South Africa Part One

South African people are better than us. Well, I can't really say that, can I?

South African people are not better than us, they just sin less. Wait, no, that's not right, either.

South African people are not taller than us, but they're nice and happy and give of themselves like crazy. Well, that's a little patronizing. The people I met were like that, but I only met SOME of the South Africans. I have not met them all.

My Didi and I stayed in a house one night in a township. A township is something that white people made up when they decided that they wanted to legislate a separation between them and black people, so they sent the black people to the far, far outskirts of town without money, to sort of scrounge around and make things livable for themselves, even though all the money and power and jobs were controlled by the white people. It wasn't fair. But that's the way it was, and though the machinery that made those divisions have been dismantled, the divisions, for the most part, are still there.

For instance #1: Didi and I were told we were the first while people to EVER stay the night in the township called Nelson Mandela. I will remind you that apartheid was made official in 1948. That's 58 years ago.

For instance #2: My friend Andrew went to buy supplies at the hardware store in Pretoria, and they were all excited about our big American purchasing powers. The guy just happened to ask Andrew what it was for. Andrew told him we were going to build houses in the townships. The guy suddenly became mysteriously unhelpful: "No, sorry, we don't have CAULK. You'll have to go somewhere else to find that, I guess." "Nails? No, I don't really know where we could find NAILS for you. Maybe some other store will have NAILS for you." We eventually got what we needed, but Andrew wanted to twist that guys sack right off its moorings. I don't know that that would've solved anything, but it's how he felt.

--Fortunately, some things ARE gone. Like the law that said that black people had to register parties in their homes with the police, or else the police could come in and throw everybody in jail since it might be political; or the law that said all black people had to be out of the cities by 8pm or you'd get thrown into jail; or the law that said that only 2 black people could walk side-by-side in the cities, and 3 was a mob and you get thrown into jail. Those laws are no longer enforced, like they were in 1992 when I was a junior in college and knew nothing about any of this.

Anyhow, Didi and I stayed in this precious stuccoed cinder block house without running water, and were hosted by Conny Mthombeni and her boys Sempiwe and Nkosinathi. We bathed in a plastic tub, and used an outhouse. We saw that, in this community of poverty, people are CONSTANTLY reliant on one another for basic needs, and everyone is happy in that system. We went a few doors down with Conny and visited Bopi, and while we were there, 19-year-old Niko stuck his head in to say that his father was out of town for a few days and did anyone have some food for him? Conny said "I'm making dinner for these people in an hour. Come back then and I'll feed you." I thought, "way to go, Conny."

Niko did come by, along with about 8 others (we were told it's a custom that, when someone has a visitor, everyone is to come by and meet the visitor. A good custom), but Niko was the only one who, after dinner, asked us to tell him all about God and then responded by asking Jesus to love him and save him away from all the pain and sickness in his heart. Wowee.

Conny's friend Daphne came by with her girl, also (fathers are a rarity in South Africa), and they brought a dish along to the dinner feast: Mautwana. This is boiled chicken's FEET. I know that sounds really great, but remember what you know of a chicken's foot: it's really hard skin. So when you boil it, it (eventually) absorbs water, and becomes fat and puffy and slimy like okra. Now, I'm not a fan of chicken WINGS because you have to fight through so much nonsense to get to the MEAT part, and with FEET, the problem is even worse: there's a tiny tiny SLIVER of meat under all this freaking SKIN and TENDONS and CRAP. I said with gusto that I'd try one, then proceeded to dismantle the foot in an effort to find the food inside. I was told that, no, what I was removing IS the dish, so I sheepishly ate it. IT WASN'T VERY GOOD.

I have a habit of throwing stuff like chicken skin away. But South Africans not only eat the skin, they eat the tendons and EVEN THE BONES. Yup: crunch, crunch, crunch. Bone eating. Awesome. We left Conny 100 Rand, which is about 15 bucks. This was equivalent to two weeks' money for their household. Are the South Africans better than us? Maybe not at everything, but at eating bones and being hospitable? Yes. Yes they are.

This time, I'm ready

I have not been prepared in years past for the disintegration of the Mavs at the hands of the Spurs. I have been disappointed and frustrated. But I think those things are behind me. I believe that I am, as Paul encouraged me to do, putting behind childish things. I am now quite ready for the Mavs to stumble on their own shoelaces, for whatever random reason, and JUST ALMOST win, but not quite. I am ready. It feels good, this preparedness.

No, that bracket isn't from this year. But that's not what this is about.


