Twisted Logic Visits Queen City!

I am regularly trying to force my musical tastes into my best girl's (Didi's) face, so I dragged her out to the Coldplay show when they rolled in on Tuesday. We had fair seats in the terrible outdoor stadium here in Cincinnati Ohio, where it was sweltering. Here was the good, the bad, and the ugly:

THE GOOD

**This Chris Martin guy can sing. Good.
**This band is a good group of guys, all of them very musical. The bassist played the harmonica, the drummer played the electric piano, the piano guy played the electric guitar. Good.
**These songs, I thought to myself after sitting with about 15 of them for about an hour and a half, are very good. VERY good. Solid, not showy, singable, relatable, moving. Extra good.
**As opposed to many major acts, their products were actually of a high quality, both in design and in material. Have we seen Lyle Lovett's t-shirts? LAME ASS. Poor quality material, highly dubious artwork. Reminds one of Sting's "Best Of" CD cover. Everything associated with these guys looks good. That's saying something.
**They are very non-big time. They all wore very simple black outfits, and Chris Martin, the star of the show, was the only guy acting like he was the Star of the Show. I dunno; I like that.
**Chris ran out into the crowd, and even into the indefensible lawn during the encore, singing all the way. About 3 feet in front of us, both coming and going. Woo!
**This doesn't have to do with the concert per se, but I keep reading high integrity stuff from these guys (and Chris is usually the spokesman): they've turned down multimillion dollar ad campaigns, for instance, because they refuse to compromise the meaning of their songs. Nice.
**When we saw Sting here last year, we were presented with all the cans of new Coca-Cola C2 we could handle, upon our exit of the grounds. You know, promotion of the new product to the target demographic and all that. Well, this time, we were loaded up with free coupons for Wendy's new put-some-stuff-in-a-frosty creation that's supposed to compete with the market-dominating Blizzard (yeah, right). But anyway... I'll take the free confections. Yes, I will.

THE BAD

**The sound at this concert was extremely frustrating. The vocal was always distorted, cause that guy sings so good and loud, and whatever hertz makes your ears pierce was pegged to the bleeding point. Ouch.
**The lights were good at this concert, but they had a massive LED screen at the back of the stage, that could raise or lower. This, to me, was the saddest part of the show: it appeared as if they JUST got this thing before the tour started, so a college friend of theirs threw some pictures together in Photoshop Elements and they projected that. NOT creative. NOT innovative. NOT moving. Just disappointing all around. Lame, lame.
**t-shirts: $35. Please. You're millionaires. Talk about Making Trade Fair, for crying out loud.

THE UGLY

**Didi and I might well have been the oldest people at this concert. It was kind of disconcerting to be hanging with the college crowd (Guys: sandals, cargo shorts, t-shirt with a university or city's name on it. Girls: jeans or gauzy ruffle skirt and skimpy top.), but it was also invigorating in a way. It was like a cross-cultural experience. Good for us!

Musica de los Muchachos

Hey guess what muchachos? Well, I'll tell you: Totila, friend, comrade, motorcycle mechanic has made some room for me on his website, beautifulcity.org. It will provide me with what I lack here at blogspot: namely, a place to stick MP3s! This is fun to me, because I would like for youse to be able to hear new demos when I write up a new song or whatnot. Sometimes I'll perform a song on the weekend and rather like the way it goes, and for those that want to hear such things (and by this, I mean Jef), here's an easy way for you to do so. There are only two there now, but there will be more, and I'll notify you when they arrive. Now, you may say to yourself, "my my, Mr. Steven, aren't we just the self-satisfied little so-and-so? Aren't we just the rumpelstiltskins borrowing the totem pole? Aren't we Mt. Ranier in a park full of umbrellas?" And I'm like "what are you talking about? None of your colloquialisms seem to make any sense, and why are you calling me Mr., anyway? And isn't it my music, and can't I throw it around wherever I want without it being arrogant? And why don't you wipe your mouth, anyway? You're a little over the top, if you ask me."

