The Meandering Hermit

Hello Goldie

2011-12-18T21:10:00.004-06:00

Every year it happens. Most are so oblivious with chores or work or shopping or cutting people off in mall parking lots that they have no idea the events occurring before their very eyes, provided they ever hung a bird feeder and paid attention... the goldfinch have arrived in my backyard today!


winter goldfinch by D.McKenzie

My first sighting of the year was last week at the Audobon's Edith L. Moore Sactuary, which actually brought a weird sense of "what's wrong with MY feeder stations?" dejection since there was not a goldie to be found in my myriad of feeders and awaiting finch socks. Then today, with Jaxon and Angela there to verify it: boom! Goldfinch! Six feet from my kitchen window... awesomeness!

With the hummingbirds come the end of summer; the geese prove autumn. But the goldfinch is the undeniable herald of winter in Houston, TX.

I love my life. Thank you Lord.
jim

The Peaceful Middle

2011-12-14T19:58:00.001-06:00

Sitting here at my desk this Wednesday night, listening mindlessly to my Mandarin files on iTunes as I distract myself with constant surfing of cybersociety and reminiscing on a grand week of passage: I'm over 50 years of age now.
One of the challenges of being born in mid-December is birthday cards are often anticipated as Christmas cards, and vice versa. I risked opening one from the Captain and saw a cute picture of people from my past poised for Christmas greetings. I followed the invitation and found the other has become a woods-elf; I am thankful for that-- she has enough manmadeness in the day job. May she be richly blessed, richly blessed; and her people as well.

A precious student, who I will call the Rocker, cheerfully greeted me in the hallway today: "Guess what I got you for Christmas Mr. K? Your very own Black Sabbath CD! Aren't you excited?!" --actually... I was blessed she would invite me into her music world, with her black fingernails and Ozzie Osborn stickers and daily updates when I pass her in the mornings about the latest news from some old rocker I thought was already dead! LOL- she's precious... her parents must be a hoot. I listened to my new album titled, "We Sold Our Soul to Rock and Roll"... and folks, I believe 'em. The lyrics were scary, not like demonic scary but how some people can get so alone and lost that they give up and settle for pigslop because of something that happened in life... and they never look up. They never discover the Hidden Treasure, not because it's a mystery, because it is, but because of the paradox of Abba's mercy; because of the magnitude of a beloved, bloodied, bludgeoned, brutalized and buried and born again Jesus who restores those who betray Him with sheep words.

I have no doubt that even Judas would have had a chance to be restored, except... he never looked up.

Cyber people: do not miss this: God loves you and wants to set you free from your self-induced dungeon of despair and depravity; to be able to laugh and dance and have no guilt, not because your perfect-- you're not; and not because you're perverted and rationalize away your own sin-- you can thus never be forgiven... no, I'm talking about a freedom that this world does not understand, a freedom that comes with a blood-drenched corpse, a horrified & grieved Father and a horrible price paid... not because there was no guilt, but because there WAS guilt... a penalty required, a penalty horribly and willingly paid... because you are His Beloved.

Now go: dance in His forest, His beach, His hillside, ...dance; dance like the weight of the world has been lifted off of you, because it has; dance like a child that has total permission to Be because you are.
His Beloved.

Plate Glass Windows

2011-11-19T09:46:00.001-06:00

At a birthday party last night I was privy to a serious conversation between 27 yr olds: "So which is really the 'hard' birthday age: 40 or 50?"..."Oh, definitely 40".
Really.
40.
In half a month I will be a decade beyond what they think is the hardest birthday; I don't see it that way.
At 40 years of age, the 10-year-social-bubble means you can hang out with 30-yr-olds and 50-yr-olds.
When you're 50... the 30 yr-olds are behind this giant shield of glass, so different, so far removed.
So much like being in a monkey cage, when coworkers and ministry buddies are almost all younger than you.
Turning 50 sometimes feels like trying to figure out how to die gracefully, and the passion to reach teenagers for Christ, though it's still there-- now feels like it's done behind giant plate glass windows. I'm guessing that tension is why so many of my peers have stepped out of youth ministry, and tried rationalizing a new gig... it's hard to be the odd-man-out.
Life is good because God is good.
I enjoy my days of simplicity; things have changed, but I'm not dead yet.
I love you, Jesus. Teach me to learn how you love me.

Roach Bait

2011-10-15T17:13:00.001-05:00

One of the favorite times of the year is when the first northern brings air cool enough to throw open the shutters and raise up the sash. This week was one of those weeks, when night temperatures toy with the thought of dropping into the upper 50s... marvelous. Almost. There are few days that are so cold that I would wear a long sleeve shirt to bed; I'd rather sleep bare-chested and bundle if it gets too cool at night.

So, there are certain things that a man takes for granted when he goes to bed. Things like: he will not be robbed while he sleeps, or his house will not catch fire, or that he will not be attacked by insects in his slumber. This week a roach tried to eat me.

I should have paid heed to the foreshadowing when this nervy intruder crawled across my neck: I flicked it off, hoping it was a bookmark or something left on the covers and finding in the flicking an object of troublesome mass-- not a bookmark. Seeing that there was no evidence of any intruder, I turned off the light again and tried to go back to sleep, consoling myself with thoughts of how maybe... it was a cricket, ...yeah a cricket, and: "boy, I bet that scared that cricket", etc. I was successful and at that moment before dropping off into deep rest, when I felt this sharp pinch on my left bicep! I quickly looked over in the dim glow of my neighbor's lights and saw the large, dark insect-- eating me!

There are some things that are just wrong: killing puppies; pedophilia in any form; finding body parts in your fast-food, and... being eaten by a roach in your sleep.
So people; it's personal.
They're not only eating the old crust off your toothbrush at night-- they're waiting for YOU.
...thought you should know.

God's Littlest Angel Visited Me this Week

2011-09-11T10:21:00.004-05:00

There has always been a special place in my heart for birds.
From the time I was a child I marveled at these amazing winged creatures who symbolized both frailty and freedom. To be honest I started out a bit like John Audubon with the less-than-sustainable methods of shooting and trapping them to get close enough to see their details, though I guess the trapping at least was catch-and-release. I come from a family of hunters and for a child to learn to stalk a starling with a BB gun, that was considered part of the process of skill-honing.

Somewhere along the way I grew into the matured-hunter mentality: all life has value, and to take an animal for food is a humbling process. Perhaps that is why I spend more time watching wildlife from my tree stand than ever touching my bow and arrow. I have seen such amazing things this last decade from my arboreal nest, but I can't remember the last time I took a deer. Every year I've teased nice bucks beneath me by pelting them with acorns--I just don't want to take them. I'd rather use my bird book and identify some avian species than release an arrow. (I tell myself I'm waiting for a feral hog or spike to come my way. I'm still waiting.)

Birds have become angels to me, messengers to me that my heavenly Abba is thinking of me with love and adoration, like any good Father. So many times in my deepest of despairs or trials have I been visited by these angels. The owl that flew right over me in the backyard as my wife was telling me she was leaving me; my first golden eagle in the wild within 24 hours of asking God to show me an eagle in an exercise of childlike reception (which transformed me!), and then this week with the hummingbirds.

My local PBS station aired a remarkable program on hummingbirds; it boggles my mind that something that tiny travels continents every year in migrations without the aid of a butterfly's sails catching a north wind spawned by the latest hurricane. Yet this week my backyard is a flurry of dogfighting, nectar-feeding angels. The best thing I did was purchasing the third feeder; much harder to defend when there's three offerings.

So this week three different times I've had hummingbirds drinking from feeders that were in my hand. The first time I was holding the feeder up to hang it back into the tree after replacing the nectar (Texas is enduring the worst heat wave in our nation's history and nectar goes bad in 2 days!) and they started feeding before I could get it hung. The second was even cooler: I took a feeder down and was carrying it to the house to replace nectar and they were feeding on it as i walked. But the most amazing visitation was when I was painting my third feeder. Repeatedly birds would hover around the feeder looking at the decorative flowers but not able to discern the ports because they were simple holes with no color to mark it. So I took some non-toxic yellow paint and started coloring in petals around the ports on this feeder, and this female ruby-throat comes and decides she will feed on the holes opposite where I'm working. Folks, there is something miraculous and angelic to me when this amazing creature watches you from 16 inches away, trusting you to not harm it, perhaps understanding the relationship between this tall, naked ape and the gift of nectar that appears. A feathered angel so small and so close that I could have killed it in a moment, yet that would be an act incomprehensible to me, I adore these creatures so.

May I grow to trust the Father like that.

A Meandering Hermit

2011-08-27T16:01:00.002-05:00

This summer, as I cruised the steep channels of southwest Alaska this summer aboard a floating city of screaming kids and ridiculous distractions, I heard naturalist adventurer Michael Modzelewski describe his life in Alaska as that of a hermit. What struck me to my core and prompted me to change the name of my blog was his explanation to the married crowd about the special kind of alone-ness that is borne by the hermit: the alone-ness of seeing something amazing, something that defies explanation, something so wonderful that if you were to witness it yourself your life would be forever changed... and you look around... and there is nobody there to share that experience with. That is the special aloneness of the hermit.

To be alone is in no way a bad thing; for many it is a gift, a reprieve from the noise of a busy world, and I share in that appreciation. A hermit does not have to wait for somebody else to get ready, or worse: bear the guilt of realizing he/she is about to make somebody else tardy because of poor timing. And there is a depth in one's spiritual walk that is profoundly enhanced, leaning into the bosom of Jesus for the intimacy and acceptance that He alone can ultimately fulfill, awakening each day with, "Good morning, Jesus," and concluding each bedtime with, "Good night, Jesus- I love you." But there is something to be said about flesh-and-bone fellowship, too.

Last week I went back-to-back chaperoning student retreats, and over the course of 5 nights I bunked with 3 different sets of men... it was awesome. Yes, some are especially gifted at snoring and others reenact some dreamy story verbally as the darkened room listens to make sense of the prose, but the blessing of laughing with others right before slumber, or awakening to quietly go out for morning devotions while others lie peacefully in their dreams-- that is so cool! It is like the incarnation of scriptural promises like, "I am with you always...". I love being around people.

Some people do not understand my solitude: "Jim, if you like being around people so much, why aren't you dating anyone so you can get married?"

That makes about as much sense to me right now as staying in the water after a shark attack, so that you can overcome your fear, even though you are now bleeding. (It's not the same-- but that's what came to mind so I typed it. In reading this I'm gonna guess that I'm simply not ready for anything like dating, especially in our culture today... so confusing :) .)

Instead I continue to reflect on Paul's words from 1Cor.7 and elsewhere: "...it is good for you to remain as you are... are you unmarried? Do not look for a wife... I want you to be free from concern. An unmarried man is concerned about the Lord's affairs-- how he can please the Lord."

So I meander about in this amazing life, not afraid to stroll by myself yet blessed when accompanied by others-- as I walk into this Adventure called life. Like the Mariposa and the Mermaid, I choose the discipline of thankfulness in all things this hermit encounters. Come Lord Jesus.

Life Held in Jars

2011-08-03T16:12:00.001-05:00

When I was a child, I spoke and thought like a child, I acted like a child. And now that I'm a man, I can speak much more effectively and I've wisened up a bit, too. But I still love to look at nature through a childlike wonder.
I have fond memories visiting my cousins and trapping lightning bugs in mason jars, somehow trying to trap the magic of their natural illumination. It never really worked. Worse: they often died before they could be set free. Unintentional death chambers that were intended to brighten life.
How often children's neglect leads to unintentional death; how tragic when one becomes aware of the autobiography of one's past.
What is this need to store things?
To capture something in order to somehow cling to its essence?
And what was the Father thinking when he put the fragility of a butterfly with the mortality of mankind?
We are jars of clay, fragile earthen vessels that have been baked and hardened to serve a purpose but are destined to be broken.
How very sad I am at Chelsey's death.
Goodbye for now, little sister. Comfort your grieving parents in their sleep.

June 2011, in transition?

2011-06-18T22:49:00.005-05:00

Half a year from half a century.
I keep reminding myself that I'm not dead yet.
It's interesting the psychic wrestling match that goes on in one's noggin when you don't have any children or significant others to distract you with their lives... this is definitely a passage/season in my life.
I see pictures of myself and am somehow angry at how old I look, angry that I need reading glasses, angry at how my knee hurts going down stairs or how my back hurts getting out of bed. Perhaps the anger is just masked sadness; sadness that I'm going the way of my forefathers, sadness that I can no longer 'compete' for the affections of the maidens, accentuated by the death of my marriage? Sadness for the lost years?
Or maybe fear: fear of inadequacy, that lingering sense of 'good, but not good enough'? The stench of spiritual battle betrays the lies spoken to my soul... how much of my life have I surrendered as homage to that foul Deceiver?
I went to Southwells today for a burger and saw an old friend I last saw 25 years ago. Another old friend contacted me today on facebook... 29 years since we've seen each other.
Twenty-nine years... that's the age of my 'older' co-volunteers with YoungLife.
It is truly a lifetime, 29 years.
The guys in my Bible study talk about sending their children off to college; soon they will be talking about holding their grandkids. There's sadness there, too-- grieving the loss of a child I never had, a reminder perpetuated every year on Father's Day. Makes me want to go live in a cave.
I know that Jesus loves me, that the Father is faithful in His compassions for me. I am not complaining... more like confessing. I know what it is to go to sleep at night alone in a 3-bedroom home, concluding consciousness with, "Good night, Jesus," as I hug the body pillow on my daybed. Every night. That's just true.
I know that perhaps this passage, this transition in life will probably erupt into some kind of sunshiny day and that I may be just hormonal (or sub-hormonal), or maybe this is the family blessing of multi-generational depressive states I am passing through?
There is within me a dissatisfaction with the way things are... it was not so long ago I had mastered the art of contentment. Have I failed in my current discontent?
It's not pretty inside right now, but I'm 50 next winter.. I no longer have the energy to pretend that everything is 'just fine' right now, and I also acknowledge: I'm not dead yet... there is more life ahead of me.
So thank you, Jesus, for what I do have. Thank you that I still have my parents. Thank you that I have a handful of good friends who are trustworthy and can tolerate my funkiness.
I'm not dead yet; help me to live for You, Jesus. Help me to embrace the "abundant life" you promise us.
Speak to me words of sonship, Father... erase these childhood tapes of orphan-spirit.
Help me to experience Your Love, that I may love others well.
Good night, Jesus.
Jim

Life is precious

2011-05-11T09:36:00.003-05:00

Doctors told them their fetus would not make it, maybe they should consider "terminating" the pregnancy?

They chose not to kill their unborn child.

She lives...

http://giftsfromgrace.blogspot.com/

... so does the presence of suffering warrant the death of the sufferer?

...if a child is in pain, should the parents kill their child?

... we do it with our pets, right?

No?

April's Fool, Orlando-style

2011-04-08T18:02:00.005-05:00

It's Friday evening; I'm sitting in my lab trying to muster one last push to finish grading biology tests after a 12-day week. So tired. Why?...

Last week I was blessed to chaperon the HCHS band trip to Orlando--that's right, Disney World. There was a competition on the front-end of the trip and our kids did great (Yay Ms Redmon), but the zaniest part of the trip was going around on the rides with "the girls".

My escorts through NeverNever Land were so ridiculously fun, and because most of them were young & married, there really was no awkwardness to it for me-- thank you, JESUS.

So I have to start with describing Tinkerbell, my "guide-to-rediscovering-my-lost-childhood" escort. She grew up around Orlando, FLA, so immediately had a game-plan on how to do each park, starting with the FastPass. The strategy is pure: go immediately to your favorite ride and use your ticket to get its FastPass ticket, then wait in line and ride any nearby amusement. When done with that ride, go use the FastPass ticket; repeat. Beautiful. What's fun about Tinkerbell is she loves to laugh and is...well... crazy. Her idea of Heaven looks a lot like a slumber party in the top of Magic Kingdom's palace with a banquet room lined with princess apparel and unicorns. And there's this fresh sense that all the good things life has to offer are hers to enjoy, and for us oldest-child types-- it's a freedom magnificent to witness.

My second guide, Sleepy, is much like Tinker with the exception that she doesn't let anyone know she's zany until it's too late and you are socially committed with her in a situation. The best-case scenario is to have Sleepy and Tinker together, so they can feed off each other into a vortex of laughter (why is hanging up a phone so funny?).

My last guide I shall call Screamer, not because she's loud, though she can be, but because she can instill fear in co-passengers on a shuttle bus with her, "OMG, OMG, this is gonna be so scary"-- which is very confusing when riding next to her on roller coasters. This is because she gets so worked up and anxious, and starts to go through this pre-ride mental checklist ("ok, I will be needing to use this hand-hold, so you, Jim, will need to find something else to grab onto..this ride is so scary..."), which lulls you into thinking, "Sheesh, what an over-reaction," and then the Tower of Terror throws you around like a human yo-yo at 3-Gs and you realize that "the girls" have already stepped out of the now-stopped box of death and you're still holding onto the allotted side hand-hold with a death-grip that could probably pinch a python in half.