Also, this:

SAME GUY

Today's War Story

I couldn't have known when I pulled up to the toll booth of the $4 lot that I would meet that thin, aging black man. I couldn't have known about his Purple Heart baseball hat, and that if I'd ask him about it, he'd tell me all about being injured in the artillery in the war in Vietnam, and that the next thing out of my mouth would be the only thing I could think of in response:



"You did that for me? You did that for ME?"

At which point his eyes would meet mine (for the first time), then he'd pause, and with a smile steadily eating up his face, he'd say:

"Yes. I did. Yes, I most certainly did."





I pulled into my spot and sat there and cried. It's not every day you get to meet a savior who defends you against an enemy you've never seen for freedom you didn't know needed defending, be able to live your life as nothing more than a beneficiary of wars fought for you outside of your awareness, and then, at just the right time, be able to thank the one that did that for you. What could I possibly give this guy? A candy bar? [Yes, do that.] Could I buy him a Coke? [Yes, do that, too.] But these are simply tokens of gratitude; they could never come close to REPAYING him. And you know, he didn't want that. He certainly doesn't want me to go experience the hell he endured, taking a mortar from a guy named Charlie and have schrapnel splatter me against the ceiling. He doesn't want me to have to load 16-inch mortars all day and blow my eardrums out.

But he loved hearing thanks. And I loved saying it. I said it three times, and got a high five from my savior.

It was a good day.

Daddy is away. Respect Mother.

I am away from the innernets until the mid-20s of this month. I am in one of the AIDS capitals of the world, that being South Africa.

I will be building cinder block houses, and Didi will be visiting AIDS victims in their homes. It will rip her heart out of her soul.

We'll be staying, for at least part of our time there, with black families in the township of Mamelodi, outside Pretoria. What we're going to go do is not magical or spiritual-looking, but it matters. I don't think the enemy likes it when we start sniffing around the poor and disenfranchised, so pray for us when you get the chance. Also, this:

Some Things Matter

When I make a poot, I want it to be as loud as possible. So I always push it out. I want it to QUACK, for crying out loud.

But sometimes, because I'm pushing it out so often, I get a little hemorrhoidal. I loosen an O ring.

[poot!]
(giggle.)

The Glorious Use of Sin

Let's call this man "Trent".

You're walking uptown and you meet Trent. You know nothing of him. You stare, exchange pleasantries, etc. At some point down the line, Trent sins against you. Aha! Now you've got him right where you want him. You didn't know how to 'minister' to Trent previously; you'd considered putting your hand on his arm and praying with him, but weren't sure how it'd come across. Now you have a great opportunity:

Isaiah 53:
4 Surely he took up our infirmities
and carried our sorrows,
yet we considered him stricken by God,
smitten by him, and afflicted.

5 But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,
and by his wounds we are healed.

Before, it wasn't an option for you to bear up Trent's foibles. Now it is. After doing away with the petty temptations of unforgiveness and bitterness, you move into the place where you can actually deal with his junk before God in a way that will redeem him from his sin, and redeem you because you get to enter that much more into Jesus' heart. Yum!

When you were unrepentant, this opportunity was also not open to you. You were sentenced to working out life on your own, trying to make sense of your scene, and striving to create a world for yourself (in which others would be props) where you come out feeling good, safe, and as comfortable as possible. Whew! Glad that's over... now we can get onto reality.


If you will responsibly carry Trent's oopsies back to God and deal with them redemptively, you will enter into "the fellowship of sharing in [Christ's] sufferings, and, becoming like him in his death, somehow attain the resurrection from the dead." Wow! That sounds mysterious and crazy, but it also sounds wonderful. Painful? Yeah, sure, but every one of us is happy to experience pain to get something beautiful. That was built into us from the start.

-----------

The funny thing about this whole scenario is that I was born into a system of thinking that told me to run from all sin as far as I ever could. I was told to do that becuase God hates sin and also hates people who mess with sin. I now know that to be false. And I also now see that Jesus went around basically looking for sin. He was like a sin hunter, and he'd go absorb it everywhere he went. He'd suck it all up into himself and deal with it in himself. Like John Coffee (like the drink, only spelt differn't).

So the question for me is, what am I after? If it's comfort, then for goodness sake, stay away from sin! It's like spiritual poison! It hurts to get near it (maybe not instantly, but eventually)! It'll hook you up with this system that'll steal from you! Oh, but if you're after mercy (! oo! mercy!), well then, THERE's a horse of a differn't color. In THAT case, you might not MIND too much if your heart is used as a doormat, or you're ridiculed, or you have to stand up to strangers, or you have to defend someone who's smelly because of their own decisions. Yes, in THAT case, you might have that weird Pauline sort of APPETITE for what the Rod calls the "sweet storm" and might have some INTEREST (with misgivings--yeah, okay) in suffering in the right place for the right reasons.