Don't call me self-satisfied, either.

TWIB notes from around the league

…It is only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. One must completely abandon any attempt to make something of oneself, whether it be a saint or a converted sinner, or a churchman (a so-called priestly type), a righteous man or an unrighteous one, a sick man or a healthy one. By this ‘worldliness’, I mean living unreservedly in life’s duties, problems, successes and failures, experiences and perplexities. In doing so, we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God, taking seriously, not our own sufferings, but those of God in this world, watching with Christ in Gethsemane. That, I think, is faith, and that is how one becomes a man and a Christian.
How can success make us arrogant, or failure lead us astray, when we share in God’s sufferings through a life of this kind?

--Dietrich Bonhoeffer, from prison, 1944


…it is the executive who decides to “take” the meeting, plucking a screenwriter from a large pool of supplicants as Nero might have plucked an apricot or a plum from a basket of fruit. As India has its untouchables, so Hollywood has its untakables, human fruit so spoiled by failure or treachery that no executive is likely to accept it… Where writers are concerned, Hollywood is like the husband who resents his wife because he needs her. Many writers have been made uncomfortable by this resentment, but I haven’t. Like the traffic, it’s just part of the price of L.A. George Barnard Shaw reportedly once made a famous remark to Sam Goldwyn. “The trouble, Mr. Goldwyn,” Shaw said, “is that you are only interested in art and I’m only interested in money.” I can endorse that sentiment. Writers in Hollywood are perfectly free to pursue their art, if they want to: they just aren’t free to pursue it in movies, which, properly speaking, aren’t their art anyway.

--Larry McMurtry, -Roads, 2000


What Jim [Henson] really wanted to do was to sing songs and tell stories, teach children, promote peace, save the planet, celebrate man, praise God and be silly.”

--Jerry Juhl, Jim Henson’s Designs and Doodles: A Muppet Sketchbook, 2001

Roscoe Coltraine: In Memorium

Today I drove by a guy who was getting cuffed and stuffed. It's not something I see every day, and I'm all for seeing something unusual. But I was struck by this, as I passed by that poor man who made a bad decision, or maybe a string of them, and was having his secret misdeeds come back upon him: I think that guy lusted after my motorcycle.


Friends, I see this everywhere I go, and I needn't exaggerate this to make it poignant. Boys from age 5 to 75 ALL look at me when I'm riding my motorcycle, with a look that can only be called desire. It's not the dirty kind of desire, like guys used to give my sister as we walked through the mall together. No, it's a really terrific look of wonder and curiosity. Even if I wasn't the guy on the bike, and I was just a third party observer, I would like watching this look scream across the male visage. It's the look of adventure that was raging so much in that John Eldridge man that he had to write a few books about it. He was probably trying to make a lot of money just so he could get a really great motorcycle.

By the way, my motorcycle's great, but it didn't cost beans. I think I spent $1,500 on it, and it's a beaut. I feel like the kid on My Bodyguard when I ride it--it's such a simple pleasure... why would I care what brand it is, or how loud the exhaust pipes are? Matter of fact, I love the quietness of my bike. I can go out in the morning and not annoy my neighbors, and people don't loathe me driving down their streets. As I just said, people seem to rather enjoy it.

Speaking of adventurousness, Didi and I got our Moab on quite well, thanky. We did some adventuring of our own. Huzzah!



Okay, so Cuff/Stuff Guy might have been simply lusting after the possibility of riding away somewhere other than where he was standing at that moment--yes. I know that's possible. But I think it was the bike. He didn't just look me in the face, he joined his captors and the three bystanders by looking specifically at the bike. He went from wearing a "awwwwww MAN!" expression, to wearing a "wait a second... now WHAT is THIS?" expression. What could I do? I wasn't going to make the fist/eye sign for crying, like I hated riding the bike because it was a living testament to something he couldn't possibly do for a while. What would that accomplish anyway? I smiled.

