people might respond and turn to Jesus, but so that Onesimus would "understand every good thing [he has] in Christ" (Philemon 6).

Now, that's a horse of a different color, there. Paul seems to indicate that God whispers secrets about our identity in Jesus as we obey His directives. That makes sense. And I become a lot more inclined to obey if the lure isn't self-satisfaction, but rather intimacy with my Maker. He is what I'm after. I'm after the secrets He only tells to His close friends. Deuteronomy 29:29 is a verse that makes me tear up every time I hear it: "The secret things belong to the LORD. But the things revealed... ah, those things belong to US, and to our children... forever." I've not had many dreams in which God gave me specific verses, but God once gave me a dream in which He emphasized to me that Deuteronomy 34:10 is worth looking at. It says, "Since then, no prophet has risen in Israel like Moses, whom the LORD knew face to face." God is saying to us, "Wanna be like Moses? Wanna know me face to face? It will cost you what it cost him, and what it cost my Son: obedience, the subjugation of every other goal or pursuit, and the rejection of every false love you have ever known. But the offer is still on the table: If you seek me, I will let you find me." (that's Jeremiah 29)

Ezekiel was told, right at the outset, that his ministry would produce no change in people. Israel was never going to listen to him. His life would be a testament to you and me that no ministry or service is ever for the people--it's all for God. Their response is not our goal; it's not even our business. Our goal is God.

If this is the case then, like Jesus, we can walk away from ministry opportunities (Mark 1), if the Father is calling us somewhere else. Religion says "you always have to give more money". God says "give as much as you want, unless I speak into your spirit. Then give no more, less, etc. than I say." We walk by the Spirit of God. For by Him was everything made, and FOR HIM was everything made.

We will find ourselves only when we look in His heart.

This will make me sound like I'm spiritual or something. I'm certainly not, and I'm not trying to be. This is just me.

When I was in high school, I honestly wanted to be hot on God's trail. In my world, however, the only way I knew to do that was to be super involved at 'church' (this is what I'd been taught, you see: having a strong relationship with 'church'+doing what they say=strong relationship with Jesus). This produced two things in me: 1) an overdeveloped sense of my own shortcomings. I could list my failures in a heartbeat (this is something I still deal with, as if the point of the gospel is making Steven sin-free). I brooded over my own grossness ad naseum, having been trained to think that self-condemnation was somehow holy or humble. 2) an underdeveloped knowledge of God. I actually suggested to my youth minister that they teach us more about who God is, what He's like. I thought that maybe, if we could see Him as He is, we might become like Him (I John 3:2). I was told that what young people face is peer pressure, sexual pressure, and pressure to use drugs, so that's what we needed to address. I hated all that. I wasn't interested, even in the peer pressure that I faced. I wanted to know more about God. I see, now, that my youth leaders probably WERE sharing everything they knew about God, which was rules and morality.

That I John verse, along with verses like II Cor 3:18, seems to suggest that we DO, in fact, become like that which we behold. But that sin-consciousness junk produces--what else?--an unending loop of sin and frustration in us. This is gross, and there is nothing in this system itself that can deliver someone from its orbit.

The deal, man, is NOT how much evil you can get out of your life. The deal is getting more of God. Period. He is love, and His love is better than life. Psalm 63. If you pursue love, you will find life. Proverbs 21. You should live a life characterized by, more than anything else, love. Ephesians 5. You should make sure that you keep yourself in God's love. Jude 1. I was not taught to live in God's love. I was taught to keep a watch out for sin, then go after that sin, not God. This is bizarre when you think about it, and all it could ever produce is pride when you succeed and condemnation when you fail. Long term, we all fail.

Let's get back to that I John 3:2. I wish somebody had tattooed this on my Little Jesus-Lover Quiet Time Guide when I was a youngster. Let me put the whole thing out here, with my thoughts added in:

"Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known."
This right here is wonderful. We need to think of ourselves as children of God. That's foundational. THEN, we need to understand that it's God's right to define us, and expect Him to do so more and more as we walk with Him. He will tell us that we ARE things we never thought we could be, and that we're NOT things that we'd always assumed we were. What a great thing to know!
"But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is."
So that's the whole thing--staring at God, knowing that we'll become like what we stare at. People who behold God's glory become glorious (Moses, Jesus, John, Isaiah, etc. ...hello?). This was David's desire for his whole life (Ps 27).

I WANT TO SEE GOD FOR EXACTLY WHO HE IS, AND I UNDERSTAND THAT I WILL COME OUT DIFFERENT AFTER THE FACT.

John 17:3--this is life: knowing God.

Jesus is teaching us all about prayer. Check this out:

"Here's what I want you to do: Find a quiet, secluded place so you won't be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace.
The world is full of so-called prayer warriors who are prayer-ignorant. They're full of formulas and programs and advice, peddling techniques for getting what you want from God. Don't fall for that nonsense. This is your Father you are dealing with, and he knows better than you what you need. With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply. Like this:

   Father in heaven, reveal who you are. Set the world right; do what's best--as above, so below.
Keep us alive with three square meals. Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others. Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil.
You're in charge! You can do anything you want! You're ablaze in beauty!
Yes. Yes. Yes."