It is my destiny to be like Jesus.
Jesus was a Sin Siphon.
A=C.

More Cereal Reviews! Spoilers Ahead!

I'll tell a story, then I'll make a point.

Get ready for a story. Didi came home recently with a cavalcade of packaged goods she bought at the local big box grocer. She knows the system, and my baby works the deals. One such product was a new cereal (my interest was immediately piqued): she'd bought it on sale, got an even better deal with that blasted frequent-shopper card (give me a moment here, for an extended parenthetical note...

CAN ANYONE STOP THE TREND OF THE FREQUENT SHOPPER CARD!?!?! My local PETROL supplier, for Petey's sake, now has a frequent shopper card! How many of these do we have to lug around with us to trade on the modern market? My friend David showed his RIDICULOUS wallet yesterday, filled to overflowing with items such as a Blockbuster card, which is unnecessary since they'll let you trade with just your driver's ID, a Starbuck's gift card with $0 on it, frequent buyer cards for Smoothie King, a pretzel place, Subway, Kroger's, etc. etc. It was disgusting. Simplify! Simplify! Simplify! Those blasted cards are likened to me as the convoluted process one must undergo at Radio Shack--headquartered in downtown Ft. Worth, Texas--to buy batteries. One must surrender one's address, telephone number, and mother's maiden name to patronize the place. I won't have it. I have cash money, and that will suffice. Egads. -mumble-

Ahem. now then.), and even more deeply discounted with an on-the-shelf coupon that the grocer (for reasons I don't understand) voluntarily doubled at the register. So she'd made off with $3 cereal at an introductory price of $1. Good girl.

Well, I was even more interested in having the cereal in my mouth by the spoonful than I was that Didi'd wrangled a great bargain on the product, so I sat down in our custom market research facility and set to work. My friends, what I experienced that day was a revelation: imagine Grape-Nuts (you may not be a fan. You may find it gravelly, pebbly, and generally inedible. I am not like you. But read on, nonetheless) WITHOUT the tooth-splitting hardness. It is light! It is airy! It is still crunchy! And these Grape-Nuts feature almond slivers (yes!) and raisins (I'm always down with the raisin). But the BEST part of this incredible new cereal is the Touch of Honey (TM). Holy smokes, you open up a box and you can SMELL the natural sweetness! Am I communicating its goodness?


Anyhow, I dug into this cereal and exclaimed, "Wow! This stuff is fantastic!" Didi came over and stole some of mine, employing her food-stealing skills of persuasion and chicanery, then said with resolve, "I'm getting my own bowl." We love the stuff. The day after this cereal festival happened was a Friday, which is my day off. Let's just say I made my way back to the big box grocer:

Cashier: So, I guess you really like that cereal, huh?
Me: Yes, i really do. You're correct in that assumption. My wife says the price on this stuff will never be any lower, since this is an introductory special and you guys are doubling the coupon and everything, so, I mean, since it's good 'til, like, 2008, stocking up makes a lot of sense. It's also delicious.
Cashier: Uh, okay. How many boxes you got there?
Me: 15. It's got a heart right on the box. That means it's good for me, right?
Cashier: (ignoring me, swinging the UPC Lightsaber around)

And that's the story, friends. My point is this: you should go out of your way to try new Grape-Nuts Trail Mix Cereal. I have forced several friends to try it, and the reaction is 100% enthusiastic approval. As a matter of fact, I had lunch that same Friday with Chris, who I entreated to take one of the 15 boxes of cereal in my car. Being a man of high principle, Chris insisted on buying his own. He has since passed on reccomendations to others. People, this is a quality product. Go. Eat.

Same guy.

He Slapped Me With His Prayer!

This guy is a friend of mine. He plays a bass guitar and sings crazy funk music for a living. He is buddies with Bootsie Collins. Here he is reciving an award for being the baddest funk guy around. Don't ask me which award this is. I just ripped it off his website.

While I'm establishing a visual context for Chris, I'll throw in this one, in which he apparantly is appearing as a sperm for a show. I include it because, to me, it's comical.