I was me today

There are little openings of time in my life when I get such a clear sense of who I would like to be and how I would like my life to work: these can be months long (like when I was living single in Cincinnati in a $350/mo apartment), or might only last a couple of hours. I think I hit a vein of this sort of thing today. Right now, I’m sitting in my local library (I could write a chapter on the greatness of America’s libraries, the most democratic public utility in operation today), trying to suck in data for my upcoming trek to the beautiful southwest, including Colorado and Utah. I was looking through a book on America’s national parks and, while leafing through photos and descriptions of the wild and wonderful in my home country, was moved to the point of a quivering chin. Rich Mullins’ “Calling Out Your Name” leapt to mind, and I wanted to move to Moab for a year. I know I need to create a best-selling book or record first, but still. Anyhow, when I think of who I want to be (and this is ALWAYS who I’ve wanted to be, though I sometimes get too busy to remember)—a read man, a simple guy, a conversationalist and a writer, and a thoughtful enjoyer—it is so very, very simple to see which things are part of that idea (visiting the library, always carrying a fiver in my pocket so I can buy someone else a burrito or a blended coffee, avoiding highways and staying to local roads, NOT avoiding people) and which things are NOT part of that idea (having 6-month long home improvement projects, the teevee, expensive cars, impressive clothes). I would like a year-long media fast (save newsprint and music)--I could easily accomplish this when I move to Moab.

When I first read Travels With Charley, I liked it so much I read it thrice. I never do that. I thought I liked it so much because of Steinbeck’s writing (and that’s there), but I just think it described part of who I am. I should pay more attention in class.

So visit your library, by golly. Read Heyerdahl’s Kon Tiki. Take day trips out of your city (except Totila. Totila lives in Pagosa Springs, Colorado, which is like setting up house in the middle of Yellowstone. You’re fine right there). Prefer inspiration to entertainment. Chew your food. And don’t melt life down into those 5-word sentences like I’m doing right now. I don’t know why I have to sermonize everything. I think it’s good for me (David did it for himself), but I don’t mean to tell you how to do things; it's an old habit. This is really more of a reflexive encouragement, as I learn about me, and learn to live.

Quick Hits

I guess you can't always hit home runs: the new Honda Ridgeline, their foray into the ever-widening SUV market, looks clunky. Not good, Element-style good clunky, either. More like Aztec bad clunky.


I give this as a public service: Ricky Gervais' Live 8 promos. http://www.rickygervais.com/video2_1.php By the way, this photo is one I took in Paris in January. It kind of made me chortle.


Outside Magazine used to be for travel- and adventure-going urban wishers like me and Jif. It has since become about how to get great abs and the latest gear that XGames stars are using. And girls. It is Men's Health with a mountain bike. Too bad. Switch to National Geographic Adventure.

Word on the street

I must send everyone to spend a little time today with a good guy at his website. The title of this post is a link.

They will try to fix you

When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse

When the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
and ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

This is, presently, my favorite song from the album I'm all over these days. That album is X&Y, which is much touted while being much maligned, and I'm on my fifth listen. By the third, I was starting to wake up to its intricacies and beauties, and now I'm just pleased and invigorated. A musician buddy of mine blasted them since the first single, "The Speed of Sound", sounds just like their other stuff. I just gotta say, I don't (yet) hate them for painting in the same palette as 5 years ago. The Beatles did the same thing for like 10 years before they morphed. U2, also. Rolling Stones? Aerosmith? I just think the Coldplay gang is doing it well right now, so I'm in no hurry with them. Thanks Chris!

It was 10 years ago about two weeks ago

It just struck me that the Rockets won their second championship a decade ago.

That means that, if I'd had a child out of wedlock when I was living in England, where I watched the games live at like 2 a.m. on Phil Rawnsley's 9" teevee in his bedroom, seeing Akeem take it down a young Shaquille's throat, that child would be looking to go into the 6th grade. That's junior high. This kid would be wearing Umbros, for crying out loud!