I've never been a roller-coaster rider; I don't like being afraid, and Lord knows I already have enough genetically-bestowed anxiety in my life. So when friends like The Paddle-Partner (aka Snorting Loon) dare me to ride Six Flag's "Batman", it's with great personal angst that I accept. But with this year's Orlando Trip with "the girls", something different happened. It's like I didn't have to be the older, responsible brother-- I could try out rides I would NEVER have ridden solo-- and on the other side, realize that perhaps I'm a bit hardier than I thought going into the thing.

And I wonder if God is like that?

I wonder if God gives us fellow pilgrims along our way, so that when we face the horrors and fears that life's challenges may bring, we can just get a grip--hold on-- scream if able-- and make it through that ride?

I wonder if there is a freedom that awaits beyond the pretentious cloak raised by the demons of fear, a cloak that amounts to little more than vapors in passing through, but in approaching seems more like an impenetrable barricade.

I wonder what it would be like to start seeing all the [crud] that life throws my way as an amusement ride?

That would be very cool.

Note to self

2011-03-02T19:33:00.003-06:00

On my desk I wrote a note to myself.
I see it everyday I sit at my classroom desk.
I forget what I see the moment I look away. It says:
"I have an important job to do for God; my time on earth is limited, but probably longer than I imagine. God give me the courage to recklessly obey you!"

I'm not dead yet, but I have less years ahead of me than behind me.
In talking to a close friend about the pros/cons of dating women in their 30's (who I had a ridiculous crush on), this time frame was painfully brought to my attention." It would be 'unfair' to.." the younger woman (assuming if she were even interested! LOL!), because she's still starting life and I'm.. well.. I'm not dead yet.
It was the truth, and it sucks.

I'm staring at a half-century of life: what do I have to show for it?
I've loved people and I've tried to be faithful to my life's calling to reach high school students with the Love of Christ Jesus.
I've failed to be perfect; terribly.
I've hurt some folks with my words or behaviors; been hurt by others, too. I hate both realities.
It seems like I've only just started learning about Jesus' love for Jim; only just started learning how to love others.
I AM Bill Cosby's video "49"... except for the marital part... that's now gone.

I've enjoyed talking with others my age, but most have kids going off to college or starting families of their own; most of the folks I know are from work or in ministry with me, and most of them are younger. Much younger.

Some say I'm wise; I think maybe I'm just an old dog that knows a bit more about chasing cats than those who still have more years ahead of them. Maybe I'm just a cynical old fart. I like to think of it as pragmatic, but there is sometimes an edge to my words... definitely needs to be filed down... keeps snagging on things, like sensitive people. I don't like that about myself, but usually don't see it until later or when being confronted (though sometimes unfairly---aka, don't ask me something and then get mad when I tell you what you asked for... that's not right).

So Jesus, I'm not dead yet. What can you do with a fairly well-used white man who has a passion for Nature, a childlike curiosity, a hunger for knowledge, a love of laughter and sushi; who has a respect for your written word, but not enough to be so committed that I die trying to reach the lost in places nobody else dares go. Yet you tell us all: "go", right?
So is there hope for us?

I think I'll ride out to Tully and watch Northbrook's soccer game now.
Grading is almost done; there's always tomorrow. Or it doesn't matter.

I'm not dead yet. But I'm not convinced I'm fully alive.
Jesus, I wanna live.
love,
Jim

Day 354

2011-01-31T09:47:00.000-06:00

From DivorceCare daily encouragements:

Can God Use Divorced People?
Day 354

Some people feel that because they have been divorced or because they have made so many mistakes in their past, God cannot use them to be godly leaders, teachers, role models, or a help to other people. This is not true. Your past does not determine your future. Read the Bible to discover examples of God using people with unexpected pasts to do great and mighty works for Him.

In Hebrews chapter eleven God lists heroes and heroines of faith. This list includes a murderer (Moses), an adulterer (David), and a womanizer (Samson). These people moved on beyond their failures and followed God. They were used to accomplish God's purpose in their generations.

Before Kay Arthur had a saving relationship with Christ, she was divorced, and she did many things that did not honor God. Today, she is a respected Christian speaker, author, and teacher through the grace of God.

She says: "God chooses the base things, the foolish things, the things that are despised, the things that are nothing, so that no flesh can glory in His presence. He knew what was going to happen to me before I came to know Christ, and He has used that as a platform for ministry. You can step forward into any service that the Lord has called you to."

God has chosen you for a specific service—take the challenge to walk forward in that!

"The base things of the world and the things which are despised God has chosen, and the things which are not, to bring to nothing the things that are, that no flesh should glory in His presence" (1 Corinthians 1:28-29 NKJV).

Holy God, I am willing to be used by You. I want to be a part of Your glorious plan in this world. I know I can be victorious through You. Amen.

P. taeda

2011-01-19T07:34:00.003-06:00

Needles of twinkling gold
Glistening in post-crepuscular breath,
The glow descends my eastern guardian
To remind me...
Today is a new day.

Happy New Year to Me

2011-01-14T16:06:00.003-06:00

It's a New Year. It's been weird but good.

We started this year with birds dropping out of the sky dead and dying, in 3 different states, plus in other nations... mainly icterids, and they said it happens all the time? Um no.

They say the only difference is that technology this year makes it more obvious when it happens, because we share this information with each other--I do believe we all had blogs and email last year, and the year before that... and before that.

So when one checks the online chat-stream, we don't hear: "oh yeah this happens all the time" from all these different citizens from around the world... we cry out, "What the hell is going on? Birds are dropping out of the sky dead and dying.. not sick under a tree or at a water hole... flying-and-now-dead... dropping out of the sky... they were healthy enough to fly as a flock and now they're scattered across our lawns like black crabgrass!"

That's what we are saying to each other.

Crazy.

It's a fresh new year, and I'm pumped about what God has for us!

KSBJ now has NGENradio; Verizon is getting the IPhone; electric cars are now a reality... pretty cool moment.

I am thankful for a clean start.

I am so thankful for what I'm learning about who I am in Christ.

I am so thankful for friends who show me how to love and trust.

I am so thankful for an amazing place to earn a living.

I am so hungry to experience the Power of the Holy Spirit, whether in humility (scary) or victory. Jesus, broaden my knowledge of who I am.

It's a New Year, but it's a good one.

birdfeeder, update

2010-12-18T14:36:00.003-06:00

18Dec2010
Let me first exclaim that today I saw my first verified male goldfinch in the backyard, feeding on the thistle sock! That just blesses me to my core (to know me is to love me).

So in last episode there was proposal to switch feeders around to test hypothesis that proximity to home was issue. Feeders switched.

No difference.

It's the week before Christmas, 55 deg.F, little wind and sunny.

The most utilized feeder in my back yard is:

The square, multi-port feeder with spring squirrel-guard.

Most every bird will use it, but the house-sparrows mob it like boys at an available X-box controller at a video store demo.

The second-most used feeder is the large cylindrical feeder

w/squirrel-deterrent portals.

The Carolina chickadees and red-bellied woodpecker love this one,

plus an unidentified/ grey mystery warbler w/ double wing bands that looks similar to young yellow-rumped

warbler..?

The orange limb-spike is a near-third.

I am impressed with the diversity of

birds that enjoy eating oranges, cut in half and impaled on a nail.

The most common visitor is the red-bellied woodpecker, followed by the mystery-warbler.

The least used feeder is the small tube feeder near the tree. Initially I put thistles in it t

hinking a goldfinch may show up, but was sitting unused for weeks so I rotated the ports to open feeding and started refilling with birdseed mix. Initially the whitewings were using it, but perhaps it's proximity to the tree puts them off, or the thistle sock which hangs 8 inches away (my idea was that perhaps a bird feeding at the tube may realize there are thistles in the sock and maybe learn to feed there-- that was before the goldfinch showed up today: obviously needs no lessons on how to feed on the sock!)

It's a very good day.

Christmas activities are stirring, including dusting off seasonal props.

God Bless and Merry Christmas to all.

Jim

A Tale of Two...birdfeeders?

2010-11-23T10:17:00.003-06:00

It's Thanksgiving week in Houston, 75 degrees and rainy, though the sun somehow casts a shadow through it all. Confusing. In my backyard is a buffet of different bird feeders, 6 in all, yet not any two are the same. Two are for goldfinches, two are for fruit eaters, but two are loaded with seeds. This story is about seed-eaters. I am about to run an experiment of the utmost concern for the local Realtor: does location matter, or is it the structure that has the most bearing in appeal.
Consider the birds of the field, specifically the house sparrows in my back yard.
They are mobbing my feeder farthest away from my dwelling; they seem to not even know the other feeder exists.
Is that because they can quickly duck into the shrubbery (spoken like the Knights of Ni)? Or is it that the local squirrel-teenagers use the nearby feeder wire as a zip line, dropping suddenly into the dinner scene of any feeding bird like invaders in an old ninja movie? The nearby feeder has more seeds in it, but perhaps that is less important. Perhaps it's like the scripture that elevates eating up on the roof in peace, over all the trappings yet in the midst of tension.
Perhaps that is the call of Christ, to forsake the pressures and distractions of this world for the simple fulfillment of living at His feet? A call to simplicity, not for self-abasement but for personal fulfillment, choosing the better while seeming to participating in cultural irresponsibility?
I think I'll swap feeders around, just to see...

The Closing of a Chapter; Well Done Good and Faithful Servant

2010-11-15T15:10:00.003-06:00

Today at Houston Christian's faculty meeting, my boss, Suzette Estes announced the exciting news that she plans to retire at the end of May, 2011. She is very excited to join her wonderful husband, Tom, and spend time with her children and grandbabies.
As our community moves forward, we will finish the year strongly and truly enjoy how God is going to bring in a new Principal to lead us into the next chapter of our HCHS community.
God is good, all the time.
Thank you, Lord Jesus, for sending us Suzette for this last decade.
Amen.

Vectors

2010-10-12T07:25:00.002-05:00

"Mr. Kelley, I need to leave your class at 11--here's my slip."
"OK, thanks; are you OK?"
"Not really; mom thinks it's some contagious virus but it may be Strep."
O good; thanks for telling me...from 2 feet away... right toward my face.

As a teacher this exercise is weekly, sometimes daily, so is it any wonder we may be 'a little congested' [teacher-denial-speak for "I'm sick but don't want to admit it"].
So goes the cycle of denial-borne, air-borne contagion.

I got my flu-shot last week.

Too bad there's no cure for the common cold (cough, hack, cough, sniff...ache).

Happy Labor Day Weekend

2010-09-05T13:22:00.002-05:00

It's Sunday morning.
Having missed morning worship, I turned on the local Christian station, sat in my favorite chair, and have been listening to praise and worship music while peacefully reading and truly enjoying the flurry of bird life flocking around my now-filled feeder. I even gave the hummingbird feeder it's first autumnal transfusion of sweetness and have already already witnessed a micro-migrator leaving this new ornament on the arboreal landscape! As I type, a swarm of hummers have just mobbed this feeder-- life suddenly is even happier from this chair.
The One-Year Bible's offerings find us in Ecclesiastes and 2 Corinthians, books strangely congruent aside from overarching theological bases: both seem to be specifically addressing the profound limitations of living solely for oneself, written in a voice that leaves me wishing I was farther along my Jesus Journey.
Paul lovingly writes to his Children in Corinth another letter, and says, "do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common?...'Therefore come out from them and be separate,' says the Lord. 'Touch no unclean thing, and I will receive you. I will be a Father to you, and you will be My sons and daughters'..." Paul then pleads: "Since we have these promises, dear friends, let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body and spirit, perfecting holiness out of reverence for God." (2 Cor.6:14,17-8; 7:1)
I know that nobody can be perfectly holy, but that is not what is going on here-- it's about orientation: what am I focused on? What is the most important thing in my life? Since I immediately am aware of my imperfections, what are those idols I proudly hold onto, idols God is gently asking me to give up so I might receive something profoundly better?
God is good.
People have a profound ability to rationalize our pig slop.
Jesus, help us to surrender that we might truly experience life. Jesus, for those who have never taken this step, give them the courage to give over their lives to your Love/Life.
In becoming my LORD, you become my Savior.
Thank you for the cross; bear with me as I stumble in following you-- I really don't like being hurt, but I'm learning that may not be relevant.
I thank you for the amazing gifts you give me, including that amazing peach-colored bird sipping from the hummingbird feeder: I love you, Jesus.

DeQuarvain's Update: post-surgery

2010-09-05T12:08:00.005-05:00

Shortly after my last entry, finding some relief from an ultrasonic wand, my thumb/wrist returned to its previous painful status. Due to the timing of a week-long backpacking trip in the Colorado wilderness, I scheduled my surgery with Dr. Carl Palumbo to release the sheath that was grabbing my tendon (similar to carpal tunnel).
My surgery was August 4, 2010.
I had immediate relief from the chronic pain of this condition, and have begun to experience soreness now only a couple weeks after surgery, though mobility of the joint has been restored.
(see image of injured right hand, compare to previous image; both are mirror images).
I expect through gentle stretching and exercise the soreness, too, will abate.
Then again, I'm getting old...
But I'm not dead yet,...
... and have a life to live, thank you Jesus.

De Quervain's tenosynovitis-

2010-07-18T20:23:00.007-05:00

It's the middle of July.
I've battled De Quervain's tenosynovitis (click title for more info) since early November of last year.
I get a little relief through massage, or hot treatment, or cold treatment, or stretching... but it always comes back to this baseline of painful thumb/wrist action. The worst is when my thumb tendon gets "caught" in my wrist, and then "pops" free.
Last week my mom got an ultrasound wand for consumer use; she couldn't use it so I borrowed it.
It started improving my mobility in 2 minutes.
This does not mean that I kept my mobility, but I am typing this with the use of my thumb 3o minutes after the treatment.
So here is my attempt at documentation of my first use of this at my own home tonight (trying to replicate the results from earlier this week): [The images are mirrored from PhotoBooth]
First, my healthy left thumb, flexed as far as possible:

Next my problem right thumb, flexed as far as possible:

Treatment #1. Now after the first 5 minutes of treatment: flexed as far as possible--improved flex with less pain (ultrasound wand shown):

Treatment #2. Now after an additional 5 minute treatment (10 min. total): flexed as far as possible--more improved flex with less pain:

So what does this mean? Not sure. Will need to do further tests, including controls (unplugged wand w/out gel; unplugged wand w/ gel).

Life and July 2010

2010-07-13T10:10:00.005-05:00

The nice thing about returning to a place of memories is that it fosters a sense of continuity. Refugio, Texas, is like that for me.
Though I see something new every time I return here, I also am grounded in the familiarity of the smells and sounds of Creation that abound in this part of the world. Last year was bone-dry drought; this week is lush, soggy greeness.
Oak trees here... giant sentinals of time... are part of that continuity, that innate sense of primal endurance that welcome me back like an old great-uncle, when I once again encounter them in the pasture or prominent station near the roadway. And it is with similar sadness when I see some of these centurions brown with death, a contrast to the life around them, especially the giant post oaks of Kelley Road. Some say the drought took its toll; others- an oomycete that selects against Q.stellata. The live oaks do not share the same vulnerability and continue to push out green shade amongst these scattered deceased giants. It's almost like there was a generation of post oaks planted a hundred years ago, and all have become nesting sites and termite fodder today.
Nevertheless, life goes on.
It says so in the performance-art of relatives visiting a local cemetary, or citizens taking photos of some relic left over from the age of windmills and cattle drives; what was is not as it was, yet is for those who look a reminder of what was and might possibly be.
Life goes on; God, I thank you for that reminder.
I love you, Lord.
Thanks for putting up with me.

John 21

2010-06-02T11:29:00.005-05:00

In reading my OYB today I am struck by the words Jesus used to reinstate "Simon son of John" (no longer Peter) back into fellowship-- it is a charge for Christian leadership over a community of faith:
1) "...feed my lambs...": initially focus on the younger generation and those who are new to faith, teaching them the Holy Scriptures and guiding them in discipleship for righteous living. Once you have that started...
2) "...pastor my sheep...": now learn the entire flock, tending their needs and concerns, creating opportunities for fellowship and pastoral care; then...
3) "...feed my sheep...": now broaden the discipleship process, building on the strength of the "lambs" and expand the importance of biblical obedience and training toward righteousness to all generations in that community.

It's a thought.

The insanity of it all

2010-01-28T17:30:00.003-06:00

As I sit here in my vacant lab watching the courtyard grow gray with anticrepusculance, I am reminded of the insanity of my life. People are digging out swollen corpses from the wreckage of an island both shaken and stirred; a dear colleague has recently buried her child, brutally cut down in an act of cowardice; a civil dispute about money that will probably deplete the prize fought over; a score of friends and acquaintances who going through various forms of saying 'goodbye'...
...and I'm thinking about maybe fishsticks for supper.

