Today, I do you a Favor

You bettah wake up and smell a real flava
Cause 9-1-1 is a fake life saver, yo.

Our lives are too short to be wasting them on french fries and Steak-Umm. You fellas deserve deliciousness, and I'm the man to give it ya. Do not screw with this recipe. It's the spank. Also, be inspired by that out-of-focus photograph

Black Bean Dip- hells yeah
3 15oz cans black beans, rinsed
1 can Rotel (insist upon it)
1 chopped sweet onion
1/2 c. chopped cilantro
3 jalepenos, chopped and seeded (optional)
3 cloves of garlic, chopped
2T lime juice
1 1/2 tsp cumin
1T red wine vinegar
1/4 c. olive oil
1/4 c. canola oil
2T Tony's seasoning
1/2 tsp pepper
1T Frank's Red Hot Sauce

It is worth every bit of it. Don't let the length of the items dissuade you. Nothing comes easy that's worth having. Even grace was hell to arrange. Praise God by eating this greatness with some sturdy chips (around my dump, we love Snyder's white corn tortillas). My God, the flavors!

Says So Right Here

I saw in heaven another great and marvelous sign: seven angels with the seven last plagues—last, because with them God's wrath is COMPLETED. -Revelation 15:1

The steadfast love of the LORD NEVER CEASES. -Lamentations 3:22

Wrath will peter out. Love is built for eternity. Wrath sprints. Love is a distance runner.

I knew it.

She did that thing she do.

...some of those present were saying "why this waste of perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year's wages and the money given to the poor." And they rebuked her harshly.
"Leave her alone," said Jesus. "Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing..."

I was looking out the window this morning at a little sparrow who'd found a crust of bread (yes, literally, a CRUST) and brought it to a little out of the way place (my porch) to eat it. He was spare and wan and just not a pretty thing. But as I sat there considering his odd birdly ways, I thought "no, he's not pretty... But he's beautiful. Wonderful work there, God." It's obvious when you consider a dog or a tree that a man didn't build this thing and never EVER could even hope to approximate it. It's a miracle. For me, the point to Creator Dad is all but impossible to miss.

Now, with people, it can be a little more convoluted. Our words and actions can point to us, not Him, and they can point to something base and wretched with which all of us are familiar but none of us desire. And we get calloused to it, because we like things pretty, sometimes, more than beautiful. And I think, I don't know... maybe there's a difference. So I was wondering, as I looked at this verse, if the definition of beauty is That Which Glorifies God. You can call that worship, I guess--making much of Him. Around my house, we dig O'Keefe and Lichtenstein and Renoir... and Bill Watterson, and Steinbeck, and Chris Martin. Beauty. So do we have the very creative power of God to look at something Not Pretty and declare it Beautiful, just by the way we see it and the virtuous power of our word? Um. Yeah. Yeah, I say we do. And I'm gonna say that's a version of worship. "He has made everything beautiful in its time. And he has also put eternity into the hearts of men." Ecclesiastes 3:11

That awesome hooker turned a proper dinner party into a worship service, and Jesus saw it in an instant. (Beautiful) worship-redeemed the standard into glory- never goes unnoticed by the Shepherd. When we're not thinking right, we might see a scruffy, worn-out looking sparrow. I think He sees beauty. And oh, that our sight would be more like his today.

God, beauty is hard to explain
dancing shadows and light through the rain
every kiss in the world wouldn’t make you feel better
Human formulas ravel in time
Strange equations of rhythm and rhyme
Could it be that we’re both just slaves to the weather

beauty
where to find it
can’t be far
beauty
where you hiding?
tell me, I'll go where you are

Is there precision in arcs or in lines?
Or is there truth in miraculous signs?
it made me wish we were back in our beds sleeping soundly
Dreams spin designs

Cause every tear your silly eye bleeds
Is it your soul or emotional needs?
I want to find a beautiful place
Is there a hope of salvation today?

beauty
where to find it
can’t be far
beauty
where you hiding?
tell me, I'll go where you are

------------
apologies to David Mead

Basketball's Mike Tyson

He cannot stop himself.


NEW YORK-Knicks guard Stephon Marbury testified Wednesday in the case of a fired team executive who has accused coach Isiah Thomas of sexual harassment, calling the lawsuit absurd while downplaying an encounter with a drunken intern.

After hearing about the lawsuit brought by Anucha Browne Sanders, "I laughed," Marbury said in U.S. District Court. "It was more of a joke than anything."

Marbury admitted he once called Browne Sanders a "bitch," though he insisted, "I didn't have a reason not to like her."

Browne Sanders says she is owed her vice president position back and at least $10 million for enduring a sexually harassing workplace for five years. Her lawsuit claims she was fired "for telling the truth" about vulgarity and unwanted advances by Thomas, also a team president. Thomas has denied the allegations.

Taking the witness stand earlier Wednesday, Browne Sanders wept while telling the jury of five women and three men that Marbury and his cousins, also Madison Square Garden employees, were part of the problem.

The plaintiff cited a conversation with an MSG intern who confided that she was having a relationship with one of the cousins and had gotten drunk on an outing to a Manhattan strip club in April 2005 that included Marbury. The intern claimed that afterward Marbury lured her into his vehicle for sex, Browne Sanders said.

"She said she basically did whatever he asked her to do and she considered it to be consensual because she got in the car," Browne Sanders testified.

When he took the stand, Marbury admitted pulling up and asking the intern, "Are you going to get in the truck?" He said she answered, "Yes."

U.S. District Judge Gerard E. Lynch cut off any more questioning on the encounter, saying more details wouldn't help the jury decide the case.

After Marbury finished testifying, he rode down 23 floors in a crowded elevator, saying to no one in particular: "Money makes you do crazy things, man."

Then he left the courthouse, smiling and singing a song out loud. When pressed to divulge more about his relationship with the intern, he instead commented cheerfully on a reporter's shoes

Poetry Co-nah, Ya'll

Cursed and vexed
Bereft of hope
Lies fruitless ground outside my door
Where dreams of
Gardens' satisfactions,
Dirt- and dung-stained, hit the floor
I tried repeated
Plots for planting:
Mint and melon, cumin, dill
And every swallow
Of its bitter
Failure was a bitt'rer pill
If fertilized;
Still derelict!
Infused with life; birthed only death!
Symbolic of
My own frustration:
Stilled a violet's guileless breath.
Finally fit
For desperation
I'd imported vibrant soil
But fallow, clayey
Languid land
Unearthed me! as the greener foil
Interred the
Nutrients I'd offered
Swallowed up without a trace
Unfulfilling
Unproductive
Muck and mud left in its place

Enough of madd'ning
Earth! I hear my
Brother Jacob's rung the chime
He's left another
Lady love and
Needs my comfort one more time.

Same Guy!

Both of these men threaten to taste their nose when they grin.

Fame II: Go Low!

These should be read in reverse order. Read the post below this one ("Fame") first.

And one more thing about fame. I forgot this part, but this was one of the first things that got me thinking this way.

My pal Bennythebull makes music videos and has worked with MTV and met a lot of famous people along the way. Recently, he went to a Big Country Music concert and was backstage. His colleague, a man who has also worked with famous people, was inexplicably jumpy about "being so close to this star! He's right THERE!" Bennythebull was rather disgusted with the lines of girls who just wanted to be close to someone they've seen in such a glamourous light. They wanted to kiss him, touch him, have some memento of their contact. Strangers. Weird.

Later's the big music star's video producer told benny that sometimes, when the star's down and feeling like he doesn't want to do his job (be it recording, shooting a video, or some other 'behind the scenes' work--BORING!), she loads him up in a car, takes him to the touristy parts of Nashville, and pops him into the public, who twitter and wriggle at his presence. When he gets back into the car after a half hour, he's magically motivated to go make the next hit.

I don't tell that story because I have anything against this country star. I tell it because there's something for us to learn, in the way we relate to The Famous or, if you're RK or TH or thad or jiff anybody who puts themself in front of others, how to deal with BEING that person.

Again I'll say that Jesus walks away from such things. In Mark 1, his disciples found him (praying all alone in the middle of nowhere! Come on, Jesus! That's not savvy on your part!), and told him "hey! Woo hoo! There's a whole bunch of people over there waiting for you! You can teach them the gospel and we can sell t-shirts and make a website! The kingdom will advance! They want you Jesus! Now go make the world a better place, sport!"

As you may know, Jesus unceremoniously turns around and says "then we'll go somewhere else. I have to go to places where they don't know me."