This means that Life Is Passing Me By, and I am old. It feels that way because it's not like when you're just 8 and Reagan goes into office or something. I was 22. I was an adult (in some respects, anyway). I was fairly self-aware. And that was 10 years ago. A couple of weeks ago. Wow.

The Clarion Call Sounds!

Once upon a time, a new breed of short roamed the earth, conquering entire junior high schools with terrible ease. It came in like a bandit, claiming entire drawers of the pimply and unsure. It made a nest amidst Vans, Twist-a-Beads, and Garbage Pail Kids Stickers, jettisoning even the pocket space for Big League Chew. It rode alone, daring challengers.

But those days are long gone. This once proud blend of nylon and other non-natural fibers now sits neglected, relegated to foreign countries and Goodwill BRAND resale shops. The flag has fallen.

So who will take up the cause of this maligned clothing? Who will say "I will be counting among the Faithful Few, who snub the fashionistas and don the old and jettisoned?"

I will. I will WEAR my Umbros, loud and proud, as if these last 15 years were no more than a blip of a Donkey Kong oversized wooden sledgehammer.

The New Face of Phariseeism

I have a serious question to pose to whoever, and it's something that I'm going to be investigating for the next period of time (let's leave it at "many moons"). When I read Jesus going BERSERK about those damned Pharisees, and I ever feel the pressure of his comments, I can tend to relegate his comments to my past. To wit: I know EXACTLY what Phariseeism looks like in my parents' generation--we all do. Men who are organization-centric, who want to build themselves an empire, who are all about looking righteous for other people, who are unable to peel back the moral facade and just be their real, often-unspiritual, messy, inconsistent selves and have relationships with people. Yes, yes... this is all old hat. We Xers are all apt at throwing stones at this type of man, and do so with grave regularity. So what. That's not my question.

My question is linked to the fact that Phariseeism is endemic in people who've got a hold of some good 'ol religion, and that includes me, regardless of my age. So what, I ax myself, does Phariseeism look like for MY generation? How do MY people get vain, shallow, and clean-on-the-outside-but-dirty-on-the-inside? It's far too simple to say it has to do with suits on Sunday mornings and reading written prayers. Phariseeism is much more insiduous. I know it has, at the very least, opportunity in me. Where are its openings?

I think this is a good question to ask. I will keep my eyes peeled.

ENews Quick Hits

-Russell Crowe and Tom Hanks have both built entertainment empires around themselves and their loved ones by playing noble everymen, guys who were at the wrong place at the right time and came out on top. Neither of them is unusually handsome, nor blugeons you with his "acting" (hello, Sean Penn), though Crowe threatens sometimes. The main difference between them: one of them is a genuinely likeable person.



-Late night review, for those who start waking up about 11:30, long after our spouses have been wound in sleep's cocoon:

Best part of Jimmy Kimmel's show--without question, his opening monologue, which often includes videotaped bits, and the wonderfully sophomoric "this week in unnecessary censorship" on Fridays. Delightful.
Best part of Conan's show--the part between his stale, lame opening monologue and when the guests come out and he freezes up. This is when they do daffy things, like the endless matchbox car remakes of Michael Jackson's entourage, or Frankenstein taking us to a light switch.
Best part of Dave's show--the interviews. Dave is himself an entertainment landmark, so he doesn't kowtow and giggle the way some do. And he always appears to know more than about anybody on the show, so he's a steady source of interest.
Best part of that Scottish guy who took over Late Night's show--closing credits.


-I saw Batman Begins, which was a good show. Disturbing things include:
*Christian Bale's ridiculous vocal transformation when he's in the outfit
*Christian Bale's ridiculous vocal ineptitude thanks to a lisp (! Hello! Casting directors! This man has a lisp! Hello!)
*Katie Holmes lameness
*Katie Holmes screwed-up face. Her eyeline, which slants down, right to left, meets her mouthline, which slants down left to right. She could conceivably suck her right eye into her own mouth.
*Michael Cane and Morgan Freeman, who have been sharing the same "how to get in every third movie made" notes for years, are now in the same franchise. Well, okay, as long as they both retire right after this. Don't bet on it.
*The new cowl looks dopey.

