Sing it Out

I have a habit of listening to songs and hearing things that I want them to mean rather than what they really mean. Its annoying sometimes because when I find out what songs are really about I usually don't like the truth. I like my own little private world where things mean what I want them to. For instance, the Backstreet Boys have a song called “Larger Than Life,” and I never really cared to know what it was about when I was in middle-school and Backstreet Boys were the bees-knees. However, I recently found their Millennium album for 99 cents and decided to buy it. Here are a few of the lyrics:

All you people can't you see, can't you see
How your love's affecting our reality
Every time we're down
You can make it right
And that makes you larger than life

All of your time spent keeps us alive

The song is clearly about all of the Backstreet Boys' fans...all 1,000,000 of those screaming 12 year old girls...however, in my little world I replaced “All you people” with “Oh my God”....so now it reads a little more like this:

Oh my God can't You see, can't You see

How Your love's affecting our reality

Every time we're down

You can make it right

And that makes You larger than life

All of Your time spent keeps us alive

I know...I'm cheesy. But that's just how my brain works. I like to see things from a different view. I see, hear, smell, taste things in a different way because I know the Who behind the sights, smells, and tastes of the world. I give Him the credit even when the credit wasn't originally given to Him. However, there are some songs that are just hard to not see a dual meaning. I think Paul is right in saying, “...since what may be known about God is plain to them, because God has made it plain to them. For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—His eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.” (Romans 1:19-20). I think that not only does everyone feel at their core that there is a God, but that whether they mean to or not they sing about Him; they create works of art about Him.

Here's where I'm headed: I heard a song titled, “Sing” by a band called My Chemical Romance...and to be honest I'm not sure what they're talking about—here are the lyrics:

Sing it out,
Boy, you got to see what tomorrow brings.
Sing it out,
Girl, you got to be what tomorrow needs.

For every time.
That they want to count you out,
Use your voice,
every single time you open up your mouth.

Sing it for the boys,
Sing it for the girls,
Every time that you lose it sing it for the world.
Sing it from the heart,
Sing it till you're nuts,
Sing it out for the ones that'll hate your guts.
Sing it for the deaf,
Sing it for the blind,
Sing about everyone that you left behind.
Sing it for the world,
Sing it for the world.

Sing it out,
Boy, they're gonna sell what tomorrow needs
Sing it out,
Girl, they're gonna kill what tomorrow brings

You've got to make a choice,
If the music drowns you out.
And raise your voice,
Every single time they try and shut your mouth.

Sing it for the boys,
Sing it for the girls,
Every time that you lose it sing it for the world.
Sing it from the heart,
Sing it till you're nuts,
Sing it out for the ones that'll hate your guts.
Sing it for the deaf,
Sing it for the blind,
Sing about everyone that you left behind.
Sing it for the world,
Sing it for the world.


Cleaned-up corporation progress,
Dying in the process.
Children that can talk about it,
Living on the webways.
People moving sideways,
Sell it till your last days.
Buy yourself the motivation,
Generation nothing.
Nothing but a dead scene,
Product of a white dream.
I am not the singer that you wanted,

but a dancer.
I refuse to answer,
Talk about the past,
Sir and wrote it for the ones who want to get away.


Keep running!

Sing it for the boys,
Sing it for the girls,
Every time that you lose it sing it for the world.
Sing it from the heart,
Sing it till you're nuts,
Sing it out for the ones that'll hate your guts.
Sing it for the deaf,
Sing it for the blind,
Sing about everyone that you left behind.
Sing it for the world,
Sing it for the world.

You've got to see what tomorrow brings!
Sing it for the world,
Sing it for the world.
Yeah, you've got to be what tomorrow needs!
Sing it for the world,
Sing it for the world.

It makes me wonder what they're supposed to be singing about. It makes me wonder why they should sing at all. I don't know what they're singing about, but I certainly have something to sing about.

I feel like a nerd, but there are a lot of Scriptures that come to mind when I hear this song...Psalm 145 speaks about praising God and His works, “Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise; His greatness no one can fathom. One generation will commend Your works to another; they will tell of Your mighty acts.” On and on it goes speaking about what God has done-- “Sing it out, girl you got to be what tomorrow needs...”. I think of Jesus warning us that we too would be hated, “All men will hate you because of Me, but he who stands firm to the end will be saved.” (Matthew 10:22)--”For every time that they want to count you out. Use your voice every single time, you open up your mouth.”

I think My Chemical Romance unwittingly gave me an anthem. Without meaning to they have encouraged me beyond measure. I want to sing of what God has done. Sing it for the boys, sing it for the girls, every time I'm losing, I will sing it to the world. To the deaf and to the blind, “Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor!”(Luke 7:22) I want to sing it from the heart, sing it till I'm nuts, until this world hates my guts. I want to dance in the streets like David and proclaim Christ. When the noise of this world tries to drown me out I will sing all the louder. When people try to shut my mouth I will only be encouraged more, because it is to those that are trying to shut me up that I sing. I sing it for the world. I sing it for the ones I left behind. For those who are lost.

So....we're supposed to sing it out. What are you singing out? What are you singing about to the deaf, blind, dead, and dying? Here is what I'm singing:

Praise the Lord.

Praise God in His sanctuary;

praise Him in His mighty heavens.

Praise Him for His acts of power;

praise Him for His surpassing greatness.

Praise Him with the sounding of the trumpet,

praise Him with the harp and lyre,

praise Him with the strings and flute,

praise Him with the clash of symbals,

praise Him with resounding cymbals.

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.

Praise the Lord.

~Psalm 150~

Christ is Lord.

Amen.

Searching for Fear and Finding Shelter

I’ve always been enthralled by storms. There’s something about the drop in pressure, the winds blowing in from the distance carrying the icy temperatures from the mountains--the brilliant flash of light in the distance followed by a low rumble. There’s power in storms and to stand in a high place, facing the wind and feeling the raw force pushing me, along with the electric feel in the air brings a joy and unexplainable comfort. There is something stronger than me out there. There is someone stronger than me behind the wind.

***

The storm had snuck up on us. While we’d been watching clouds form up on the horizon, rising like an atomic bomb had gone off in the distance, more clouds had approached us from behind. The winds had been present all afternoon, but their sudden absence warned us of the impending danger. The thunder finally told us where to look, and by that point it was too late. We were going to get wet.
As soon as we realized our situation we sent the campers down the mountain and started to pack up. Kylee and I raced each other pulling the ropes to the top of the rock face just like we did usually did, but this time a small element of fear spurred us on too. She won. Typical. The winds picked up again just as suddenly as they had stopped but this time there was an icy edge to them that cut to the bone. Shortly after the cutting wind picked up, great drops of rain pelted down sporadically from the heavens; a warning of what was to come.
We scrambled down from the top of the Rock, a cliff 120 feet high that we‘d rappel kids off of. Steve was waiting eagerly with the packs. I tossed the ropes I’d carried from the top to him and started wrapping the guideline.
I had my back to the storm. My hat was threatening to fly off of my head because of the wind and I could feel as much as see the lightning striking more and more frequently around me.
“Look behind you.” Steve said through the whirlwind. “That wall of water is going to hit us in about 30 seconds. Wrap fast!” I did wrap fast. “Faster Palmer! Pick up the pace Olson!” his voice had a smile behind it as if the fact that we could be struck by lightning were a pleasant prospect. Oddly enough I could share in his excitement, and when I looked behind me to see the white sheet of water pushing its way towards me I smiled too. The water reached us about 30 seconds later, just like Steve had predicted. I finished stuffing the ropes into the pack and then flinched as the water and wind lashed about me.
“God is big!” I yelled above the winds. Then a white flash blinded me as lightning struck in the distance. I tossed the 40 pound pack down to Kylee and she caught it while the wind and water started to plaster her hair to her face. Steve looked up at Kylee and I and gave a howl. We both followed suit, Kylee sounding like a wolf, and started our way down the slippery mountain pass.
The rock wall was on our right as we traveled down the mountain, and it blocked most of the wind and rain. Actually, at this point of the hike down it was relatively calm. Of course we knew this wasn’t the truth of the matter; thunder could be heard every few seconds, and the water rising to about our ankles reminded us that we were very much in the middle of a storm. But, the wind wasn’t beating on us at the moment and we were able to talk to each other as we shuffled carefully down the trail.
“See guys. I told you it happens quick.” Steve said. “Now you’ve got a story to tell!” Somehow he still found this experience to be funny. A brilliant flash turned my sight to white and a fraction of a second later a crackling blast echoed through my eardrums. I didn’t think this experience was that funny. In fact, I had never been so scared in my life.