Fame, in my opinion, is just a hyped-up version of Being Cool, which is one of the greatest American virtues. The music star is COOL, and his fame and his coolness feed off (and inflate) one another until he pops (and he most likely will). It will always bother me that so many religious people want to make Jesus cool--that's the worldly way to credibility, and it's all we know when we take our cues from the world. Walk into a Christian Bookstore, if you dare, and see if Jesus is presented as a friend to sinners, the punk outsider who loved hookers and theives and completely demonized the religious machinery of his day. Or just save your time and take my word for it: you won't. Jesus is seen as safe and always sweet and, if you wander to the worship music section or the t-shirt section or the kids section or the men's or youth interest section, COOL. You know, I can't stand that "Real Men Love Jesus" bumper sticker; the macho one-upsmanship of that statement kind of makes me want to smash the rear windshield of that F150, because it lies to the world about what our familiar-with-suffering Savior is like. And when religious organizations' great desire is to make Jesus seem palateable, and even aspirational, to those who don't know him, as if joining forces with this guy is the very best way to get the things you already wanted anyway, man, I just want to vomit. Or cry. Or whatever. Go into a local Christian youth group (if you dare) and tell me how it comes across. Or just ask me or Peepee or moljer or Shane or jiff or hamster or whoever. Lots of times, it's good-hearted people trying to do a cool dance to kids who, deep down, don't want more cool posturing, they want to be loved and led. I think Jesus was probably pretty stinky. And mysterious and kind of hard to be around sometimes. And he told his followers they had to drink his blood. Okay... that's not normal. Or cool.

So here's me today, saying to my friends: please don't chase cool. Please don't honor fame. Please take the low place; that's where the grace is, and that's where your Best Friend used to hang around. And when you see me peeking up too high, invite me back down where the grass is soft and the music makes you cry and the laughter isn't mixed with shame. let's go low, my friends, and never go back.

Fame

I had lunch with my friend Kevin today and told him about a story I have yet to relate here, that being the one where I leave my job and jump off into nothingness. Did that a couple of weeks ago. Working for a religious organization always made me a little uneasy, but I knew that's where God had me, and I did find him there. But there was an aspect of the job that always kind of worried me: standing on a stage and having thousands of people listen to your words week after week. I mean, the nonverbal communication is clear in those settings: what the guy up front has to say is more important than what anybody else in here has to say. Right? That's obvious.

Now, our 'public' is those people whom we see casually, the people who comprise the backdrop of our lives. Your public includes the people you see in stores, restaurants, your neighborhood, and at church, school, work, etc. My public was oftentimes the very people sitting in those seats, agreeing to the communication structure that said my words got waaaaay more airtime than theirs. So I might get spoken to in a grocery store by someone I'd not met, but who regarded me anyway. Let me restate: someone was disposed to elevating me even though they didn't know me. That on-stage position alone made people defer to me in many situations, including my work (as ALL of my colleagues also sat in those seats week after week after week). Is this sounding weird yet? It is to me. On some micro-level, I was experiencing what we'd call FAME.

I just heard a TEDtalk by Rick Warren, who's sold over like 30 million copies of a book. Rick was saying that he asked himself why God had given him all the money and influence. I don't know that God gave him those things, but there you have it. Rick concluded something like "I will use this fame to propigate 'goodness' and make the world 'a better place'." So he does the speaking tours and the television shows. Put that on one side.

I was recently talking to an earnest young believer named Michael, whose pure heart and zeal I really love, and we were discussing the subject of Body, Soul, and Spirit. We were reviewing things like "your flesh is in league with the world. You shouldn't let it lead you, because it doesn't go to Godward places." and "your soul is to be protected and guarded, because it's kind of flaky and good at faking you out and you gotta handle that guy with kid gloves." Michael shot out with this comment, which impressed me for its insight and simplicity: "so we should avoid fame and glory at all costs. Is that right? Won't that damage our souls because our flesh likes it so much?" Understand that Michael is an NCAA golf stud, and just played at the US Amateurs in San Francisco. Glory is right there handy for him, in his world, if he wants it. As of now, Michael's take on fame is different than Rick's.

Now, I know that our bodies like rich foods, and rich foods are okay if taken in moderation. They're not in themselves evil. Maybe this is the same with glory, but not a lot of people actually find identity in food. We DO find identity in glory. Jesus, though, had every right (and plenty of opportunity) to be famous and glorious, and he just never took the bait. Instead, he ran from it all. What we see in the scriptures is Humble Yourself, Humble Yourself, Humble Yourself. If you do that, says God, I'll lift you up--to me. OoooOOOO! Now we're talking!

This is one thing I've been thinking about, because of my new unemployment. When I was on the way out, I could actually feel my flesh sometimes saying "are you sure you want to give this up? These people think you fart potpourri, dude! How great is that?" Not the kind of greatness I want, I think. "Guard your heart" says Proverbs 4:23 "for out of it flows the wellspring of life." "Watch out," said Jesus, "be on your guard against all kinds of greed."

.................................

As I've been writing this, I feel that my opinions could come across as arrogant or whatever. If that's so, that's so. But this is what I'm thinking today, and this is where I've been. I'm just throwing it out there.

There Are These Hard Times

Trouble will come and find you and you won't have to look.

That's how it seems these days. I feel surrounded by pain, and it's not that fun. I have recently encountered the following:

-a couple who've been denied AGAIN for international adoption
-a couple who've been told that their newborn is possibly mentally retarded
-a friend who's talking about divorce
-a couple trapped by money's deceiving powers
-a friend of a friend who's slowly being sucked into a cult
-a friend whose entire church was recently devestated by a very spiritual-seeming deception
-a couple who're witnessing the slow physical demise of a loved one
-miscarriages galore
-a couple having to deal with the pain of her past and the non-stop accusation and strife that creates
-a family being torn apart by arrogance and greed

Whee!

Seriously, this stuff has me out of sorts. I was having some sort of internal crisis last night considering all this. "How could God let this happen?" is not an unfamiliar question around my house, and while I hate that question in itself (as it's not my place to ask such things), I find to not have great answers. My best is "God allows freedom because of love, and that means that this kind of pain will be part of the deal," but that doesn't provide a huge amount of relief for people inside the crap.

It's funny and kind of adolescent how we grab onto such things, but Rich Mullins' simple chorus has been ringing in my ears like the promise of something secure:

That where I am, there you may also be
Where the truth, the truth will set you free
In the world you will have trouble, but I give you my peace
That were I am, there you may also be

It's part of an old discussion that me and Peepee have always had: when you get promised healing and deliverance like we've been, what do you do when you pray for healing and deliverance and don't get it? It makes you want to kick a rock. But Jiff says that the longing this creates is part of the process, and the building desire is actually God-glorifying. I'm down with that, that helps. But oh how we want faith to be sight, no? It gets a man down, is all I'm saying.

Not a Magazine

Jiff cut this sucker together, and I have to say, it's dark and kind of creepy and also beautiful. What can I say? It moves me.

The Purest Thing

I won't make any promises about a daily submission or anything, but here's today's song. I'm grateful when God lets them get birthed. And such as.

It was the first word said
When the world was a thought in God’s head
Friends, it will be the common thread
In all hist’ry’s loom

One day, when the cursed relent
It will have made those souls repent
It’ll take all the fear we’ve sent
From the grave to the womb

Love is the purest thing
Love is a diamond ring
Love is the song we sing until the day we die
Love is meek and strong
Love could never be wrong
Love is a lifetime long and an ocean wide
Love is the Final King
Love is the purest thing

What has a war ever done
But show us who’s best with a gun?
What could violence ever do
But break a heart in two?

Someday, hearts united, ignited into one
Like a bride and a groom, like a father and a son
Think of the power and the sweetness and the zeal
When death is put to death, and hate’s under our heel

For there’s no army greater than love
And it won’t wait for a sign from above
There are some things we know without being told
And, in the face of all fear, love is bold

Love is the purest thing
Love is a diamond ring
Love is the song we sing until the day we die
Love is meek and strong
Love could never be wrong
Love is a lifetime long and an ocean wide

Love is the Final King
Love is the purest thing

Wowee!

John McEnroe is one of very few announcers whose commentary actually excites me. Regardless of the match, I could simply hear his thoughts and be quite entertained. Tennis was in such a wonderful place when I was in jr. high/high school: I saw Borg and Mac and Lendl and Edberg and Becker and Wilander turn into Courier and Chang and Sampras and Agassi and Ivanisevic. My dad couldn't stand big Mac for his manners and, while I recognized his stunning immaturity for a man with the world looking at him, I found his skill and spirit fascinating. I like the guy.

So when I casually flipped by the USOpen today and saw Tommy Haas and James Blake playing, I wasn't totally interested. I'm not much of a Blake fan (kind of boring guy, strange sleeveless shirts, bald-with-beard look popularized by Isaac Hayes), but when I heard John McEnroe's snide voice, I measured the negative of having to hear the intolerably masculine Mary Carillo piping in with her 2c between Dick Enberg and McEnroe, and stuck in. I was rewarded with a thrilling match crowned by a fifth set tiebreaker and another heart-wrenching concession by James. Viva nothing going on Labor Day and a little quality tennis viewing!