Rockit Man

Remember the kooky video from the 80s with the disturbing break-dancing robots (all the legs and what not)?

That was from the very dated "Rockit", probably the biggest mainstream hit from jazz marvel Herbie Hancock. This guy played with Miles Davis during the 60s, and has scored tons of movies, his first being the monumental Blow Up. Anyhow, like I said, I saw him last night. He brought John Mayer along for the ride.

Admittedly, I couldn't for the life of me figure out why he'd bring a pop face along as a "guitarist" (not that John stinks as a guitarist--I'm impressed with him. But does he belong on the same stage as Herbie Hancock and his team of jazz virtuosos? Um, no.), but at the show, I found out. Herbie's gone the way of Elton John, Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, Santana, etc. etc. and done a "duet" with the young star so that he'll connect with a younger audience. This is a great move, of course, but it was kinda sad to see John struggle to throw down riffs to match Herbie, Kenny Garrett, Roy Hargrove, and Munyungo
Jackson. These guys are MONSTERS. While I'm on the subject, I'd like to mention that Herbie's rhythm section, Teri Lynne Carrington and Marcus Miller about blew my brains out.

So anyway, there. I went. These people are musicians in a way that I will never be, and maybe don't even aspire to be. As you can see, their musical genius has addled and befuddled me. It was a good night.

THIS is what it feels like

Two bad, bad things have happened to my technology, chewers:

1) you know the greatness of that call-in blog message thing I did? Yeah- it doesn't work. I can't get it to work. I call in, and the phone guy says this number is no longer operable. And that--well, that rips. Because 1) I've been "in the studio" working on a new CD and I wish I could post some bits. I can't. 2) Tonight, I'll be hearing Herbie Hancock live. I would like to put a blurb of that stuff up. 3) Tonight, I will be meeting Herbie's resident guitarist, a young John Mayer. I would like to have his speaking voice on my blog. Oh well.

2) you know the greatness of my new kickin PowerBook? It melted all over my face. It's now at the Apple Store ("a safe place for dweebs and snobs, and snobby dweebs"), where they tell me that data recovery is highly unlikely from my (new, but bad) hard drive. This hard drive (which is <90 days old, but has defectived on me, and for which I'll be recompensed in no visible way) had a whole lot of songs and poems I writ, hundreds of photos, about 1500 songs, etc. blah blah. It's... well... it's not good.


So the posting, well--it's going to be awfully sporadic for a while. Suckbag.

Rapper or Toiletry?

1. Suave
2. Volume 10
3. Nice N Smooth
4. Dimension
5. Soft & Gentle
6. Cool Breeze
7. Shyne
8. Smooth Appeal
9. All Fresh
10. Q-Tip
11. All Natural
12. Remedy
13. D-Flame
14. Cream Silk

Toiletry: 1, 3, 5, 9, 11, 13
Rapper: 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 12, 14
Both Rapper and Toiletry: 10

It Used to Be My Playground

I thought I'd close out this NBA season (since it looks all but done for the Spurs, who're a very good but pretty boring basketball team, except when Manu Ginobili, the Argentenian Nasal Passage, goes a little nuts and gets funky) with some photos from the past. This first dandy is of one of our favorite whipping boys, back when Mr. Davenport got us some awesome seats in Houston. I am not sitting down. Shawn told me, and I thought this was incredible, that they had surgically transplanted an elephant's trunk into the space between his shoulders and skull. Wow. It looks just great, and he can also extend it when he wants to block a shot but his arms aren't long enough.


And here's a photo of me with the richest, most petulant under-formed man since Howard Hughes.


Finally, here's me with Scrappy, our league's 2005 Littlest Leaguer. A couple of things to notice: I matched Stevie's sideways smile with one of my own. We're like a tandem see-saw. Also, you'll note that, on my left stands Juwon Howard, a team or two ago. He was just as ineffective back then, though.