Click here for a powerful message!

2010-01-20T23:23:00.003-06:00

Howdy yall,
I awoke to this message this morning.
It was a very challenging talk, but I think my friends will benefit from it.
For those who have ears to hear...
click on the title above to access the link.

Father God, thank you

2009-12-24T12:12:00.002-06:00

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the hope we have in your Son.

Thank You for the love we share in true fellowship with friends and in Your family.

Thank You for the Scriptures, the prophetic accounts of our crazy relationship with you through time, a form of insanity where we rebel against Your love, You punish us with war, drought and pestilence but only to draw us back to You. You are the ultimate source of our completeness, so for You to NOT have us seek You or come back completely surrendered to Your Presence would mean that You do not really have our best interests in heart.

Thank You for not giving us what we want.

Thank You for giving us what we truly need.

Thank You for tearing down our idols, stripping us down to that place where we desperately cling to You, not because You are cruel like our earthly relationships, but because You really ARE the ultimate source of Joy and fulfillment.

Thank You, Father, for the gift of your Son.

Jesus, thank you for loving us so much that you CHOSE to die in our place; you did nothing wrong, but loved us so much you traded places on that cross... you could have fled the garden; instead you walked into the hands of fallen mankind.

Please show us how to surrender in Love this new year to the will of the Father, dying to ourselves.

Please show us how to introduce others to the love of the Father without judging others, but by living out of His Love so much that it overflows into a lonely, distracted world that has been seduced into thinking its greatest source of pleasure is within itself.

Thank You for the holy Scriptures, the plumb-line of Your Will.

You are so good... so very good.

Thank you for all the events of this last year. Your Name be glorified, Father.

Jim 2009

Why HP should pay for it's crimes against humanity

2009-11-18T23:30:00.003-06:00

So I was writing an email to a friend while waiting on hold with HP, and thought it would be fun to record the process; though short-lived in real time, it was humorous in retrospect, so I tweeked it for Blogdom. My friend and I exchange thoughts in a manner that fully embraces our distractability with the acronym: ADDPDE-- Attention Deficit Disorder Progressive Distraction Events. The reader has been warned. Here goes:

Twenty-Two minutes and fifty--nope, wait: Twenty-three minutes! and counting, as I listen to the HP call center blast th-- [sudden disruption of writing process] My previous rant is interrupted by "Mike"-- Mike works for HP. A pox on HP; Lord, protect Mike.

Oooohhhh...UUuuugh.... YAHAAHHH! CRrrrrrrrrRRRAAAAP!

My following exclamation came after my conversation with Mike, who it just so happens answered after over 23 minutes of listening to painful... painful advertising by HP by a lady who was probably pretty as a teenager but started smoking cigarettes at a young age to get that announcer voice to help create a vocation. And she said-- wait: I shall name her Betty: Betty said, repeatedly, that if I wanted all the problems I could possibly want solved with the HP products, then I should go to HP dot com slash go slash support. And I did.
Twice I followed Betty's advice entering information before I could pass through the next portal. Both times finally getting to the link that invites me to click here to chat with a support person: thank heavens. Click: "server unavailable blah blah cheap-butt excuse thingy"! YAAHHH!
So after 23 minutes of waiting on my cell-phone, stymied by the HP servers not working (I thought they made servers?), Mike saves me.
(A pox on HP; Lord, protect Mike.)
So Mike comes to my rescue except I think he's playing video games or something because there were a couple of times where he did that Doug-the-dog: "Squirrel!!"--listen thing? but there was nothing said... just this open space and so I ask if he's still there, and he says yes, but he seems annoyed because I asked, except maybe i was hoping he would ask me what he could do for me or something? right?

WAIT-- you don't know why I yelled "crap", which is not a great word, but I know a lot worse ones that I don't use, except for shock value from close friends who would never expect it from me, but it's naughty either way, ... I digress.
So I'm unpacking my HP Deskjet4480 that I bought the other day thinking that one day I actually might need to print out something at home. It was the cheapest thing they had at Office Depot that didn't look like it was already broken.
I get everything out, including the happy little instruction fold-out/paint by the numbers/page and I'm following these steps because I'm thinking: I might want to print out some stuff for Ecuador-- afterall, I'm going there tomorrow.
Step one is easy enough: take off the blue tape that's holding the paper tray up like the hand of a child in the back of the line who is trying to ask permission to go potty but is afraid if they interrupt or yell they will embarrass themselves worse than drooling cheese on a keyboard [inside joke].
Step two is related, for when the powerful blue tape is removed, the tray reveals some cardboard cutout that is jammed up in the poor machine, and the cartoon shows clearly through the transitional pictures that this piece of cardboard does not belong.
I will not go through each step. I will say that there is within my heart this little boy who is sometimes afraid of breaking something if he's not careful, which is why sometimes it takes me a little longer to assemble things-- like this wonderful, inexpensive printer/scanner/copier.
So I'm putting it all together, and it really is a simple process: the cartoons have not lied, nor have they been hard to understand. So I get the ink loaded, the power cord assembled and plugged in, the paper loaded, the "alignment page" printed and then rescanned back into the machine so that the print heads can self-align themselves based on the self-scan of the alignment page.
Sweet. I can do this. No plastic fragments falling off. I've not broken it, nay verily, I'm feeling more Master than toad, and then you get to the part about Mac or PC, and since I have a Mac, I skip down to the picture that shows you where the USB cable is connected from the printer to the USB port on the Mac: I find the plug port, though it is black on black and would have been a little challenging had not the cartoon been so well done. So all I need to do is plug the cable in.
Now where did I set that cable?
Looking.
Looking in box... nooo?; looking all over table-top, under papers, behind stuff that could only hide a cable if I accidently threw it... noooo?.
I look on the floor; maybe it dropped out of the box... noooo?.
I check the box again, this time palpating every crack that might hide the cable in some cool Chinese-designed packaging foam compartment... noooo?.
Dang it!! They forgot to pack the stupid cable in my box!!
So I call Mike.
So I'm waiting in cyber-limbo-hell listening to Betty lie to poor fools who would do anything rather than listen to the overdriven saxophone belt out simple jazz to a captive audience, lying to them by saying they should go online because it's faster, people who would do just that, but who probably couldn't because they, like me bought an HP product, and unlike me--they probably bought a PC and thereby showing Betty to be the Uber-cruel witch that she really must be. website... pshaw.
So Mike actually asks me how he can help me, and I come right to it and tell him HP forgot to pack the USB cable in the printer box.
"I understand. I hear that a lot," says Mike, who now is no longer playing Peggle but actually listening to a customer. And I'm thinking if he hears this alot, maybe the Chinese factory thats using the slave labor should maybe chop some fingers or something to get some action going on stopping that pattern when Mike continues, "HP doesn't provide the cables for their printers."
WHAT??!!!
WHATT??!!!!
"So Mike, You're telling me that HP sells printers to people so that when they buy them, they can't use them?"
"Well, they sell the cables at stores," says Mike. "Besides, it says so right on the box that they don't have cables."
"Where!?", I demand.
"I dunno, but I know it says so on the box."
"Where? I can't find it... not on this side; not on this side; ope! here it says 'certified USB HighSpeed'; nothing I can see that says 'no cable'."
"Well I know it's there somewhere. It's gotta be..."
"Nothing on this side; nor this last side. Let's look at the bottom... nope not there, either."
"Well if they forgot to put it on the box", says Mikey, "they screwed up because HP's don't come with cables."
"What if it's hidden on top by a sticker from shipping?"
"WAIT--THERE it is, next to the shipping tag." [A little note the size of a fortune cookie script right next to a small picture of a USB cable saying "(not included)" though it's there with all the other pictures in the part that says "Contents or Contenu de l'emballage"].
"So Mike, I've been on the cell phone for half an hour waiting on HP to tell me they don't pack printer cables with their printers because it's hard to see on top of the box? I gotta go."
And that's when I wrote "crap".
The end.

Before Christ, retro blog

2009-11-17T20:56:00.002-06:00

So a while back I thought I had posted my Advent cry, my shaking-of-the-fists at the misuse of Rudolf and Charlie Brown and Frosty to seduce us into hedonistic consumerism. I was wrong. So here is a piece I wrote a few years ago; not perfect, but it speaks to me like a timeless echo:

“BC- Before Christ?” *

This time of year whispers premonitions, forthcoming shadows of seasons to come.

It starts in parking lots. That sort of makes sense, considering that erecting seven-foot Mylar globes (festooned with appropriate props to elucidate the thought, “ornament”) is a space-intensive process in a venue that will soon be crammed with frantic frenzy-feeders, omnivores not likely appreciative of the pragmatics of preparation when it impacts THEIR steed’s stall.

Parking lots during the holidays remind me of the “canyonlands” of Western lore, those secretive coves from which the guys in the black hats take shots at you, or perhaps offer a hidden valley around the next corner… a place you go not knowing what to expect, yet wearing a robe of visceral apprehension that hopes to cry out, “Don’t hit my car,” or “Hey- I’m on my way to that parking space for which I’ve been waiting for five minutes.”

Or maybe parking lots are the metaphor of lost-ness our culture proudly displays, thinking we’ve arrived while not even beginning, a starting point for a quest to seek, nay verily, to capture that sacred object and transport said trinket back to our storehouses (perhaps stopping first at gift wrap, of course).

Or maybe it represents the chaos of chasing wind, a myopic madness that perpetuates itself into the GNP only to be later assessed as taxes for the new land-fill. Chaos that knows that something should happen, and happen quickly, and if it doesn’t happen, well you’re just…. just… not good, or something! Chaos that feels the tug of things still undone, couples it with a due date, and frames it with Precious Memories.

Chaos and lost-ness are not new to me. I remember a time of my own, a time of fear and shame, a time when I did not know if I were truly loved or just “handy” for parental-peer accolades; a time of depressive darkness that hung so thickly that I could not differentiate my despair from my childhood asthma. I remember the pumped up pressure to perform or better yet, pretend. I remember what it was to be lost amongst a crowd, not in a mall, but in a church congregation. I remember the hungering question, not unlike a boy getting socks instead of a pocketknife, “Is this it?”

Enter: the donkey. Not a stallion, not a burley mule; just the donkey of a Palestinian tradesman in the occupied territories of Israel, a scene right out of the pages of Life magazine or some other photo-journalistic record. I remember the story since childhood, how this girl got pregnant with God, and decanted Hope from the dregs of daily life. The scene was not cute; it was cruel. There were no bathrobes, just impoverished people lost in the chaos of trying to find a space… and most of them missed it. Too busy trying to find their own place to park.

I praise God for the memories of what it was like before Christ: the loneliness, the despair, the empty searching. It reminds me I don’t ever want to go back to Egypt, and it garners for me the hope for others who do not yet understand what is so Good about the news that a child was born in Bethlehem. Come Lord Jesus.

* Jim K. Kelley, November 15, 2004

Look how far we've come?

2009-10-24T22:56:00.003-05:00

So I'm sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a simple cup of fresh coffee, sweetened with honey and the sight of white-winged doves at my backyard feeder, and the phone rings. Normally the answering machine is on, but this time it's not so I once again do something stupid- I pick up the phone.
"Hello? Is this James Kelley"
Who's calling, please?
"Mr. Kelley this is Gretchin calling for Bank of Am to let you know we want to send you your credit report for free in your next statement. You can also have a chance to try out our new security program and cancel it after 30 days if you don't like it. Would you like a free credit report?""
Uhh, sure... great
"OK Mr. Kelley, I'm going to just turn on the recorder and ask you a few questions, ok?"
I guess
"OK Mr. Kelley,..." (blah, blah--she asks me all these questions to pin me down that I really am who I am and then she says...) "so we would like to send you a free credit report and have you be a part of the security program xyz to monitor your balances [because we don't really monitor your money while people hack and steal it?] for fraud and if you are dissatisfied at anytime within the first month you simply call and we STOP BILLING YOU." ( I interupt)
WAIT! I thought you said the credit report you were sending was free?
"Oh it is, and the security program blahblha can be discontinued at any time within the first month free of charge.."
WAIT, so what happens if I FORGET to call the first month to cancel?
"Oh, well we will simply bill your account the low cost of $12.95 a month, every month--It's really a good deal..." [yeah for Bank of Am]
WAIT-- I don't want to pay ANYTHING... [did ya get that on your recorder?]
"Thank you Mr. Kelley and have a good day---click!"
----
So how many billions of dollars is Bank of America going to leach out of customers who simply wanted to see their credit report without the circuitous maze of getting it online for themselves?
How many Americans are going to ask their spouse, "Honey, what this security cost thing on the bank statement?" >"I don't know-- how much is it?" >"$12.95" ?"I dunno-- I wouldn't worry about it..."
And so the trickle goes.
Is it any wonder our economy is the way it is? Is it any wonder we are 2 years away from incredible "unforseen" tax-rates?
Is it any wonder that, once again, it's chevy truck month?
It's because we are sheep.
It's because we are lazy, fat sheep asleep at the wheel, and there is a world of parasitic people and organizations that are filling a huge niche of sucking off the excesses of our culture. We work 60 hour weeks to make more money than we can monitor, causing increased stress-related illness and death...and why?
Parasites have an important role in all ecosytems ; they also can be used as an index to health of the host.
So I wonder how healthy our American culture is? Or at least my little microcosm down by the Gulf Coast?
I was visiting with our school chaplain, Lisa P, after the girls' tough volleyball game, and we were discussing the difficulty of doing life here. In the Keys it's not as driven, not as non-stop-- in the Keys there is down time to get centered/balanced/grounded/whatever. Not so much here. --I vaguely knew what she meant, but only because of my Horrible year bringing me to my knees, eviscerating my life and creating space to experience God where I had only a cube to fit God into my calendar. He was there in my routine, but He only got a cube.
God forgive us; we know not what we do.

Sifting to Shelving

2009-10-15T06:38:00.002-05:00

Listening to Charles Stanley this morning, I heard an amazing message that I need to write down somewhere. He was reading the scripture where Jesus was telling Peter that Satan was about to sift him.

The purpose of Satan's "siftings" is not to just attack us; the purpose of the attack is to overwhelm us with such guilt and shame that we remove ourselves from serving Jesus with our lives... we put ourselves on the shelf, no longer in a position or disposition to be an agent of loving transformation, no longer messengers of salvation.

Jesus allows the sifting because he has an Amazing plan ahead for us, but we need to be tempered and strengthened to accomplish it.

We all fail at some point; the response is to re-submit our lives to Jesus Christ and STAY OFF the shelf! We are each wonderfully gifted by God to reach out in love to people around us who have never experienced passionate intimacy with Jesus.

Charles Stanley's website is called In Touch Ministries. Click on title above for more info.
6:47 am.

Bucket List: a work in progress...

2009-09-24T00:33:00.004-05:00

Motivated by Jack Nicholson and an amazingly hard year, I started making a bucket list just because I can. These are the things I would like to accomplish before the Rapture:

learn Mandarin Chinese
take dance lessons again
go sea kayaking
get a mountain bike and use it... alot (begun: Nov.6, 2009)
motorcycle/scooter through every state in the US (Texas)
live in a foreign nation as a missionary
introduce people to Jesus who never heard the Gospel before
get advanced degree in science
invent something
go on a Paleozoic research expedition
stay in a monastery
build an energy efficient home capable of being off the grid
travel to Platte River Valley in Nebraska to see the spring sandhill crane migration
kiss someone who kisses me back
...?

Pebo died

2009-08-25T09:54:00.002-05:00

We once had a wonderful dog, Pebo.
We loved him very much and had great memories.
Pebo died; we put him down.
Some said it was the loving thing to do.
He is dead.
We don't play with his ashes.
We move on.

Forgive and Move on

2009-06-25T07:32:00.005-05:00

I heard an interesting lecture the other night at a function at the Federal Reserve Building. The speaker was discussing the importance of being grounded during turbulent times, that when when we experience stimuli from outside ourselves, our first reaction is emotional and not rational. The purpose of our emotional reaction is to protect us from physical danger (ie, rattlesnake), but it is quite often inaccurate in perception. In other words fear distorts perception.

The lecture was a financial seminar, and the speaker was discussing the psychology of poor investment decisions. Most decisions made "in the moment" end up being destructive to one's portfolio. It is the investor who is aware of the fundamentals, the actual strengths and weaknesses of the company, that is best equipped to weather the technical chaos of an emotional market. That strategy of intentional goal-tending is what turns "horrible days" of stock crashes into buying opportunities for companies that are well-funded, well-led, and well-positioned for the future. True, you might miss the elusive "pop" that motivates the day-trader, but the point is investing. His advice was 4-fold: 1) know what you can learn; 2) admit you don't know what's going to happen next; 3) prepare yourself for living amidst uncertainties; 4) make choices that are based on integrity and responsibility.