***

They say that fear is the beginning of knowledge. More specifically, the fear of the Lord.
There are only a few times in my life that I can truly say I’ve been scared, or experienced fear; Like the time I walked away from my mom’s cart in the grocery store, probably distracted by some flashy flier trying to sell me vitamins. All I did was let go of my mom’s cart and walk off, but when I realized I’d been separated I just freaked out and screamed at the top of my little 5 year old lungs and cried. My mom was one aisle over and started laughing because she’d been watching the whole time. Or there was the time when I was 7 years old fishing with my dad. I was a big boy and went to the bathroom all by myself…in the port-a-potty. When I closed the door it locked…and when I couldn’t get the door unlocked, I screamed…well, who wouldn’t get scared when stuck in a port-a-potty. My dad rushed over thinking I’d fallen in and pried open the door. I felt stupid afterwards…but I can’t tell you of a time that I truly feared the Lord.
There are four Gospels in the New Testament of the Bible: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Each of them records Jesus’ resurrection. Matthew ends with the two Marys praising God, grabbing Jesus’feet, and worshipping him. Luke’s account shows Mary, Mary, and Joanna going to the tomb and finding it empty. They go tell the disciples and no one believes them. John ends with Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene and telling her not to be sad. She complies and tells all the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”.
What gets me is the ending of the resurrection scene in Mark. Its different than all the rest. In this account they don’t see Jesus; only a man in white…probably an angel. He tells them not to be alarmed and to go tell the disciples what they have seen. Instead of going out and telling everyone, “I have seen the Lord!” It says, “And they went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and astonishment had seized them, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” Mark 16:8. I’ve always been puzzled by that. What does that even mean? Jesus was alive…yet they ran in fear. According to Proverbs this is the beginning of knowledge.

***

“Alright. Here in about 10 seconds we aren’t going to be protected by the Rock anymore. Make sure you keep good footing, have your hands free, and go slow. Fluid motions guys.” Steve’s advice reached Kylee and I, and as we rounded a turn in the trail, we saw the wall of water reappear in front of us. That’s where the Rock ended.

***

So I started thinking about what made those women run from the tomb that day. Why did they run away? And then I remembered Psalm 29, and how it describes God like a storm, and it clicked. If Jesus was alive, it meant that He had successfully faced the Almighty storm of God’s wrath and come back to tell about it. That meant that Jesus was everything He claimed to be: The Son of God. That meant that the Marys had been in the very presence of God and survived. He was stronger than the storm of death. That is truly frightening to think of.

C.S. Lewis says it well when he speaks of Aslan wrestling with Lucy:

It was such a romp as no one has ever had except in Narnia; and whether it was more like playing with a thunderstorm or playing with a kitten Lucy could never make up her mind. And the funny thing was that when all three finally lay together panting in the sun the girls no longer felt in the least tired or hungry or thirsty.
“And now,” said Aslan presently, “to business. I feel I am going to roar. You had better put your fingers in your ears.”
And they did. And Aslan stood up and when he opened his mouth to roar his face became so terrible that they did not dare to look at it. And they saw all the trees in front of him bend before the blast of his roaring as grass bends in a meadow before the wind.
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe – Chapter 15

God is the storm…and He is the one who faced the storm. He is the one who blocked the wind and rain. He is God Almighty, and it is frightening to hear Him roar. The Mary’s were scared because they realized that they had been keeping company with the storm-maker and the Rock that blocks the storm the whole time.

I think I understand their reaction now, and have a little insight into what Proverbs talks about when it says that fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge. I know who is behind the wind, and I know who blocks me from it--they are one and the same.

The Starbucks Chronicles: I Smell Funny

Lately I find that all of my hoodies and jackets have a very….distinct aroma about them. Every time I put one on, no matter where I go, or which hoodie I choose, the same smell greets me. I think it may be because of the places I frequent most often…or perhaps its just the way I smell now…being that I not only am surrounded at these places by this scent, but the source from which the scent exudes, I also put into my body…I feel like my good buddy Zach Sanchez explains this recent aroma-phenomenon well in his poem, “My Lifelong Love”:

An aroma beckons me like the song of angels from the heavens
A vision of pure seduction, dark velvet, smooth and truly dreamy
A touch so hot it’s almost intrusive, but oh so desirable
The thought, the desire, the crave, the addiction needing satisfaction
I hold a pleasurable prison almost painful in perfection
I cannot go on without, without finding myself going crazy
I find myself going crazy because I cannot go on without
What a delicious, wonderful, terrifying substance this coffee is



So I like coffee. And I go to Starbucks quite often. What can I say? I drink so much coffee that if you cut me I swear I’d bleed the Christmas Blend. I can’t decide if this is a good thing or if I’m pitiful…either way, coffee is what I smell like. I don’t know, perhaps it’s the taste. Maybe it’s the smell…or it may even be the general atmosphere of a coffee shop. Everyone there is so cool and trendy--beanie wearing, flannel-sporting, book-reading, music-listening people frequent the place…and the paintings on the walls are…trendy as well. The dim lights, the warm feel, the pleasant smell, all surround the place and make me happy. So I go there a lot.

However, something pretty amazing has been happening ever since I’ve moved back to Albuquerque and started religiously going to Starbucks to read my bible…people have come up to me and talked to me about Jesus more than ever. I’ve talked to believers, atheists, agnostics, confused people that think they know Christianity, Wiccans, and the list goes on.
Actually, the Wiccan lady was probably the most interesting…she asked me what I was reading--the words “Holy Bible” must not have given it away--or maybe she was just trying to get conversation out of me…either way I told her I was reading God’s Word. She told me that she thought any old manuscript held value and was timeless…and I simply agreed that with the Bible this was most definitely true, and that its wisdom can be read time and again because it is we that change not the Bible…and also, its God’s word…to which she told me that she wasn’t a Christian, but she did agree that it was us who changed, not the text. Naturally, my next question was, “Well…can I ask, what are you then?” And without missing a beat she told me she was a witch.

Now…normally people avoid being called a witch, and I think perhaps she wanted to see my reaction by saying something so blatantly, but luckily I didn’t even react, except to say, “Oh. That’s cool.” I mean, seriously…what are you supposed to say to that? She told me that my beliefs and her beliefs were the same…I smiled, but on the inside I was saying “Nuh-uh!”. She said that Wiccans worship the feminine aspects of God and nature and that its all about, “the feel and the magic of everything.” And I couldn’t help but think of Romans 1:25:

“They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather that the Creator--who is forever praised, Amen.”

