I'm fascinated by the creative process and to music in particular. There are only so many notes and so many words to compose songs and only so many instruments on which to play them, and yet, each year there are millions of new songs. I've been blessed to have transitioned from one job to another this year, but both have allowed me time to listen to other people's creative work while I do mine. Here is the music I heard and liked the most this year...
Top Ten Albums of 2012 (alphabetical order)
Alabama Shakes - Boys & Girls
Andrew Bird - Break It Yourself / Hands of Glory
Bill Fay - Life is People
Electric Guest - Mondo
Macklemore - The Heist
Sean Rowe - The Salesman and the Shark
The Avett Brothers - The Carpenter
The Walkmen - Heaven
The Whigs - Enjoy the Company
Tiny Victories - Those of Us Still Alive
Favorite New Band Discoveries That Aren't New Bands:
Morcheeba - despite the name, not a reggae band
Bill Fay - read this guy's story, it's great
Peter Broderick - peaceful, beautiful music
The Rest of the Best
Allo Darlin' - Europe
Audra Mae & The Almight Sound - s/t
Bad Books - II
Bahamas - Barchords
Cardinal - Hymns
Chad Valley - Equatorical Ultravox EP
Cody Chesnutt - Landing on a Hundred
Communist Daughter - Lions & Lambs EP
Dan Deacon - America
Dana Buoy - Summer Bodies
Diamond Rings - Free Dimensional
Dirty Projectors - Swing Lo Magellan
Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros - Here
Emeralds - Does It Look Like I'm Here?
Family of the Year - Loma
Field Report - s/t
Gold Motel - s/t
Gotye - Making Mirrors (minus that one song I used to know)
Harlan - Native Son EP
Jack Robert Hardman - s/t
Japandroids - Celebration Rock
Jason Lytle - Dept. of Disappearance
Johnny Flynn - A Bag of Hammers
Jonathan Boulet - We Keep the Best...
Jones Street Station - The Understanding EP
Jukebox the Ghost - Safe Travels
King Creosote & Jon Hopkins - Diamond Mine Jubilee Edition
Kishi Bashi - 151a
Lianne La Havas - Is Your Love Big Enough?
Lord Huron - Lonesome Dreams
Max and the Moon - The Way I See EP
Menomena - Moms
Mogwai - A Wrenched Virile Lore
Mumford & Sons - Babel
Mystery Jets - Radlands
Of Monsters and Men - My Head is An Animal
OMBRE - Believe You Me
Patrick Watson - Adventures in Your Own Backyard
Passion Pit - Gossamer
Paul Banks - Banks
Peter Broderick - It Starts Hear
Port St. Willow - Holiday
Richard Walters - Regret Less
Sam Billen - Places
Sam Lee - Ground of Its Own
School of Seven Bells - Put Your Sad Down
Sea Wolf - Old World Romance
SoloS - Beast of Both Worlds
Spiritualized - Sweet Heart Sweet Light
Sun Kil Moon - Among the Leaves
Tame Impala - Lonerism
The Amazing - Gentle Stream
The Antlers - Undersea
The Lumineers - s/t
The Maccabees - Given to the Wild
The Mountain Goats - Transcendental Youth
The Plastics Revolution - King Bono cs Lost Flight Simulators
Toro Y Moi - June 2009
Wanderlist - Record Time
Woods - Bend Beyond
Yuna - s/t
Top Songs of 2012
Deadmau5 -The Veldt
Patrick Watson - Lighthouse
Perfume Genius - Normal Song
Field Report - Fergus Falls
Bahamas - Okay Alright I'm Alive
Jones Street Station - Grace
The Walkmen - We Can't Be Beat
Cody Chesnutt - Till I Met Thee
Bill Fay - This World
Atom for Peace - Default
SoloS - All My Tribulations
The Raveonettes - Into the Night
Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros - Man on Fire
Spiritualized - Hey Jane
King Charles - The Brightest Lights
Max and the Moon - Out of My Head
Imagine Dragons - On Top of the World
Passion Pit - Carried Away
Django Django - Default
The New Division - Start Over
Electric Guest - This Head I Hold
Kishi Bashi - Bright Whites
Tiny Victories - Gravitron
Audra Mae & The Almighty Sound - Jebediah Moonshine's Friday Night Shack Party
Zeus - Are You Gonna Waste My Time?