Okay, so there's the guy. He's a relatively new believer (<5 years), and he's really growing. Great guy. Tender heart. Anyway, I have to report a prayer I heard out of his mouth last night that blew me away. I really didn't hear the rest of his prayer because I was so taken by what he said. He was talking to God about how he felt such a huge desire to be an example to people. Now, as a religious brat, I understand that, too. Growing up, that was pressure for me. But here's what he said:

"I want to be an example, God: not of what's right and wrong, but what it's like to be loved by you, and how great and freeing that is."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Considering that staggering prayer, I realized that I was raised to be an example to people of what IS right and wrong. That's also called The Law, which is no longer appropriate for me to traffic in. Our world is not in need of a better morality, for goodness' sake. God is getting that out of my head, step by step. Our world is a loveless place of commerce, and it's in need of the Jesus Love Bomb. And Chris is praying that THAT would be his legacy. What a killer prayer.

By the way, if you find yourself in need of funk, Chris' stage name is FREEKBASS. www.freekbass.com

Happy Confession

I am in love with this man.



Read about him and watch him at http://www.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/asiapcf/03/22/afghan.christian/index.html

I am happy to report that I will soon be on a loooooong trip with him. We won't be coming back. It will be great.

Relief

Coming back from a long Chew absence is always intimidating. I feel pressure to output a whole glut of stuff. It ain't right I tell ya.


If you read the Holy Scriptures, and do the head-scratching that happens afterward, you've at least given some thought to the law/grace thing. It's a conundrum, and one that laces the Good Book from stem to stern. Here's what I see on that:

You know that Moses presented the law, aka the Mosaic Covenant. It said you need to do like 347 laws just right or you're a sinner and you need to sacrifice to get your account square with God. Jesus comes along and makes this Cosmic Super-Sacrifice after which there can never be another meaningful sacrifice in God's eyes. You can try, sure. Knock yourself out. But God isn't accepting any more sacrifices.

Hebrews 10:11 Day after day every priest stands and performs his religious duties; again and again he offers the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins. 12 But when this priest [Jesus] had offered for all time one sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God. 13 Since that time he waits for his enemies to be made his footstool, 14 because by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy.

15The Holy Spirit also testifies to us about this. First he says:
16"This is the covenant I will make with them
after that time, says the Lord.
I will put my laws in their hearts,
and I will write them on their minds."[b] 17Then he adds:
"Their sins and lawless acts
I will remember no more."[c] 18And where these have been forgiven, there is no longer any sacrifice for sin.

This young man is scoring on a sacrifice fly.

Wow. Okay. Huge. But there's still verses that talk about us fulfilling the law. Romans 13:8 says "Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for he who loves his fellow man has fulfilled the law." Yeah, that's cool, how we can fulfill the law by loving, I guess. But the thing is... why is Paul still talking to me about there being a leftover law? Aren't they all done with? And besides, I don't feel confident that I can love. And we're back to the law. As a matter of fact, Jesus said the A#1 law is loving God. That right there (the very fact that loving is presented as a law) tells me that I will fail at it, that Steven cannot do this thing. So why is loving people an 'outstanding debt'? Why isn't that also obsolete?

I'm sure there are lots of good answers to this question, but here's one I'll throw out there: The only way you can fulfill this last, niggling law is to have the Spirit of God live in you. He is perfect in all he does, and he will always lead you in His perfection (which, incedentally, is now in you as well, since you accepted the Cosmic Super Sacrifice). That is your only shot. Steven in Steven is doomed to fail—that’s what the law was for originally, to teach me that. Then I give up trying to fulfill the law, invite God to live his love life through me, and forget about the law. The law is not my problem anymore, anywhere--it's Jesus' burden alone. And He, in his spirit, can deal with it. Then, I get to look back at how God has led me and see that he has fulfilled the law through me. People were loved, the law was fulfilled, but it wasn't me--it was Christ living in me. Yessssssssssssssssssssssssss. Relief.

Romans 13:10
love is the fulfillment of the law.


So there seems to be this one little exception law that didn't get covered by Jesus' death? I don't know if that makes me a heretic or not, but I'm quoting Paul, here. God living the perfect Jesus Life through me is the remainder to the equation. Somebody correct me on this if I'm way off, I'm open to that. But that's kinda cool to me. Am I preaching the law by suggesting this?

Viva la GOB!!

My only concern is that the snarky innuendo will be replaced by bald-faced obscenity on Showtime, which will deflate me as an artist and alienate me as a viewer. I trust that Mitchell, though.

Same guy.

All Will Be Well With Gabe.

Remember the huge crush I have on Gabe Dixon of the Gabe Dixon Band, and how I hounded him for photos and autographs after his teeny tiny show about 1/2 mile from my front door in the fall? Well our little Gabey is growing up.