So, while she was talking I was trying to sneakily turn to Colossians 1, because there it just talks about all the created things were made through, by, and for Christ, and that I didn’t see the point of bypassing the Creator for created things…thus worshiping nature and, “the magic” seemed silly….but my bible-turning was less than ninja-like and she told me that she had to go. Of course. I bid her a good day, (how British of me) and then told her we should talk again later.

But it got me wondering why people were so suddenly interested in talking to me. It just seemed curious to me that almost every time I go into Starbucks to read, that someone asks me what I’m reading, or what I think about this or that….and I read this passage the other day, and it hit me:

“But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of Him. For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life.” ~2 Corinthians 2:14-16

I read that and realized that just like my hoodie smells like coffee because of the ridiculous amount of time I spend in Starbucks, that I smell like Jesus the more time I spend with Him. And people notice. Just like when I smell cookies I go to the kitchen to investigate. Or when someone smells death they go to see where its coming from. I smell like Jesus. So I’m going to continue to go to Starbucks to read my bible, and try to update on the adventures I have there. They shall be called, “The Starbucks Chronicles”. And I hope that I go so much that they become familiar with the smell. And now, whenever I put on my hoodie and smell coffee I can smile and know that I smell like Jesus.

April Fool

If a fool is someone who does stupid things, then being fooled is being tricked into doing or believing something stupid. Like falling for a prank on April 1st even when you KNOW it’s a day devoted to making fools out of people.
I started thinking about fools and foolish things right around April Fools day this year…mainly because I got fooled hardcore by some friends…(Touche Forrest and Kylee).
As far as I can tell being a fool is a bad thing. The book of Proverbs seems to be the authority on the topic of fools. There are around 64 verses that talk about the fool…one of my personal favorites is Proverbs 26:11: “Like a dog who returns to his vomit is a fool who repeats his folly.” Ha…vomit. It talks over and over again about doing things that are stupid. It speaks of wisdom and how to get it…and it usually tells you to do something because its good and to not do what the fool does.
Let me share with you a humorous and semi-embarrassing story from my past when I was fooled:
I was in the 8th grade, when it happened. It was my birthday, and I was excited. I put on my game face that day; New haircut complete with bleached highlights, tight-fitting white T to accentuate my rib-laden frame, sun-glasses that were too big for my face and made me look like a bug, and Hawaiian print board shorts. I was stylin’ fo sho…in that awkward mid-high way. My confidence in my coolness was only confirmed by the fact that 20...ish people showed up to my birthday party. We jumped on the trampoline and listened to the Now 5 CD, and then ate cake and played knockout. After I won…or at least that’s how I choose to remember it, we went inside to open presents. I honestly can’t remember what all I got…mostly gift cards and $10 bills. But one gift was different than the rest. My friend Ryan Weatherford bought me scratcher lottery tickets and he insisted that I scratch them in front of everyone to see if maybe I won something. I went through the first couple and didn’t win a thing. On the last ticket I read the instructions: “Get three numbers the same and you win that amount.”…or something like that. So I start the ticket and the first number is $10...the next is $5...oh wow. Then $10,000...things look better. The next number…also $10,000...my eyes were wider now, no one could tell though because of my bug glasses. Everyone held their breath now…hushed and waiting for my next move. The penny in my quivering hand began to feel like a boulder…Destiny’s Child‘s, “Jumpin’ Jumpin’” could be heard in the background as my Now 5 album played, and it described the condition of my heart quite well. I then sealed my fate by scratching the next space to discover….$10,000! I. HAD. WON!
The room erupted into celebration and gave a whole new meaning to “Jumpin’ Jumpin’”. I was hoisted high onto the shoulders of my friends and paraded around the house and we all laughed and cheered and were overjoyed at my luck…which was also their luck…because they were my friends. After a few minutes things settled down a little and Ryan told me to look on the back to see where I could redeem my ticket…He thought that perhaps we could all go and cash it in right then and there and celebrate further. My adrenaline filled body could hardly hold the ticket still enough to read the back. My eyes strained to focus on the words “Redeem”. Here is what the ticket said: This ticket is redeemable at Your Mama’s House. If you call 1-800-DUMB and ask for Santa, he will connect you with the Tooth Fairy and she will provide you with a good dose of Gullable. Thanks.
Ryan received a good tackle…but it didn’t do a whole lot since he was already on the floor laughing. I felt absolutely foolish and the blonde highlights in my gelled up hair were accentuated by my ever redder face as embarrassment set in. I was the fool. It was all in good fun and lots of people have fallen for a joke like that….right? Please say its not just me.

It makes me laugh when people go around calling each other fool. “Sup fool!” Its kind of a slang term for ’buddy’ now…which makes me wonder if half the people that say that realize they’re calling each other stupid. Just a thought…but there does seem to be a time when being foolish is acceptable--a time when being called a fool might be considered a good thing: Like when a person falls in love and says, “I‘m a fool for you.” I’ve done some stupid things for people when I thought I was in love. One time I was driving to Dallas and a girl who is a friend decided she would keep me company…but she lives 3 hours away from me and Dallas is 12 hours from either one of us…so I drove to where she lived, picked her up and then drove to Dallas. The result cost me just a tad more in gas and a lot of sleep time….but I’d do it again. (Perfect example of Proverbs 26:11) Needless to say I wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t had different thoughts about the girl.
But that kind of confirms a thought I have on being foolish…I do think that there is a time and a place to do foolish things. Love can be one of those times. If things had worked out between me and the girl then I think that maybe my acts of foolishness wouldn’t seem so foolish but they would suddenly be romantic. Its like…normally jumping in front of a car is a definite foolish thing to do… but if you’re jumping in front of the car to save someone’s life then its no longer foolish but heroic.
David of Israel was a guy that had a complete grasp of being foolish. In fact I think he could be considered an artist: He’s had his good times and his bad. Sleeping with a woman who isn’t your wife is foolish. Murdering said woman’s husband is also sort of stupid…and for the record…taking a bath on a rooftop is stupid too. Just sayin’…But there’s more to David’s foolish antics…a 12 year old boy with a sling and rocks taking on a 7 foot tall man with a sword is stupid…totally foolish. But when that little boy goes in because the God of the universe is at his back he stops being foolish and starts being smart…Normally dancing in public is sort of strange…depending on where you are. Being in your underwear in public is usually sort of foolish. Dancing in your underwear in public is foolish…and even worse when you’re the king. But David did it because he was so overjoyed by God…and I don’t think it was foolish to those who understood why he was doing it… “I will be even more undignified than this…” (2 Samuel 6:22).
Actin’ a fool is bad if there’s no good reason for it. But if there is a reason then intentionally being foolish gains a sort of…prestige. Here’s where this is hitting home for me though…and it has been thrown into the limelight with Easter and all…and it can only be said by Paul…the king of hard-to-understand…
“For the word of the cross is folly (foolishness) to those who are perishing…” (1 Corinthians 1:18).