It's the old fashioned food craze that's sweeping the city!

The Rod recently called me twice in a day (! hello! we're boys. You know that, right?) to sing the incredible praises of "that Bible diet I keep going on about." He'd finally gotten hold of the book, and is just juiced to overflowing about its potential in his modern urban lifestyle.

Trouble is, THIS is the book I recommend:

And THIS is the book the Rod got so fizzy about:

These are not the same book. Same principles, I guess, but here's another classic case of mistaken identity, assumptions made, and dubiously placed enthusiasm. I tell ya, it's a story as old as Jacob and Leah, or at least as Three's Company. In any case, I support young Rod, and his quest for a healthy innard.

I will say, though, that the illustration on this book's cover absolutely wears me out. This isn't a creative, provoking, or even helpful cover. Is eating high-lycopene fruits (such as a tomato) likened to touching the hand of the Almighty? What's the significance? Oh well. I forgive you, Guy Who Wrote A Knock Off Of What The Bible Says About Healthy Living But Is Probably Raking In Much More Dough Because Of Your Highly Touted Foreward And Recognizable But Lowest-Common-Denominator Book Cover. As the good book says (and I'm referring to Mr. Russell's, not Mr. Rubin's), "Go ye and get hepped up on omega-3 fatty acids and plenty of whole grain fiber."

Better--by design!

This is a photo of my hand. I recently drew this design all over it, planning to semi-permanentify it with that fabulous Henna that the Indian people seem to be so fond of. I've had quite a bit of trouble finding henna, though--more than I thought I would. I wish I could find some, because my superduper design is fading fast, and I hate to see it go. It was so sweet when I first made it! Ah well.



ps- Peb, are you down with the colon cleanse? Is this an okay idea? I want it cleansed SO BAD!

Cleansing every inky spot

I have a deep conviction--and I say this just because I have a deep-seated belief in the honesty and integrity of the common human (*giggle!*)--that if the girl in the car in front of me WAS, in fact, a cartoon, aged approximately 6-8 years old, with shoulder-length blonde hair, she would indeed get right on her knees in front of that cartoon cross, bowing reverently to her cartoon lord and savior. I have to believe that he didn't just die on that cartoon cross, but that he rose again from a cartoony grave, conquering cartoon death and that little cartoon girl's cartoon sin. No, I'm not crazy. I'm just a wild-eyed BELIEVER.

In the magic of cartoons. What is up.

The nearness of God is my good

I had the singular privelege of talking with Karen yesterday, who is a mid-40s woman who is most probably going to die fairly soon of cancer. She wanted to talk to somebody about how to get things straight with God, and she came to me (it's part of my job... yeah, it's a good job). I talked very frankly with her, and she with me, and it was fascinating.

Karen told me how angry she was at God, and how disappointed she was, and how unfair He was being. She said that she'd tried very hard to take care of her body, thought of herself as a good person, and tried to do things the right way, all the way around. Now she not only has to deal with a body that she feels has somehow betrayed her, but she feels consumed with guilt that she's rapidly becoming a burden to her friends, and a source of grave concern for her family. On top of all that, she doesn't even look pitiful--she looks fine.

I felt sorry for Karen, and sympathized with her that feeling put upon is pretty understandable. But internally, I was stunned by how myopic the human perspective is. You tried to take care of your body, so you deserve to live until you think it's a reasonable dying age...? Wha?? You want God to justify to you why he hasn't chosen you to live the life you deem most desirable? Excuse me?

Please hear me: I'm not saying I don't do the same thing all the time, and I'm not saying Karen is despicable. I'm saying that, in that moment, I was given some clarity. When God goes off on righteous Job, he's getting at the same thing that He was saying to me while I was talking to Karen: HEY LITTLE HUMAN. YOU'RE NOT EXACTLY IN A POSITION TO MAKE DEMANDS. YOU'RE A LAWBREAKER, AND MY IRRATIONAL GRACE UPHOLDS YOUR BREATH EVEN NOW. BE THANKFUL YOU'RE NOT BEING TREATED FAIRLY.