Then the speaker said something about his book, "Moral Intelligence", and the importance of forgiveness in experiencing life as your "ideal self". He said that forgiveness is the ability to let go and move on. Forgiveness is not about accepting someone's behaviors; it's not about going back to the way things were, or pretending there are no consequences...consequences are a type of reality-check.
Forgiveness is just letting go of your own agenda, and moving on in one's own life. It is surrendering the right to hold onto a hope or grudge.
Forgiveness is the freedom to enter life loosened from the shackles of the past.

I look forward to my new life, knowing that I need Jesus to meet all my emotional and relational needs.
Jesus, please be my spouse, and guide me in your paths. (Isaiah 54: 5-6)

China trip 09

2009-06-02T00:32:00.005-05:00

(update: click the title for Tyler's blog of the trip)
Tomorrow a team of students and faculty head to China for a cross-cultural experience. The students have set up a blog at http://hchschina.blogspot.com and will post something here if we find time to get online.
We fly out of Newark, NJ, over the icecap to Shanghai.
Then we head to Xi'an.
Later we spend a day in Huangshan.
We spend our last week in Beijing.
Unless of course we get sent to a quarantine camp because some passenger has a fever.
right... Oh well.
Trust God, then step.

Manoah and "his wife"

2009-05-01T15:53:00.002-05:00

"As the flame blazed up from the alter toward heaven, the angel of the LORD ascended in the flame. Seeing this, Manoah and his wife fell with their faces to the ground. When the angel of the LORD did not show himself again to Maooah and his wife, Manoah realized that it was the angel of the LORD.
'We are going to die,' he said to his wife. 'We have seen God.'
But his wife answered, 'If the LORD had meant to kill us, he would not have accepted a burnt offering from our hands, nor shown us these things or now told us this.' "

I love this woman! Crisp logic. I wonder why we don't get to know her name... we know Manoah, but he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Perhaps that is the way of life. Some things are left to mystery.

Forgive and Remember

2009-04-12T20:32:00.004-05:00

I think it is interesting that the Apostle Paul, writer of most of the Christian Canon, preaches forgiveness for enemies, and at the same time warns followers to remember the sins of those who opposed his ministry.
I think it is interesting that the LORD God met Moses face-to-face, intimately, and yet would not let him cross into the Promised Land, because he struck the rock instead of speaking to it.
There is such a thing as "too far". Judas knew that, too late. Jesus did not say, "Good for you; you brought about my sacrificial atonement on the cross by betraying me." No, Jesus said, "Woe to you; it would be better that you were never born."
Forgiving is not forgetting; it is surrendering the reality of that situation to the Lordship of Christ, for His judgment. I would make a horrible judge; I'm tainted. Like old Betty once quoted, "Leave room for the Wrath of God." Surrender wrath to the One who sees clearly.
It removes the stone from my hand, but proclaims, "...be on your guard."
So I will seek to forgive, but I will also remember the words spoken, the actions taken, not as idols to worship, but reminders of what some people are capable of as I press onward.
Jesus warns his disciples, "I'm sending you out as sheep among wolves, so be gentle as doves but wise as serpents." I will learn from my past; I will not be naive. I know there are those who hide in hallowed halls yet harbor shadowed intention. They will be found out, exposed for what they are, for how they have counseled. God is not mocked; a person reaps what they sow.
The heart is deceitful above all other things; deceit is the opposite of truth. Deceit creates its own reality as an unholy idol. It's worshipers end in death, from the inside out, firstly because they believe their own lies.
The truth will always set us free.
That is the power of confession, not to make anything-- but to release captives.
I desire life; I have value.
Please show me who I am.
I desire freedom; I have a ministry ahead of me.
Please show me my next step in obedience.
I need you, Jesus. All else I surrender before You: my sins, my failings, my flaws, my fear... my shallow theology.
Jesus, today is Easter; please raise my heart from the dead... catch me on fire and watch me burn.

Spring '09

2009-04-04T00:24:00.004-05:00

It's spring; I can feel life returning from the death of Winter.
It's a new world today.
Yesterday can never return, except in fading memory.
Birds are singing today to find a new mate or re-establish an old territory.
Trees are wafting their pollen.
Flowers adorn the land in an exclamation that God is bigger.
This is the Present, the Now.
It is the Easter season: the challenge of Jerusalem, the betrayal, the death, the waiting, and the resurrection.
Glory be to God, and blessings on those who live for holiness.

Why pray?

2009-03-12T21:14:00.003-05:00

So I pray for dear friends and family members who are having scary surgeries, and I'm hearing myself pray, and I'm wondering why I pray.
I mean, God already loves them fully.
Do I hope to persuade God to love them more?
Does He not desire that my beloved friends experience His presence?
Already?
I get the part about how prayer opens me up to God in my life, a way of surrendering my will to my LORD. But there is something weird about asking something of the Creator of the Universe, as if He wouldn't do it unless I prayed for it or something.
I do not mean to be disrespectful; that would be horror to me.
I just confess my spiritual ignorance publicly.

Moving forward...

2009-02-18T13:44:00.003-06:00

A new world awaits... "Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit." I let go.
They say it gets better.
No more ripping me; healing.
New ways of life.
New sources of comfort.
The old is gone.

Waiting and Letting Go

2009-02-17T07:59:00.004-06:00

I do not know how to do this part of life.
I do not want to hurt.
I do not want to hurt others.
I see friends trying to protect;
defense becomes offense.
I write to confess the incomplete, broken person that I am.
I went through the Valley of the Shadow once before,
deluded in thinking it was best to crawl in a hole and die, silently;
didn't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable;
didn't want to make waves-- so I went away.
I cannot be perfect, though I expect it.
I despise my weakness.
I have to back off; this raw Blogging is not working for me.
If you want to know how I am,
Invite me to your home,
to visit face to face.
I am.

Saying goodbye

2009-02-13T12:50:00.005-06:00

Saying goodbye, in Christian circles, is a temporary thing in the grander scheme of things.
With the passing of a grandparent or the tragic death of a friend, the Christian says "goodbye" and experiences the pain of being away, yet there is a subtle hope that leans toward "one day" we will meet again.
The death of a marriage must be the same.
K: follow God.
I'm sorry; I wish I had not been depressed when you were so lonely.
I asked you not to go to Austin, not to go to Burning Man, not to contact BB any more-- twice.
I wish the counselor was as courageous with us as our tribe was.
5 months is a long time to endure the betrayal and deceit of an affair.
I can no longer protect you. You have your own friends now.
I give you to God.
God is bigger; God is better.
Thank you for your word: "hope".
Shared mutually.
ttfn.
Goodbye.

How weird is that?

2009-02-08T13:12:00.002-06:00

So this is how weird I am:
I am afraid that if I tell you that I am hurting or in need or something, then you will not want to be around me, because my role is to help you.
How weird is that.
It's like I'm afraid of being human or something.
I cannot be incomplete.
I cannot be messy.
I cannot have moods, or leave stuff out, not if I want to be loved.
How weird is that!
Crazy.
Welcome to my world.

Power Struggles and Control

2009-01-19T09:16:00.001-06:00

What is the difference between "heal-grabber" and "grapples-with-God"?
Reading the OYB recently, the story of Jacob stirs curiosities within me.
Why would God choose this manipulative punk, this momma's-boy?
Why would God spare this deceiver?
and why would God wrestle instead of smite? Smite me?
Why doesn't God just smite me?
Why does God allow me to wrestle, vying for control in this power struggle called life?
Why doesn't He just pin me?
And why does he have to do the Ninja-Hip-thing and leave me crippled in what otherwise might be my scariest confrontation, like coming face-to-face with Esau... my history?
And what fear drives this power struggle?
Why can't I just surrender-- is it because I really don't trust God?
Really trust him?
Or maybe I'm supposed to stand at the river and fight Him?
What fool fights God? Right? No?
But Jacob fights God and gets blessed. Of course he's crippled for the rest of his life; there's that...
Very confusing.

Year's End

2008-12-16T17:58:00.000-06:00

A co-worker put a page from Puritan Prayers and Devotions in my box today entitled "Year's End". I liked it. Here are some excerpts (p.204-5):

"O Love beyond compare, Thou art good when thou givest, when thou takest away,
When the sun shines on me, when night gathers over me.
Thou hast loved me before the foundation of the world, and in love didst redeem my soul;
Thou dost love me still, in spite of my hard heart, ingratitude, distrust.
Thy goodness has been with me during another year, leading me through a twisting wilderness, in retreat helping me to advance, when beaten back making sure headway..."

"...I bless thee that thou hast veiled my eyes to the waters ahead.
If thou hast appointed storms of tribulation, thou wilt be with me in them;
If I have to pass through tempests of persecution and temptation, I shall not drown;
If I am to die, I shall see thy face the sooner;
If a painful end is to be my lot, grant me grace that my faith fail not;
If I am cast aside from the service I love, I can make no stipulation;
Only--glorify thyself in me whether in comfort or in trial, as a chosen vessel meet always for thy use."

Thank you Lord Jesus.
Thank you for 22 years with Kathy,
for 47 years of sunshine and rain,
for 11 years of teaching high school,
for 27 years of working with young people.
Lord, thank you for the friends I've met near and far,
for those who slowed their pace to bring me along.
Lord, thank you for family who gathered and celebrated kinship, good food and conversation.
Thank you for being born lucky, in Texas, with plenty to eat.
Most of all, Lord, thank you for coming to our broken world in a crazy-fun sneak-attack-- Jesus, you came to the least, as one of them, and gave us Hope where there was none.
Jesus, thank you for choosing the cross; you died for me, for us, yet you alone were innocent-- help us to live out your Love, even to our enemies.
Help me to be compassionate for those who are so lost in their own rationalizations that they play at "religion" and live for themselves... for such am I when the mirror shines my glance.
Help me to be faithful, a servant of the King.
Thank you for December, Lord. Thank you. Amen.

Lonesome George

2008-12-04T17:45:00.000-06:00

Today's Chronicle had an interesting article on Lonesome George, the last of his species on the Galapagos Islands. We saw him last year on a science trip to the tortoise refuge; it was very sobering to see his massive hulking profile a hundred meters away, knowing when he died, there would be no more after him.
Park ecologists have tried uniting him with a variety of different females, and this last mate finally produced a full clutch of eggs... none were fertilized. Scientists do not understand why; they are doing lots of blood work (needles? not my idea of libido-stimulating activity) to see what went wrong. Poor George.
Yesterday a very different event occurred; a friend's husband passed from this world and fell into Christ's embrace. How different we are from the beasts of the field. Lord, thank you for the Hope you brought us when you suffered on the cross in our stead. Teach us to love others like you love us. Amen.

Dear Jesus

2008-11-16T13:34:00.000-06:00

"Dear Jesus, I love you."
Santry wrote this prayer on a FOM blog this weekend, and I am reminded...
Jesus is my lover.
Jesus loves me back.
Jesus offers me intimacy and acceptance.
Dear Jesus, I yearn for your kisses.
Dear Jesus, I hunger for your presence.
Dear Jesus, I need your arms around me, to hold me and hug me and comfort me when this world leaves me alone and empty.
Dear Jesus, help me to fall passionately in love with you.
Amen. --jim

Lions, Tigers and Bears

2008-10-05T08:11:00.000-05:00

Random thought: one does not need to enter the lion's cage to be destroyed by it. This is a spiritual thought.

The Economy Bailout and the Common Flu: a Rant

2008-10-04T13:03:00.000-05:00

Perhaps it's merely temporal juxtaposition, but I see a similarity between me typing in my sickbed, thankful that my fever finally broke, and the current "Economic Crisis" and resulting government bailout (think-- you're family's tax money being paid to wealthy corporations who invested poorly) that occurred this week.

Working as a high school teacher I am continually exposed to students, gregarious creatures with tendencies for face to face interactions, phone-texting not included. They come to my classroom, a new batch of 20 every hour or so and we breathe each other's air. Perhaps more relevant is the scenario when a sickly student returns to school and ends up needing tutoring or making up a lab after school-- this 1:1 interaction dooms me to eventual infection, now only if my immune system can withstand it. Only, I'm not sleeping well, not eating well, and the marriage is on the rocks this week. Not good timing. So the other day I wake up all achy with no energy... happy day, a virus has invaded my defenses and I'm trashed!
In broader news: the Bail-out.
There are several sources that can break down events leading up to this massive, taxpayer-squeezing move by our federal politicians, so I won't bore you with my ineptitude. The commonality woven through each is something like this: local money-lenders gave money to local people to buy homes, people who they knew probably wouldn't pay them back (bad). But they did business on the assumption that SOME of the people WOULD pay them back (good debt), and that houses would increase in value. Then the lenders packaged all the bad debt into this bundle I'll call "Junk". Since it was packaged, it could be sold to someone wanting to take a risk on buying Junk, with the hope that (like the lottery) there might be a big payoff in the end.
Never came. Housing was OVER-valued... They're trashed!
Now the US government, with access to your family's income (tax), is going to come in and buy all this Junk, not because Junk a good investment (stewardship), but because it will make Wall Street and lenders happy (politics) in an election year, regardless of long-term ripples. Which is actually funny, because most public companies' fundamentals are unchanged... they're just cheaper to buy (hint: buy low...now is low). This feels like some big, propped-up madness in trying to avoid the natural consequences of doing bad business, lowering the prices of stocks that are solid investments, and this is because some greedy fund-manager way over-invested in Fannie Mae or Freddy Mac and started a stampede of technical-investing reactionaries, to which our all-knowing Federal politicians are now going to spend our hard-earned, middle-class cash to solve a problem that would eventually run its course, like the flu. But elections are in November. And please don't tell me T-bills are not the same as tax dollars; how does the US gov't get the money to pay it's debts?
In my Comments below, perhaps you could correct my thinking or improve my metaphor, but I see it something like this: I don't get to bed earlier, I skip meals all week long, I expose myself to sick students all week long, meanwhile the home-front is crumbling and end up feeling achy, because I now have the flu. So I call the Mayor who I helped elect, who sends a Life-Flight helicopter to pick me up and take me to Ben Taub, where attending physicians put me through a series of tests, put me on a gourney, place me in a hospital room with the best care, and I feel better in a couple of days... look it worked! Only let's say I'm broke-- now who is going to pay for the helicopter? for the physicians? for the bed space? for the medications? Oh, and I'll need a taxi ride home... I know, I'll make everybody else pay for it... why... it's not a lot of money if you spread it out, right?
Junk!
This smells like the Savings & Loan bail-out, or like Enron, like we keep repeating this laughable routine of paying off greedy multi-millionaires with taxpayer wages, except the only ones laughing (privately, so as not to be rude) are those who are avoiding the consequence of bad business, and the politicians who spend your money to position themselves for re-election (meanwhile extolling how they can relate to the common man--they feel our pain).
Maybe it's just the flu speaking...

And Then There was Ike

2008-09-27T15:17:00.000-05:00

God has a sense of humor, and some of that is just good timing.
Within 2 weeks of my last post, Hurricane Ike hit Houston, TX, where I live, leaving my community without electrical power for 2 weeks... Power returned 2 days ago.
And I reiterate... Hurricanes are good. Here are some things I learned during these last 2 weeks:

When you have to dress for work by flashlight, the LED glow may not help you match clothes well.
When you have to cook outside in the back yard, plan an extra 20 minutes to reduce the fire to good coals
A propane camp stove can boil water just as easy for coffee as an electric range, perhaps even faster.
Air-conditioning makes bad neighbors; when you have to sit on the porch or in the driveway, and everyone else is doing the same, you get to know each other while the kids are playing on the street, riding bikes and laughing with each other... instead of holed up by themselves in front of a video game or the one-eyed-brain-sucker.
The sweltering heat of a still night is in direct proportion to the loudness of a neighbor's portable generator or the sounds of gecko's peeping for one another.
People show their true colors after 3 days without power; they either share or hoard, rarely in-between... My personal favorite is when you help a neighbor for hours with a fallen tree across their driveway down at the end of the cul-de-sac, but when you consider putting the fallen limbs from the old widow across the street down at an unused spot of concrete on the far end of the culdesac so her lawn doesn't die, he comes out and cusses you out with a string of racial slurs about trashing up the front of his house (btw, you couldn't even see from his house where these extra limbs went, because they were on the backside of his huge pile of tree/limbs and improperly bagged trash).
frozen deer sausage can be used to keep other items cool in the ice box
eat the nonfrozen items from the ice box first while the deer sausage thaws
barbeque the deer sausage when it thaws
a man cannot eat cooked deer sausage for 3 consecutive meals without biological consequences.
frozen fish sticks do not keep
ice becomes water; good for drinks, bad for breads
you can use the same bath water twice
you can flush the pot with used bath water
a natural gas water heater is wonderful
an electric stove/oven sucks
Biblical Christianity looks like a neighbor allowing you to run an extension cord from across the street while your side of the street waits an additional week for power because Centerpoint did not trim their right-of-ways.
Apparently ice machines and gasoline stations require a Police presence during a natural disaster
some people are selfish pigs who don't play fairly
Most people are wonderful, compassionate, and generous

Hurricanes are Good

2008-08-30T17:03:00.000-05:00

Hurricanes are good.
In North America we annually have several species of migratory creatures that head south. The monarch butterfly, for example, is a sailor, using its spinnakers to flutter down to Mexico for the winter, and as all sailors know, wind is your guide.
Mankind, in a time when we were not burning "ancient sunlight" to fuel a depleting and non-sustainable industrial revolution, knew all about the trade winds. Nations would set sail for cargo or perhaps the pursuit of freedoms, knowing that at certain seasons or latitudes the prevailing winds will carry you toward your destination.
And so, here along the Gulf of Mexico, we understand that hurricanes come with the heat of summer or early autumn. It's just part of the rhythm.
One of the funniest things I've ever heard were a group of ignorant democrats blaming Bush for hurricanes-- I laugh just remembering that episode, so funny... like the stooges, Moe and Curly-- so sincere and so ridiculous! (What's even funnier is when anti-Bush types have no idea that it was Clinton/Gore who chose not to ratify the Kyoto Protocol, resulting in several staff quitting-- priceless!)
That's like blaming Obama for freezing rain in winter! Crazy!
Hurricanes tend to enter the Gulf of Mexico in such a way that the prevailing winds (counter-clockwise) bring the air mass southward, down the Texas coast toward the winter grounds in Mexico and beyond. This southward flow benefits butterflies, broad-tailed hawks and blue-winged teal, which migrate at the end of summer.
Hurricanes are a natural balance, a blessing from God upon His Creation.
And please don't shake your fist at the Almighty when you chose to build your homes along hurricane-front property and they are destroyed... hurricanes will happen.
And pretty-please, don't complain when you build a city below sea-level, and wonder why it floods... that is insanity, like jumping off a cliff and complaining about the landing.
Hurricanes happen.
Once upon a time God made man in His own image and placed him in His Garden, to tenderly care for it by pruning it to keep it in balance. Man rejected God, mined groundwater creating subsidence, burned fossils til the skies turned gray with waste, took what he wanted and left the poor to fend for themselves, then questioned why we have hurricanes.
Hurricanes remind us that we are not God.
And that's a good thing.