I mean lets think about it: The message, or word, of the cross is that if you believe in Jesus, a man who claimed to be God, and believe that he was killed on said cross and that he rose from the grave 3 days later, then you too will rise. If you believe in Jesus, just take off your Jesus-glasses for a second and think about it, and if you don‘t then just listen to this: A guy that was tortured and killed in the most despicable of ways says he is God and then his best buddies say they saw him alive 3 days later? Oh and they think they’ll rise as well? Okay.
It sounds a little foolish doesn’t it? It sounds crazy. But the thing about it is….I know that I know that its true. Like the verse says, “…folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” I believe--know that I am saved and I will rise like Christ on the last day. But to someone who doesn’t believe or know God that sounds absolutely bonkers. With today’s technology and the years of research and experimentation we can do some pretty crazy things…we can duplicate ourselves if we want. We’ve unlocked many of the complexities of DNA and what was once science-fiction is now not so far-fetched. But rise from the dead 3 days after you’ve been killed? Haven’t duplicated anything like that before.
By all standards of the world the story of the cross is folly…okay, now put your Jesus glasses back on. There is a God. He is real. And He did come to earth as the Son Jesus Christ. We who know the God that surpasses all understanding can bear witness to His power…We who are weak shall overcome the strong. We who know nothing understand everything with Jesus. You see…We gave up our rights. We stopped leaning on our understanding…stopped looking at the universe through science books and microscopes. We stopped trying to figure out how this universe came to be and looked instead to the Creator of it all. We let go of the wisdom this fallen world has to offer and we’ve become fools for Christ.
So, let go of your so-called wisdom. Forget everything you know. Who cares what Bill Nye the Science guy says…Jesus Christ is God. Dance in the streets. Set out to accomplish the impossible. Believe the unbelievable. Forfeit your life to gain it. I know it goes against all logic…winning the lottery through a scratcher doesn’t happen…but try your luck…forget the statistics. Try your hand at this…Because I don’t know anything else other than this: He is risen.

The Voices in My Head

I hate the wind. I really do. I’ve only discovered two truly good uses for it…and those would be sailing ships and flying kites. I don’t have a ship…or an ocean to sail it in, and I haven’t flown a kite in a few years. I really should do that sometime soon…Anyways, other than that, wind has no good purpose. If you want to throw a Frisbee around, then the wind chooses that day or afternoon to show up. It will ruin any self-respecting big-haired Texan’s hair day, and if the wind is blowing and you’re outside it will single-handedly make your voice hoarse because you have to yell over it. Wind blows dirt, and dirt gets in eyes.
The other day the wind decided to blow 70 mph. Which isn’t that surprising in New Mexico. This particular wind decided to blow over a power-pole which left all of Capitan and the surrounding area, Lone Tree included, without power. Which is pretty lame, but its not that bad. What’s really bad is when that same electrified power-line touches dead grass causes fire. Wind plus fire is bad…wind plus anything is bad, but we covered that already. Anyways, camp life was a little bit stressed the other day as we watched the fire spread and wondered if we’d have to cancel our groups and prayed for the power to come back on so our refrigerators would come back on so that our food would stay nice. We like nice food. So, as I established above: Nothing good comes from the wind.
I just remember climbing the stairs to the top of the water-slide to see if I could catch a glimpse of the flames in the distance and praying…and that’s when I had an interesting thought:
My current circumstances felt familiar…as if it had been lived out before. In fact I was pretty sure that it had happened before.
There was this guy named Elijah…him and God were pretty tight. And one time God tells Elijah that he is going to pass by. So Elijah goes up on a mountain to wait for God to show up when a massive wind tears through the mountain, ripping rocks and trees up. After the wind there was an earthquake to thoroughly dislodge any rocks not torn up by the wind already…and finally a fire passed through leaving nothing left in its wake but Elijah to see what would come next. I can imagine the scene now…looking something like an atomic bomb had been set off. Broken boulders blackened by fire and trees poking up all around the landscape, their charred remains looking like skeletons in a graveyard. I can imagine the silence that followed…deafening and threatening. Elijah’s every breath must have been caught in his throat as he waited for what would come next…and then…a whisper came…and it drew Elijah from the crevice he’d been hiding in.
As I stood at the top of the water-slide being slammed by the winds and still only able to smell the smoke from the fire, I realized that perhaps I was experiencing a little of what Elijah did…and that’s when I felt rather than heard the whisper. It was God saying, “I’ve got it all under control.” When I went back downstairs I began to feel that it was true. I walked back to the office and called the electric company and they informed me that the power would be back on at 6. They also said that the fire had been contained and all was well. God knows what He’s doing. Its beautiful to think that God can whisper assurance and comfort to His loved ones. He is gentle and kind….
That’s when I started really thinking: What does God’s voice really sound like? If Elijah’s encounter has anything to say about it I think that perhaps we could say that God’s voice is a whisper. I like that. No matter what is happening He is there to whisper His comfort to us. Though the wind may blow, the earth may shake, and the fires rage…and the power goes out, He is there to remind us that He loves us and that He is in control.
But that’s not all God’s voice sounds like. Genesis attests to that. When God speaks, stuff happens. I really like the way Louie Giglio puts it…and this is a very rough quote, but he once said, “I don’t like it when people say they wish they could have been there at the moment of creation,” the background behind him had a close-up shot of the surface of the sun, “…because THAT--” he pointed behind him, “is what came out of His mouth when He said, ’Let there be light.’”
And its true. It says in Isaiah 55 “…my word that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty.” Sometimes God’s voice is violent and destructive. Psalm 29 talks about His voice thundering and tearing up trees and clearing forests. God isn’t any pushover.
There’s this movie called, “Dogma.” I can’t claim to remember a whole lot about the movie other than its not really Biblically correct and it’s a little (a lot) inappropriate. One thing does stick out about the movie that I find very intriguing…
In the movie there are two rebellious angels that are running around causing a ruckus, so God shows up to lay down the punishment. Now, in the movie God is a woman…which is not how HE is portrayed in the Bible…nothing against women (you’re beautiful). However, God has a messenger speak for Him, and the messenger is relaying all the charges against the angels, and the list is lengthy. Then the punishment is explained: God will speak. The two angels quivered in fear and everyone else around gasped and covered their ears (minus the two angels receiving said punishment). Then God spoke, and the two angels blew up. Literally. It was gross. The point being that God is beyond comprehension and He is powerful. When He speaks, stuff happens.
I can’t honestly claim to know all that God says or understand it…But I think that perhaps God isn’t so different from us…or more accurately, we are more like Him than we realize. They say that body language and facial expression is 90% of communication and speaking is the remaining 10%. I think that this is kind of true with God as well.
I think that God spoke loudest about 2,000 years ago. I think that the action of coming to earth in the form of Jesus Christ is really saying something. And I think that when He washed the disciple’s feet He was saying something. When He cried because of His friend Lazarus He was saying something. When He fed the 5,000 He was saying something. When He stood silently before Herod He was saying something. When He didn’t stop Pontius Pilate from condemning Him, He was saying something. When He was nailed to the cross He was saying something…the message was loud and clear…He was saying, “I love you. All of you.”
I’m sort of bad at listening. I tend to listen to myself more than anything else…but as I continue to try and follow God, His voice keeps echoing in my head over and over again. “I love you.”…I don’t understand much…but I do understand that, and I am trying to listen closer. And as I listen I‘m praying…and this is my prayer: “Speak, for your servant is listening” (1 Samuel 3:10) Amen.