Yes. Yes. Yes. My favorite sentence in this hunk is "With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply." The shocker about this famous prayer is that Jesus seems to be specifically teaching how to stop praying by rote, how to stop being automatic and robotic in our prayers. Yet many, many people have simply memorized Jesus' model prayer and made THAT into their prayer by rote! Amazing how endless the religious loops coil and coil over themself. Reminds me of a fowler's snare. The thing about religion is, the more you play along, the more it wraps around you and constricts the life out of you. I am much more interested in life than in religion. If you give $100, religion tells you you SHOULD'VE given $200. If you pray 10 minutes, religion tells you that if you were a REALLY good boy, you'd have prayed an hour. You should be helping people all the time. And you should be in your quiet place with God, interceding, all the time. And you should be actively sharing the gospel, all the time. It is a black hole of death, suffocation, false living, and God opposition. And religion CERTAINLY isn't confined to the church building. Religion presents itself in Christian bookstores, family gatherings, books and blogs, and all sorts of interpretations of the holy scriptures themselves. My only hope of escaping from the talons of this massive beast is the fact that I have a Shepherd, and He carries both a rod and a staff. He's ready to fight for me, and to help me escape from whatever trap I may have found myself in.

Psalm 124: "Praise be to the LORD, who has not let us be torn by their teeth. We have escaped like a bird out of the fowler's snare; the snare has been broken, and we have escaped. Our help is in the name of the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth."

I'll just admit it right here. I know that there are lots of things that could make this blog cooler, but 1) I'm a little nervous about screwing it up and ending up with bricks that should be muffins, and 2) it is Nerdy to supe up your blog.

So I will stay here in blue and orange dork corner. Farting.

Somebody tell me how you be a Professional Sport Fisherman. Somebody tell how you throw a rod and a reel and somebody says watching you do THAT is entertainment enough to pay you money to just keep doing it. Somebody tell me how fishing is a sport, and crocheting isn't. Somebody tell me how you be a Professional Sport Fisherman.

How.

Does this kid qualify?

I know this will serve as somewhat of a balancer for the silly post below about beauty (which would certainly qualify for rebuke according to the scriptures' repeated exhortations against 'foolish talk', like Ephesians 5:4 and 1 Peter 2:15), but I'm not writing it for that reason.

I simply want to suggest what a much more beautiful world this would be if everyone believed the simple truth that YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. Your Maker, Who is the One Who Assigns Value, says so. That's a pretty huge statement, there.

May we all be believers.

Anybody ever think much about that damned Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil?

Anybody ever think that most of religion is geared around trying to find out what's "good" and what's "evil", and that keeping his kiddos from ever thinking that way at all was a big deal to the Father?

Anybody ever consider that our only standard for whether something is Good or Evil should be whether or not it has the stamp of the Father on it, as opposed to whether it hurts, or makes people mad, or confuses everybody?

Anybody ever think that maybe too much information is possibly a BAD thing, and that if knowledge is power, and power corrupts, that we should tread lightly and cautiously in the information world?

Anybody ever consider how technology, which drives so much of modern society, is about limitless knowledge and memory?

And has anybody ever considered what my friend Dave suggests, that the below computer corporation's logo is one of the dirtiest, most heinous symbols we regard, on a par with any pentogram?

Here's what I would like: I would like for some engineer (I nominate Bao Hoang) to produce some kind of formula for beauty, where traits like long-ness or squat-ness of head is accounted for, the relationship between all the facial features, size and shape of features when compared with a 'standard', etc. etc. Now, once we have this thing worked out (and I think this might already exist, somewhere. I somehow remember reading SOMETHING like this), everybody could be assigned a number. If we're graded on a scale of 100, where 100 is Speed Racer or something, then maybe Steve Buscemi is a 34, and Totila is like a 97. You get my drift. So--we all have scores. You with me?

Here's what I would like: I want to poll like 100,000 couples (this experiment will be costly. But stay with me!), and determine what is a standard deviation between marriage partners' numbers. I predict we would find that it's highly irregular for numbers which are too far apart to be married for any length of time. Yes, couples like this happen (hello, Quentin and Uma), but they don't last. So, now we have a big report telling us how the two numbers need to be related. Still with me?

Here's what I would like: I want to create a service where we talk to people who're dating and give them scientific recommendations for breaking up or staying together, purely based on statistics and their Personal Beauty Scores.

us- Well, we have some good news for you. You should definitely break up.
boy- What?! Why?
us- well, your Personal Beauty scores deviate by more than the standard 15 points. As a matter of fact, you've more than doubled the recommended deviation. You're 32 points apart.
girl- So what? We don't care about your dumb statistics. We just came in here out of curiosity. This doesn't apply to us.
us- Actually, miss, it does. It applies to everyone. If you care to know, we specifically recommend that YOU do the breaking up with Derek. Statistically speaking, there's a 94% chance that he'll break up with you in the next 7 months. You're 17. You don't want to waste any more time on this potential coupling than you have to. And we're here to tell you: you don't have to.
boy- How is this good news, you quack?
us- Quaint, Derek. We like to believe that good news happens when truth comes to light. This is the truth. I understand that this will be an awkward day for you both, but again, we strongly recommend that it ends here. Now.
girl- You want us to break up here? Right now?
boy- Who do you think you are?
us- We think that we're How WIll I Know?, and we think we're not wrong. Statistically speaking, of course. We could never be wrong.

This guy rides the SNOW!

DSCN1148
Originally uploaded by smanuel.

This is the Hoang you'll read about below. This Hoang decided, with me, to work on his snowboarding skills. We spent most of the day in this exact position. Turns out, though, that I was the one with the camera.

Snowboarding is awkward. We do NOT qualify for the over-hyped XGames.

There's a Hoang in my lift!

DSCN1140
Originally uploaded by smanuel.