Dinora's Priest and Shane Claiborne's "Irresistible Revolution"

2008-08-09T22:02:00.000-05:00

Today I was sitting in St. Jerome's Catholic mass for a precious student's Quinceanera, totally enjoying the moment... ok, the mariachi band and film crew from MTV threw me initially, but the priest kept things on track. The stain glass is awesome: there are three exposures--left (south), above the alter, and right, which read in order: "Christ has died", "Christ has risen", "Christ shall come again". Awesome!
Above the alter is a beautiful sculpture of my crucified savior; to the left is an alter to I assume Mary?
So we're worshiping together, and I'm praying for this little sister in Christ and for her precious family, and the priest starts to prepare the elements for the Eucharist (communion), and he says this amazing introductory prayer over the bread... something like, "Lord, we are unworthy to receive these elements... Lord, say the word and Thy servant will be healed." There were tears in my eyes, because I know that there is NOTHING I can do to deserve what Jesus did on the cross; and I am painfully aware that without Christ's mercy and grace, there is no healing for the sin that separates me from His presence.
So I'm sitting there in that pew, tears filling my eyes with an awareness of what Christ has done for an unworthy servant such as myself, and I hear these words: "Only Catholics are allowed to participate in the elements, but if you want a blessing come forward and cross your arms and I will bless you." That means, I will touch your forehead, but you are not invited to the real deal.
This is not the first time I have been un-invited to the Lord's table.
I even thought about going up there and having the priest refuse to share the bread, but that would not honor Christ, only sate my hurt spirit.
So I quietly sat in my pew, finding it difficult to rationalize "being blessed" by the very arm that barred me from my Lord's sacrament.
And then it hit me.
We do the same thing to the homeless.
We bar them from our fellowships.
We gate our communities.
We hire armed guards so we don't have to encounter the homeless or impoverished in our luxurious living.
How is that any different from this Catholic brother who refuses access to Followers of Jesus?
It's really not.
When people buy property for their faith community, do they make sure the location is near the bus routes, or do they tuck it into some suburban neighborhood, barricaded by pedestrian hardship?
Claiborne's book, Irresistible Revolution, is really messing with my Americanized pseudo-Christianity. The Mentor-ship of Campolo is very evident in his writings, reinforced with his eyewitness accounts of living out Christian community in a way that threatens the very fabric of today's empire... Constantine would NOT be amused, but Jesus would smile.
So how do we live out Christ's commands to love your neighbor, sharing all that you have so that no one is needy? How do we step into Christ's command to take up our cross like he did in Jerusalem and follow Him into certain (or at least possible) death? That's crazy talk.
But it's Jesus talk.
And to call Jesus talk "crazy" is to confess that we do not Follow... we simply observe from a safe distance.
It's a lot like the MTV reception following the Mass: the DJ was inviting the young people to come join in the celebration on the dance floor, and the vast majority stood in a scattered semi-circle, far enough from the festivities to be "safe", yet looking earnestly side to side, hoping some of their peers would lead them with those first few steps forward.
Nothing. Fear ruled.
The celebration was only joined when excited participants left the dance floor to come firmly lead their peers back into the festivities.
I ache that someone would come for me... to take my hand and lead me past the limitations of my own fearful faith.
Come Lord Jesus.

Dead Zone

2008-08-02T11:27:00.000-05:00

In the last decade increasing evidence made its way into the popular media regarding a phenomenon in the Gulf of Mexico: the Dead Zone.
A dead zone is an area of marine ecosystem relatively devoid of life, hence: "dead"; this abiotic situation is usually attributed to a lack of dissolved oxygen, an elemental limiting factor required by both people and pisces.
The origin of a dead zone is a great ecological paradox; it is caused by too many nutrients in the water. As we began to put down our cell phones and pick up our notepads we began to unravel a forensic event in geographic scale. Farmers, subsidized by cheap petroleum-based fertilizer (primarily nitrates) found it easier to apply this artificial nutrient to their corn crops than to go through the arduous task of organically growing their cash-crop in a sustainable manner. Since this form of nitrogen is very water-soluble, that which is left over is flushed by the next inundation, so farmers err on the side of plenty. Unfortunately all rivers tend to lead to the sea, in this case the Gulf, and with the water flows massive amounts of artificial fertilizer.
So how can fertilizer kill fish? Is it toxic to them?
Not at these levels. No, one must think "macrosystems", the big picture of how organisms interact within an ecosytem. Nutrients are by definition nutritional, so what would benefit from all this nitrogen in the water world? Water plants, obviously.
"Wait-- water plants kill fish?"
Sort of...
Algae love fertilizer, and algae are photosynthetic, which produce oxygen as a by product... so wouldn't artificial fertilizer actually increase the amount of oxygen available to fish? At one glance, certainly.
So what's the problem?
It's artificial.
Meaning, that naturally this much nitrogen is not available on a continuous basis. Algae do not have bank accounts or purchase commodity futures; algae only know "grow and multiply" if there is much nutrition, stabilize if there is just the right amount of fertilizer, or die if there is not enough nutrients to support its population. Any kid who tried to raise a garden can appreciate this.
So what would happen if someone started messing with the levels of nutrients? Bingo!
When all that excess nitrogen hits the aquatic ecosystem, the algae respond like it's springtime all over again and "bloom" into massive population growth. But wait, the farmer stops putting fertilizer on his corn, which now cuts off this waiting mass of downstream phytoplankton, so the algae die off. Nature knows what to do with dead things-- it's called decomposition, and the critters beautifully designed for the job are bacteria. Though there are some exceptions, bacteria are excellent at quickly breaking down dead stuff as long as there is oxygen present in the water. In time the bacteria use up all the oxygen trying to decompose the dead algae that previously bloomed because a farmer used too much federally subsidized, petroleum-based fertilizer to grow a poor food stock for federally mandated ethanol, and now nothing can grow in large regions of the Gulf. So instead of using petroleum products to fuel our vehicles, we use petroleum products to grow our additives, which is then mixed back in with the other petroleum distillates, but now at a larger ecological cost, all in the name of saving the planet.
So in reduction, corn kills. Awesome.
I think that's funny.
I also think it is a metaphor (OK, fine-- to me, everything is a metaphor!)
How often, in trying to be productive in one part of our lives, do we completely trash something else entirely unexpectedly?
And how often in peoples lives does "plenty" result in "devastation"? Proverbs 23 warn us to hold a knife to our own throats when dining with affluent people, because you might develop a taste for their delicacies.
How often do we come away from encounters feeling emptier because of envy? How often do we lose perspective of the blessings we have already received, because a spirit whispers "more" into our contentment?
And why do I feel these dead zones in my own soul, these anoxic nether-regions that persist even though I know the joy of Christ's salvation?
How can I be dead inside? I feel nothing. I hope for nothing. I expect nothing outside of the present, and in that: that God would not leave me in this my final hour.

Reflections on Moldova

2008-07-25T08:42:00.000-05:00

I've finally settled back into a normal sleep cycle; awakening at 3:30 am feeling like-I'm-late-for- something was wearisome (Moldova time is 8 hours ahead... 3:30am would be lunch time there.) The main thing I carry with me from Moldova is the people I've met while helping with Operation Mobilization.
I think of Dana, our Romanian guide who tirelessly poured out herself to the children of the poverty-stricken villages; through singing, playing field games and even illusions/tricks she let those children know they were special... precious. Her gentleness and humility were a great asset to her leadership on our trip. She was also hopelessly in love with Eugen, and was constantly texting him during her down time... ah, young love.
Nate Sloan was the energetic catalyst of our team. Nate is a Houston guy, postponing his junior year at Baylor to explore a calling to experience world missions and ending up in Moldova. He was at the end of his term and had become fluent in the language. I love how God used his love of sports and child-like impulsiveness to melt the hearts of the children we met. A classic memory is in the village of Antoneşti-- Nate, the hairy football linebacker is crawling and scrambling all over the playground equipment, much to their delight, evidenced by the squeals of his 'prey'! Or the rough and tumble wrestling match with Iosef. Or the US v. Moldova soccer match in the OM courtyard. Or standing there at the sink in the OM kitchen, washing the dishes of a group that just came in from Canada-- a gracious service to weary brethren and to the kitchen staff who already left for the evening. Or awakening again (roosters start crowing at 4:30 am, dogs never stop barking) at 7 am to the sound of Nate playing his guitar downstairs and singing worship songs to start his day. Inspirational blessing.
I think of Claudia, the OM missionary from Switzerland who also served as translator. Claudia has the heart of a pastor, taking time to listen one-to-one to the children that were lonely, or sensing an opportunity and leading a child to pray to receive Christ. Or taking a moment to listen to the grieving story of a Moldovan woman who is dealing with the scars of breast cancer. Claudia's quiet strength and humility never raised herself up to be recognized; instead she quietly served others and let others experience popularity whose personalities were more atuned to such delicacies.
I am reminded of Brother ("Frate") Nicolai and his wife, Nina, and their seven children. Nicolai has the heart of an apostle, starting 7 churches already and raising up local leaders to tend the first 5. Nicolai often spoke in scriptural metaphor.. if only I knew his language! He started a greenhouse for raising tomatoes and cucumbers, which were served at every meal in all the homes we visited. He took me to visit a retired school master, a mathematics teacher who survived the soviet purges and was hungry to learn about the Bible and things formerly forbidden. Claudia came and interpreted; I don't know what was expected of the encounter, but I know that Nicolai has been praying for the spiritual transformation of this faithful member of his congregation in Antonesch. Nicolai also had a playful spirit, but I'm afraid much was lost in translation. Memories of Nicolai include him stopping off at homes in his little cargo van, delivering food to the needy; going to pick up the children in the second village, Tegheci, fearful that the local authorities would persecute them for playing soccer in the town field because they were from the Bible church (the Orthodox Church is politically connected with the communists in Moldova); practicing English words as earnestly as I was trying out my poor attempts at Moldovan. His children were: Ina,Vera, Iulia, Iosef, Samuel, Abram, and little Valerica.
Other OM friends we met were Eugen, a dear friend of Nates who used his soccer skills to reach the local boys in the village. Also Barb, who was the staff leader there, a Canadian grandmother who has faithfully served there for years, yet longed to return to see her grandchildren in Canada.
Our local contingency from Houston included Dave and Kate Sloan (father and sister of Nate), Bryan and Julian Tantzen (father and son team with soccer skills), and big ol' Jason Roberts. Jason was a favorite target of Abram and Samuel's ninja skills, sometimes reenacting the rise of the Lilliputians on Gulliver! Kate was great at holding and cherishing and loving on the children.
Last of all were the villagers we met in Moldova. I am reminded of Veleri and wife Angelica, faithful Followers who persevere in the last village visited, threatened with death or being burned out of home, and constantly being interrogated by city officials because of their faith in Christ. (God, please heal Angelica, and encourage their 2 boys.) I think of our hosts in Antonesht, Sora ("sister") Maria and husband George, and their precious granddaughter Gabriela-- who like so many children are left behind as parents go off to foreign countries to find some form of employment. I think of how the countenance of the children changed over time, from stoic reservation at our initial coming to the giggling joy they had by the time we left the villages, from trying to encourage the children to come to VBS at first, to have groups of children waiting in the streets to accompany us to VBS in the following days... the smiles that erupted when we called them by name: Ion, Sasha, Roman, Alina, ...God, please remember your children in Moldova.
I encourage each of you to consider some kind of cross-cultural mission experience; it will stretch you! Memorable moments on this trip include: how to use the Moldovan toilet; how to bathe in a foot tub; how to get used to mineral water; how to get by without language skills; how to trust God because of limitations; how much greater love is than knowledge.
ps- thanks to Jason Roberts for the awesome pic of the "white house" at Sora Maria's home. (note: every villager had an outhouse, AND a water well... we didn't drink the water!)

Together in Jesus

2008-07-23T19:51:00.000-05:00

This link goes to the FOM website to a recent lesson I gave on Ephesians.
It's amazing how relevant Moldava's growing church is like the early church.
The lesson is about 25 minutes.
If you listen to it, I'd love to read your comments on what stands out to you, especially in light of the church today, including your life here and now.
Cheers,
jim

I'm going to Moldova

2008-07-13T09:23:00.000-05:00

I'm going to Moldova today. Number one response: "Where's that?"
Best answer: "Between Romania and Ukraine."
Second common response: "Why?"
Best answer: "I'm not really sure; it was just an opportunity for me to get out of my comfortable little rut, and explore what perhaps God had for me in a world bigger than west Houston."
Second best answer: "I wanted to meet the people of Moldova, experience Christ's church in a different culture, and make myself available for God, however He might use me."
Q? "What are the challenges?"
A. I don't know the language, it costs thousands of bucks to get to a poor country (better stewardship to support a local missionary), poor sanitation, political unrest, I don't know the customs or the culture, I don't really know anybody who is over there, and it's very short term.
Q? "What are the positives?"
A. I will be travelling with friends for most of the journey, they have a contact in Moldova, we are serving a mission agency who will provide an interpreter, I will come away with radically new experiences and relationships, I will need to trust God more, and I have a return ticket.

vandalism

2008-07-03T11:17:00.000-05:00

Vandalism. The deliberate action to damage or destroy property belonging to another.
If it does not belong to you, you have no rights to alter it. That's why tagging rail cars is wrong... not because of the art (sometimes awesome work), but because of the ownership.
If someone commissions a tagger to paint a mural, it is not vandalism.
This is not a hard concept.
So what kind of person alters another's property without their authority?
Is a person who does not respect the boundaries of another a trustworth person?
I am reminded yesterday of renting a movie at the local Redbox machine; I'm waiting for my DVD to come out of the machine, and this lady brushes by me to try to jam her DVD into the machine to return it... are you serious? She's reaching AROUND me, in front of her kid, to bypass the international construct of "waiting in line". BTW, I don't want her kid in my science class; sorry...he's already been trained by her to step on others to please herself.
So how much would YOU trust this lady?
Or how much would you trust a stock broker that made unauthorized trades with your account?
The point is not about the isolated actions, it's about the social context within which the action takes place: some lady using a Redbox is not wrong for simply using a Redbox. And a broker investing money is not wrong, that's what they do for a living. It's that when a person demonstrates callous disregard for the wishes of another, their narcissism disqualifies them from relationship. Like a vandal.
So is Jesus a vandal?
What is the character of Jesus?
Will he alter that which is not his?
Or, is it possible that Jesus can be Savior but NOT Lord??
So how is it possible that the Christ who desires intimate relationship with us is denigrated as being impotent, when you or I have yet to fully surrender our lives over to his care?
How can he be transformational, when we leave him outside, still knocking at our door?
And what exactly are we afraid that he'll do??
Is he a vandal?
I think not.