The Avett Brothers - Live and Die
Mumford & Sons - I Will Wait
Alabama Shakes - Hold On
Black Prarie - Rock of Ages
Johnny Flynn - I Don't Wanna Go
Sean Rowe - Horses
The Lumineers - Big Parade
King Tuff - Anthem
Japandroids - Continuous Thunder
Frank Ocean - Thinkin Bout You
Macklemore - Same Love
Monday, December 24, 2012
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Re-
I have found great comfort lately in considering the deep grammar behind the word redemption. Put simply, for something to be redeemed, the implication is that it was at one time deemed. This pattern follows with God's history, as He one-ups himself in profound ways. In the beginning, God created. Now, through the revelation of Jesus as Lord and Savior, he recreates. In the beginning, God deemed of His creation - "it is good." Now, he redeems. Through Christ, creation is once again made "good."
Friday, September 30, 2011
Lucky Guy
I am so very happy to be married to my wife. Last night, we were relaxing on the couch, finishing up an episode of Parks and Rec, when she stops and said something profound. I'd like to repost the general sentiment here:
Maybe people are naturally legalistic. It seems like no matter how hard we try, we just exhibit this need for something that we can co-opt and use to define our lives. People can reject "religion" and embrace "spirituality" but then they just become religious about being spiritual.
Wow. What a smart woman! And all I was thinking about was how much fun it would be to work at 720 Entertainment.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
On Discipleship
Here's a recent email conversation I had with a friend of mine:
ME: Is discipleship really that important or is it just the next buzzword in Christian circles?
HIM: Oh I don't know. Following Jesus. Becoming like Jesus. Go and make disciples of all nations. Probably not.
ME: No, seriously. Defend it to me. It's all I hear these days (slight exaggeration). Why is "discipleship" THE word?
HIM: It is probably the next word in the line of: spiritual growth, adult education, spiritual formation, now discipleship. I like the latest iteration/trend because the focus is more holistic: relationship with God, Christian community, my own formation + the world, rather than truncated to individual development.
ME: That makes me feel better. "Latest iteration" makes me feel less skeptical than "the next new thing" because it's really just the old thing. Do I have your permission to substitute spiritual formation for discipleship?
HIM: Sure!
ME: Sweet. Spiritual formation it is. I'm vintage.
I'm experiencing a new Christian context in Memphis as a result of joining a church that does not have an established denominational tradition. It's a church plant for most intents and purposes, and, as such, is much more autonomous than the heritage in which I grew up. One of the interesting things about participating in this new Christian subculture is that I'm not as in tune with the various movements swirling through the collective consciousness of the church as I had been. Before, I was always keenly aware of what trends were shaping the direction of the church. In this new environment, I'm definitely more on the outside looking in. So when I started hearing a lot of talk about discipleship, I wasn't sure where exactly it was coming from or just how prevalent it was.
Now, it seems to me that discipleship is one of the prevailing winds of change driving the ship called American Christianity. In meteorological terms, early indications are that we may need to upgrade Tropical Storm Discipleship to a Hurricane. All across the country, I'm seeing tweets and posts and articles and journals and conferences and local churches espousing the value and benefit of discipleship rediscovered and reinvigorated. It's an exciting development and a fantastic direction for the church. I would even argue that it's a necessary direction for the church to move. It's necessary for survival - to thwart both the constant temptation of the world and the latent complacency from which the church has suffered in recent history. As always, in order to continue living, the church needs a revival and, to be sure, discipleship may very well be THE form through which new life will invigorate (really, re-invigorate) the church of God in America.
But, here is what concerns me with this latest iteration: discipleship is not and cannot bring revival.
It is a fundamental and simple (but not trite) truth that new life comes only from God. No iteration of Christian faith - from the earliest Christian communities in Jerusalem and Antioch, to the martyrs, to the desert fathers, to the reformers, the great fathers of modern missions, to the revivalists of the Great Awakening, to the contemporary discipleship movement - has ever been able to manufacture any kind of sustainable life within the church. Rather, in each case, it was the holy and active Spirit of God that brought new life, which in turn spawned the earliest Christian communities, the martyrs, the reformers and revivalists, the modern disciples.