This man visited me this weekend. He came from south of the Red River, and visited me north of the Ohio. We drove to nearby Indiana, where we skiied on manmade snow. It was way greater than you think it was. See how happy the little guy is

Allow me to review. At the church lock-ins (good grief, who created those awful, sleep-deprived marathons of pain?), as well as Saturday morning gatherings of every kind (say, groomsmen getting together early on the wedding day), as well as "continental breakfasts" across the globe, people are under a false impression. Those who run and plan these things seem to believe that humans of every stripe just LOVE bread + refined sugar for breakfast. To wit:



The examples, my friends, proliferate. But I have to say, dangit, that SUGAR + BREAD /= BREAKFAST!! Peeps, what Stevie needs for breakfast, before anything else, is some protein. Make it dairy, make it meaty, whatever. But I need some protein. It's that long-term energy that carries me through the day! Secondly, I need some fruit. I need natural (read: quickly digestable and applicable) sugars, and some fiber. PROTEIN + FIBER = BREAKFAST

It's not that I don't enjoy a delicious icing-filled donut from time to time, but in my world, a donut is something you enjoy after bowling, or as a fun dessert in a cabin in the mountains, after a day of Hoang-watching on the slopes. I'm just talking about the first meal of the day, when I'm not in the mood for sticky sugariness. Hear me, friends. This is my country, and this, this is my breakfast.

I am 32 years old. I have no idea what this is supposed to Mean, in a Big Picture sort of way. But I can tell you this: other people treat me differently than when I was 22.

I now have gray hair lightly salting my pate (and of this, I'm proud and pleased. The Bible speaks highly of gray hair). One of my friends, Ronald, was recently asked to teach a class at a business college. Another of my friends, Jeff, was just asked to lead his own Christ-following congregation in a New Spirituality-loving state, for crying out loud. I have peers who're running their own businesses (children's clothing store, commercial real estate, mortgage lending, recording studio, magazine, etc. etc.), and others who're big shots in corporations. These people are suddenly The Ruling Class, and they're my friends. This is very strange for me to observe about myself. I have friends who're millionaires (seriously! just call-em-up-and-chat kind of friends!), and friends who make movies or music albums or write books. It's kind of exciting, and kind of daunting as well, to be part of a group of influencers. If my generation is responsible for the generation we live in, it's almost time to stop griping and start changing the world. Whoa.


Last week, the Crossroads BRAND church machine, which employs me, asked me to be on its Management Team, which is basically, as I understand it, their Executive Board. They make decisions like when to add another service and should this guy get thrown out and what is God doing and are the people digging the coffee? This invitation, to be frank, stymies me. What business do *I* have helping to run a religious organization? I've spent most of my adult years lambasting the religious establishment, trying to guard my family and loved ones from it, and now I'm invited in. Will they make me only carry a Bible that has their corporate-style logo embroidered on the front? Will I have to be on their "Safe at Jesus!" softball league? Can I only listen to Organization Sanctioned 100% Sin-Proof Christian Music? Egad and good gracious, kill me now.

It's kind of strange when they basically say to you, "Hey you, with all the complaints and opinions--we want to hear what you have to say." It's like taking the buffoons who write letters to the newspaper and making them part of the editorial committee. Having spent the great majority of my life in some sort of religious organization (mission agencies, student organizations, para-church land, and churches ranging from house-centered to mega- to messianic), it feels INCREDIBLY BIZARRE to have been received and listened to as much as I have been here. I feel like Gollum looking plantively at Frodo when he's asked to leave the secret pool. "Are you sure? What's behind this? Are you going to kill me?" If I have a prophetic voice, as some suggest, then I'd be the first to say BY GOLLY IT'S UNUSUAL FOR PEOPLE TO RECEIVE PROPHETS. But by golly, I seem to be received here, at least at the moment. Unless you've lived my story (as guys like Ross and Neil and Craig have, in some way), or walked with somebody like me for a while, you have no idea how foreign it feels. But I can also say that this is an organization where honest communication and authentic community (=just living your life with other people beside you) are highly valued, a premium is put on truth, even if it's uncomfortable and confusing and humiliating, and where the leadership WANTS to receive people for who they are in Jesus. That is also so incredibly unusual that I keep walking around with bug eyes and a Cheshire grin, like Peter Lorry when he's just been given the go-ahead to lop someone's head off. I didn't say it wasn't fun. I said it was weird.

So, what--are we becoming the establishment? And what does that say about our responsibility? And our authority? And the way God is looking at us these days?

Having seen the advertisements on the teevee, with all their promises of happiness and the little extra bit of luxury my life is missing (which I unquestionably deserve), I gave in to the end-cap promotion at my local grocer and bought Kellogg's BRAND Vanilla Creme (not Cream, mind you. Creme gives it a feel of prestige, of other-ness, of EuroSuave) flavored Frosted Mini-Wheats.

Let me say this, bye the bye: we are one Mini-Wheat eating family. We buy the greatness of Target's Archer Farms brand of this product (Hello! $1.88! Archer Farms! Thank you!), as well as the in-the-bag, saving-money-on-the-packaging-as-well-as-the-ad-money getto style (This strange little sector of my cereal isle has always been somewhat of a curiosity to me. There's a bin over here on the side, kind of out of the way, which houses many of the exact same products as over there in the flashy boxes, but these over here are sad sacks indeed, overlooked and flaccid. They really are--they're flaccid. They have no backbone, and they're not out strutting around telling you how tasty they are. My heavens, they're just slumped over like a pile of old clothes. But I love them! I feel like I've found a treasure buried in a field, like the least are really the greatest, as well as the most economical. Those crazy bags of cereal--I love them so). So yeah- we like mini-wheats.

Quick review of the product: the smell is pretty good, and that smell exists even after the application of milk, which is nice. The taste is not very different from regular mini-wheats, but it's good. Like I said, we're fans. As a matter of fact, I had a bowl of regular mini-wheats after my new Vanilla Creme mini-wheats, and it was kind of a disappointment. Vanilla Creme=Good!