Basketball's Mike Tyson

You can bet that, from now on, I'm going to be watching anytime Stephon Marbury is speaking. Anywhere.

Having recently said about the Michael Vick debacle, "I don't know what the deal is. We don't seem to get upset when people shoot deers [sic] and stuff. From my understanding, dogfighting is a SPORT, you know what I'm sayin?", Mr. Marbury has immediately shifted (based on, I'm guessing, some strongly-worded counsel from his agent).

Today, Stephon has had somewhat of a change of mind. "Dogfighting is 100% wrong!" he says, with great moral conviction.

Thank you, Basketball's Mike Tyson. Thank you.

Click on the title for the actual story.

In Case You Didn't Know, I Used To Work With Geniuses

We dreamed this baby up a while back and they executed, big time. I had the pleasure of singing over this greatness when we performed it live. What a great president we created in post!

Sketch Roberts!

Last night I had a dream in which I, with some buddies, was getting a hair cut at a place called Sketch Roberts. I happen to think this is a great name for a salon, and if I don't open a store with that name someday (I won't), I will at least put it in a story or something as the name of a hip salon. Please don't go and steal the name of my hip salon which came from a dream so I'm not sure if I really can take credit but it was my head after all so don't use it as if it came out of your head. It didn't.

Heard of this particular snare?

Anybody really aware of Reform Judiasm? Yeah, me neither. But I'm getting interested in it, because I'm getting interested in the spiritual history of my city, Cincinnati, which was named after Cincinnaticus, a noble Roman who took over the dictatorship only because he could see a dearth of leadership, then jumped out of the dictatorship as soon as the crisis (revolts by the Aequi, Volscians, and plebeians) was over. He also opposed the passing of empire-wide laws by Terentilius. Cool guy.


Anyhow, Cincinnati is the earliest American home of Reform Judiasm (dating back to 1841), home of the oldest and most important Reform Jewish seminary (Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion), and home to the oldest Jewish newspaper in the U.S. (1864). There are nearly 23,000 Jews in Cincinnati.

Reform Judiasm is the largest denomination of Judiasm in America. It originated in Germany, based on the belief that the individual can interpret Torah for oneself, thereby deciding which ordinances one must follow, and which may be jettisoned (they say, outright, that if they're not easily understood, they're not applicable). This is possible because Reform Judiasm denies divine authorship of Torah (please imagine the look on my face as I type that sentence). Circumcision is abandoned, as are all kosher laws, along with traditional music, vestments, and Hebrew prayerbooks. The roots of RJ also declared that Germany, not Israel, was its new Zion. Like revisionist Mormonism, the RJ powers that be have now gone back on that idea. "Repairing the world" (tikkun olam) is one's dominant form of service to God, and this is again left to one's own evaluation.

This qualifies as the "doctrine of demons" in my book. Putting our interpretation over and above Torah is sickly and anti-God. This is what peepee's been railing against with his anti-systematic theology rants (with which I heartily agree), but to see this My Mind Is Best concept having eaten through a belief system so steeped in the Original Laws is dumbfounding. If you're going to go along with Judiasm, and agree to live under the law, how can you possibly justify eviscerating, at your leisure, those laws which you don't enjoy or are unable to rationalize? How perverse. (If anybody can answer this question, do write in. Though I've spent a lot of time with Messianic Jews, I'm not very versed in modern American Judiasm, and I'm certainly interested.)

I have no partiular conclusion about this; I'm just mulling over the state of my city today, and this religious blight is currently in my hippocampus. I will remind you, though, that you're commanded to "pray for the peace of Jerusalem" (Psalm 122:6), so today's as good a time as any. We KNOW, kids, that the hardening of the Jewish heart toward God doesn't mean that God's kicked them to the curb. His heart is toward that people, as ours should be (See Romans 11). Pray for the Jews, and remember the "Reformed" among them especially today.

Please stay healthy, A-Rod

Texas Conchords

I keep finding more FoC gold. Looka this! They came to SXSW! Look for Lyle at 7:23.



I love these guys. They're just two dorks who started recording themselves and their stupid humor and it turned into a BBC radio spot, then eventually the HBO show. What is up with that?! YES!

I'm Proof That Hope Is Never Lost

In case you didn't know, A-Rod and Bonds and Glavine aren't the best story in baseball this year. The Reds are the lucky employers of Josh Hamilton. The following story, written by Hamilton, was in ESPN Magazine. What is up, sports fans.

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


To let you know how far I've come, let me tell you where I've been.

Not that long ago, there were nights I went to sleep in strange places praying I wouldn't wake up. After another night of bad decisions, I'd lie down with my heart speeding inside my chest like it was about to burst through the skin. My thinking was clouded, and my talent was one day closer to being totally wasted.

I prayed to be spared another day of guilt and depression and addiction. I couldn't continue living the life of a crack addict, and I couldn't stop, either. It was a horrible downward spiral that I had to pull out of, or die. I lay there -- in a hot and dirty trailer in the North Carolina countryside, in a stranger's house, in the cab of my pickup -- and prayed the Lord would take me away from the nightmare my life had become.

When I think of those terrible times, there's one memory that stands out. I was walking down the double-yellow of a two-lane country highway outside Raleigh when I woke up out of a trance.

I was so out of it I had lost consciousness, but my body had kept going, down the middle of the road, cars whizzing by on either side. I had run out of gas on my way to a drug dealer's house, and from there I left the truck and started walking. I had taken Klonopin, a prescription antianxiety drug, along with whatever else I was using at the time, and the combination had put me over the edge. It's the perfect example of what I was: a dead man walking.

And now, as I stand on the green grass of a major league outfield or walk to the batter's box with people cheering for me, I repeatedly ask myself one simple question: How did I get here from there?

I've been in the big leagues as a member of the Cincinnati Reds for half a season, but I still find myself taking off my cap between pitches and taking a good look around. The uniform, the ballparks, the fans -- it doesn't seem real. How am I here? It makes no sense to anybody, and I feel almost guilty when I have to tell people, over and over, that I can't answer that one simple question.

I go to sleep every night with a clear mind and a clear conscience. Every day, I walk into an immaculate clubhouse with 10 TVs and all the food I can eat, a far cry from the rat-infested hellholes of my user past. I walk to my locker and change into a perfectly clean and pressed uniform that someone else hung up for me. I grab a bat and a glove and walk onto a beautifully manicured field to play a game for a living.

How am I here? I can only shrug and say, "It's a God thing." It's the only possible explanation.

There's a reason my prayers weren't answered during those dark, messed-up nights I spent scared out of my mind. There's a reason I have this blessed and unexpected opportunity to play baseball and tell people my story.

My wife, Katie, told me this day would come. At my lowest point, about three years ago, when I was wasting away to skin and bones and listening to nobody, she told me I'd be back playing baseball someday. She had no reason to believe in me. During that time, I did nothing to build my body and everything to destroy it. I'd go five or six months without picking up a ball or swinging a bat. By then, I'd been in rehab five or six times -- on my way to eight -- and failed to get clean. I was a bad husband and a bad father, and I had no relationship with God. Baseball wasn't even on my mind.

And still Katie told me, "You're going to be back playing baseball, because there's a bigger plan for you." I couldn't even look her in the eye. I said something like, "Yeah, yeah, quit talking to me."

She looks pretty smart, doesn't she? I have a mission now. My mission is to be the ray of hope, the guy who stands out there on that beautiful field and owns up to his mistakes and lets people know it's never completely hopeless, no matter how bad it seems at the time. I have a platform and a message, and now I go to bed at night, sober and happy, praying I can be a good messenger.

Addiction is a humbling experience. Getting it under control is even more humbling. I got better for one reason: I surrendered. Instead of asking to be bailed out, instead of making deals with God by saying, "If you get me out of this mess, I'll stop doing what I'm doing," I asked for help. I wouldn't do that before. I'd been the Devil Rays' No. 1 pick in the 1999 draft, supposedly a five-tool prospect. I was a big, strong man, and I was supposed to be able to handle my problems myself. That didn't work out so well.

Every day I'm reminded that my story is bigger than me. It never fails. Every time I go to the ballpark, I talk to people who are either battling addictions themselves or trying to help someone else who is. Who talks to me? Just about everybody. I walked to the plate to lead off an inning in early May, minding my own business, when the catcher jogged out to the mound to talk to his pitcher. As I was digging in, the home plate umpire (I'm intentionally not naming him) took off his mask and walked around the plate to brush it off. He looked up at me and said, "Josh, I'm really pulling for you. I've fought some battles myself, and I just want you to know I'm rooting for you."

A father will tell me about his son while I'm signing autographs. A mother will wait outside the players' parking lot to tell me about her daughter. They know where I've been. They look to me because I'm proof that hope is never lost.