I've said this before in this space (but never with such a wing-dinger of a template as this. My goodness!), but I just have to say it again, if not for your sake, then for mine: OUR ONLY DEFINITION OF GOOD HAS TO BE GOD HIMSELF. We are absolutely hopeless at making judgments about what is good or bad. WE HAVE NOT THE CAPACITY TO CARRY THIS OUT. If God is in cancer, making it happen, it is Good with a capital G. If God is not in your offer for a promotion at work, it is Bad, straight from hell.

"The nearness of God is my good." That's all we can say. Amazingly, though, we are often woefully inept at evaluating whether or not God is near us! Ha! Paul tells us in Acts 17 that he is very near each one of us, and for those of us who've received Him, he has said "I am ALWAYS with you." So I guess we could be like Paul and give thanks for every situation we're in, knowing (by faith! not by sight!) that God is with us, so what we're in is good. Read this from Romans 8:


26Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. 27He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. 28That's why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.

29God knew what he was doing from the very beginning. He decided from the outset to shape the lives of those who love him along the same lines as the life of his Son. The Son stands first in the line of humanity he restored. We see the original and intended shape of our lives there in him. 30After God made that decision of what his children should be like, he followed it up by calling people by name. After he called them by name, he set them on a solid basis with himself. And then, after getting them established, he stayed with them to the end, gloriously completing what he had begun.

31So, what do you think? With God on our side like this, how can we lose? 32If God didn't hesitate to put everything on the line for us, embracing our condition and exposing himself to the worst by sending his own Son, is there anything else he wouldn't gladly and freely do for us? 33And who would dare tangle with God by messing with one of God's chosen? 34Who would dare even to point a finger? The One who died for us--who was raised to life for us!-is in the presence of God at this very moment sticking up for us. 35Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ's love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst sins listed in Scripture:



36They kill us in cold blood because they hate you.

We're sitting ducks; they pick us off one by one.



37None of this fazes us because Jesus loves us. 38I'm absolutely convinced that nothing--nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, 39high or low, thinkable or unthinkable--absolutely nothing can get between us and God's love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us.


Let's push this, shall we? Truth will always stay true in extremes, so let's consider "the nth degree". I just finished reading Tortured for Christ, Richard Wurmbrand's 1967 groundbreaker about underground Christians being imprisoned and tortured in Communist countries. I hadn't read it before, but I previously read The Heavenly Man, about Chinese Pastor Yun. It's incredible to hear about the immediacy of God with these precious people, and how much grace and passion is lavished on them. God is their refuge and present help. These are people, if you've never read these books, who are undergoing incredible cruelty, to this day. Wurmbrand says, face-slappingly, that he would not choose against what he went through if he were given the choice now. He says that knowing God in that place made it allllllll worthwhile. What sweet, life-giving, soul-settling words. Yes, knowing Jesus is enough. I guess that's how Paul could say "I've learned the secret of being happy in every circumstance." That's because Paul had learned that, if you want to be in the Light, you don't look to circumstances for happiness! You hang onto the fact that "the nearness of God is my good." And there's nothing else! Not ease in relationships, not an understandable career path, not "security" in finances, not a "successful ministry", not great reputations, etc. etc. etc. None of that stuff is good at all, unless God is in them for you.

So Karen was very helpful for me. I shot her straight, and she responded beautifully to God's Godness. She laid down her demands, her spirit of entitlement, and her pride before God. It was really awesome. I want to be like Karen someday.

Why should the devil have all the good music?

Whistling is dead.

Used to, everybody whistled. Burl Ives, Jim Nabors, and Woody Guthrie all whistled. Even Steamboat Willie! Everybody was playing checkers on the back porch, wittling, shucking fresh-picked produce, and whistling. But no more. So let's go to Lukenback, Texas. Maybe it's time we got back to the basics of love, you hear? Today, whistle a little for the old days.