Now to the point of this post. On the back of the box, where I hope for some bits of trivia, a cartoon of some sort, or at least some dumb maze or something, guess what I find. (I'm assuming you're guessing right now.) I found an ADVERTISEMENT FOR VANILLA CREME MINI WHEATS!! What the FAT is this!??!? Haven't I just bought the product!? Aren't I sitting here eating the product I purchased?! Why must I be subjected to this advertising torture yet again?!?

It's like Thad saying that, after drinking is Coca-Cola BRAND sugar liquid, he finds under the cap a sign marked "DRINK COKE PLAY AGAIN." Friends, is this any way to live?

I know that the day is coming in which food will be engineered in such a way that, after it is consumed, WE become billboards for the products. We will produce a rash on our cheeks, for instance, that declare "Parkay! Not butter!" Or maybe they'll do crossover ads for other products in their company. Maybe you'll eat Pringles BRAND pressed potato-flavored snack bark and you'll produce a bruise on your forearm that reads "Bounty! The Quicker Picker-Upper!"


I don't like the sound of this. Not one bit. But I can tell you this: I'll be buying Vanilla Creme Mini-Wheats again.

I thought this was a thought-provoking piece from a Dallas radio personality named Gordon Keith.


Reflections on the like of Hunter S. Thompson.


So he blows his head off and I don’t think it is heroic. I don’t think it is romantic, glamorous, or defiant. I don’t think it is praiseworthy, toastworthy, noteworthy, or manly.


You won’t catch me pouring whisky on a grave. Now or ever. It is just sad that such men corrupted my youth and destroyed my adulthood with their permanent adolescence.


Those who make Hemingway, Thompson, Cobain, Morrison, Hendrix, Cassady, Kerouac, Thomas, Hart Crane, Kennedy Toole, or any other sad sack a romantic figure for doing what bums do everyday are pathetic fools. They praise the incarnations of their adolescent angst and tell the rest of us who wouldn’t let ours kill us that we are squares.


I want to live a full and adventurous life for its own sake, not for the sake of giving the advent of my existence the middle finger. I don’t want my life to be shock value, I want it to be a life. Time to tire of being pissed off I was born.


Self-destruction is not the romantic inspiring dance with the Reaper these men promised me it was in my youth, back when wasted talent was as intoxicating as mescal, and every bar was a new novel. Drinking and whoring. It’s false living and it’s a grade of bullshit that sells. And every young man with a literary or rock-n-roll bent burns with that tired Gospel until it is no longer cute, then they turn into old singed men. It happens just like that. One day you are a rock-n-roll bon vivant, the next a drunkard that shit his pants. These goods have always been marketed and sold to the young and I’ll bet all my first editions they always will. I bought it by the caseload and drank their form of death one shot glass at a time with conspiring friends. These men were great at marketing it and some of them sadly believed it until it killed them, or realized their lie and that’s what killed them.


And I was right there, buying it and doing a cheap job of living it. Do not go gentle into that good night. Ok. Then, what shall I go gentle into milord? Nuthin? Ok. Thanks for the help.


I’ve spent too much of my life drinking, smoking, and last-call philosophizing. It’s a frustrating roundabout that creates as much pain as it masks.


As you can tell, this isn’t about Hunter as much as it is about me, and I am truly afraid I will spend the rest of my life trying to kill the 22 year old Gordon Keith.


I don’t know Hunter’s mindset the last few years of his life and I am a shithead for assuming. Yet here I am vomiting up all these words because something so meaningless has meant so much to me. I am not mad at him for his suicide. Nevermind the Catholics. Maybe we all have the right to end the suspense to our own liking. We all kill ourselves at different paces. I am just the old codger who fears what it does to the impressionable who feel like vicarious living is the only true kind. What a sad mistake it is, and how I hate that it robbed me of good years.


“Did you hear what Hunter Thompson did? He said fuck it, if life won’t give me what I want, I’ll wrestle back the wheel of this renegade Buick.” When in reality it was a lonely old scared man who did what lonely old scared men do everywhere. It is ironic to me that poets, authors and sages, who spend the better part of their lives working on the problem of mortality are the ones who fail at it the most come nut-cutting time. You can’t beat that old whore, and it seems to surprise those who “know” it the most.


The ones who want the most life are the ones most disappointed. I don’t know the answer, I just smell a problem.


We praise those who can put words on that which we cannot. So I guess I come to praise Hunter Thompson and bury him.

Bobby loves Danny

Bobby & Camera Day 1
Originally uploaded by smanuel.

Many of you might not know this, but both Jiff and Bobby live and work (and good for them, showing some initiative!) out there in Los Angeles, home of broken dreams and broken and re-sculpted noses. Bobby does (and Jiff did) work in the world of filmed and recorded entertainment, where people make up stories, act out the stories, edit and musicfy them, then sell them to us. This industry (again, if you don't know), makes a lot of money and, because it does, produces people who "live large". These people can be identified by people who don't know them at all, and you, for instance, may have an impression of Tom Cruise as a happy, fulfilled success of a man, while on the inside he's a misogynistic egomaniac. I'm not saying he is, though he very well could be. Anyhow. The beauty of knowing J&B is that you sometimes get silly stories about people we can identify but don't know, and sometimes the Mash writes itself. From Bobby, who's handling the front door of an entertainment-pooping boutique:


I'm at the front desk. Hovering outside the front
door, be-capped, be-jacketed, be-cell phoned, Mr.
Danny Glover. Big man, the expression of a lost
child. I buzz him in. He has the phone to his ear,
but doesn't seem to realize it. He cuts the jig of a
homeless man who has FOUND a cell phone. He never...
quite... actually... makes it... to the desk. Just
floats in the middle space.