They remind me that this isn't really about baseball. It's amazing that God allowed me to keep my baseball talents after I sat out three years and played only 15 games last season in A-ball. On May 6, I hit two homers against the Rockies at home, and I felt like I did in high school. I felt like I could do anything on the field.

I've been called the biggest surprise in baseball this year, and I can't argue with that. If you think about it, how many people have gone from being a crack addict to succeeding at anything, especially something as demanding as major league baseball? If I hadn't been picked up by the Reds after the Rule 5 draft, which opened up a major league roster spot for me, I'd probably still be in A-ball. Instead, I'm hanging around .270 with 13 homers through 60 games with Cincinnati; not bad for a 26-year-old major league rookie. But the way I look at it, I couldn't fail. I've been given this platform to talk about the hell I've been through, so it's almost like I need to do well, like I don't have a choice.

This may sound crazy, but I wouldn't change a thing about my path to the big leagues. I wouldn't even change the 26 tattoos that cover so much of my body, even though they're the most obvious signs of my life temporarily leaving the tracks. You're probably thinking, Bad decisions and addiction almost cost him his life, and he wouldn't change anything? But if I hadn't gone through all the hard times, this whole story would be just about baseball. If I'd made the big leagues at 21 and made my first All-Star team at 23 and done all the things expected of me, I would be a big-time baseball player, and that's it.

Baseball is third in my life right now, behind my relationship with God and my family. Without the first two, baseball isn't even in the picture. Believe me, I know.

***** I'LL NEVER forget Opening Day in Cincinnati. When they called my name during introductions and a sellout crowd stood and cheered, I looked into the stands and saw Katie and our two kids -- Sierra, who's nearly 2, and my 6-year-old stepdaughter, Julia -- and my parents and Katie's parents. I had to swallow hard to keep from breaking down right there. They were all crying, but I had to at least try to keep it together.

I pinch-hit in the eighth inning of that game against the Cubs, and Lou Piniella decided to make a pitching change before I got to the plate. The crowd stood and cheered me for what seemed like forever. It was the best sound I've ever heard. When I got into the box, Cubs catcher Michael Barrett looked up at me from his crouch and said, "You deserve it, Josh. Take it all in, brother. I'm happy for you." I lined out to left, but the following week I got my first start and my first hit -- a home run.

Whether I hit two bombs or strike out three times, like I did in a game against the Pirates, I never forget that I'm living with addiction. It's just part of my life. Johnny Narron, my former manager's brother, is a big part of my recovery. He's the Reds' video coordinator, and he once coached me in fall baseball when I was 15. He looks after me on the road. When they pass out meal money before a trip -- always in cash -- they give mine to Johnny, and he parcels it out to me when I need it.

I see no shame in that; it's just one of the realities of my situation. I don't need to be walking around with $400 in my pocket.

I know I'm different, and my teammates have been very accepting. Being a rookie in the big leagues, there are certain rituals involved, and one of them is carrying beer onto the plane. My teammates gave me that job on one of the first road trips, and I didn't do it. I didn't think it would be a good idea for me to be seen carrying beer onto a plane. They respected my decision.

I get a lot of abuse in visiting cities, but it only bothers me when people are vulgar around kids. The rest I can handle. Some of it is even funny. In St. Louis, I was standing in rightfield when a fan yelled, "My name is Josh Hamilton, and I'm a drug addict!" I turned around and looked at him with my palms raised to the sky. "Tell me something I don't know, dude," I said. The whole section started laughing and cheering, and the heckler turned to them and said, "Did you hear that? He's my new favorite player." They cheered me from that point on.

I live by a simple philosophy: Nobody can insult me as much as I've insulted myself. I've learned that I have to keep doing the right things and not worry about what people think. Fortunately, I have a strong support group with Katie, my family and Johnny. If I ever get in a bad situation, I know I would have to get out of it and give Johnny a call. The key is not getting myself into those situations, but we've talked about having a plan for removing myself just in case. It's all part of understanding the reality of the addiction.

In spring training, when I hit over .400 and made the team, there was a lot of interest in my story.

I decided to be open about what happened to me; early on, I was doing long interviews before my first game in every city. It's been amazing how people have responded, and I think being honest helped. I can't avoid my past, so I don't try. It's not always easy, though. I got sick in late May and ended up on the disabled list after going to the hospital with a stomach problem, and I knew I'd have to answer questions about whether I was using again. I can't control what people think, but the years of drug abuse tore up my immune system pretty good. I get tested three times a week, and if it comes back positive, I know I'm done with baseball for life.

Aside from our struggles as a team, this season has been a dream for me. And that's fitting, because in a way I had to learn how to dream all over again. When I was using, I never dreamed. I'd sleep the dead, dreamless sleep of a stalled brain. When I stopped using, I found my dreams returned. They weren't always good dreams; most of the ones I remember were haunting and dark. They stayed with me long after I woke up.

Within my first week of sobriety in October 2005 -- after I showed up at my grandmother's house in Raleigh in the middle of the night, coming off a crack binge -- I had the most haunting dream. I was fighting the devil, an awful-looking thing. I had a stick or a bat or something, and every time I hit the devil, he'd fall and get back up. Over and over I hit him, until I was exhausted and he was still standing.

I woke up in a sweat, as if I'd been truly fighting, and the terror that gripped me makes that dream feel real to this day. I'd been alone for so long, alone with the fears and emotions I worked so hard to kill. I'm not embarrassed to admit that after I woke up that night, I walked down the hall to my grandmother's room and crawled under the covers with her. The devil stayed out of my dreams for seven months after that. I stayed clean and worked hard and tried to put my marriage and my life back together. I got word in June 2006 that I'd been reinstated by Major League Baseball, and a few weeks afterward, the devil reappeared.

It was the same dream, with an important difference. I would hit him and he would bounce back up, the ugliest and most hideous creature you could imagine. This devil seemed unbeatable; I couldn't knock him out. But just when I felt like giving up, I felt a presence by my side. I turned my head and saw Jesus, battling alongside me. We kept fighting, and I was filled with strength. The devil didn't stand a chance.

You can doubt me, but I swear to you I dreamed it. When I woke up, I felt at peace. I wasn't scared. To me, the lesson was obvious: Alone, I couldn't win this battle. With Jesus, I couldn't lose.

***** I GET cravings sometimes, and I see it as the devil trying to catch me in a weak moment. The best thing I can do is get the thought out of my mind as soon as I can, so it doesn't turn into an obsession. When it happens, I talk to him. I talk to the devil and say, "These are just thoughts, and I'm not going to act on them." When I talk like that, when I tell him he's not going to get the best of me, I find the thought goes away sooner.

Believe it or not, talking to the devil is no harder to explain than many other experiences I've had since that day last December when my life changed. I was working for my brother's tree service in Raleigh, sending limbs through a chipper, when I found out I'd been selected by the Cubs and traded to the Reds in the Rule 5 draft.

But there is one story that sticks with me, so much so that I think of it every day. I was driving out of the players' parking lot at Great American Ball Park after a game in May, with Katie and our two girls. There's always a group of fans standing at the curb, hoping to get autographs, and I stop to sign as many as I can.

And on this particular night, a little boy of about 9 or 10, wearing a Reds cap, handed me a pen and something to sign. Nothing unusual there, but as I was writing the boy said, "Josh, you're my savior."

This stopped me. I looked at him and said, "Well, thank you. Do you know who my savior is?"

He thought for a minute. I could see the gears turning. Finally, he smiled and blurted out, "Jesus Christ." He said it like he'd just come up with the answer to a test. "That's exactly right," I said.

You see, I may not know how I got here from there, but every day I get a better understanding of why.

New Zealand

Some of you are hep to the jive of the Flight. If not, wake up and enjoy the greatness. And while you're at it, go to iTunes and grab the two free episodes of their new HBO show.

Night night, Bulldog.

Remember this old guy?


Well, he is dead. I was just told by a mechanic that it would cost more to fix this guy's carboratour than it's worth (somewhere in the $1200 area). Since, like any pet (challenge me on this!! COME ON!), this motorcycle has no spirit and isn't a blood relative, I have to consider its value to me and let it go. Goodbye, bulldog. (Fascinating factoid: this motorcycle was named Bulldog after the Iola Bulldogs, which are also maroon. Iola is my parents' teeny tiny hometown in central Texas. My cousin's wife still coaches there. Scoop! Iola also produced one of the NBA's growing number of white thugs, Chris Anderson, who plays for the Denver Nuggets.)

Like losing a beloved pet (but not enough to shell out thousands of dollars to keep it alive), I have had some emotions to deal with, as well as an empty place in my shed out back.

But the pain was short lived. I filled that cavity with a Newer, Better Bike! Adios Bulldog! I just upgraded by 18 years, from a 1984 to '02! Yowza!