Perhaps the simplicity of this idea about the Spirit bringing revival has made it too hard to maintain with any consistency. But, the truth is that discipleship does not bring revival; revival brings discipleship.
(Note: I don't even know if I can explain this coherently, or do this Gospel-idea any justice with the application of mere human thought expressed in mere human words. But I'm going to try! Be gracious. This is an idea in progress. Be warned. It's about to get deep, or at least confusing.)
It seems to me that the simplest way to explain it is to say that things work out best when God acts and we react. Humans are fantastic reactionary beings. One might even argue that we were created to react. Think about it this way: the Creator acts and creation reacts. One of the fundamental Christian beliefs is that humans were created for community and relationship as opposed to isolation and separation. What is a relationship if not a series of reactions? Given this, it seems that creation creates chaos when creation tries to act, as opposed to reacting to the Creator.
As a principle for human living, I think that sounds... promising. But what about as an actual practice for human living? As a test case, how might this principle apply to the very beginning of the spiritual life, broadly defined as salvation? Again, the principle is that chaos ensues when the created acts rather than reacts to the Creator.
The very idea of salvation is rooted in the idea that chaos (in salvific terms, sin) is rooted in the actions of humanity and that it would take, literally, an act of God to fix the problem. Ironically, ever since that act of God (read: Jesus Christ), Christian history shows that the church has repeatedly had to address human attempts to reclaim salvation as something attained through human action. That may be too complicated. More simply, ever since Christ, the church - from Paul to the present - has had to fight to ensure that salvation was defined solely in terms of God acting and humans reacting. That is, there is no action through which humanity can save itself from the mess it has created. Salvation is fundamentally about what God has done and our only proper response is to react to what he has done. So far, so good.
ME: Is discipleship really that important or is it just the next buzzword in Christian circles?
HIM: Oh I don't know. Following Jesus. Becoming like Jesus. Go and make disciples of all nations. Probably not.
ME: No, seriously. Defend it to me. It's all I hear these days (slight exaggeration). Why is "discipleship" THE word?
HIM: It is probably the next word in the line of: spiritual growth, adult education, spiritual formation, now discipleship. I like the latest iteration/trend because the focus is more holistic: relationship with God, Christian community, my own formation + the world, rather than truncated to individual development.
ME: That makes me feel better. "Latest iteration" makes me feel less skeptical than "the next new thing" because it's really just the old thing. Do I have your permission to substitute spiritual formation for discipleship?
HIM: Sure!
ME: Sweet. Spiritual formation it is. I'm vintage.
****
I'm experiencing a new Christian context in Memphis as a result of joining a church that does not have an established denominational tradition. It's a church plant for most intents and purposes, and, as such, is much more autonomous than the heritage in which I grew up. One of the interesting things about participating in this new Christian subculture is that I'm not as in tune with the various movements swirling through the collective consciousness of the church as I had been. Before, I was always keenly aware of what trends were shaping the direction of the church. In this new environment, I'm definitely more on the outside looking in. So when I started hearing a lot of talk about discipleship, I wasn't sure where exactly it was coming from or just how prevalent it was.
Now, it seems to me that discipleship is one of the prevailing winds of change driving the ship called American Christianity. In meteorological terms, early indications are that we may need to upgrade Tropical Storm Discipleship to a Hurricane. All across the country, I'm seeing tweets and posts and articles and journals and conferences and local churches espousing the value and benefit of discipleship rediscovered and reinvigorated. It's an exciting development and a fantastic direction for the church. I would even argue that it's a necessary direction for the church to move. It's necessary for survival - to thwart both the constant temptation of the world and the latent complacency from which the church has suffered in recent history. As always, in order to continue living, the church needs a revival and, to be sure, discipleship may very well be THE form through which new life will invigorate (really, re-invigorate) the church of God in America.
But, here is what concerns me with this latest iteration: discipleship is not and cannot bring revival.