He has that sweet, gruff, library voice the whole
time. The conversation as it occurred:

Bobby: Yes, sir.
Danny Glover: (glancing around) Hi, I made it.
B: Yes, sir. Welcome. Who are you here to see?

The phone comes down.

DG: Oh... is this?... I'm here to see Chris.
B: Hmmm. Chris (carefully) who?
DG: This is... I'm... For Chris. (re: address) 9350?
B: Yes sir, Suite 100.
DG: Right, 9350.
B: Suite 100.
DG: Chris, uh, Ebert.
B: (gripping phone list) Chris Ebert? There's no
Chris Ebert that works here, unfortunately.

A very long pause, our eyes are locked.

B: **look at that old black buck**
DG: **i look stupid again**
B: **wanna talk some jive?**
DG: **i once consumed a boy about your size**
B: **i'll talk some jive like you never heard**
DG: **i want to crush ALL white people**

B: What project are you here to discuss?
DG: Projhhh?
B: I could send you to the right office that way.

And he wanders off, thumb poking open phone. Matthew
happens to walk up.

B: I don't know where to send Danny Glover. And he's
standing right there.
Matthew: (grins only)
B: (to DG) This is Intermedia.
DG: Right, I'm Danny Glover.
B: Yes, sir.

He gets no one on his phone, turns back to me. He
shifts his weight onto his other leg, then back again.

DG: Chris Ebert?
B: He's not in this building.
DG: 110?
B: Suite 110? This is suite 100.
DG: Is this Ascendant?
Matthew: Oh, they're next door.
B: This is Intermedia.
DG: (leaving) Oh... next... thank you... next door.

And he disappeared beyond the window.

Matthew: (just chuckles)
B: Well, he was good in Tenenbaums.

I'm celebrating all our past presidents (except LBJ) by sitting around the house writing today. And also, I'm giving you all a link to an incredible music video featuring the head of Abraham Lincoln, the Great Emancipator. After you see this video, you will start calling him the Great Groove Activator. Here's to all former heads of state!

I will always be interested in what I call Generational Theory. I like to observe, from a social as well as spiritual standpoint, the differences between generations. I observe, for instance, that my grandparents' generation was about survival and establishment; my parents' generation has been much more into production and success. My generation seems to be more into personal development or relationships. I'm just saying.

Now, while these are interesting (and debatable) observations, there are SOME things that are NOT up for debate at all. They cut our generations clean into, like a lawnmower blade through stale dog doo. And here's one of them. Allow me to capitalize, to simulate a raising of the voice. OUR PARENTS LOVED WALLPAPER. WE DO NOT. Nobody reading this would choose to have a room like the one pictured below.
This was a very basic part of my growing up, the fact that wallpaper would get changed on most walls in the house every 5-10 years. I remember going to several wallpaper stores with my mother. And I can also say that, when I consider my life and that of my friends who also pay the bank monthly for the opportunity to claim that we 'own' a home, I DON'T KNOW OF ANYBODY IN MY GENERATION WHO HAS EVER HUNG WALLPAPER IN THEIR HOME.

I find this to be curious. I love the concept of zeitgeist, and I declare, there's SOMETHING in the air that makes such changes happen. What? What made all the cars get ovaly 10 years ago, and all awkward and non-drag-resistant now? What made neon colors so great 15 years ago and so taboo now (except in certain country and western dancehall-going sectors of society, which will not be discussed here)? What exactly happened that made the generation after mine (the Yers) want big, bushy, un-maintanainced hair? And WHY DO WE LOATHE WALLPAPER WHEN OUR PARENTS LOVED IT?!?

All I want to say is this: I walked past a ponytailed construction worker last week. He seemed about like you'd expect, except that, as we passed, he said, "Afternoon..." in a very dignified manner. I believe he might have even reached up to tip his hard hat, which was exciting and completely surprising. What a polite and genteel scholar this man came off as! I wanted to introduce myself immediately. He could easily have been a refined English gentleman--the kind that's been immortalized in this fanciful teapot that you can buy at some wheels-off antique site:
I knew a man in England who was as olde school as it gets. This man wore very dapper-looking hip coats, thought of corduroy as being the most casual garment allowable and, when pleased with something, would refer to it as "champion!" or "sterling!" I got a real hoot out of this guy. He also called me Squire, which I found very flattering, as if I was in training for something great. I loved that. Can one say that I'm charmed by chivalry and regalia? Yeah sure, I guess. I dunno.

THESE bad boys (can I say that? I'm neither from the inner city nor a cultural christian...) go on sale about this time next year. CAN I PLEASE HAVE ONE DADDY?? PLEASE??????

My friend Scott was telling me a story about his kid, a 2-year-old girl named Lydia. The family was out sledding, and Lydia wasn't interested; she was giving her attention to a stick. So Scott picked up the stick, broke off the extranaeous branches, and handed it to Lydia, who immediately started drawing lines in the snow. At this simple thing, she was full of glee, and kept insisting that her father look at her having such fun. Stunned by this, Scott concludes that we should be people who can "get to happy with minimal effort."


Luke 18:17- I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.

*chirp*
*chirp*

*chirp*

Now I will say this. I just made a visit to Kansas City, Missouri, which is one of my favorite states. There, I spent time with my friend Richard, who has no working television and raises chickens so that he can eat their eggs freshly. Richard loves, loves, loves making bread, so he found a job doing just that. He lives extrememly simply, from my standpoint. I also spent time with my close friend Mark, who spends hours every day reading, and writing, pausing for honest work on his property when he has to. Mark took me for a walk, straight out of his front door, ending up on some relatively untarnished land with a pond. We walked in the rain, which was right and good. His son was strapped to his back, sound asleep.