Gasoline2

2008-06-27T12:59:00.000-05:00

LOL! I just read the latest newsletter from our Government's "FreedomCar" group, and found the following quote-worthy:

"...between DOE and the U.S. Council for Automotive Research (USCAR), which includes Chrysler LLC, Ford Motor Company, and General Motors Corporation. In 2003, it was expanded to form the FreedomCAR and Fuel Partnership by adding five major energy producers: BP, Chevron, ConocoPhillips, ExxonMobil, and Shell. The new expansion to include utilities..."
Lemme seeeeee... we put Ford, Chrysler and GM in partnership with Exxon, BP, Chevron, Conoco and Shell in order to develop a vehicle that does not use much petroleum?
Are you serious?
Just how important is it for major corperations that make billions of dollars from petroleum and old technology to be catalysts of change away from petroleum and old technology?
It's crunk like this that makes me wanna vote for the Obaminator... we've lost our minds.

gasoline

2008-06-06T09:15:00.000-05:00

In May 2008 the Big 3 domestic automobile manufacturers posted double-digit losses in car sales. They claim it is the cost of gasoline that is destroying their sales.
Ba-a-a-d gasoline.
Honda Motor Corporation, home of the Civic, posted a double digit increase in US sales for the same time. Hmmmmm. Gasoline didn't destroy their sales, too?
Maybe the gasoline that is bought for a Civic is different than the gasoline that is bought for a 19-mpg F-150?
Surely it has nothing to do with the persistent attitude among US Execs about moving behind the lines of innovation, letting other companies do the cutting-edge R&D, then gobbling them up or purchasing their patents... surely not that.
I mean, that would be bad business, to spend that much money developing a product that people might want, in fact... selling the first few years at a loss instead of marketing bucks, to get your vehicle on the road? What does Toyota know about hybrids, anyway? Nobody's gonna want a Prius, not when we can change the cupholders on our new Chevy Silverado truck, right? I mean... trucks are cool... trucks are good... for God's sake-- trucks are American! (except that Japan truck sales are capturing even more market-share here, too). Besides, how else am I going to haul all that hay and saddles and engine blocks to my downtown, high-rise, air-conditioned office ?
Surely current economics has nothing to do with Corporate Elites upping their proxy-validated share of the pie so they can buy more resort properties for their multiple families, while the working wage of most Americans has not changed in the last few decades. Surely it has nothing to do with protecting the current unspoken caste system, right?
And I haven't even started on the tactics perpetuated by Oil America to keep our culture petroleum-dependent. Energy ExecutivEs would never fleecE their EmployEes and sharEholdErs for the sakE of cooking thEir books and making a bundlE for thEir offshorE accounts, right?
I live in a culture that has at its core an "entitlement to excesses". My President repeatedly uttered his war-cry, "...to protect the American WAY OF LIFE." And we sheep still click our red heels and chant "there's no place like home, there's no place like home."
We are spoiled consumer/sheep!
If a family member cannot find a Wii at BestBuy, well, SOMEBODY's gonna hear about this!!
If a cell phone cannot text, play a movie and serve as a GPS simultaneously, then it must be a piece of crunk and unworthy of consumption.
Unworthy of consumption...?
Is that where we are? doing others favors by using them up?
Is that what "american" means to Corporate USA?
That smacks of suggesting bread-less people eat cake; and the leaders lost more than their minds. No wonder "change" is a winning platform so far.
For the near-term, I predict the Congress and President Obama will perpetuate the madness of "burning the furniture" (aka, tapping Strategic Reserve and drilling in fragile ecosystems) in order to protect Detroit, all the while spinning it as "for the little guy who can't afford gas." It will be a beautiful fiction... stay tuned as we once again lose another window to better our long-term society for the sake of short term stupidity.
So the next time you fill your personal vehicle with $5 gasoline, with all those empty seats and hay-less truck beds, internal combustion engines and non-regenerative brakes, just remember... we have satellites still exploring our solar system and universe with technology developed when they launched decades ago.
There is no gasoline in space.
This is not a stupid statement; it is an accusation.

With

2008-05-26T19:35:00.000-05:00

Reading the NT I am struck with Jesus' passionate fixation about togetherness. When he speaks to his disciples, it's not about the mansion, it's about who is there, WITH him.
I think it is fascinating how we, in the US, mistranslate the Greek to read, "there are many mansions...", when a better rendering would be "many quarters..."; the NIV does a better job with: "are many rooms...".
So it's about being together in the Father's House, not streets of gold; it's not about getting some fancy mansion, one for each...
How many Americans would fall away from their idea of faith if it were revealed that heaven is really just one big youth hostel where everybody shares what they have with their roommates, and everybody eats rice, beans and corn tortillas?
Or better, how many would flock to the loving, passionate embrace of Jesus when they found out it wasn't about marble alters, red carpet and golden candleholders? :)
That the streets of gold have nothing to do with the inhabitants? that all present are simple sharecroppers of faith, humbly and simply living in borrowed space, paid for by Another?
Would it matter?
Would we get it?
Or do we just like the "jesus" thing because he makes bread happen?

crepusculance

2008-04-26T10:52:00.000-05:00

I seem to be most Aware when God's Creation seems most active.
It is the mid of day or the nigh of night that I become cloaked with some creeping form of distraction and/or self-absorption.
My scariest dreams are those that do not involve God, but instead pit my natural complement of forces against any Nemesis. I am doomed.
Perhaps my day becomes clouded with caffeination, a process not unlike the childhood experience of simultaneously striking several keys from an manual typewriter, causing a tinny coagulation of typeface at the ribbon.
Perhaps my crepuscular freedom is simply being loosened of expectation, to be able to focus on something, or worse, comprehend during the initial reading of some form of written word. (Seriously; how many times do I have to read a phrase to understand what the #&$%! I'm reading. My poor biology students...)
I think is has something to do with peace in the natural order of things-- I see birds gleaning berries in the morning dew, not concerned with what they might have to do come this summer; squirrels playing in trees openly, uncompressed by the fear of predation.
If God cares for the birds, how much more would he care for me, right?
Except I know me; you don't.
I can see how God cherishes you, and will take care of you and tend you and love on you, because you are not like me. I know me, and God knows me.
That is why I am comfortable in the servants' quarters, not so much the Big House. The prodigal has come home, but never entered the banquet room.
Pitiful.
So perhaps the beginning of the morning or the beginning of the evening is a window of hope for things to change?
Perhaps I won't say something stupid or hurtful today?
Perhaps I won't be mean-spirited today?
Think brutal thoughts today?
Barricade myself in with fear-induced mental constructs and strategies today?
Nope... screwed that one up already.

Maybe this evening?
Father forgive me, for I have sinned.

Cornel West and the Yellow-Breasted Chat

2008-04-19T12:12:00.000-05:00

I miss most of it.
Sitting in a room, or at a computer, or in traffic, I miss most of what life offers.
Even now, a half-full cup of coffee grows cold on my back porch as I sit here in this darkened room, listening to car alarms, and trying to gather my thoughts, thankful that my 1040 is in on time but mindful that I'm a day behind on my OYB.
I remember seeing the bird a year ago, but never taking the time to research it's handle.
Yellow-breasted chat. This year my annual mulberry visitor has been visually and vocally verified. And now I wonder... how many years has he been visiting my backyard when the mulberry tree shares its fruits to my avian friends? How many of its generations have partaken of this arboreal banquet, and I'm just now getting a clue?
Eddie Carson is a valued friend and colleague at HCHS.
Eddie is not normal.
Praise God.
Eddie is constantly challenging me to expand my awareness of my world.
And my dingy little construct of "normal" bears some expanding.
Carson yesterday shared with me a text, Race Matters, by Cornel West, and I am just starting to peruse his pensively penned piece, increasingly aware that I have no idea how many parts of my surrounding environs live each day.
What would it be like to wait on a corner downtown for a taxi, watching said conveyance pass me bye repeatedly, for an hour, yet stopping for those who have less melanin?
How would that mark me?
Would I allow it?
Would it make me stronger or wear me down?
How have I been the taxi driver?
Am I even aware?
Do I even know if I change my behaviors upon cognition of plumage, or do I operate on some unconscious or subconscious plan?
God, help me be a better man.

Little birdies

2008-04-12T12:54:00.000-05:00

Some would consider me a bit of an outdoorsman. My favorite weapon is the bow and arrow. I've slain wild beasts with my bare hands and a knife. I cannot only kill 'em, I can clean 'em and cook 'em. I'm no stranger to hard work, especially if I'm helping someone else and it involves construction. And I like birdies.
Since I was a small child, I have been fascinated with wild creatures, from ants to dragonflies to whatever keeps digging in my trash. When I started studies at A&M, I learned there was a taxonomy for non-game birds beyond "some kinda cheechee bird".
Though I have SO much to learn about God's creation, I find birding a rewarding recreation. Perhaps it is because they are vocal, and I am attention deficit.
Perhaps it is because I know the common locals, so I feel some form of competence.
Or perhaps I'm just an over-grown kid who still gets lit up by some new bird call or some new species eating mulberries in my backyard.
So next hunting season, don't be surprised if my arrows never leave the quiver, and my field guide shows wear and tear.
That's how I roll.

Plant sperm

2008-03-21T17:06:00.000-05:00

How weird is it that we talk about allergy season, about pollen, but we never make the connection: pollen is plant sperm.
Not that there's a huge awakening to be anticipated in this botanical epiphany; just a sober confession that it's not always about us.
The flash flood brings much needed sediments to the vegetation of the flood plane.
The hurricane and tornado trims back old growth and resets the seral timeline.
The plague serves the ambiant carrying capacity for all things K-strategic.
Even war (read your Old Testament) has a balancing role in Creation.
Unfortunately we continue to build cities in deserts, neighborhoods on new flood planes (the concrete/freeway/parkinglot-induced runoff has to flow somewhere), landscape our communities with specimens better served in jungles, and bulldoze our forests for ethanol or even... shrimp?
Once upon a time there was God, and He created a Garden.
And God created adam to tenderly work the Garden.
And adam sneezed, and it was good.

Apes with Wallets

2008-02-28T18:55:00.000-06:00

I'm about done!
How long?
How long will media perpetuate the notion that we are brute beasts, locked into basic instincts that are beyond our self-control?
As a youthworker I first experienced this awakening when listening to the jargon associated with young people, sex and condoms. The argument went something like, "Well, teenagers are just dogs in heat, so you can't keep them pure, so make 'em use a condom... it's safe sex."
Which is a lie from the pit.
The students I worked with were intelligent, insightful and more disciplined than the political socialists that were polluting our times with their propoganda.
That's the problem.
Because if an impulsive teenager is able to discern, then they are less likely to spend Daddy's money on some shiney trinket from Apple or Motorola. So... create the notion in an inverted delivery that students are endangering themselves (faux concern), because they are not "taking precautions" (condom= safety belt?), and since they can't help themselves (the lie), society must educate them (propoganda).
Horse hockey.
Is it any wonder these last few generations of adolescents have felt betrayed and abandoned by their elders? Is it any wonder that piercings, tatoos, and self-mutilation are increasing geometrically with every year? The pain has to reside somewhere...
And the worst part is, this latest generation of youth don't even know it's happening (think A&F or Hollister).
When the social experiment is finished, and we've been reduced to apes with wallets, what happens when we lose our wallets? (How much Mandarin do YOU speak?)

Amazingly Faithless?

2008-02-22T06:49:00.000-06:00

Mark 6:1-3 "...they were amazed. 'Where did this man get these things?' they asked. 'What's this wisdom that has been given to him, and he even does miracles.' Isn't this the carpenter? ...And they took offense at him."
They took offense at him.
They observed he had amazing insights and wisdom.
They took offense at him.
They knew he even healed the sick.
They took offense at him.
We take offense at him. "Who gives you the right...?"
"Your Jesus is not my jesus."
"...But, I don't want to." --What? Die to yourself?
They took offense at him.
v.6... and he was amazed at their lack of faith.

Confessions, part 1

2008-02-13T23:33:00.000-06:00

Matthew 27:41-42 "In the same way the chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders mocked him. "He saved others," they said, "but he can't save himself! He's the King of Israel! Let him come down from the cross...' "
So they acknowledge that He saved others.
They acknowledge that, yet they pressed for his illegal execution.
They put him on the cross, then challenged God, to His face, to dare bring him down-- so that THEN they would worship Him.
Right.

Texas Springtime?

2008-02-09T12:12:00.000-06:00

As I look outside at the blaring sunlight this February morning, it strikes me that Spring has sprung. Perhaps it is the flowers that are erupting; perhaps the temperature already in the 70's. Perhaps it's the singing of the mockingbird and the white-winged dove, not the casual winter ditty, but a heart-felt serenade; or maybe the 3 species of butterfly that just fluttered by my window. And even though the scarlet oak has clung to some of its plumage to this point, there is the tender pale green growth of my shrub's apical meristem.
It's the upper Texas Gulf Coast, where the saying goes, "If you don't like the weather, wait a minute." Even now clouds are shrouding what once was a clear morning. As my hot tea grows cold, I can see once again the Metaphors of God outside my window pane. Things change; people dye and die and are born and borne up. There is so much going on, most of which is simple distraction and mindlessness, that we miss the yodel of the blue jay, proclaiming his recent victory over the the recent plague which erased every jay in my neighborhood, killed by mosquitoes tracing their bloodline to a traveling Yankee. Crazy.
So things change in the midst of being the same.
The sun is shining again.
God, grant me the serenity to not miss it.

Haulin' Bones

2008-02-01T07:30:00.000-06:00

Exodus 13:19—“Moses took the bones of Joseph with him, because Joseph had made the sons of Israel swear an oath.”
Picture this: Moses trying to herd the sheep of Israel through uncharted lands, constantly battling whining and mutiny in the ranks, and on top of that he’s having to haul the bones of a dead ancestor.
It’s 2008 AD and families are still doing this.
How much of the patterns of interaction between our families, the disputes, the alliances, have NOTHING to do with us personally, but are instead some sicko hand-me-down from a parent or grandparent to whom we feel an allegiance?
How often do we replace an opportunity for reconciliation with a response that perpetuates our role as pallbearers?
Contrast that with the command of Christ to die to ourselves, to take up our cross, and to follow Him; to consider family as strangers for the sake of cross; to return good for evil. No wonder our families cried out, “Crucify!” No wonder the churches of today often live out the insanity of our forefathers, deciding what families are in or out based on old history.
I wonder how our present families would be different, if we put old bones to rest and used that energy to nourish the living amongst us?

Take this job and...

2008-01-21T07:40:00.000-06:00

Thessalonians 4:11... "Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you,..."

I am amazed how many times the scriptures mention work of one's hands. And if you go to BibleGateway and do a search on "work", well you may as well pour yourself another cup of coffee because you have a lot of references to read through.

Work is obviously important; even the God of the universe spent the vast majority of what we call time in this mode. So why are some so unsatisfied in their jobs?

This morning I read an interesting piece by William C. Taylor about the four things that are correlated to job satisfaction: 1) Does your company make a difference in the world? 2) Do you like the people you work with? 3) Does your opinion count? and 4) are you challenged to learn new things in a changing world? The hidden fifth question, which has little bearing on actual satisfaction, is how much money it pays.

Which is sorta funny when we hear people say their job doesn't pay enough, or when the boss thinks solving employee satisfaction is to give them a raise. Sure it's nice to be rewarded ($) for hard work, but if you hate showing up on Monday morning, and you know you are going to die any day now, what's the point? How many miserable, empty-souled rich people are already out there? Consider our Christian missionaries...How many genuinely satisfied families are on the edge of poverty yet thankful to God for the simple meal before them? and why does our culture insist on perpetuating the notion that money = happiness? Is it the "emperor's new clothes"? Which makes me wonder, "What are we trying to hide?"

Our own emptiness?

Is that why some extremely wealthy people are soul-suckers? They derive pleasure in creating in others the same horrible feelings they hide behind their facade of austerity? Like the "apprentice of despair" cascading like dominoes of soul-death into some morbid fellowship? And minions flocking around their feet like so many pigeons in a park.

Crazy.

How many times do we say, "No thank you, I'm quite content," where we stare into the face of more-ness and shrug at it's impotent power? Perhaps that's why I love the apostle Paul's approach to each day: "I might live today and get to be with friends, or they may kill me and I get to be with Christ... either way, it's all good." Or the writer of Proverbs when he writes to put your own knife to your throat when the rich offer you delicacies, so that you don't develop cravings you can't afford.

Simple is good. I'd rather have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with friends, than lobster and champagne with people I don't trust.

As you walk into the rest of your day, may God grant you the serenity to slow down, cast your cares on Him, and see the beauty around you, whether in the face of a loved one or the simple flutter of a pigeon on the canvas of a wind-swept sky.

You are Beloved of Him.

True satisfaction.

Dog Sense

2007-12-23T08:24:00.000-06:00

One of the great values of living with dogs is they reflect to us things about ourselves that we often do not see. Perhaps it is because they are pack animals, creatures tuned into a social context. They make us laugh; they can comfort us when no words can reach us; they help us understand ourselves. But they also lick their butts.