I'm thinking of naming this bike Grimace after the purple McDonald's character (and also because I enjoy a good poo).

South Africa A

Some of your (okay, it's Allcars) have been asking for info re: this most recent jaunt to Southo land. I won't go into it much (though you can click the title if you really want heavy deets from the Trip Blog and SCADS of photos), but I will say that Didi and I stayed with a wonderful family, with Steve and Sibongila (Leah, for short) as our surrogate ma and pa.

Leah is particularly intimate with the Holy Spirit. She hears His voice to electrifying degrees (she prophesied to us and was quite accurate in her words and encouragements), and couples her hearing with obedience. To wit:

God told Leah that she was to preach on buses (why doesn't that word have a double s?), to which she protested that she didn't speak in front of people and certainly didn't preach. He spoke again, this time more sternly, and now she boards buses on Thursday and Friday. God gives her passages from the scriptures from which to preach, and reveals the hearts of the people on board. She has become a pastor to people who were formerly strangers. Some of them insult her, and some of them have been born again from hearing about Jesus. Leah says that she's unconcerned with their response. In love, she shares the gospel of Christ with them, and their response is their business. They will be blessed or cursed, with respect to their response and the justice and mercy of God. Her responsibility is to do as the Father dictates. I like Leah a lot.

I also like the kids. I did them the huge favor of introducing them to the world of Nintendo Gamecube and Mario Soccer. It's what we play around the office here and I thought it would translate well. Let's just say... it did.


So: humble, godly family contaminated by western entertainment? Short-sighted American seeking to ingratiate himself by unscrupulous means? Stranger in the house of love?....

NAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

Garlic-tica!

That's what we always called Battlestar Galactica growing up. Hilarious. It looked like this:

I remember not liking that kid, but (as always) trusting Lorne Green.

Anyhow, there's been a new one out a while, and my pal Neil lent me Season 1 a while back. After giving him some of my opinions (he takes this BSG thing very seriously and wanted my takes), he asked me to write up something for his podcast. Below, my review, as written for him (you can click on the title for his podcast):




First of all, I want you people to know who I am. Unlike Mr. Neil, I am not a Galctica-loving, graphics-making Depeche-loving artist. But I am finicky, from an entertainment standpoint, in my own way: I’m a huge Arrested Development fan, love Wes Anderson, and love unknown musical acts like David Mead and the Gabe Dixon Band. What I’m saying is, my little neck of the media woods doesn’t include the Sci-Fi Channel. So know that. I am, though, a fan of all kinds of storytelling, so I did happen to take a Science Fiction class in college. The genre isn’t lost on me: I’ve always admired how one can very naturally explore existential questions in that field. As our (usually human) heroes deal with other life forms, we get to see, from a third-party standpoint, our authors discourse about racial problems, cultural differences, mortality, and every other sociological problem that would feel too on-the-nose if it weren’t about some alien species. I’ve always dug that sort of thing.

So I was not left cold when Neil excitedly lent me his copy of Battlestar Galactica’s season one. I’d heard positive things from all fronts about this series: EWeekly had raved about it many times, and other friends of mine have sung its virtues to me in casual conversation. Neil had even played the soundtrack for me, of which I was duly impressed. As I’m wont to do, I consumed all 5 discs with relish: I enjoy working through series’ stories in a concentrated way. If I don’t, I run the risk of forgetting the salient points as I move through the season. I also enjoy forming a cohesive opinion about the story arcs, the acting, and the way the show was put together. In this way, I am a nerd. Sure, that’s true. Sue me.

Let’s get on with my findings:

For starters, I really enjoy when a series complicates itself in a big-picture way. BSG did that in spades by not only setting its cast adrift in a cosmic no-man’s-land, but then pushing the envelope by calling all of its members’ allegiance into question (Is he human? Is she cylon?). Of course, this has been done recently (rather famously) by the Lost gang and their run-ins with the Others, and the ensuing questions about whether there were strangers among us. I actually think Lost qualifies as science fiction, but that’s another article.

I dig like crazy the fact that we’re made to believe the primary conflict is human-vs.-cylon (which, in a foundational way, it always will be), but it seems apparent by the end of the season that the focus will be on Commander Adama vs. President Roslin. That was a welcome and unexpected twist, as I’d grown to trust the ethics of both.

Before I praise the writers too highly, allow me to say that I find the B-story about cylon Boomer to be tiring: if she wanted to, she could take down BSG which much less fanfare or intrigue. Her cavorting around Caprica with Helo also feels like some sort of punishment for watching the program. I do wonder, though, what the Cylon collective will do when she’s actually tracked down (because it does appear that she’s actually turned against them for the time being). The other B-story that’s interesting to consider is Gaius’ ongoing wrestling with questions of fate-vs.-freedom and God-vs-nothing in his dialogues with Number Six. It’s an intriguing use of a classic sci-fi setup, but it leads me to this point about BSG:

I can’t stand the acting. Gaius and Number Six both ham up their parts with such relish, all these hot dogs need is a bun and we’re set for a picnic. James Callis’ cartoony portrayal of the effete Gaius is grating and, for my money, insulting to the viewers. Both he and Tricia Helfer (as Six) play such clichéd characters that I can predict half of the lines they project with cannon-like oversize. They are joined by Starbuck, the highly-talented-but-hard-to-handle-because-she’s-internally-tortured hotshot played by the outrageously perky Katee Sackhoff. Whether she’s affecting a sneer or a tear, I don’t buy a cent of it. Her partner, Jamie Bamber (as Lee Adama) also curls his cloying lip with the best of them. I wish BSG would’ve saved a buck or two on special effects and bought a more earthy cast. Of course, Edward James Olmos and Mary McDonnell, as always, are above reproach and bring pathos and gravity to their roles. I could watch those two all day, and always rather resent when the story moves away from their orbits. Unfortunately, they make up a tiny percentage of the acting troupe.

In between the writing and the acting lies the production. BSG clearly has a major movie-sized budget, as the set design and all technical aspects of the production come across as first rate. That is relaxing and assuring to me as a viewer: I’m always nervous with space-based endeavors that somehow, a Dr. No production value is going to slip through there, and the writers will have to suffer through the ignominy of their sirloin ideas presented in spam quality. BSG, though, is shot beautifully, rendered with flair, and absolutely sells itself as the genuine article. That is indeed a joy.

So, though I made it through Season One, it felt at times more like an assignment than recreation. The places the creators are taking the story are interesting and layered, and I’m appreciative. The acting, though, on the whole, feels hackneyed (which was a surprise, to be honest). Yes, the production is terrific, but with Starbuck’s ham-fisted groans, Lee’s tough-guy posturing, and Gaius’ precious pandering, BSG is adrift in more ways than one.

I for one hope they find their way to Earth sooner than later.

Pride!

I have a friend named Christine who, with her husband Damien, have set up a confessional tent at the Cincinnati Pride Festival for the last three years. She talks to the outcasts (in this case, people in homosexuality) and loves them. She prays for them and with them and people experience God's love in a way many of them never have in their lives. I ached at not being able to attend this year. Well, MC found something on a blog (link to it @ the title of this post) that makes me want to do happy jumping jacks (excerpt below). God bless Christine and the Tent of Meeting.

The extra beautiful thing? The author of this blog is a friend I met through Benny the Bull. He's a great guy, and it's awesome to see how Christine's love for Jesus in the form of loving people affected this guy I know who didn't even directly interact with the Tent. Did you follow all that? Remember, this is a homosexuality advocate who prints t-shirts (one of them below) and was there to support his own thing. This was his objective review of the tent:

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...After it was all over, I sat at home with Dan and had a beer, recalling the good bits while muscles pleasantly ached. He asked me if I ever went into the confessional tent. No, I hadn't, even though he prodded me to break away and go many times throughout the day.

Since I didn't, he felt it was okay to share what went down.

It wasn't a typical confessional booth, like I said it was a tent. He told me it was nice inside - gauzy draperies and a comfortable height. Candles lit. A woman sat opposite him and said (consider it with error as this is a game of telephone):

This is not a confessional for you, it is a confession for me.

I want to confess that, as a Christian, I know that you have been hurt by society and Christians in general, and I just want you to know that God loves you and I love you, and I'm sorry.

I just wanted to apologize for all of the wrongs that have been committed against you.


Dan, who grew up in a Catholic family, wiped away tears and asked why she was doing this.

I grew up in a conservative Baptist family that taught me certain people weren't deserving of love.

It took a long time to realize that these people were wrong.


She's been doing this for three Prides so far, and it's a part of the process to heal some of the harm that's been done.

Now I'm not one to pick apart anyone's beliefs (unless it affects me). To hear this, even second hand, was moving.

A movement in the right direction.