This was a good time in my life to visit these friends. I'm at a point where God is calling me back to a setup we had a while back: unclutteredness. Earlier today, my friend Dave read me this verse out of his Bible, which I enjoyed. Having people read me verses out of their Bibles is one of my favorite hobbies, and I'm getting good at it. Here's how it went: "No one seving as a soldier gets involved in civilian affairs; he wants to please his commanding officer." Now, this brought back some memories, because years ago I was very into a dead guy named Jim Eliot, and he was really crazy about this verse. Jim was all about cutting through all the stuff of life in Laodecia (as he constantly called normal America). He said "'Culture', philosophy, disputes, drama in its weaker forms, concerts and opera, politics---anything that can occupy the intellect seems to turn aside the hearts of many here... from a humble life in the steps of the Master, though we sing about this most delicately! NO, EDUCATION IS DANGEROUS, AND, PERSONALLY, I AM BEGINNING TO QUESTION ITS VALUE IN A CHRISTIAN'S LIFE. I DO NOT DISPARAGE WISDOM---THAT COMES FROM GOD, NOT Ph.D's." In a journal he wrote, "I have been musing lately on the extremely dangerous cumulative effects of earthly things. One may have good reason, for example, to want a wife, and he may have one legitimately. But with a wife comes Peter the Pumpkin-Eaters proverbial dilemma---he must find a place to keep her. And most wives will not stay on such terms as Peter proposed. So a wife demands a house; a house in turn requires curtains, rugs, washing machines, et cetera. A house with these things must soon become a home, and children are the intended outcome. The needs multiply as they are met---a car demands a garage; a garage, land; land, a garden; a garden, tools; and tools need sharpening. Woe, woe, woe to the man who would live a disentangled life in my century. II. Timothy 2:4 is impossible in the United States, if one insists on a wife. I learn from this that the wisest life is the simplest one, lived in the fulfillment of only the basic requirements of life---shelter, food, covering, and a bed. And even these can become productive of other needs if one does not heed. Be on guard, my soul, of complicating your environment so that you have neither time nor room for growth!" I think we can all see from these two quotes alone that this guy was out of his mind. He acted as if something else was Really Important. All these words of Jim's could absolutely have come out of my mouth about 8 years ago. I think there's something in there that's self-righteous and proud, but there are other things in there that are hard to shake off so easily.

I can't help but think of another guy, when I get going in this direction. It's that Thoreau feller. He didn't know Jesus, but he walked down a road I often feel my Master leading me down. He is, of course, the "Simplicity! Simplicity! Simplicity!" guy, but he wrote a number of really good other things, too. "My Aunt Maria asked me to read the life of Dr. Chalmers, which, however, I did not promise to do. Yesterday, Sunday, she was heard through the partition shouting to my Aunt Jane, who is deaf, "Think of it! He stood half an hour today to hear the frogs croak, and he wouldn't read the life of Chalmers." This Thoreau character wasn't after Jesus, but he was after one thing, and he was awfully pointed about that pursuit. I like that. More Thoreau: "In the streets and in society I am almost invariably cheap and dissipated, my life is unspeakably mean. No amount of gold or respectability would in the least redeem it,-- dining with the Governor or a member of Congress!! But alone in the distant woods or fields, in unpretending sprout-lands or pastures tracked by rabbits, even in a bleak and, to most, cheerless day, like this, when a villager would be thinking of his inn, I come to myself, I once more feel myself grandly related... I thus dispose of the superfluous and see things as they are, grand and beautiful... I wish to get the Concord, the Massachusetts, the America, out of my head and be sane a part of every day." Now see, there's some good stuff there. I'm not so crazy about the alone stuff David touts so mightily, but I sure like that last line. I really want to get the Cincinnati, Campbells Soup and Crossroads, America and Texas, musician or athlete stuff out of my head and heart, and just walk with God every moment, finding all my place and identity in Him.

God is teaching me that I don't have any room left for other allegiances, if I belong wholly to Him. Let me tell a story: I brought my computer home one day and was reading some things in it in my living room, when my computer told me "you're hooked up on a wireless network right now." Surprised, I have come to find out that the ubiquitous internet has now captured my home, presumably by my neighbors' network. In about 2 weeks' time, I had formed a habit of going to USA Today's website to do the crossword puzzle, and even looked forward to that after working hours. Now, isn't that insidious? A little thievery there, a little removal or narrowing there. Mark challenged me this past week when he made a comment about Fantasy Basketball, of which I'm an active and enthusiastic participant. He said, "If I spent an hour in the entire year on that, it would be completely wasted time." All of my little lovers from my days of rest and complacency are under question right now. Why is our living room furniture all directed at that blasted television, which has never done anything but sallowed and softened our love for our LORD? Why do I need to drive a $10,000 automobile, when a $4,000 will be just as dry, go just as fast, and transport me just as successfully? Why must I give so much time to having fun, "relaxing" (from what? My job of writing music!?), and self-indulgence? Why so so so many sets of clothes? And hear me: I don't think any of those things are "bad" (because Bad is whatever is outside of God, and He's big enough to incorporate my $10K car); I just see that they're little threats. So the LORD is telling me to streamline, in these days. Must I always be looking for some kind of promotion? Must I want more? Must my life be Important? What if that's not what God wants, and I'm opposing Him with my ambition?

Zechariah 4:10- who despises the day of small things?


Well whew. Maybe you can see why I posted what I did immediately below this. Because I know what I'm writing can feel dogmatic and constricting, and if-you're-not-doing-this-you-can't-possibly-have-God-ish. And I'm not into those things. But this is what I'm hearing.

I hasten to add that this is stuff I'm thinking about and processing; the concrete has not set in me on this stuff. I have been here before, in my more legalistic days, and I hear this call again, out of invitation. If you hear something dangerous in my words, or just disagree, I'm really okay with that.