I've Been Thinking: Sling-shots, Snow-horses, & Jealousy

So I’ve been thinking a lot…and if anyone who really knows me reads this, they will know that that is a very dangerous thing. For instance…at one point in time I thought it would be good to let my friend Mike Stetter sling-shot me off of a slack line. At first only Mike pulled me back as I sat on the webbing strung between two trees, only to release me and have me flip and land softly on my back in the grass just below where I was sitting. Before I knew it I was balancing on the slack line with 10+ people pulling back as a leaned forward, waiting to be shot forward into the back yard. What really happened was I went faster and flipped faster and landed on my head faster than before and hurt my back. So…as that scenario clearly demonstrates, it is sometimes bad when I begin to think.
But really I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. About what I want to do in life. About who I want to be in life. It is no secret that I love God. At least I hope its not something hidden from view…so if you happen to be reading this and didn’t know that, then I’m telling you right now, “I love Jesus Christ. Aaaaaamen.” It is also no secret that I’m more than a little ridiculous. I am 22 years old and I work at Lone Tree Ranch in the Capitan mountains, and my main job is to entertain kids and tell them about Jesus. I have on more than one occasion worn a heart suit and run around hugging people, asking them if they can “feel the love,”, just to entertain kids and make them laugh at me. Some people would say that I’m slightly obsessed and strangely good at impersonations…I’ve been known to wear Captain Jack Sparrow outfits and Ninja Turtle costumes…if you don’t believe me go to Youtube and search for “AWCJnew.avi”. That first result is definitely me.
I am by no means old…and I really don’t feel that there is any specific age that a person has to try and “be mature,” but I am 22 and I am beginning to think that perhaps there needs to be something more behind my carefree ridiculousness than the ability to make kids laugh…I feel the need and desire to…have my stuff together.
At the same exact moment I am not saying that I’m will stop being ridiculous…Its too much fun to make kids laugh at my ridiculous behavior and seeming lack of the ability to be embarrassed…and I’m good at it. I sometimes tell people that I relate better with the mid-highers than I do with people my own age…I definitely feel like God has gifted me with this. I know where my heart lies.

I feel as if I’ve been rambling thus far…what I would like to explain is what specifically I’ve learned and been thinking about lately.
This past weekend an amazing friend of mine came to visit…we were going to go on an epic overnight horse ride and be hardcore, but it snowed like Christmas morning, leaving all of our manly hardcore adventures frozen under the snow. My friend, Forrest Powell, is probably one of the most legit people you’ll ever meet. To describe him I’d have to say that he is a jack of all trades. Since he graduated high school he has gone to 4 different colleges and changed his major 3 times. If I ever need a crime-fighting, horse wrangling, bull bucking, number crunching, fire fighting, EMT welder, then Forrest is my man.
After our horse riding adventure was buried in the snow we had a lot of time to catch up on life and discuss how God has been growing in our lives…and it turns out that both of us have gone through painful girl trouble in the past couple of months…here is the revelation that Forrest learned and shared with me as told in my words:

I think there’s something to the wedding analogy given by God. We are to be the bride of Christ and he is to be our bridegroom…I’ve always had a tough time understanding that analogy because…well because I’m a dude…and if I ever dream about being a bride it’s a very strange dream indeed. But if you think about it God is just trying to explain to us what being with Christ is like. The anticipation of the wedding day…the white dress, the music, the celebration…the cake.
It makes sense if you’ve ever cared about someone in a romantic fashion. That gooey gooshy warm fuzzy feeling you get when they’re around. The thought of seeing that person brightens your entire day…Now when I think about Christ, I don’t have exactly that same desire…its not like I want to crawl in his lap and rub his beard while staring longingly into His eyes…but I do want to be around Him…and I do long to see and talk to Him. No beard rubbing, but deep connection…yes.
Here’s where it all comes together for both myself and Forrest. There’s a story in Exodus chapter 32 where Moses is up on the mountain getting the 10 Commandments… and he’s been up there for a while. Meanwhile down at the bottom of the mountain the Israelites are…being bad. In the 40 days that Moses has been away the Israelites have melted down all of their gold jewelry and made a golden cow statue to worship…a cow. I mean…it’s a cow…and if you’re going to make an idol why not make something cool…like an eagle…or a Tasmanian devil or something? Anyways, Moses comes down from the mountain and kicks butt. He throws down the tablets in his anger, has the cow melted and then ground down, and then he throws the gold into the water and makes the people drink it. And usually I just shake my head at that part…make them drink the gold? Sounds like something people do on MTV Cribs…but it turns out that the reason for the drinking gold is in Numbers chapter 5...and it’s the test to see if a woman has cheated on her husband. If she drinks the water and her leg swells up then she’s adulterous…if not then she just got a rich diet…After finding that out it makes a little sense…let me tie it all together.
We have a jealous God. He wants us and only us. He doesn’t want to share…and to be honest I don’t blame Him. Forrest and I both were recently in relationships…we won’t name names…but in both our cases the female party moved on rather quick…and we felt slightly betrayed…and more than a little jealous.
Here’s where Forrest’s knowledge comes into play. It clicked in his head at this point that the rejection and sadness we feel at that sort of turn of events is what God must feel like every time we put our trust in anything other than him…and I make fun of the golden cow that the Israelites made, but the things that I run to are more laughable: Sleep, girls, video games, TV shows…and to think that God takes us back and says to us, “As far as the east is from the west, that is how far your transgressions are removed.” He takes us back, wipes off the dirt, and then embraces us anew. Every. Time…and so we come to a crossroad of sorts…we are called to love like Christ loves. We are told to do what He does…and to be honest, neither one of us knows if we can forgive like that. We are by no means God…and we are by no means supposed to be little pansies and take abuse from others…but really? I don’t know if I could accept back certain individuals even with a sincere apology.
I don’t know…Its something that I’m working on…God is working on. Its spurring me on to, “get my stuff together,” and follow God closer. I want to be responsible. I want to grow up a little bit. I want to forgive those who have wronged me as I have wronged God. I want to stop building golden cows and worship the one true God.
I want to show others the love He has lavished upon me.

Stars and Yokes and Jesus

I’ve been in a bit of a slump. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I haven’t seen many people for the last couple of weeks (secluding yourself in the mountains will do that) or what…but I’ve felt it like a weight.
If I’m honest I have no reason to feel this way…no reason to feel this weight. Nothing tragic has happened. I’m getting plenty of sleep. My job isn’t stressing me out…I work at a camp and I get to talk about Jesus on a daily basis…did I mention I work at a camp? Its my job to hang out with kids, think of ways to entertain kids, think about Jesus, and tell kids about Jesus…Things are pretty good actually. But I still feel down…and I know that I’m sounding slightly emo right now but I assure you that I’ve figured this out to an extent. Let me explain:
I’m tired. I know that sounds contradictory considering I mentioned already that I’m getting plenty of sleep. But the fact is I’m tired and weary. Since I’ve been out here at camp God has blessed me in more ways that I can count…I feel like Abraham actually. God called him outside and told him to, “Look up at the heavens and count the stars--if indeed you can count them. So shall your offspring be.” (Genesis 15:5) I don’t think God is promising either Abraham or myself LITERAL offspring here. I believe that God’s promise is fulfilled to Abraham through Christ who IS genetically related to Abe, but it is through Christ that we all become heirs of the Promise, thus giving good ole Father Abraham children as many as the stars…anyhow, I feel like Abraham in that every time I look at the stars (which are radically clear in the middle of the mountains) I realize just how blessed I really am. The problem is sometimes it gets cloudy outside and I forget how many stars there really are. They don’t seem to exist when the clouds get in the way.
I’ve let something get in the way of my view…and quite honestly I’m still figuring out what that is…maybe its my lack of communication with the outside world (despite what they would have you believe, Facebook and texting don’t cut it). Or maybe its my own pride? How exactly I’m not sure. I know that I haven’t been praying as much recently. Maybe I’m trying too hard to be self-reliant…? Your guess is probably just as good as mine.
But, God is good and God is faithful and He gave me a song to listen to…and I must admit that I cried a little when listening and that’s what spurred me to post this blog…it’s by Thrice and the lyrics are almost all straight up scripture…

Here are the lyrics:
Come all you weary with your heavy loads
Lay down your burdens find rest for your souls
Cause my yoke is easy and my burden is kind
I’ll take yours upon me and you can take mine

Come all you weary move through the earth
You've been spurned at fine restaurants and kicked out of church
Got a couple of loaves sit down at my feet
Lend me your ears and we'll break bread and eat

Come all you weary
Come gather round near me
Find rest for your souls

Come all you weary, you cripples you lame
I’ll help you along you can lay down your canes
We’ve got a long way to go but we’ll travel as friends
The lights growing bright further on further in

Come all you weary
Come gather round near me
Find rest for your souls

Rest for your souls

Come all you weary
Come gather round near me
Find rest for your souls

Rest for your souls

Even better than that, here's the song itself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzNSaxZqw24
....well it's the link...you should check it out.

Even better than THAT, here’s what Jesus said:

Matthew 11:29–30 (ESV)
29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

So maybe…maybe I just need to take a chill pill. Perhaps a little spiritual Sabbath is needed. Maybe I’m too hard on myself. I don’t know…but I’m praying that God will take a breath and blow away the clouds and let me see the stars again. Either way, God is Good. Either way His love has covered me.

Go Ninja Go

I was 4 years old when I got grounded for the first time. I used to play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with my Dad, and he would always be the Shredder. I would take turns with myself being one of the four different turtles; Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael. My Dad would come home from work and the games would begin. He’d get on his knees and scream in mock pain when I would kick him screaming “Cowabunga!” The problem was that one day, I didn’t stop playing. Somehow my Dad had actually become the dread Shredder in my head. Instead of seeing his happy smirk placed just under his blonde mustache with whiskers on his cheeks, my 4 year old mind registered only the metal plating with spikes situated just under the blades of a samurai helmet.
To say the least my Dad was hurt by this. The next time we went to my Grandma Fuzzy’s house in Mississippi, we brought all of my Ninja Turtle stuff, and ‘forgot’ it there. I didn’t see anything Ninja Turtle for months.
I say all of this to prove a point. I was obsessed with Ninja Turtles.
Eventually, when I had served my time without my Mean Green Fighting Machines, I would carry around a, you guessed it, Ninja Turtle Lunchbox filled with my toys. It was a well worn box. It was red with the turtles all over it on the front, jumping over the Shredder, who I now knew was not my Dad. I had so many toys in there that it would barely close, and since I had so many, I wasn’t really too bothered about sharing them with other kids my age. Both of my parents played on a co-ed softball team, and I would sit in front of the bleachers by the dugout and play in the red dirt with my turtles. Leonardo was my favorite. I didn’t let anyone else play with that one. He had seen many battles with the powerful Shredder. Whenever Shredder hit him he would fly through the air and smash into any obstacle in his way. I would display this by taking Leonardo and throwing him against the chain-length fence of the softball field and then I’d pick him up dramatically while making him utter words of vengeance on the Shredder.
One night while watching my parents play softball, a little pudgy boy came up and asked to play with me. I kindly obliged, but clung tight to Leo. He played very much like I did; first Raphael went flying into the bleachers, then Michelangelo made it into the trashcan, and finally Donatello hit the cinder blocks of the dugout and he lost his arm. He looked at me next.
The world seemed to slow down around me. The crowd in the bleachers drained away into the background, the smell of sunflower seeds and red dirt mingled near my nostrils, and my eyes narrowed onto his hand in front of me. I was no longer a 6 year old boy, I was Leonardo, and the pudgy boy was not a boy anymore, he had become the Shredder. His outstretched hand looked more like claws.
“Give him to me.” Said the Shredder.
“Never! I’ll protect him to the death Shredder!” I replied. I then stood up and put the toy in my pocket to free up both hands so that I could deal lethal ninja blows, when suddenly the world was stopped once more. The Shredder was much quicker than I had thought, and this game was no longer fun.
I dropped to my knees and began to cry and the little boy grabbed my Leonardo toy and started playing with it. He had an evil grin plastered to his face as if he really were the Shredder, and then suddenly a look of surprise wiped that away. My Mom had been on deck just on the other side of the fence when the pudgy boy punched me in the forehead and she’d witnessed the whole thing. She now stood behind fat boy and she was holding him by the shirt-neck in one hand, and holding her bat in the other.
“Who’s kid is this!?” My Mom growled. She’s quite scary when she’s angry. No one from the bleachers answered. “I said, ‘WHO’S KID IS THIS?!’” Still no answer. “Whoever is responsible for this kid, better get over here now and take care of the situation. I’m up to bat.” She then dragged the little boy and sat him down on the bleachers, tears now running down his face.
That night I grew up a little bit. I discovered that though Ninja Turtles are quite powerful and they love pizza, that they aren’t anything compared to my Mom. Shortly after my Mom went back to the field to bat, a man who had been standing just beside the bleachers got up and grabbed the pudgy boy and shuffled away in a hurry.
I’m 22 years old now and I must admit that I still have a love for all things Ninja Turtle, and while working at a camp this past summer I dressed up as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, but ever since that day at the ball-fields my appreciation and respect has grown for my Mom. She is the long lost Ninja Turtle. She is my Mom.

The Good, the Bad, the Ugly...and Something Else.

The history of our world has brought forth many people that have done the unthinkable. Things that mankind once thought to be impossible are now possible and things that usually mean certain death have been overcome. Men and women that stand in the face of danger and laugh. People whose paths lead to nowhere but to the extreme: The few, the proud, the hardcore.
In my search to understand these individuals a little better I went to Tombstone. After all Tombstone is considered to be, “the town too tough to die.” It doesn’t get a whole lot more hardcore than that.
I wrote down a few things I learned in the ways of the hardcore while there:
1.) Wyatt Earp is hardcore.
2.) Slapping people and then saying, “Are you gonna do somethin’, or just stand there and bleed?” is hardcore.
3.) Doc Holliday is also hardcore. (Give him a ship and stick him in the Caribbean and you’ve got Captain Jack Sparrow)
4.) Twirling a cup is more hardcore than twirling a gun…..if you’re Doc Holliday.
5.) Playing classical piano is hardcore…..if you’re Doc Holliday.
6.) Mustaches are hardcore.
7.) Spurs are hardcore.
8.) Walking in slow-motion is hardcore.
9.) I’m your Huckleberry….
10.) Hiding behind your horse, while riding, while in a gun fight, and then shooting from around its neck is hardcore.

So in review: Wyatt Earp took on an entire gang of hoodlums known as the “Cowboys,” with his two brothers and his friend Doc Holliday. Wyatt took people’s guns and hit them over the head with them more often than he shot people with them. Doc Holliday is one of the fastest gunslingers of the Old West…many bar-fights were won at the tip of his gun, and one time he even saved Wyatt Earp’s life…which is hardcore since Wyatt has already been established as being hardcore himself.
I’ve been trying to figure out what exactly it is that makes these people hardcore. Why do Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday fall into the category? I mean…I could slap someone and ask them what they were going to do about it…and most people would think I’m a jerk then slap me back. I have to admit my first reaction to that would be to cry. If I grew a mustache I would just look kind of weird and if I wore spurs I’d probably hurt myself and get laughed at. I can’t ride a horse that well and if I could I doubt that I’d be able to hide behind it in a gun-fight. Who knows though right? I do say “I’m your Huckleberry,” on occasion, but most people just look at me funny and laugh: Not the initial reaction I’d be looking for when trying to be hardcore.
So what is it? Is it something in the DNA? Some scientists are trying to prove that people who believe in a god of some sort only believe because of what they call the ‘god’ gene. I don’t believe that myself, but it makes you wonder right? My eye-color is dictated by the blueprints of my DNA. My height and build spur out of that too…I got gypped. Is being hardcore ingrained in the DNA?
In the movie Tombstone Wyatt Earp is infuriated when his brother Morgan gets shot in the back and killed. Wyatt and a few others go on a manhunt and track down some of the men responsible. They eventually catch up to them and a gunfight of epic proportions ensues from horseback leaving only one of the Cowboy gang alive. In his fury Wyatt calls out to the fleeing survivor, sweat on his brow and mustache twitching, “You tell them I’m coming! You tell them I’m coming and Hell is coming with me!” And that’s just what he did. Wyatt held to his word and sought out each and every Cowboy, putting an end to their shenanigans. That is hardcore.
Doc Holliday had Tuberculosis. It’s a nasty little disease that attacks the lungs and essentially makes it hard to breathe…there’s a lot more to it, but for the most part it makes life more difficult…it’s a major hindrance if you’re prone to getting in gunfights. Things with the Cowboys flared up particularly bright right in the middle of one of Holliday’s worse moments, and like the hardcore dude he is, Doc decided that he would challenge a man to a duel. If I had tuberculosis I’d use that as an excuse not to get in a gunfight. Hard. Core.
However, despite my recent understandings of the ways of the hardcore, I have heard and seen other voices in the matter.
There is an ancient way. Its actually proclaimed all over the world and spoken about by many men. Some claim that it is exactly the opposite of hardcore, but I would beg to differ. So, rather than elaborate on my already vague statements, I’ll let my list speak for itself.

Hardcore things I’ve learned from other places:
1.) Loving your enemy is hardcore.
2.) Turning the other cheek is hardcore.
3.) Lying down your pride is hardcore.
4.) Laying down one’s life for a friend is hardcore.
5.) Spitting in the dirt and healing a man with the mud is hardcore.
6.) Walking on water is hardcore.
7.) Causing earthquakes upon your death is hardcore.
8.) Dying on a cross for all of mankind is hardcore.
9.) Rising from the dead is hardcore.
10.) Before Abraham was, I am.

The truth of the matter is, there are two or more versions of what it means to be hardcore. The first of which is the first list I made. But I would argue that it is in fact easy to strike out in violence. It is mostly easy to grasp onto our pride and let it float on the rising waves of this life. Getting angry is definitely easy, and violence is the most logical outlet for our anger--who cares who gets in our way?
Hardcore is doing what is hard. When we come against an enemy it is much easier to hate them in return and much more difficult to love them. Hitting someone back is easy. Taking the slap to the face, looking that person in the eye after and telling them you love them, then turning the other cheek to them, is hardcore. It is easy to get people’s attention to feed our pride. It is much more hardcore to do something great and pass the glory off to God. Saving your own skin is easy enough, but to put your neck out in place of a friend’s goes against the grain.
Don't get me wrong. The guys of Tombstone had something right. They held to their word with solid certainty. When they said something they meant it. When they put their minds to something they kept to it, no matter the hindrance or cost. When Jesus said, "We are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be betrayed to the chief priests and the teachers of the law. They will condemn him to death and will turn him over to the Gentiles to be mocked and flogged and crucified. On he third day he will be raised to life!" (Matthew 20:18-19) he meant it. Sticking to your guns is hardcore.

My challenge is this: rethink what hardcore means. To quote Bradley Hathaway, “Society tells me all day long that I have defined manhood completely wrong. But you ask any honest man and he will agree. You ask any honest woman and she too will see…that I, am a manly man.” Our world has a different view on the hardcore, and it usually falls in line with the views of evolution, "Survival of the fittest,". "Kill or be killed." That to me is simply surviving. Being hardcore is meant for those who choose to live, not just survive. Hardcore is for the few who choose the hard path; The narrow path.
“He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; by his wonds you have been healed.” ~1 Peter 2:24. That is hardcore.

Red and Green

I have a hero. He’s not quite what you would imagine when one mentions a hero. In fact most people would think he’s pretty ordinary. He can’t leap over tall buildings. He definitely doesn’t have laser-vision, thank God. He doesn’t have a metal skeleton like Wolverine.

I met my hero when I was about 4 years old. I’m pretty positive that he doesn’t remember our first encounter though. I was pretty young at the time so my memory is a bit fuzzy around the edges too.

I remember when we went to Albuquerque for his surgery. He had Cerebral Palsy, a very mild form of Cerebral Palsy, and it had caused his legs to be pigeon-toed. He wasn’t able to walk very well, much less run. The doctors told us that they were going to cut his calves open and make a zig-zag incision in his tendons to stretch them out and hopefully help him to walk straight. When I heard they were going to cut him open I wanted to faint. I felt sick and nauseous and my palms were sweaty. I also knew it was going to be a big surgery because my Nana and Papa were coming. They lived in Arizona and that was at least 8 hours away.

When he went into the operation room I seem to remember him looking at me without fear in his eyes and (I hope I’m not making this up), he gave me a thumbs up with a smile. I think I was scared enough for the both of us. The hospital room seemed to be shouting scary things at me from every inch of its shiny white corridors. I could hear people screaming around the corner and one lady was crying a few seats over.

The surgery was successful. My hero came out later that day wearing his new casts that went from toe to knee, and due to the Christmas season at hand, one was green and the other was red. I jumped up and gave him a group hug with the giant stuffed mouse my grandparents had given him.

Christmas came and both my hero and I got new bikes. I remember, later that Christmas morning, going outside into the brisk weather and watching in wonder, my little brother get on that bike and ride it, without training wheels, while wearing his giant cumbersome casts. Even at my young age of 10 I knew how amazing it was. I’ll never forget his determined look as he took off in those casts and the laughter that emitted from all of us as my Dad let go of the seat and my hero, my little brother, took off on his own down the street, his legs a blur of green and red.

I have a hero. He can’t jump over buildings, but he can jump over anything that gets in his way. He doesn’t have laser-vision, but he will set his gaze and it won’t break. He doesn’t have a metal skeleton, but he does have a heart of gold.
I have a hero. He is my little brother.

Sawdust

The smell of sawdust greets my 9-year-old nostrils as I jump into the back seat of my Dad’s silver Ford Ranger truck, and dust flies into the air creating intricately beautiful patterns in the sunlight as I land on the blue pleather seat. I move over to the seat situated behind the driver and wait for my little brother to make his awkward tip-toe entrance into the seat across from me. His bright blonde head shines white in the sun and snot is running down his face as he sits down. We both buckle up tight and wait anxiously. We’re going fishing.

My dad comes from around the back of the truck after loading the tackle-box and the fishing poles. My fishing pole is blue and it has Mickey-Mouse on it.

“Ready to catch some fish boys?” My Dad asks with a grin that makes his blonde mustache crooked. I’ve only seen my Dad without his mustache two times. He looks weird without it. He turned the keys in the ignition and the cassette player came to life. This was one of my favorite things about riding in the truck with my Dad.


Drum-beats reached my ears followed quickly afterward by magnificent guitar riffs in a beautiful harmony and rhythm that my young heart had already engraved upon itself. I didn’t really know what the songs meant, but the voice of that singer blew me away. I looked over at my little brother who was 4 years younger than me and realized that he too already knew these songs by heart. The singer came on and my Father’s gaze caught mine as our blue eyes locked on one another’s and we both sang in perfect timing, yet off-key “Just a city boy! Born and raised in South Detroit…took the Midnight Train goin’ anyyyywheeeere!!!!”

I’m older now and moved out of my parent’s house, my little brother is 18 and he lives in Phoenix for mechanic school, both my parents have gained weird little habits that show that they’re falling into the roles that age demands, and things have changed. I’m no longer a little boy with a blue Mickey-Mouse pole, my little brother is taller than me and thinks he owns the world, and my Dad’s mustache is now gray rather than blonde, but this summer we’re going fishing. I guarantee that as soon as I jump into the back-seat of my Dad’s truck, the saw-dust will fly, the sun will dance, and we’ll crank up Journey and all three of us will be taken back to a time in the past where nothing but the music and our love of each other will remain.

Wanted: Dead or Alive

I’ve decided that I want to be…hardcore. At the beginning of the month I moved up to Lone Tree Ranch and my new roommate is someone that I consider to be hardcore. In fact when kids come to camp I tell everyone that Shane, my roommate, is half Chuck Norris…whom we all know to be hardcore. Chuck Norris is so fast that he can run around the world and punch himself in the back of the head.
Anyways; I once witnessed Shane walk out of a dust-devil wearing chaps, spurs, a cowboy hat, and a duster. The man can fly airplanes. He is pretty hardcore.

In my pursuits of being hardcore I have done the following things:
1.) I bought $90 hiking shoes. (being hardcore is expensive)
2.) We found mountain lion tracks near our house.
3.) I ran the Screamer (a 40 foot tall swing) at night. In January. In the snow.
4.) I’ve cleaned 100 toilets in 2 weeks. (Gross? Yes. Hardcore? Definitely)
5.) I’ve run from the Worship Building to my house. Without a flashlight. (Its dark out here….and if you count hardcore option #2, that makes doing anything in the dark hardcore.)

So…maybe I’m not that hardcore yet…actually not at all…but I’m going to take it to the next level. We don’t have a group here this weekend…and so we get the weekend off…and in that weekend off Shane and I have decided to travel to Tombstone…A.K.A. “The town too tough to die.”
I can see it now: I’m going to roll up there in my truck…the Ranger…that’s hardcore right?…and spit. Because that’s what you do when you’re hardcore. I will then go to the closest saloon and order milk…on the rocks. Whole milk. None of that sissy stuff. I’ll then start a bar fight. After that I’ll walk out of the saloon…leaving overturned tables and the like in the background…the dust settling behind me will silhouette my manly frame in the doorway. Then the sheriff will enter. He’ll simply look at me…tip his hat and then hurry on his way. The sheriff is a smart man…he wishes to keep his life.
After that I’ll mosey to the steal horse across the street…a loaded 6-string on my back. And I will ride into the sunset…wanted…dead or alive.

That won’t happen. But I can dream can’t I?

Secret Talent

I've never had a blog before. Mainly because I'm not sure if anyone will care to hear what I have to say...to be honest I can't say that I've really followed anyone else on a blog...but I figure why not? But what to say? I have always thought that I'm not that interesting...who knows. Anyways, I figured the best first blog may be my testimony. So...here it is:

I used to think I had a boring life. I grew up hearing about Jesus and knowing that if I wanted to go to heaven I needed him in my heart. Thinking back to when I was about 7 years old I imagined that inside my chest there was a red valentine’s heart with a door and that Jesus stood literally knocking on it. I often wondered how a man could live inside my chest. I almost thought he was like a genie in a lamp; vapor and smoke or something.
It wasn’t until I was in middle school several years later that I took more time to think about the decision to accept Christ and what it meant. I had accepted him when I was a young boy in “big” church at the age of 7 to be sure, but at that time the full realization of what that decision meant hadn’t settled in. I learned from my youth pastor that Jesus had died on a cross to save me. He told me that when Christ died that day that he took sin with him to the grave, and then he rose back to life, he left sin where it belonged, and if only I would turn away from my sin that I too could live again after death. I knew what sin was. It was that thing that made me feel slimy inside even when I got away with whatever it was I’d done wrong. It was what my conscience told me was wrong. My conscience, I have since realized, was Christ the entire time. Gently prodding me away from sin and towards his holiness.
This is why I used to think my life, my testimony, was boring; I was always a good boy. I didn’t mess up. I didn’t cheat on tests, I couldn’t imagine skipping class, alcohol was bad, and even if I could’ve ‘wooed’ a girl back then I knew sex was something reserved for marriage. In fact, through high school, my reputation was the kind that I didn’t get invited to parties. Not because I didn’t have friends, but only because they knew my stance on the issue.
I didn’t do anything bad, so my life wasn’t interesting in that respect. As for my testimony…well I’d always been a good boy, and I’d accepted Christ when I was 7. I didn’t fall into drugs or alcohol only to have a radically life changing experience through Christ. I didn’t lose my entire family in a fire or get in a car accident and get miraculously spared. I didn’t live in China and the chances of having to die for Jesus were minimal. I thought my life was boring so I decided to do something about it.
I knew that God had designed life to be exciting. I knew it was something to be enjoyed and wrung out to the very last succulent drop. I decided that I wanted to do something in service for Christ. My middle school youth group used to go to a Christian camp for winter retreats and I had heard that it was open in the summertime. I had discovered not too long before this that I was good with kids. My second year of college I decided to apply. I got hired after sending in my application to Lone Tree Bible Ranch.
God radically transformed me that summer. He worked in me in such a way that I will never be the same, and I thank him every chance I get (which is quite often). I’ve never been good at anything in particular. I’ve been mediocre at best at most things, and when I went to Lone Tree that summer God unlocked my hidden talents, and it turns out that chief among those talents is being ridiculous with mid-high students. I was able to uphold the camp’s tagline “High adventure, higher purpose,” with flying colors. I’ve since returned for two more summers to work.
Besides God unlocking my ‘secret’ talents at Lone Tree, he has shown me many other things; Chiefly what a servant’s heart is, how incredible it is that Christ came to serve us, and that I am going to be a youth pastor, and most likely a senior pastor someday.
Every morning at Lone Tree we clean every bathroom on the premises. Steve Dirks, the camp director, elder of a church in Roswell, NM, and amazing man of God, says every summer, “We are here to serve these kids. We want them to be comfortable. A dirty bathroom is never going to be a distraction to these kids when we want them to focus at worship each night. So clean that toilet!” It may seem strange, but the message is that we will do whatever it takes to present the Gospel message to those kids. And looking at what Christ did to minister to us, coming down from all the glory at his fingertips as the Author of Life, to a poor town in the middle-east to die on a cross, I’d say that the least I can do is clean some toilets for kids. The lesson I learned was clear: I will do anything within the power God gave me to serve and to teach and to preach the Gospel. Even if that means getting on my hands and knees and scrubbing a toilet while discussing ninjas and Bible characters with a 7th grade boy hyped up on Skittles.
This past summer I finally realized I am supposed to be a youth pastor. I knew after my first summer of Lone Tree that I would work with kids, and the following year I got a job at a middle-school as an Educational Assistant. I really thought that God was calling me to teach. However, this summer, every youth pastor that brought his youth group through the gates and into Lone Tree would ask me if I was going to be a youth pastor. At first my answers were something like, “I’ve thought about it. I don’t know.” But after week 11 of camp and after pastor 11 asked me when I was starting my ministry, my answer was, “I’m applying to seminary as soon as I get out of here.”
So I've done it. I'm in seminary...I'm also working full-time at Lone Tree. I really feel like God is rocking my face off. Two of my favorite things in one place at one time. I'm excited to see where my secret talents take me...God is Good.