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Wouldn't it be great if we all bought these shirts from Chris?

Moron Authority/More on Authority

Yesterday, Totila and I had a brief discussion concerning authority. It's a subject which, many of you know, has continued to intrigue me for a while. I find it to be rather Important for living out the Kingdom. So Totila forwarded this to be from Wayne Jacobsen's blog. Totila's comments are under that.

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Sara and I have been reading “What Jesus Meant” by Garry Wills, a Catholic who is Professor of History Emeritus at Northwestern University. I have mixed feelings about the book, but love what we read this morning.

Here are some quotes from his chapter on Heavenly reign:

(In reference to Jesus’ statement, “the first will be last and the last will be first:) The antihierarchical last sentence shows that the symbolic-prophetic meaning of the Twelve has nothing to do with church governance below. The biblical scholar John Meier concludes that Jesus gave his movement no authority structure.”

“But what of Peter? Did not Jesus found his church on Peter…? The Catholic scholar Raymond Brown wrote, “Peter never served as the bishop or local administrator of any church, Antioch and Rome included.”

The idea that Peter was given some special power that could be handed on to a successor runs into the problem that he had no successor. The idea that there is an ‘apostolic succession’ to Peter’s fictional episcopacy did not arise for several centuries at which time Peter and others were retrospectively called bishops of Rome to create an imagined succession.

Jesus said, “Where two or three are met together in my name, there I am in their midst: (Matt 18:20). Why do (any of us) met together in Jesus’ name need a bishop from Rome when they have Jesus in their midst?

He goes on to talk about Jesus’ establishing heaven’s reign on earth, not through our hierarchical religious institutions, but through the presence of the Risen Lord. Jesus equates heaven’s reign with his personal presence, and that in groups of twos and threes.

And all of this is from a Catholic! Amazing. I forget who recommended this book to me, and while it does have a few problems, it is as incisive a book about the life of Jesus as I’ve read. The presumptuous title aside, I think he does peel back a lot of the religious veneer we have laid over Christ and gets to the heart of why he came and what he wanted to instill in his people. I think I’ve enjoyed it more than Sara, but it is a good read.

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 It seemed really apropos the conversation we had about authority.  I think it is right on.  I also greatly believe in the authority of those God has placed in the church, I just think it looks really different from what the "system" thinks. Pretty much invisible.  But then, I think the whole church is invisible for the most part, except for where Jesus likens it to a city set on a hill. 

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Back to Stevie's voice. Yeah, I've gotten to the point where, if anybody suggests that they have authority, I immediately suspect that they don't. When authority is mixed with control (that is to say, when someone invokes that word to get their way) it becomes demonic and anti-Kingdom ("You know that those who are regarded as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them"). True Authority, I think, is a kind of anointing: I'll know you have it by the fruit of your words and life, not by you trumpeting your possession of it. And, as I've said before, authority is not the power to demand your way, it is the right to serve others. The shepherd's authority IS his sleeping on hillsides, being covered with dew every morning when he wakes, having a rock as a pillow, and eating what he can find on the countryside. His authority isn't proven when he pulls out that staff to correct a sheep (which he SO RARELY uses), it's proven in lonely nights and doubtful days, when he offers his life an offering for those sheep he loves.

I hear people talk about Organization in the Kingdom as a way to justify the power they're garnering for themselves. "Well, an Apostle has to be in charge, and I'm only ensuring that I'm still in charge." Yikes. I'll be standing over here. "There must be Order in the church, and we think it should look like THIS. So we'll enforce our Order." Again, yikes. Aren't these the kind of things that humans shouldn't really touch? I think they are. I think apostles and prophets have a vision for what it might could look like, but they're going to be Super Loathe to wrestle people into that shape. They serve, and expect the Spirit to work out the details. The scripture says "...God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be..." Let's continue to leave that work to Him, shall we?

The Kingdom is a level playing field. There's no points for tenure. Or Agressive Personality. Or Bible Knowledge. If anything, humility (i.e., having been with Jesus) is what gets you status in the kingdom, but of course the humble would never want that status. They see it as something dangerous, almost--something to be considered with dread. I keep thinking of Galadriel, who 'passed the test' by FORGOING the Ring of Power which Frodo freely offered her in the forest. That's quite a picture, there. She was offered some of the greatest authority known, and by passing it up, she proved herself as Wise and Worthy to be Followed.

But it's all a bit too secretive, isn't it? If these people who possess this True Authority are never recognized in a worldly way, how can we ever find them? For heaven's sake, are we going to require that the Spirit of God UNCOVER them for us in some way?

Religion + Poverty = BFF

I was talking to my good friend Jarlot one fine Nigerian afternoon, and he mentioned in passing something about poverty and the incredible religious culture in that country. I threw on the emergency brake:

S: Wait, did you just say something about religion and poverty?
J: Yes.
S: Are you insinuating there's a spiritual connection between them?
J: Oh, sure. Yes.
S: There's a relationship between the spirit of poverty and the spirit of religion?
J: Oh, yes. That much is apparent.
S: Okay, I don't know about this. Please explain it to me.
J: It's very simple. Psalm 133 says, "How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity!" And verse 3 says "there the LORD bestows his blessing." So you see, unity of the brothers and God's blessing always go together. God has promised to pursue unity with blessing. But the spirit of religion is about DISunity. It creates walls, separations between us. This one wears this label, that one belongs to this club or affiliation. We are divided from one another. When that happens, God REVOKES his blessing. And you get disease and poverty, alienation and sin. We are victimized because of this spirit of religion, and it produces poverty.
S: Oh, okay, sure. I mean... I knew THAT. I thought you were talking about something else...

Jarlot spat this out like he learned it in kindergarten. It was patently true to him. And when I heard his pithy explanation, I looked at Peb, stupefied. "Sounds right to me" was Peb's endorsement.

As I quickly sorted through the most poverty-stricken places I've seen in my life, it was stunning that high degrees of religion were common among them. Mostly a strong Catholic or Orthodox strain of the stuff. Wow. Hard to debate this theory.

Also hard to sweep aside the scriptures. So let's just let this one stand today. Psalm 133 is true, and

Religion + Poverty = BFF

Viva la Revolucion!

Ever wondered what exactly an apostle is and what exactly they do? I have. I've talked to lots of guys and read a couple of books on the subject. Apparently, the kind of guys who get books into the Christian Merchandising Outlets want us to believe that apostles are basically whoever has huge, successful money-making organizations.

Gee. I'm not buying it.

My pal Peepee describes the Acts account of apostles as "guys who go survey the land, see who God's enlisted to lead, then authorize those guys as Kingdom reps to do their thing. They set up outposts for the Church." He gets this from Paul's trips authorizing elders and uncovering other guys that God had set apart to lead his people. Also, Paul tells us in Ephesians 3 that aposles and prophets lay foundations for the Kingdom. To me, that means they're probably NOT doing big, 'important', high-profile work. Paul says they're the "scum of the earth." They're probably setting things in place w/re: to relationships and basic Kingdom strategies/systems. Extremely low-to-the-ground kind of work. If the Body of Christ is disjointed, the apostles are the guys putting it aright. Anklebone-connected-to-the-shinbone kind of stuff. Not glamorous. Highly necessary.

If all those things are true, I just saw my first on-the-field apostolic work. Ike was doing all the stuff I listed below, but wasn't really sure if that was IT. In enemy (read: religious) territory, we found this brother, clearly called to be heading up an outpost, and as best we could, gave him permission and blessing to abandon all the trappings and go full-bore into his ministry and calling. It was rather exhilirating.

Again, not totally sure what apostles do, but I have a better idea today than I did last month. That felt like the real thing.

I'm sure that the Kingdom is not about organizations and divisions on ANY level. And I'm sure that the church is a network of relationships that covers the earth. I'm sure it's small-looking, grass-roots, and imperceptable to the spiritually blind. And I'm sure that Ikechukwu Nnodem is an important man in the Kingdom. And I'm not QUITE sure (but I have some guesses) what Paul would be doing in Owerri, Nigeria.

How do you combat Religion in Nigeria?

This is Ike and Vicki. They've seen God in ways you haven't. Allow me to explain: they were born again and immediately read Jesus' words as literal commands to care for the downcast and the outcast. So their home has had a steady stream of addicts, prostitutes, orphans and widows running through it. Now, the Bible says that if you hang out with these people, Jesus will take it personally and step into the picture. He has done so with Ike and Vicki. Jesus always does what he says. I guess that's why they call him Honest Jesus...

Ike tells stories of Jesus' involvement in his life as if he's giving you a weather report. He's seen Jesus quite a bit. But when he mentions very casually that "when we saw that she had died, we prayed all night for her, and the next morning she came around..." one is given some serious pause. "Wait. Ike, did you just tell me that you prayed all night and that she was then Raised From The Dead?" "Yes." "Well, that's amazing!" "Oh really? Yeah, I guess so. But we've seen it before..."