This early morning I was painfully aware of how distant I've grown from God, mainly from my own distractions and simply not spending time cultivating our Relationship. At this point in my journey I am aware what lack of discipline produces in my spiritual life, whether the discipline to read or pray, or especially the discipline Not to say it, look at it or dwell on it. It is this latter discipline, the intention to NOT, that anchors me from drifting away from my Lord.

Dogs have an issue that disgusts me, and though I'd like to think that we can't relate, I now see we share this struggle with discipline: to NOT roll in it. When I was much younger and would let the dogs out, they would occasionally disappear, leaving me distressed and worried. Upon seeing them return my immediate response was to run and embrace my furred friend, only to encounter the most horrid stench. What manner of prankster would do this to my dog? Which neighbor punk poured it all over my little mutt poodle?
And then one day while walking the dog, I saw the rite before my eyes... my dog ran over to a rotting corpse and did this wierd shoulder dive/roll thing, coating himself from neck to ribs in grossness. One mystery solved; another created: why? I soon read how wild dogs rub in a fresh kill or carcass to bring back its scent to the pack. Dogs still carry that instinctual behavior somewhere deep in their being. Unfortunately for all involved, my pack did not eat rotting road-kill.

And this morning I realized that I've been rolling in it again, right back to old, deep patterns. And I really need a bath.

Book Review: Donald Miller's "Searching for God (knows what)"

2007-12-16T22:25:00.000-06:00

Rarely do I enjoy a book or written material to the point of repeatedly laughing out loud, but I did with this text, often annoying the students I was accompanying on a school trip.
Perhaps it is Miller's energetic run-on sentances, dripping with the self-reflective voice akin to a Woody Allen flick; or perhaps it the direct, blunt, in-your-face, I-calls-it-da-ways-I-sees-it attitude that drives his sarcasm and word play. I truly enjoy this text.
As an example of the genre of literature that tickles my soul, here Miller describes his first vague impression of the Christian scriptures, reflecting from a recently attended writer's workshop.
Miller writes:
"You would think some of the writers of the Bible would have gone to a Christian writers seminar to learn the magical formulas about how to dangle a carrot in front of a rabbit, but they didn't. Instead, the writers of the Bible tell a lot of stories and account for a lot of history and write down a lot of poems and recite a great deal of boring numbers and then conclude with various creepy hallucinations that, in some mysterious way, explain the future, in which, apparently, we all slip into Dungeons and Dragons outfits and fight the giant frog people. I forget how it goes exactly, and I mean no disrespect. But because it is so scatterbrained, and has virtually no charts and graphs, I am actually quite surprised the Bible sells." (p.49, Searching for God [knows what])

"I drove Daddy's car!"

2007-11-08T17:19:00.000-06:00

I love the magical thinking of children.
Their ability to simplify and sythesize along the path of least resistance.
It's like nephew who proudly proclaims, "I drove Daddy's car," when I know this meter-long creature could not reach the peddles, much less see over the dash without a booster seat. Of course what they meant was, "I sat in Daddy's lap while he was driving, and I even touched the steering wheel when he wasn't looking." It just seems so much easier to proclaim the former; the latter only clogs up one's delivery.
I wonder how much we are just like these fantastic children, thinking we are running our own lives, making the big plans, accomplishing all those goals?
I wonder if perhaps we're just sitting in Daddy's lap, oblivious to the bigger picture but participating in the Adventure as best we can comprehend?
God, forgive our childish arrogance.

Heresy

2007-10-18T22:08:00.000-05:00

I believe in God the Father, and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord. I believe in the Holy Spirit. But I don't think the theological construct of the Holy Trinity is directly attributed to in scripture; it's more a theo-philosophical contraction probably created to arm the illiterate from the serious threat of gnosticism or other heretical beliefs that Jesus was either not God's son, or was not really human?-- a mystical vapour or something?
My biggest struggle with swallowing the idea of the Trinity, as postulated by systematic theologians in my conservative circles, is I keep choking on what the Bible reads. I have been trained to say that God is 3 in 1, like a shamrock, or the Presbyterian fish-overlapping-ring thingy... kinda like a sanctified Venn Diagram. That Jesus is equal to the Father who is equal to the Spirit who is equal to Jesus, which is fine for a mantra, but I'm not seeing that directly stated in scripture. That point was cinched when I was asked to memorize a "proof text" in theology class as evidence of it, yet the scripture only mentions the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit; the synthesis is parabiblical.
To complicate things, I believe that God is Spirit, and that God is Holy... you could say that God is Holy Spirit. And I believe that this God is like a Father to us even today, opening wide His arms of love to adopt those who would repent (not wanting anyone to perish); a father TO whom Jesus, His only true son, submitted and prayed, "Not my will be done but Yours."
I believe that Jesus was born of the virgin Mary, that he grew in stature and wisdom, and that he not only taught the way (prophet/teacher), but he provided the way (priest/sacrificial Lamb). Jesus was the man through whom the Holy Spirit entered our tactile, prehensile world. God walked among us in Jesus' footsteps, sinless, yet was differentiated enough from the Father that prayer with the Father was an earnest part of his daily life... even Jesus had to set aside time to be with God the Father... so how does that fit in boxed-in theology cubes?
Are there only 3 facets to reflect God to us? Why not 4 or 5... Creator, Ruler, etc...
So if you ask me, do I believe in the Trinity, let me simply reply, "Probably; what are YOU talking about?"

Halo3 and the Secret Weapon

2007-10-10T22:26:00.000-05:00

About every decade I have a personal scavenger hunt; I try to find where I left my old copy of C. S. Lewis' book, The Screwtape Letters. The first time I read it was shortly after buying it during a high school discipleship group (late 70's); it was a little spooky, but mainly weird and less than relevant.
In college I read it and it was too relevant, and not weird enough, which was spooky. As a youth pastor fresh out of seminary, Lewis' work was entertaining but theologically tenuous... I was scary!
As a middle-aged, motorscooter-riding science teacher in a laptop-required high school, married to a technophilic graphic Artist, I'm looking again for my copy... I think I'm almost mature enough to appreciate it now! Somewhere buried in a box of books, abruptly translocated with the best intentions of painting the book shelves, is my old copy of the Letters. I don't remember too many of the specifics of the dialog between the demons, Uncle Screwtape and his apprentice, Wormwood, but I do remember one particular section of Lewis' fiction-- where Wormwood is told of the greatest weapon useful in defeating God's Kingdom. Distraction.
Yesterday I escorted the Artist to several computer stores where she was looking for various gizmos to upgrade her computer and integrate her new Mac. I'm already attention-deficit, but you put me in a store of plasma screens showing "Happy Feet" or "Planet Earth", I'm doomed to a standing coma, waiting for my cellphone (set to 'stun') to jumpstart my reentry into life as I left it a few minutes (hours) ago, dialed in by the Artist, who has now cleared the register and headed toward the door.
We are so absorbed by our technologies in today's world that we become oblivious to the world around us. We roll up our tinted windows of our SUVs, plug in the IPod, crank the AC and pick up the cell phone... and that's just to back down the driveway toward some tall guy on a scooter. (smile). Distracted.
It's almost entertaining to see students feverishly "taking notes" during lecture, or perhaps entering "data" into an ExCel spreadsheet, except when I call on them, they respond as if they just got the vibrating/loud cellphone call in the plasma screen section of CompUSA... blankly blinking at me as if I just queried them in Swahili. Surely they weren't gaming or checking MySpace? Distracted.
Now for those who are adequately ruffled because of where this is going, especially in light of the title, be at ease... I will not curse your gods by name--if I did, you might show me my own hypocrisy. Instead I will invite you to join me in considering what little time we have left in a day. I will not accuse, but simply confess... I traded my quiet time with God tonight for a football game.
Good night. Jim Kelley
(originally written Sept.30, 2007)

Cheesy Christian Music?

2007-09-22T12:29:00.000-05:00

At last night's Tribal Gathering, as the menfolk tended the burning cowflesh with open flame, T-Man challenges the concept of whether there really is such a thing as "Cheesy" Christian music. His point was directed at the notion that, if a person, wandering the Prodigal's Path, hears some old tune on KSBJ and it quickens his heart toward fellowship with the Father, and if all forms of music have that appeal to someone out there, then is it right to call that music "cheesy"?
I responded: "Is Barry Manilow's music 'cheesy'?"
Case closed.
His point being that all Christian music has value.
My point being, yes, even cheesy Christian music.
So the point now being, what is "cheesy", if it is not some subjective construct-- and the counterpoint being exactly that... it IS a subjective matter.
So now, reader, we enter dialog.
What is "cheesy" Christian music to you? What are some examples?
For me (and perhaps reflective of my current ambient hue) it comes to a clone-perpetuating sugar-and-spice-and-all-things-nice ideology that tries to bring smiles to everyone, and if you aren't happy, well "smile anyway %For me (and perhaps reflective of my current ambient hue) it comes to a clone-perpetuating sugar-and-spice-and-all-things-nice ideology that tries to bring smiles to everyone, and if you aren't happy, well "smile anyway %$&*, 'cause people are amp;*, 'cause people are lookin'!"

Which reminds me of my Mentor group meeting this week. I meet on occasion with a dozen young men associated with a Christian organization, and this week we were discussing 'worship'. In the awesome dialog we shared, I discovered that only 2 students are actually participating in worshipping communities, while at least half were actually HOSTILE to how they have experienced their home churches... phony, pretentious entities who are more interested in outward conformity than authentic community. Wow! these guys were candid.
They went on about how most of the Christians are hypocrites.
"No," I corrected, "We ALL are."

So what's the solution? Are we supposed to walk around with angry, bitter hearts, discouraging each other? Of course not-- Paul admonishes us to encourage each other (Eph.4).
But it also calls us to be truthful, not phony, as the Golden Boy Preacher used to call it, "Shellacking a layer of 'jesus' over it and pretending everything's OK,"...even though something smells really bad.
And my challenge to you: Is that smell the cheese in "cheesy"?
JK (no, seriously)

God Cries?

2007-09-08T19:12:00.000-05:00

Today was a hard day. 2 students I care about buried their daddy today after the funeral service this afternoon.
I knew the funeral was coming; even asked the Artist over bfast at Frenchy's what it would be like to get that phone call. I just can't imagine getting that call as a teenager. I prayed earnestly this week that God would do a miracle and bring him back; when I heard the final news that he was taken off life-support, my heart just turned to soup and drained out of my chest.
I've heard the text on several occasions, so when the Lutheran preached the short verse, it wasn't the first time I heard the verse... it was just the first time I heard the verse in a neighboring church, watching two young girls I care about sob over the death of their daddy. What do you say? I don't know; all I know is that Jesus wept.
So if I'm sitting there weeping and snotting all over myself as daughter #1 reads a love letter to her deceased father, and Jesus also weeps at scenes like that, maybe there is hope for a clod like me?
God, please hold those girls so tight that they smell Your sweet breath. God, hold me so tight that when I pass over, it will only seem a bump in the ride. Please remove any wicked way in me, that I might kneel in Your presence. Please teach me to be holy. Please teach me who You are, because I forget that You can cry.

One Day Every 24 Hours

2007-08-26T16:41:00.000-05:00

It's Sunday evening.
I'm 14 hours from students coming through my classroom door, and I haven't done MY homework yet.
I'm about one hour from leaving for home-group.
I've spent 4 hours since yesterday evening trying to get my computer at home to work, and now I'm not really sure why.
I have stacks of important papers that need some form of action, and I don't even know where to start. Some have been there for weeks.
I haven't read my Bible in 2 days, but the lawnmower is fixed, my yard looks better and her shower works.
God, Is it OK that I don't have it all together?
Because I failed to meet my expectations, does that make me a failure?
Maybe I should push away from the keyboard... after all, the computer is fixed for now...?
I'm done.
--Jim

God and Motel 8

2007-07-30T22:16:00.000-05:00

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where your options seem to have all run out?
Have you come to a place within your mind that there really is no hope of success, or that some dreggy alternative will have to suffice?
And then suddenly you find that there's a comfortable room for you at Motel 8?
I have. Somewhere in the panhandle of Florida is a crossroad community of hotels and restaurants, and in both coming and going we found no place to stay in any of the hotels nearest the interstate. Both times, as I'm weighing the pros and cons of sleeping in the truck, the Artist comes out of the Motel 8 office waving her recently rented room keycard. So why is it so hard to hold onto hope for just one last chance? Why do I not give this last abode the same optimistic expectation that I just extended to the last 6 places that turned us away?
And why do I treat God that way, when He continues to prove Himself faithful to me?
How often I have such a low expectation of God's response towards my supplications, only to find once again that He is consistent in His merciful providence. So why is that?
Do I fear coming off as some selfish piglet, making demands that might smack of entitlement? Or am I just afraid of that final rejection, that if there is going to be a surprise it is a pleasant one?
God is good, all the time. Lord, help my unbelief.

Chap Clark and the Plankton

2007-07-26T07:03:00.000-05:00

Chap Clark was the guest star of my dreams tonight.
A group of us youthworkers were gathered at a workshop/retreat somewhere in the dark folds of my cerebrum. Chap was using some elaborate experience (inverted roller coaster?) to viscerally illustrate some concept about God… typical way-over-the-top stuff that I associate with Youth Specialties types. OK, it was a dream, gimme a break! I forgot most of the cool stuff of the dream, but it brought to mind Chap Clark.
Chap and his wife Dee were celebrities for my generation of youth ministers, and I am some unknown quantity, floating about like so much plankton in a sea of faces.
I remember while going to Denver Seminary, Chap had started a special YL program over in Cherry Creek. That was the era of Ken West and Rich Van Pelt, a time of wonder and great learning. Chap and Dee had so much energy and vision; it’s amazing to reflect on how differently they were gifted and blessed.
Later on I would see Chap at a workshop or Youthworker’s Convention or retreat, always so confident, filled with hilarious stories and inspirational encouragement. Iconic. I would sit in the expanse of YS events and could actually see that I, too, might have something to share with others about youth ministry. Perhaps one day I might be a YS speaker or seminar leader; I loved hosting the local YS Seminars each year, inviting hundreds of youth volunteers to come from across the region for a day of equipping. I experienced a profound sense of “this is what I could do in life… equip others, or at least get them together with someone who can.” To hear crippled prophets like Yaconelli or Manning speak life into darkness?… priceless.
Then came the real-life implosion of Plankton’s youth ministry in Houston. And Chap was there. God sent him into my little shop of horrors in the angelic guise of a YS Seminar speaker. Chap gave voice to my anguish. Maybe I was not crazy; maybe I was just outnumbered. God used Chap that day in a powerful way, throwing a life preserver to Plankton who had forgotten how to swim.
Later I would email him encouragements when he came to mind, and he mailed me a brochure about a youth ministry doctoral program he was starting over on the Left Coast. That was about it; I sensed Dee and Chap were tired of emails from this recovering knave, so I stopped clogging their delete box and entered my world of ministering to God’s coolest people in a high school science classroom.
Gone are the dreams.
Gone are the visions.
Gone are the narcissistic hopes of a fledgling floater to somehow experience the celebrity of the likes of Chap and friends.
Gone are Yaconelli and Ken West, reminders that no man knows the hour.
I don’t even know where Chap Clark is today, but if you ever read this, brother, thanks for visiting my dreams this morning.
Jim Kelley, 2 am, sitting on the guest room floor of Kathy’s Gram’s casa in Florida.