It is a fundamental and simple (but not trite) truth that new life comes only from God. No iteration of Christian faith - from the earliest Christian communities in Jerusalem and Antioch, to the martyrs, to the desert fathers, to the reformers, the great fathers of modern missions, to the revivalists of the Great Awakening, to the contemporary discipleship movement - has ever been able to manufacture any kind of sustainable life within the church. Rather, in each case, it was the holy and active Spirit of God that brought new life, which in turn spawned the earliest Christian communities, the martyrs, the reformers and revivalists, the modern disciples.
Perhaps the simplicity of this idea about the Spirit bringing revival has made it too hard to maintain with any consistency. But, the truth is that discipleship does not bring revival; revival brings discipleship.
****
It is the natural order of life on earth that (A) effort produces (B) results. So even though it makes (human) sense to assume that any desirable result (B) requires human effort (A), we know through Jesus Christ that human effort can never produce any lasting desirable spiritual result. Paradoxically, though, God has chosen to use us to assist Him in accomplishing the purposes of His Kingdom on Earth. As such, it makes perfect sense that the story of God's relationship with His creation is littered with failed human attempts to produce spiritual results. God wants us to participate with Him in what He is doing. God wants us to do something! We are even supposed to be doing something, but whenever we do things (ie, exert human effort), it tends not to produce the spiritual results for which our effort was intended. Paradox indeed!
(Note: I don't even know if I can explain this coherently, or do this Gospel-idea any justice with the application of mere human thought expressed in mere human words. But I'm going to try! Be gracious. This is an idea in progress. Be warned. It's about to get deep, or at least confusing.)
It seems to me that the simplest way to explain it is to say that things work out best when God acts and we react. Humans are fantastic reactionary beings. One might even argue that we were created to react. Think about it this way: the Creator acts and creation reacts. One of the fundamental Christian beliefs is that humans were created for community and relationship as opposed to isolation and separation. What is a relationship if not a series of reactions? Given this, it seems that creation creates chaos when creation tries to act, as opposed to reacting to the Creator.
As a principle for human living, I think that sounds... promising. But what about as an actual practice for human living? As a test case, how might this principle apply to the very beginning of the spiritual life, broadly defined as salvation? Again, the principle is that chaos ensues when the created acts rather than reacts to the Creator.
The very idea of salvation is rooted in the idea that chaos (in salvific terms, sin) is rooted in the actions of humanity and that it would take, literally, an act of God to fix the problem. Ironically, ever since that act of God (read: Jesus Christ), Christian history shows that the church has repeatedly had to address human attempts to reclaim salvation as something attained through human action. That may be too complicated. More simply, ever since Christ, the church - from Paul to the present - has had to fight to ensure that salvation was defined solely in terms of God acting and humans reacting. That is, there is no action through which humanity can save itself from the mess it has created. Salvation is fundamentally about what God has done and our only proper response is to react to what he has done. So far, so good.
****
But what about discipleship? Moving beyond the beginning stage of spiritual life, return to discipleship. If salvation is rooted in the act of God and response of Christians, it can just as easily be argued that the next stage of spiritual life (sanctification, spiritual formation, discipleship, call it what you will) is equally rooted in the same pattern of divine act and human reaction. Discipleship is just as dependent on God's acting as is salvation. Equally, the human role in discipleship is just as dependent on God's action as is the human role in salvation. His is the call; our's is the response.
Thus, my concern with discipleship is the same as it would be for any other new paradigm or iteration for spiritual living in the church. I'm concerned that we are going to make it about us. I'm concerned that we are going to make it about what we know and about what we do.
In fact, I'm afraid because I'm seeing it already. I'm hearing people say that they are not ready to disciple someone else because they don't know enough. If that is the case, then what is the point at which someone does know enough? Who decides what body of knowledge is adequate before attempting to disciple another?
I'm hearing people say they don't feel like they are doing enough to be a discipler. If that is the case, then what is the point at which one's life produces enough fruit? Who decides what body of work is adequate before attempting to disciple another?
If discipleship is fundamentally about what you can do or what you know, then I want nothing to do with discipleship. In fact, I want nothing to do with anything - not discipleship or any other iteration - that isn't consistently and solely about seeking out what God is doing because it is never good when God's role as Actor is usurped by someone who is only supposed to re-Act.
If you go to Amazon and search for "leadership," you get 77,506 results. If you search for "followership," you get 174. I didn't search through all 174, but my guess is that none of those results is the Bible. That's the heart of the issue. No one wants to be a follower and everyone is concerned with how best to be a leader. Except, Jesus didn't invite us to take up our crosses and lead other people, he told us to take up our cross and follow him.
Is discipleship bad then? No, of course not. But anything that may provide us the opportunity replace reaction to God with human action carries with it the potential to cause great damage to His Kingdom.
For my current context, it seems highly important to remember that discipleship has the potential to change the world only insofar as much as the power of God is present to work through disciples. In the end as we are going - that is, as we follow Him - we just may find other disciples along the way.
Mastering Memphis, step 6
I started this Mastering Memphis series shortly after graduating from seminary. I wanted to chronicle everything or everyone I had experienced since moving here in the fall of 2004 (War Eagle and Go Sox). Jesse told me it was kind of boring. I can't disagree with her. Other than tales regarding my former roommates, there wasn't a lot that seemed arresting and I'm not sure it was written very well. All in all, it was a fairly insignificant collection of memories.
Memories can be elusive. In his essay, "My Father's Brain," Jonathan Franzen notes how the brain functions as a memory keeper through the process of myelinization. Myelin is a fatty substance that strengthens certain neural connections in the brain, which allows certain neurological memory functions to solidify in developing brains. The least myelinized parts of the brain are those that have the most to do with the process of transitioning short-term memories into long-term ones. This might be most evident in the digression of mental capcities in Alzheimer's sufferers, but perhaps, in more mundane ways, might explain why your grandparents told you the same stories repeatedly. Those were the experiences they remembered best and longest after others had faded obscurity.
Memories can be elusive. In his essay, "My Father's Brain," Jonathan Franzen notes how the brain functions as a memory keeper through the process of myelinization. Myelin is a fatty substance that strengthens certain neural connections in the brain, which allows certain neurological memory functions to solidify in developing brains. The least myelinized parts of the brain are those that have the most to do with the process of transitioning short-term memories into long-term ones. This might be most evident in the digression of mental capcities in Alzheimer's sufferers, but perhaps, in more mundane ways, might explain why your grandparents told you the same stories repeatedly. Those were the experiences they remembered best and longest after others had faded obscurity.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Jagger-ian Spirituality
As much fun as it would be to write about the spiritual symbolism of painting everything black, I'd like to look instead at the more mainstream theory of pop-theologian, Mick Jagger. Specifically, the idea that I can't get no satisfaction.
This idea first came to me several years ago when I got to spend some time listening to Tony Campolo. Dr. Campolo is old (76, if wikipedia and my calculator are correct). When he spoke, he would stand resolutely on stage, rarely moving. He would lean against a bar chair brought on stage for him with his eyes closed and left hand raised to his temple, speaking profundities with simple words. Here was a man who had written more books than the numbers of years I had been alive and he was still pushing forward. He continued to walk, to grow, to seek, to learn, to mature. The power of his words was backed by his depth of experience. If spiritual years are like dog years, well, he was old.
Sitting there and watching this old guy with his eyes closed challenge everyone in the room, including himself, I began to wonder how he kept moving forward after all these years. It seems to me that age can have a settling effect on most things: house foundations, dirt, waistlines, humans. What is it that turns a pioneer into a settler? I don't know how to articulate an exact answer, but I think it has something to do with Mick Jagger.
A strong Christian is never completely content with their spiritual journey. They never stop and say, "Look at me! I've made it, there's no more room for growth!" They're always a little bit dissatisfied because they see where they are spiritually, but they also see the next step and they never stop pursuing something deeper, richer, more mature in their relationship with God. At the same time, that dissatisfaction (for lack of a better word, truly) does not leak over into the rest of their life. In life, they are completely content. They're not chasing money, prestige and power, significance and security or anything else the world pursues. In a sense, they are content with everything but their spiritual life.
A weak Christian is the opposite: discontent with life and always pursuing the things of the world. But when it comes to their faith/relationship with God, they are satisfied with where they are. They say, "I've come far enough. I don't see any room for growth. I am satisfied with where I am, and God should be too." Their satisfaction with the eternal allows more time and opportunity to pursue the temporary.
Is the sign of mature spiritual living a satisfaction or contentment with everything but spiritual living? Are the strongest Christians the ones who snarl along with Mick about their lack of satisfaction with the status quo?