First let me say this: it's very easy for me to hear God speak to me, hear freedom and invitation and life in His Word, and then run out, tell you what He said, and imprison you by those same words. That is to say, what He speaks as freedom to one child might be death and undue restriction on another child. That's why, of course, we all want to hear Him speak to us personally. (This is what Jesus' sheep were meant to do, of course. Not to win souls or even love people, and not to study well or speak in tongues. Jesus' sheep hear His voice. That's their job description.) God has words of life to speak to you that have nothing to do with me. I want to know what He's saying to you, of course, because I want my understanding of Him to be as wide and complete as possible--but the foisting on you of His words to me isn't helpful.

Religion, the bad kind, is very good at filling in the blanks for us all when we don't know what God is saying. Have you noticed this? You don't really hear preachers encouraging you to stay in that place of uncertainly until the LORD reveals Himself. They say that you shouldn't just sit there; you should be doing something.
"You're unsure what He's saying to you? Well, He's telling you to serve, right? To get outside yourself?"
"Well, yes, He seems to have said that in the scriptures, and He seems to say that to me..."
"Here's what you do: go here, say this, put your money here, etc. etc. etc."
Lots of times, those instructions lead to their organization being benefitted. That's another topic, but it sure makes the whole line of counsel suspicious. How can a girl trust a boy when all his cousel leads to his own bedroom?

We become, in effect, spiritual investment bankers for each other. Just give me your assets, and I won't make you think or evaluate or understand. I'll tell you what to do, and you see for yourself that my instructions yield desirable returns. And hey, I confess: I have often thought that if people would let me run their lives, I would help them do a much better job than they do on their own. And I've been serious about that, and not megalomaniacal, either (and in the flesh, I would still maintain this. But so what? Better fleshly lives?). It wasn't about control; it was really about helping people. Yet it was religious (the dirty kind).

But here's the thing: what's the goal? If you tell me how to live, and I end up with a happy marriage and well-behaved children and a stable financial situation, did we win? If those things are the goal, then yeah I guess we did. But if hearing and having God is the goal, then you blew it for me by telling me what to do, instead of pushing me back into the ring and making me deal with Him personally. And I blew it by listening to your (well-meaning, possibly helpful) advice. If getting God is the goal, then none of the other things matter. At all. They do not matter at all.

See, there isn't a Right way to live. There couldn't be. If there were a Right way to live, we'd be back under the law. So someone could move to India, take up where Mother Teresa left off, have the perfect 40-30-30 diet, always wash their socks and wear deodorant, and without God around, they'd be living Wrong. And somebody else could live in the fabulous hills of Bel-Air, CA, have servants and drive a Bentley and, with God around, be A-OK. This is hard for me to get my head around, since I've spent many years trying to figure out what the Perfect Life would look like, so I could emulate it. I think of the India person as Right and the Bel Air person as Wrong. But the fact is, again, that Right Living doesn't exist in a way that can be outwardly observed. The Kingdom of God is within you (Luke 17:21), and that's where God is. If I can see the fruits of His presence, can observe the effects of the wind, then that's enough. I don't need to understand or agree with any of the other stuff.

So go feel free to listen and know and talk to God. People who lead you into more conversation with Him are your friends. People who would fill in the blanks for you are not.

People who consciously look at their automobile buying dollars, shop around a bit, do some research, and end up buying a Pontiac Aztec should be issued a handicapped (tm) parking pass with their new ultra-strange vehicle. I feel similarly about the Scion. And yet I'm crazy about that Element! Go figger.

John 1:12- Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.

Friends, the only thing you could ever possibly do, with relation to the GOD Who Speaks Planets, is to receive things from Him. He is not a man, that He could be served by men, as if He could ever need something (Acts 17:25), and it's impossible for you to make something that He could inhabit (Is 66:1). Kinda puts a big freakin Mac truck (tm) sized hole in our great delusions about "doing something for God", don't it? Kinda makes all that religious talk that we've all heard about pleasing Him with our work a little hollow, am I right? Can I get an amen?

Hey, I'm no fool. I grew up in the Present Religious System, where you get strokes for performance, so I sought to serve Jesus better than anybody (this is how you know you're Doing Well, by the way: you look over your shoulder). Then Jesus says, "You know, you can call yourself a servant if you want, but I don't want to call you that. Servants are used to do jobs, and they don't really know what their master's heart is all about. I'd much rather call you friends. Friends really aren't all that useful, as far as getting stuff done. They're just for enjoyment and relationship. I'd like to call you a friend." But like I said, I was no fool. You don't get strokes where I come from for being a "friend of Jesus". You get strokes for performing. So I told Jesus no thanks and went on with things. Ultimately, I got the shit kicked out of me by the evil spirits I'd be agreeing to (because, baby, you can only perform so well for so long, and one day the odds comes calling), and Jesus very patiently and lovingly came and rescued me. After this happened a number of times, I decided that I would actually really LIKE to be a fool. And the old crowd doesn't exactly ask me around anymore.

John 1:11- He came to that which was His own, but His own did not receive Him. Is that not one of the spookiest verses you've ever heard? Why wouldn't His own receive Him? I'd bet you they were busy doing things, "God-things", and saw no usefulness in receiving Him. Religion is utilitarian; the Father is lavish, wasteful, and overboard. Think of the picture of marriage, by which we're to learn about His ways: of what use is sex to a husband? Satisfaction, that's what! Yeah, but what else? Well, maybe progeny, but you don't get the progeny without the satisfaction stuff! We think the progeny is the goal, and that the satisfaction stuff is a waste of time. There's a lot of counterfeit fruit out there to prove it.

