De Quervain's tenosynovitis-

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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?

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

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...

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

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

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

(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"

"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

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

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?

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...

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

"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

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

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

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

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"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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?

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

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...

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

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)"

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])