NBC's terrible new legal drama, Conviction (yes, that's the title of this presentation), is featuring Gabe's "All Will Be Well" on its promos right now. I don't know if it'll be the theme of the show or now (though I'm so into Gabe that I'm downloading the free pilot episode this very minute on iTunes to find out), but if they'll use Gabe, I'll watch their free episode. Or at least scan it for a couple of minutes. Maybe.

But that's not what this is about. This is about the greatness of Gabe Dixon. And he's getting cash + prizes to have his song on the national television broadcast, and for that I'm happy.

Join him? Where?

If you think for one second that there's some poetic justic in Bode Miller, Mr. Talk Talk Confidence Man, and his lamentable fourth failed race at the Olympics, well, you couldn't be more right. Here's what Mr. Miller had to say after finishing sixth:

"One of the good things about my career is I have such extensive knowledge, so I always go as hard as I can," Miller said. "Some guys can go 70-80% and get results, but I wouldn't do that."



Genius. Go on, Bode.

"If things went well, I could be sitting on four medals, maybe all of them gold."

Of course, this could be said of me as well.

Yup. Here IT is.

It's not a theory; it's a fact.

Good luck convincing me these aren't the same guy. It's as true as sunshine.



For starters, both of their names rhyme with clot.

Hep Cats, Dig!

Last night's rush of emotion (see below) was preceeded by a poetry reading, so maybe that's where I got in touch with myself. I'm part of this kick-ass community where we actually EMBRACE things like art and music and stuff (wha...?), so there was this cool joint last night where a jazz combo played, original artwork was displayed, and about 10 people read poetry. I was one of those people, and here's one thing I read, daddy-o:

I had hoped it would end with everyone loving me
Everyone stopping by to gawk and to see
The Million Dollar Wonder Man
It was a simple plan
I would do something great, or something folks would believe
I would make them awake and then they’d never leave
My warm, fitful side
It’d be one hell of a ride.
I have to figure out first, where do they want it next?
You got to hit some felt need if you’re gonna land on success
I will make them all moan
Like a dog for a bone
And when I know what it is, I will blow them away
With more colors and lights than t.v. can display
Their expectations will soar
Till they can’t stand no more
They’ll beg to eat me all up, like some fat chocolate binge
The pundits will laud me; the critics will cringe
A sensation suplex
It will be bigger than sex

At least, that’s the plan, or I hoped it would be
Trouble is, all I’ve got to work with is me
It’s a simple plan
For another man.



No jiv'in', ya'll. Solid.

My First Ice Skating Post Ever

I am bemused at myself. This happens fairly infrequently, but it happened last night, and the bemusement is still with me. I was watching those darned Olympics (!), and I saw that Russian couple--the ones where the guy dropped the girl like 2 years ago. They showed a little story on how this guy's confidence was GONE for like 18 months, and how the girl would NOT find another skating partner, and how this was supposed to be their swan song. They came out, nailed it, and stood there holding each other's hands in the center of the ice, after which they were awarded the gold medal. Me, I sat there and cried. We humans are so frail and so plucky and so irrepressible. Something about us reminds us of God Himself. I loved it.

Then the Chinese came out, knowing they had little chance of beating this duo. The guy stunned me, he was huge-he looked like a basketball player. Anyhow, on the first jump of their program, the girl came down weird and wrenched her knee; she splayed Bambi-style on the ice and you knew it was over. They took a break to see their trainer, and inexplicably kept acting like they wanted to go on with their program.

Well, they did go on with the program, in spite of this girl's pain. I thought of how her partner must feel: so proud, but maybe with a sense of guilt. "She doesn't have to do this on my behalf. She could permanently screw up her knee, here. She's so brave." And yeah, I cried again. I just loved the partnership and the artistry of the whole thing. How can these skaters, for instance, spin at exactly the same rate over and over and over again, despite their weight differences, etc.? I was amazed. Anyway, the reward for their bravery was a silver medal. Incredible.

What's so amazing about Philip Yancey's hair?

Blackhead.

Sorry gang--this is as good as it gets. This was an especially gooby hairstyle day for me, but you can somewhat see the deep blackness. Let me confess: the black is cool. This won't be my last time.

Also, check out me and Didi with the pals on the bridge in Pittsburgh! Fun weekend away. Why did they have such problems getting over the hump until we came to visit? Coincidence? Probably not.

sheesh.

People. If you are here, you are to be pitied.

I have a hatfull of ideas I think of as "Good Posting Subjects", but dang if I don't have any time for such merriment. I don't call people back, my hotmail box is so full the corners are getting bent on most of the mail in there.

What can I say? I apologize. But I refuse to come here to the Chew out of guilt. I will post when I will. I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry. Some days I just feel behind, and like I'll never get ahead. Like Toby: