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.