Yeah, Ike and Vicki have seen *3* people raised from the dead, and at least one person healed of HIV. They've also seen alcoholics delivered, marriages restored, and orphans loved into wholeness. I'm telling you, these people have seen the Kingdom. In their home, we were amazed that there was a parade of new faces that emerged from the back rooms over the 10 days we were there. Ike and Vicki are currently housing 3 orphans, Ike's mother (who was once dead), and a Christian girl that acts as a nanny for them. Their house is a one-stop shop for redemption of every kind. Are you getting the picture?

Now then: Ike has struggled with running a Sunday-morning-style church-house, which is, to say the least, in vogue in Owerri. It's a total drag for them, and the fruits have been so-so. But Ike's felt pressure to do MORE with the church-house thing, even contemplating leaving his job as a draftsman because that's what's expected in that culture. Meanwhile, everybody that comes within 100 yards of his house gets saved, healed, and delivered. Guess what our advice was?

IKE, LEAVE THE STINKIN CHURCH-HOUSE BEHIND. YOUR HOME IS A FESTIVAL OF REDEMPTION. IT IS THE CHURCH/KINGDOM IN ACTION. BE DONE WITH THE RELIGIOUS STATUS QUO. THERE'S NO LIFE THERE. YOUR HOME IS A GARDEN IN FULL BLOSSOM!!

It was hard for Ike's Nigerian mind to wrap around that, somewhat, but he received it. Meanwhile, we were thankful for such a clear lesson on what IS and ISN'T the Church. Thanks Ike!


BONUS FOOTAGE:
Here's a photo of a couple that are NOT Ike and Vicki. They are Williams and Stella. Williams looks only marginally pleased to have met me. I look as if I've not been groomed since the Euro '96 Soccer Tournament.

My Beef With Darwin

I've spent the weekend thinking of nature and the planet. And I'm hot under the collar:

If the theory of natural selection is true, shouldn't we be all be up to our ears in the all the fossils and bones of all the failed species? Shouldn't there be an ENDLESS variety of species-gone-wrong littered all over the planet? Where are the humans-but-with-the-head-out-the-butt? Where are the handless human remains? The people with feet growing out their ears? Human anatomy as we know it should be one of a TRILLION variations. Not to mention the TRILLION versions of dog that didn't work (seen those fossils?), failed fish, wrong-headed plants and insects and reptiles, amphibians, marsupials, and every other variety of life that exists. I'm not saying that there's nothing to natural selection, or that there isn't some development within species, but the whole from-one-cell-developed-all-of-life is not just anathema to me as a believer, it's insulting to my reason. What a load of utter bullshit.

If you heard one of my songs and then declared that it just happened on the wind, that there was no thought or intention put into it at all, I would scratch my head at you. "We worked our butts off on that", I would think. "We put SO MUCH thought and effort behind every sound! We rehearsed and tweaked and edited until we got it JUST SO. This is our very best, as humans." I would be nonplused, but I would go on. But the human arrogance that looks at this unBELIEVably complex planet and dazzling intricacies of the simplest organism, and declares them to be a product of Infinite Chance flat-out pisses me off. It's an insult to The Artist, and it makes me indignant. Yeah, yeah, he doesn't need me to defend him, and I'm not compelled to try to do so. It just makes me angry.

Uber-athiest Francis Crick comes this close to admitting something important:

An honest man, armed with all the knowledge available to us now, could only state that in some sense, the origin of life appears at the moment to be almost a miracle, so many are the conditions which would have had to have been satisfied to get it going.

Can't quite say it, can he? Well, these guys don't buy Crick's Schtick.

Wonder what religion looks like in Nigeria?

I thought so.


I'm convinced that Owerri, Nigeria is the most religious town in the world. And I've lived in Dallas. When you drive through town, there are more signs for churches and ministires (about 4 per block) than there are for stores. It's like a friggin' religious carnival. Even in the villages, where there are no stores, no utilities, and few paved roads, THERE ARE CHURCHES. And they all have signs, and advertise their Rev. Pastor Nwankwo or whatever (titles are very important here). When we were in our evening meetings, we could always hear other meetings happening around town. The first Sunday morning, we met in a building that housed 3 gatherings. On the second Sunday, I walked through 2 church meetings to get to mine. Awesome. Many times, by the time I took the stage to lead some worship, I was the 4th or 5th worship leader to have graced the stage. By that time, my enthusiasm for the project was gone, but Peb told me that if I didn't get us out of the soulish crap and back into something authentic, he would immolate. I didn't want to see that happen.

And, in case you weren't sure, all this religion ISN'T good. One of the reasons it proliferates is that, for the Nigerians (who suffer 60-70% unemployment), 'pastoring' is a profession that anybody can break into. You simply secure a meeting spot, get some friends and family together and, by virtue of the traditions, they'll all start tithing to you to secure God's blessing. Even if there's a life-or-death medical situation in the family, they'll pay their tithe to you first. There's a creepy ambition with these 'pastors': they all have pamphlets, booklets, or calendars they want to force on you. If you want to get involved in the very happening religious scene in Nigeria, here are some things you can look forward to:

*Ushers. They call themselves ushers, but they're actually the sleep police. They stand in the aisles and look over the crowd, poking at anybody who's fallen asleep or simply seems unattentive. I am not making this up.
*Maudlin worship leaders who feign getting emotional, say "Praise the LORD!" and "alleluia!" as many times as it takes to get the crowd riled up, and who say things like "Jesus died for you! Can't we give him a louder clap offering than THAT!?"
*Men and women separated during worship. Men on this side, women on that.
*No metal jewelry allowed. If it's plastic but coated with metallic PAINT, this can be approved or disapproved by elders. I am not making this up.
*Allegiance to pastors and our specific denominational strains before anything else, including family.
*Mandatory face-washing during services. If any usher or elder thinks you look unseemly, they can ask you to wash up, and you will be expected to leave and take care of yourself.
*Fun, fun FUN!!

About that Ohio-based NBA franchise...

Did ANYBODY record game 5 of LeBron vs. the Pistons? I want SO BAD to see that performance! Anybody? Does anybody KNOW somebody who recorded it?

I feel that this is in the face of all the Kobe fans. THIS is what being awesome means in the right moment. 82 points in a February game means nothing except self-love. Scoring your team's last 28 points (or whatever it was) in a must-win situation is just a wonderful jewel for the casual sports fan.

SO WHO'S GOT IT? HELP ME!!

Welcome to Nigeria!

People here are used to being harassed, swindled, and devalued. The Nigerian culture is anti-woman, anti-family, and anti-God.

When a woman is made a widow:
-The brothers of the dead husband harass her, as she’s the impediment to their financial gain from their brother’s death. SOMETIMES THEY POISON AND KILL HER.
-The women in the family take broken pottery and shave her bald. This is deeply humiliating for Nigerian women.
-She is expected to eat only from broken pots for a year to show how mournful she is of her husband’s passing.
-She is expected to cry aloud in the streets as she goes about her business for a year to show her mourning. If she doesn’t, she will be outcast. The women in the family enforce these rules. Sympathy is not for the widow, but for the traditions.
-She is not to be greeted in the streets.
-She is expected to throw massive feasts for the families, covering a week or more. The casket must be ornate and expensive, and the food and drink must honor everyone. The trouble of losing your means of income is hugely compounded by the financial burden of these feasts. Many widows go into debt for these feasts (at the pressure of the family) and never recover.
Ike (heroic man of God that I'll be writing about in future posts) teaches against the culture and traditions in his marriage conferences, which he puts on once or twice a year. He is stemming the tide of this godless society, BUT because he opposes the godless traditions, the religious community (which is also stunning and will be written about in future posts) rejects HIM.

The government is, let's say, 'corrupt':
-Police ALWAYS have impromptu “checkpoints” set up on major roads. When you pass through, they look for something to accuse you of, then demand ‘fines’ on the spot. We went through several of these.
-Police often take people’s salaries or pensions and hold them for several months, then returning some of the original amount and keeping the interest along with whatever portion they’ve stolen.
-There is no such thing as reliable statistics on Nigeria. Even an accurate census is impossible, because regions inflate their numbers to get more governmental aid.
-Government contractors will be told, “Want to get a $30M construction contract from us? Great… sign here.” Then the contractors will be given $3M and told to do their best.
-Government officials take the INCREDIBLE profits from Nigeria’s oil supplies (one of the world’s richest) and pocket it, building themselves fabulous mansions and living in the States, only to visit their golden-egg-laying nation when they need to make a public appearance or show up at a political function. The profits from this country’s vast natural resources never come back to the people.
-Politicians also take many, many wives (“Nobody knows how many.”), and make them salaries government employees.
-Subsequently, nobody trusts civic leaders, government officials, or authority of any kind. It's a massive spiritual attack on the nation's souls, and an incredibly sucessful one.