Think of the picture of a tree. David said in Psalm 1 that a man who delights in the LORD and His law (=LOVE!) is like a tree planted by streams of living water. What does that picture tell us? Well, how much effort does a tree exert? Ever seen a tree strive, or work harder, or promise to try next time? Trees absorb food and water, and by virtue of what they are, they produce fruit. Always. Year in and year out. So what's the key to their success? Receiving. Jesus says "you know, if you do nothing but rest in me, just rest in me, you'll be like a tree. You will bear much fruit--can't avoid it. But apart from resting in me, you can produce nothing of lasting value. Heat but not light. Clouds without rain."

Again, think of sheep. Sheep go a step further. Not only are sheep specially made to simply eat, rest, and produce wool, but they will actually produce LESS if they're harassed or nervous. Their being at peace and careless is the job of a good shepherd, because if they experience stress, they'll become withered and won't eat. THIS IS US. Believe and receive. When we think "I'll serve you, and you give me some food and keep me safe", we're not coming to Him as sheep to a shepherd, we're coming to Him as slaves to a master. That's a great perversion of what the LORD has made available to you. And let me tell you this: servants will never know the Master's heart. Friends will.

God wants sons (Romans 8, Hebrews 2, et al). People who receive Him and believe get to be sons. Not the workers; not the "faithful"; not the sin-avoiders; not the actively-sharing-their-faith; not the never-miss-a-quiet-timers. Receivers.

Following fashion is, as I've said, a chasing after the wind. Going to Banana Republic every month to see what the provacateurs are parading is silly: their entire job is to keep things changing so that everyone continually needs to buy new stuff to be current. That's insanity if I've ever heard it.

Yet my wife, she sometimes chases after the wind. Okay maybe not that, but she sees the effects of the wind. And makes observations (and purchases) based on that knowledge. She has bought me a new pair of jeans, my good men, and I'm a little confounded by them. When I was a boy [the year is 1986: Coca Cola rugby shirts were a must for high schoolers, the Ralph Lauren "polo" brand was associating itself with the posh and privileged, and Bon Jovi was Giving Love A Bad Name], the hip jean designers made their wares different and necessary by acid washing them and, in some extreme cases, made them black. Fashion has "progressed", I guess, because now the hip jeans are not only oh-so-prefaded-in-just-the-right-spots as well as being strategically 'stressed' at the hems and pockets, but they're also colored in such a way that you half believe they were ground in mud before being hung to sell in the store. There's an unmistakable dirty look to my new pre-worn-looking jeans. I can only assume that in 20 years, the clothes I'm buying my children will already have been given away to Goodwill.

I like the healthy drinks. I will always choose a fruity drink over those bad bad sodas that the kids all drink these days. I enjoy caring for my body; it's part of my heritage as a shepherd (really!). Anyhow, I got turned on to the Odwalla line about a year ago, when I was running ridiculous distances and such. It's all full of fruit and flowers and corn and stuff, and it's supposed to be really good for you. So I would occasionally save up my allowance and plunk down the $3 that one of those 14 oz. bottles cost. I'd walk away feeling healthy and scammed (I could go on and on about my strained relationship with Whole Foods Markets just because of their instictive belief that healthy food costs a lot more than crap food). Well that's all changed now...

BECAUSE I'M HERE TO HYPE HYPE HYPE THE WONDERFUL PRODUCTS GIVEN TO US BY BOLTHOUSE FARMS!!!

You may be saying "That's a terrible name for a company that sells nutritious drinks. Bolthouse Farms sounds like a lumberyard." Granted, but that's beside the point. BF (www.bolthouse.com) makes a V8 competitor, various juices, the green drink to compete with Odwalla's Superfood, and this killer thing I just drank called Perfectly Protein- Vanilla Chai Tea with Soy Protein. If you're like me, you can't imagine paying good money for tea, but this stuff doesn't taste or look like tea. It looks like milk, and it tastes like some kind of almond vanilla concoction that God revealed to someone in a dream. It's inCREDible. Allow me to go on: imagine a beverage with 19 grams of soy protein, Vitamin C, B6 and B12, iron, zinc, magnesium, 18 amino acids, and 37 grams of isoflavonoids per serving--can you see how incredible this would be for your body as well as your taste buds? Now imagine paying $1.50 for it at your local cut-rate Mijer foodseller. Yessssss.

I should go on about the milky thing. I have always enjoyed the creamy/milky beverage, no matter the flavor. Why, when I'd go visit my Uncle Jerald's homestead in Bedias Texas, we'd often be treated to strawberry or chocolate milk, and they were all ambrosia to me. I like malts of all kinds, and will even stoop to drinking Ovaltine when my milk jones kicks in. I'm not proud. Heck, I'll even drink drinks that are supposed to REMIND us of milk, but have no milk content, like Yoo-Hoo and Chocolate Soldier. I have often purchased those questionable Starbucks frappucino drinks just because they're milky smooth, though I'm not a fan of coffee. Are you getting the picture? SoBe makes a wonderful Tropical-themed Pina Colada drink that I'm all over. Again, I think it has no actual milk in it, but oh the sweetness! Oh the fruitiness! Oh the milkiness! This could be why I enjoy nougat as well, though I'm sure that nougat will probably kill us all. I've gone on too long.

Perfectly Protein, by Bolthouse Farms, is everything I could hope for in an ingestible liquid. It's sweet, nutritious, and has that milky quality that never goes unappreciated.


ps- wouldn't it be great if nutrition drinks also told you what ISN'T healthy about their drinks? They act like they're just perfect, like they've never done ANYTHING wrong. We all know they're just hiding their flaws, like you do when you're dating somebody. Will somebody be honest with me? THAT's the person I want to marry, anyway!