Strangers and Bears

2007-07-18T00:56:00.000-05:00

Well, we are almost home, and I've noticed something that is actually surprising to me: almost every person we've met on the road is nice.
Sure some are obnoxious, some are crude, and some are clueless about other person's feelings... but there is a niceness in each person I've met.
How much of our lives are wasted protecting ourselves from imaginary evil? I know something about evil, and it sucks... which is why our Lord told us how to pray... "Deliver us from evil...".
That's not my point. I find myself reflecting on how I've barricaded myself from an amazing world, instead of cautiously adventuring into it.
It's like that in "bear country".
A bear for the most part is an opportunistic feeder, and does not seek out humans in order to torment or destroy them. The bear just wants the peanut butter cookies you packed for the campout. That's why in every park we hiked there were signs that instructed us to put all food or scented items in the bear lockers, or at least locked inside the vehicle.
The signs did not say, "Oh my God, flee for your lives and never come back to this pristine wilderness... there are bears here!" Truth is... we never saw a bear during the one month of travels, but the majesty of jagged peaks towering over glacial valleys, ancient forests and trout rivers were available at every turn.
The mutated addage may go something like, "He couldn't see the forest because of the... bears.
God-- grant me the courage to live my life with adventure, the shalom to abide in Your presence, and the wisdom in knowing what to do if I ever meet the bear.
God's blessings,
Jim

A Dry and Weary Land

2007-07-15T10:06:00.000-05:00

This last day of travel has been one of great contrast.
Yesterday we awoke in West Yellowstone, Montana, and spent the first part of the day driving through Yellowstone and Grand Teton NPs, along the Snake River, through Jackson, Wyoming, then turning back east to Idaho, to hug the border road on the west side of the mountains.
It is in southwest Wyoming that we entered the strange new world around Fossil Butte, Wyoming (no Kathy, it's not fossil butt).
Massive outcrops of sediment, not like we saw in the mountains, but dry and desert-like. Contrast was found in rock formation, not vegetation, because there was none. It was like... God unplugged the drain at the bottom of the sea, and all that was left was an endless vastness, a parched wilderness that spoke of prospectors and biblical prophets. This was a place one would seek when wanting to avoid the distractions of life (unless you are a geologist), but for me, it only served a reminder that we miss our friends back home. Friends and neighbors are like water in the desert, and so our journey continues to flow downhill toward the Gulf.
Today we leave Rock Springs, Wyoming, and head toward the east plains of Colorado to visit my cousin Kirk and wife Lisa.
Here's to the homeward journey.
God bless you all.
Jim

Mayflies in Sandpoint, Idaho

2007-07-11T01:03:00.000-05:00

Tonight has been an exceptional evening with Alan and Heather Barber of Sandpoint, Idaho. Such a gracious couple in a beautiful bed and breakfast (www.churchstreethouse.com), and Heather is an amazing chef and proprietor of their inn. Alan and I share a distant grandfather, and he is both knowledgeable and passionate about family history. From the walks about town, to the evening- Lika- walk along 'dog beach', Kathy and both have been blessed with the time we shared.
So tonight, much to our surprise and enjoyment, Alan and Heather take us aboard their boat for a sunset dinner on Lake Pend d'Orielle. Heather prepared a shrimp/papaya/ginger salad (I told you she was a chef!) served with a local white wine and fresh bread. What a great moment!
As we enjoy our fellowship, the crepuscular creation begins a oft hidden scene, a snapshot in time often missed by a madly rushing world, available only to those who have eyes to see or trout to catch: the mayfly hatch of dusk.
It starts with my noticing spent chrysalises on the surface of the lake, discarded remnants of a former, aquatic livelihood. Then I spy a large mayfly emerging from the surface of the lake, shedding the exoskeleton of its benthic past, now floating for a moment as a miracle of new birth has occured, then it whirs into the darkening sky leaving a slight ripple on now placid lake surface. Now this is not an entomological expedition, mind you; I'm just this nature-boy-kinda dude, having great conversation with new friends, and my attention deficit kicks in and I see the hatch. The only thing cooler than seeing the hatch, is sharing it with others who are open to such things and sensing that they get the moment.
The lake trout also sensed the moment, for they were rising on all sides, sipping the inch-long insects from the surface. Very cool moment.
And then the little mayflies hatched. Or should I say expoded like a cream-colored smoke bomb! The night was upon us, but not nearly so much as this newly emerging species of mayfly! Coating the surface of the boat and all parties on board, it was enough to drive a person to abandon a cool moment and head for the docks... and so we did! Cream-colored micro-spinners ala incisors is not the best dessert to conclude a fabulous meal, but it made for a memory that I will not forget. What a great day.
God bless.
Jim

Death of a Loved One

2007-07-09T12:46:00.000-05:00

(written somewhere along the reservoirs of Oregon’s Columbia River, July 8, 2007)
Driving along the rocky escarpments and rolling scrubs of the Columbia’s valley, I am struck by the duality of this natural world. All along this man-made reservoir are volcanic rocks hurled from some ancient geologic belch, scattered among the sage and short grasses of drought. To look either starboard or port reveals the same drab, mottled khaki world, yet only meters away ebbs the life-blood of Creation as it slowly navigates some hydroelectric course downhill, and yet for the moment, it is there… right there next to the parched shrubs. If only the soil could reach out and take a drink, yet the rocky liner installed by the Corp of Engineers is effective in what is meant to do: hold water so it can flow down to the cities.
I wonder if that is why the farmer is so much more in touch with God? I’m not referring to the local crop farmer with his multibazillion-dollar irrigation rig: I’m referring to good ol’ wait-on-the-rain farmer who knows that he, himself, is not god but instead is dependant every season for the merciful drops of life. Sometimes one more rainstorm is all it takes to make it another year, and it usually comes. Life is like that.
And then you get the phone call. Why does death surprise us? Even for friends who slowly watched a loved one painfully pass, when that last sigh is released, it’s still a powerful and sobering moment. Perhaps it is the finality of the passage; perhaps our repressed hope of resurrection in this flesh is brought to light, and we experience the loss of that hope? Or maybe we just miss their company, their smile, or whatever… them.
I truly believe that the Messiah knows our hearts, our joys and our experience of the reality of death. The Gospel of John captures it in it’s pure, distilled form: “Jesus wept.” His followers were so close to Life, and they didn’t fully get the point, just like these dry grasslands. Yet we have a loving God who sent his Son into this parched world to bring it abundant life, for those who would open the dry soil of their lives to this Living Water, not for a momentary quenching, a quick fix to a personal drought, but a saturating eternity that we can share with those who would come with us to the Source.
Like the farmer, the reign often comes in a moment of drought, when resources are depleted and we find ourselves no longer able to be our own god. And to share this with a loved one on this side of the embankment is an invitation to an eternal fellowship, precipitated by God’s merciful atonement through the Christ.
I hope to see you there.
Jim

The KumYon Diary:A Story

2007-07-08T21:02:00.000-05:00

Have you ever made a poor decision, one that at the time you knew might be a mistake, but you did it anyway? Leaving you with a gut-wrenching epiphany, that you should not have done it? Have you ever sat in contemplation of what it was that got you into this mess? I had bad sushi at KumYon in Coos Bay, Oregon.
We are traveling the Pacific coast, fishing village after fishing city, so I thinks to myself, I does: “Wow, the sushi in this part of the world must be amazing!” That’s what happens when you put an Aggie in the navigator’s chair of 6000 mile round-trip tour of the northwest states, armed only with his wit and previous experiences. He starts getting comfortable in his #2 chair (pardon the pun) and lets down his guard, and says to himself: “Hmm, is that the salmon?” I have a masters degree in counseling; I know enough about the importance of metacognition: that the simple question, given the alimentary nature of the query, was prognostic and worthy of ponder. If a man, seasoned in sushi-dom in H-town, cannot tell if a lump of fish is salmon (aka sake), it is for the hook or famished felid, not the enteric sensitivities of oneself.
So why mention the restaurant? Is that necessary? In a socially complex and integrated sense I would have to simply reply, “I think so.” For I am sure that not all sushi in this part of the world is toxic, otherwise this Left-Coast world of low-emission legislation would have created a ban on all legal forms of the substance. No, this is a tragic tale of neglect and negligence and bears full witness to parties involved, self included. Perhaps that’s why God sometimes is so specific in the Bible.
Wouldn’t it have been more polite of St. Paul to write something like, “Beware of bad people in certain towns like Philippi”? Does he have to mention people by name?
Or what about the Old Testament codes about mildew or sex? Couldn’t its writers simply have encompassed the big idea by writing, “Hey if it’s rotten, don’t mess with it”? But the scriptures we read aren’t that vague on many issues, and church leaders and struggling sojourners apply hermeneutics like I gauged sushi, and we both find ourselves in situations that could have been avoided if a bit more self-discipline were involved.
Well, it’s the last watch of the night and the mate has stopped coughing from yonder vapours. And I think I am ready to recline supinely, enough sitting already.
Jim (2:34 am; July 8, 2007)

Family

2007-07-04T00:38:00.000-05:00

Life is more than breathing and eating. Life is about living out the amazing opportunities that God puts before me on a daily basis, learning to push past the incarceration of my fears and shame to try something different or perhaps just share an introduction with a complete stranger at a picnic table outside the burger grill in Tuolumne Meadows in Yosemite, CA.
Family is like life. It's not just about the intergenerational passage of nucleotides, but a deep sense of connection that goes beyond metabolism and geneology. Family can include those who do not share actual blood lines: like your spouse, or perhaps an adopted child. Family can even include intimate friends, trusted and chosen people with whom you've made some form of covenant, like our "Tribe". I am Uncle, though I bear no relation outside of love for our Tribe and my god-children. It is the same, perhaps, with God. He chose me, not because I'm perfect... I suck at holiness. He chose me, because He loves me, and invites me (and you) into His household not as servants, but as His own Family.
Happy 4th, Dad.
Jim, in Novato, CA

Fresno, CA

2007-06-27T21:23:00.000-05:00

Kelley 2007 Adventure, part 2.
Well it's June 27 in Fresno, CA, and we are clean.
Not in a metaphysical sense, mind-you, for that would take an abrasive not unlike a diamond grinder, but instead a simple shower to wash away the trail dust of 2 days of camping and hiking in Sequioa/Kings Canyon Nation Forest.
Amazing forests tucked high above deserts and California's Central Valley, trees so large that the visiting church group of Korea, 20 strong, could not circle it's girth with arms held wide. Even in the these amazing forests there was my theme-word for California so far... Arid. I don't know how the bears can make a living up here, except for panhandling, but that results in assassinations of the ursids. I guess the bullet beats starvation for the Grande Adios. The only repreave was found in the lush meadows, forming pockets of chest-high green in the cradles of sloping conifer wood.
It bothers me that I don't know most of the names of the birds and flora here, but I'm working on it, much to the roomate's chagrin.
Tomorrow we head north on CA-41 to Yosemite Park, to see what there is to be seen. The American proverb of bears climbing hills suddenly becomes very...real?
God's blessings to all,
Jim.

Tulare, California

2007-06-25T10:50:00.000-05:00

The 2007 Summer Road Trip, part 1.
Enjoying the comforts of an airconditioned hotel suite and high speed wireless (yes, I forgot my lan cable), I pause in my modestly clad moment to reflect on the first leg of our adventure to the West.
Arid. From the Texas hillcountry to the Pacific Ocean, that word best encapsulates the color brown that has accompanied us westward. Oh sure, there are repeated punctuations of artificially pumped oases sprouting monocultured produce along the way, but aside from these short-lived anecdotes live the native sage, cactus and desert scrub of this rainless region. The paradox is the plethora of people, populations pooled in pockets of prosperity, yet portraying the preposterous propensity of our species to ignore what seems obvious to this displaced Irishman... it's a desert. There are millions and millions of water-dependent people living in a desert, pumping up ancient waters and channeling the flowing remnants of some mountain rain. And more people come.
Scaling the mountains of southern California until the Pacific is in view, the landscape suddenly turns Hawaiian... tight-cramped real estate knit together with tropical vegetation and long lines of cruising cars driving slow enough to see and be seen. We envy the speeding bicycle lane passing the clogged car lanes, and appreciate afresh the respect Californians allow motorcycles as they are permitted to 'drive the line', passing between cars in their lanes. The air suddenly became cool, dropping 30 degrees in honor of the the chilled ocean waters flowing down from the Arctic. I can certainly appreciate the appeal of living in a sunny, air-conditioned climate, especially if you are an affluent extrovert.
The highlight of our trip, however, has been the opportunity to visit with old friends and family. Starting with the great visit with Dad and the Kelley boys (Justin and Chase) and a Father's Day fishing trip in Rockport, we headed up to visit the Hendersons of Junction, Texas. From Junction we headed through VanHorn, Texas, to spend the night in the mountains of Silver City, NM, a quiet college town of artisans and tourists. From there we headed north into the mountains for a scenic entrance into Phoenix, AZ, to visit with Kathy's aunt and uncle Hoag.
From Phoenix we headed down I-8 toward the coast, where we eventually met up with old friend and successful Irishman, Nick Jordan. Nick is a blessing, and we truly enjoyed the time we spent with this charming and loving father of 2 energetic boys. We also enjoyed the honor of a meal with Princess Evelyn, daughter Sheila, and Dr. Lear.
By the way, anyone heading to Tulare, CA, needs to have a meal at Cool Hand Lukes... amazing food.
Today we head into the mountains of the Sequia forests.
All for now. Jim.

Illegal immigrant

2007-06-13T09:13:00.000-05:00

I saw him twice in my backyard this week.
The audacity to come onto my property and check out my stuff, as if he was looking over his own domain. I never gave him permission-- I've never even met this interesting squatter.
His relatives are probably from Cuba, his brown skin betrays his origins. Anolis sagrei is his name.
Like many illegal immigrants, he appears very nervous, always looking around and he immediately runs off when I go outside to meet him. I don't dislike him and I don't intend him any harm; I'm just fascinated by his differences. Also like many immigrants, his kind stick to themselves, orginally coming over to Florida and now setting up shop in Harris County, Texas; it's interesting that his kind are only found in the Houston area, probably due to the land development and need for landscaping and gardening. That will probably change in time.
He would not be able to appreciate it, but there is a growing concern for those who are already here, natives, who will be displaced by this newcomer, though the few who could proclaim it are busy playing in ditches or looking for the last remaining fireflies.
We live in a world that is changing; with the Ice Age finally starting to thaw out and the Mandarin tsunami about to sweep Westerners off their pedistals, there is something to be learned from these invaders, how they adapt to change, how they become a new dominant force, etc. Natural selection is alive and well on Wall Street and my own backyard. I guess my challenge is to enjoy the moment and those that God placed in my midst.

54 unread messages

2006-07-02T12:18:00.000-05:00

“Pray Continually…” 1 Thess.5:17

I open my laptop, plug in the AC cord and the LAN-line while unshouldering my bag of unfinished work that I was supposed to finish at home. The lights in my work space are off this morning, leaving the subtle ambiance of refracted daybreak to illumine my progress as I start my day. Within a minute I’m logged onto the network and pulling down my email, within a few more seconds I’m overwhelmed with the wave of requests, queries, quandaries and various curiosities comprising my 54 unread messages. This is the start of a new day. My lights are not even on and I’m already behind.

How is it that a moment ago I was enjoying the afterglow of a peaceful moment with a cinnamon-raisin bagel and a French-roast breakfast beverage? Or the quiet moment, right before I got out of the warmed car and stepped into the morning cold, when I had actually taken a moment to read today’s scripture from my One-Day Bible? Where did all that go? My first urge is to close the laptop and go back to the now-congested parking lot, a pseudo-regressive desire to reenter my wheeled womb, that primal scream, “I don’ wanna grow up!” Oh well, harden the heart and move into it, be a man, suck it up…hmmm, I wonder if there’s any coffee made?

And so it goes, another day at work, a ritualistic dance for many of us, a movement of opportunity and challenge that moves us toward productivity, whatever that word means. And how is it a mature Christian man can—in a moment—lose his conscious contact with the Beloved? How can he spend 11 hours a day being “productive”, yet so often be unaware of God’s loving presence? At which moment did my heart close over, or my awareness dim? How do I master the balance of both, starting with holding onto my morning moments of quiet and somehow bringing that into my work day?

Lord, I need you, here in this place.

Gone fishing (I mean bird watching)

2006-07-02T12:14:00.002-05:00

Arrived yesterday in Costa Rica with minimal drama, save almost missing my flight because I didn´t double check my gate (things change). Since every seat on every plane from almost every city in the USA is booked to CR in the next few weeks, I´m glad I figured it out!

Previously my trips to CR has been through a tour guide, and there was a contact person waiting; fortunately I was advised to use the national airport taxi service, because when you step out the door, it´s a meat grinder of cabbies! This taxi manager takes your receipt, tells you to stay close, and basically is your lead-blocker through the lines of arms-swinging-car-keys-yelling-taxi. Somehow if you make it to the curb, the game is that you made it to 'base' and the hopeful hordes turn their attention to the next traveler coming down the chute.

My destination, Hotel 1915, (otél milnovicientoycince) was 2 km away, about a mile and a half, which is why it took 10 minutes to get there... anyone telling you to rent a car in Latin America is a fool-- you are way over your heads here, best to leave it to the professionals who can honk, turn, play the clutch upward on a hill in stop-n-go traffic and do hand gestures to a crushing mass of 4-cylindar vehicles making their way up a narrow, unlined, unmarked corridor of streets (I have yet to see a street sign of any type, and I walked around an hour this morning). The taxi abruptly stops, pops the trunk tells me we are here, and there I stand outside a barracaded storefront...I had to go stand in the street to see the sign, but there it was. After a brief wait, I was allowed into the fortress, which actually is amazing once you get inside.
Only one staff person speaks English, about how I speak Spanish, so once she showed up we figured most of it out... my expedition team were put up in a new apartment complex owned by the hotel a few blocks away.

My roommate is Kevin (19, so. Calif.); the rest of the team includes Marsha (50's, NY), Kirsten (30s, UK), Jessica (Kevin's girlfriend from CA), Monica (17, so. CA) and the guides. We have yet to meet 2 of the team, including main leader, but last night we had supper together and was a good start.

Today we head to our research site after breakfast, so I don´t know what options I will have for email. Until then, Lord bless you.

In Christ, Jim