Nigeria is a hard place to live.

Some Things You Might Overhear Me Say To My Roommate, Vance, If You Happen To Be Near the Lodan Hotel in Owerri, Right After I Exit The Bathroom

"I know. It smells like corn chips. I can't help that."
"Nigeria, 3. Ah-noose, 0."
"I don't know if the lizards HELP or HURT the process. Personally, they inspire me."
"Ever seen wet cement coming off the chute? Like that."
"I think it was a moral victory just to have made it in before it was too late! The launch senquence caught me unawares!"
"No, that was Number TWO."

Back to Basics

You know, I started posting on this thing because I wanted a way to disemenate my life's news to my homies around the world. That was a noble and reasonable goal, I think. The fact, though, is that I just don't take the time necessary to keep you people in the loop on my world. That frustrates me.

I'll have to spit this out rather quickly, which is sad, but I'd rather do it that way than not at all:


I'm leaving tomorrow for Owerri, Nigeria. I'm going on a little trip with Mr. Peb and sons. We will be spending time in some church services over there, and we will also be going into villiages to talk and pray with people. I am expectant for healings and the kooky/miraculous. There has been a prophetic word that we will be led into what will seem like a dangerous detour, but will turn out to be a blessing. Money.

Nigeria, particularly Lagos, sounds like a nutty place as I read about it. Sounds severely unpredictable. This is cool with me. The fact that it's the hot/rainy season (incredibly humid, swarming disease-carrying mosquitoes) right now is less cool. I hear the food there is really very good, which is cool. I also hear that you can be mugged and even murdered INSIDE the airport. That is less cool.

As you can see, Nigeria is a land of contrasts. But I've been hanging out with some of my South African friends today, and they ALL tell me that I will leave Nigeria as a "devil-stomping, prophesying madman." Oyez. They tell me "the saints there are dramatic and full of faith. Their worship will energize you." Yum city.

See you tomorrow, colorful guy on a costumed horse!

I'm SO down with variety here.

I tried the thing where I post from a phone.

Failure. Their gathering system didn't work. At all.

I tried the thing where you comment into a voice mailbox.

Failure. You don't want to comment unless you can see what the others are saying, too. Fair enough.

Now I try this bit. It just breaks it up a bit, maybe. Let's see if you participate.

Today, I am full of desire

What I want is the LORD's PRESENCE. I want to FEEL his nearness and KNOW his friendship. I feel like Rick Joyner describes at the beginning of The Torch and The Sword: spending too much time on principles and strategies, and too little time teaching HIM. Ultimately, I have to admit to being a stranger to Him, a foreigner to his presence and ways. I want to be taught OF him, BY him. I almost wrote that I don't want to be taught ABOUT him, but even that is rare enough. In truth, I DO want to be taught about him. Where are those teachers? My main question, I think, is "how do I come by his presence?" Bible reading for its own sake, for instance, seems to me an endless pursuit of religious trivia. I want the scriptures only as gateways to more of his Spirit and presence. As has been said by others in numerous places, I am simply too easily satisfied. When I stop and consider it, I know that THIS is my honest desire--to be with him. The fatigue I've felt in my work lately is not disconnected to the fact that I just don't feel in step with the Spirit. I don't feel to be acting CONTRARY to the Spirit, but rather feel to have been going it alone. The weight of talking about God or going about "his work" without his presence is too much for anyone to bear. I am in need of an encounter with him, lest I become cynical, embittered, or despondent. Jesus is rightfully called the Hope of the Nations, and he is what I'm hoping in today.

Jesus said that if you don't receive the Kingdom like a little child, you won't get it. Today I want to receive it with a wide open mouth. And I'm painfully aware that Jesus IS the Kingdom--there's nothing outside of His person and presence worth spitting at.

RIP, Funny Letterman

Top 10 Expressions that Sound Dirty but Really Aren't (February 3, 1986)

10. "Frosting the pastry"
9. "Shooting hoops"
8. "Jumping the turnstile"
7. "Checking your oil"
6. "Tethering the blimp"
5. "Sending out for sushi"
4. "Picnic on the grass"
3. "Quarter-pounder at the Golden Arches"
2. "Shaking hands with Abraham Lincoln"
1. "Windsurfing on Mount Baldy"

Learning to Fly, Baby

3 weeks ago I was at the Air/Space Smithsonian in D.C. I saw, not a replica, but the ACTUAL PLANE that Mr.s Wright flew into the history books. It was overwhelming. I teared up. Last weekend I was at Kitty Hawk. I saw the ACTUAL FIELD where it all went down. I wanted to wait until I go see their home and shop in Dayton (completing the trifecta) to write this post, but I just can't wait any more. This is too good.


Here's what I learned about these guys:

1) There's no flying machines without these guys' relationship. They said that they were so closely related to one another that they thought the same. Together, they rejected the theories of flight of their day (!). Together, they screwed around at something they loved until they changed the way our world works. Relationship was the platform.

2) To this day, the engineers and aeronautics gurus tell us that their most valuable contribution was NOT being the first men to fly. Watch this: it was that they DISCOVERED THE FOUNDATIONS of flight. The simplest bases of flight were introduced to the planet by these guys (who'd failed 1,000+ times), and that's what changed it all. Didi and I learned that ALL modern planes contain ONLY the elements of flying that are present in their Model A. There has been nothing new discovered since about the way to put weight on the wings of the wind. This blows your mind.

I could leave you to make the appropriate spiritual application, but I enjoy saying it too much to pass up: in the world system, those who perform the 'crowning achievement' are honored. Not so much the innovators, but the ones who bring the innovation to the masses. Those who package it right and, maybe with the aid of steroids, break long-standing records, if you get my drift. Not so in the kindgom. In the kingdom, those with authority are those who lay foundations, who 'go low' and do the small thing with a pure heart. These will be, as Jesus called them, The Greatest in the Kingdom. The Slaves of Everyone. God says, "Don't sweat the brass ring. You be about discovering and laying FOUNDATIONS, m'boy. Stay low and be saved." Try to discover what's beneath everything. Then plow there.


3) I love to imagine the anonymity (sp?) of that first flight. About 5 dudes trying to get 750 lbs of spruce and linen and aluminum off the ground. 12 seconds... 120 feet... then thud. Onto the sand. And there it is, folks. The town around them was unaware of what was happening. The world media was ignorant. But I bet those brothers winked at each other. Jackpot.

Zech 4:10 "Who despises the day of small things?" Hey human guy: Do you have ambitions for some degree of notariety? Respect from men? Respectability, perhaps? A "certain standard of living"? Do you entertain any notions about a style of righteousness that you could call your own? Hmmm? ... HMMMM?

Well, in the name of God, lay all that offal aside. See the greatness in the small, unapplauded thing. That conversation over the phone with your mom MATTERS. The email you've been putting off may well be a HIGHLY REGARDED ACTIVITY in the eyes of God. Raking the neighbors' yard might be the most important thing you do all year. Who despises the day of small things? Things that change the world happen in mosquito-infested sand dunes in view of nobody. "But your heavenly Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you." OOOOOOOHHHHHH SNAP.

PS- I nominate this as Most Inspiring Photograph Ever.

Truth In Unexpected Places

I love it when I find God content outside those who say they're talking about God. It's like the proverb that tells us to study an ant to learn about God. That's Bible telling me to look outside the Bible to learn about God. Psalm 19 kind of stuff.

My Chemical Romance is a band I would typically dismiss out-of-hand. They're high style and low substance, from a True Truth perspective. But, like the Arcade Fire Angry Guy, I wonder if these people are having dreams from God and don't know what they're seeing, or what. But you can't deny the power of this sort of thing. And the truth! My goodness, the truth! So here I publicize it for your benefit.



My Chemical Romance
"Black Parade"

My father took me into the city to see a marching band.
He said, "Son when you grow up, will you be the saviour of the broken,
The beaten and the damned?"
He said, "Will you defeat them, your demons, and all the non believers,
the plans that they have made?" Because one day I will leave you
A Phantom to lead you in the summer, to join the black parade."

...And we will send you reeling from decimated dreams
Your misery and hate will kill us all
So paint it black and take it back
Lets shout it loud and clear
Do you fight it to the end?
We hear the call to carry on

And on we carry through the fears, disappointed faces of your peers
Take a look at me cause I could not care at all
Do or die, you'll never make me
Cause the world, will never take my heart
You can try, you'll never break me
Want it all? I'm gonna play this part
Wont explain or say i'm sorry
I'm not ashamed, I'm gonna show my scar
You're the chair, for all the broken
Listen here, because it's only..
I'm just a man, I'm not a hero
Just a boy, who's meant to sing this song