Maybe.
Matthew 9:16-17
"No one sews a patch of unshrunk cloth on an old garment, for the patch will pull away from the garment, making the tear worse. Neither do people pour new wine into old wineskins. If they do, the skins will burst; the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, they pour new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved.”
Colossians 3:1-15
Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your[a] life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory. Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. Because of these, the wrath of God is coming. You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived. But now you must also rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator. Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all. Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.
Maybe not.
Maybe stronger Christians are just better dressed.
This idea first came to me several years ago when I got to spend some time listening to Tony Campolo. Dr. Campolo is old (76, if wikipedia and my calculator are correct). When he spoke, he would stand resolutely on stage, rarely moving. He would lean against a bar chair brought on stage for him with his eyes closed and left hand raised to his temple, speaking profundities with simple words. Here was a man who had written more books than the numbers of years I had been alive and he was still pushing forward. He continued to walk, to grow, to seek, to learn, to mature. The power of his words was backed by his depth of experience. If spiritual years are like dog years, well, he was old.
Sitting there and watching this old guy with his eyes closed challenge everyone in the room, including himself, I began to wonder how he kept moving forward after all these years. It seems to me that age can have a settling effect on most things: house foundations, dirt, waistlines, humans. What is it that turns a pioneer into a settler? I don't know how to articulate an exact answer, but I think it has something to do with Mick Jagger.
A strong Christian is never completely content with their spiritual journey. They never stop and say, "Look at me! I've made it, there's no more room for growth!" They're always a little bit dissatisfied because they see where they are spiritually, but they also see the next step and they never stop pursuing something deeper, richer, more mature in their relationship with God. At the same time, that dissatisfaction (for lack of a better word, truly) does not leak over into the rest of their life. In life, they are completely content. They're not chasing money, prestige and power, significance and security or anything else the world pursues. In a sense, they are content with everything but their spiritual life.
A weak Christian is the opposite: discontent with life and always pursuing the things of the world. But when it comes to their faith/relationship with God, they are satisfied with where they are. They say, "I've come far enough. I don't see any room for growth. I am satisfied with where I am, and God should be too." Their satisfaction with the eternal allows more time and opportunity to pursue the temporary.
Is the sign of mature spiritual living a satisfaction or contentment with everything but spiritual living? Are the strongest Christians the ones who snarl along with Mick about their lack of satisfaction with the status quo?
Maybe.
Matthew 9:16-17
"No one sews a patch of unshrunk cloth on an old garment, for the patch will pull away from the garment, making the tear worse. Neither do people pour new wine into old wineskins. If they do, the skins will burst; the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, they pour new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved.”
Colossians 3:1-15
Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your[a] life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory. Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. Because of these, the wrath of God is coming. You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived. But now you must also rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator. Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all. Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.
Maybe not.
Maybe stronger Christians are just better dressed.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Bold Prediction
Fifteen years from now, on VH1's "I Love the First Decade of the 2000s (because we never agreed on what to call it)," there will be a 5 minute segment on p90x when they get to 2010. A bald Judah Friedlander will try and demonstrate various moves and Aziz Ansari will talk about how people gave ubiquitous p90x updates but no one else cared and Gilbert Godfried will talk about all the people you knew who started it and then stopped after 2 weeks.
That's my thought about the current phenomenon that is p90x. I'm not denegrating having it and doing it, or getting it and not doing it, I'm just amazed at how popular it has gotten in such a short amount of time. I think it's on the list for the 2010 episode. Then I googled "VH1 I love the" and saw that in 2008, the network ran a series called "I Love the New Millenium." So really, it'll be next year. And no, this is not a way for me to announce that I'm doing p90x.
That's my thought about the current phenomenon that is p90x. I'm not denegrating having it and doing it, or getting it and not doing it, I'm just amazed at how popular it has gotten in such a short amount of time. I think it's on the list for the 2010 episode. Then I googled "VH1 I love the" and saw that in 2008, the network ran a series called "I Love the New Millenium." So really, it'll be next year. And no, this is not a way for me to announce that I'm doing p90x.
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Mastering Memphis, step five
Meeting Jesse meant several fantastic and exciting changes for me. For one, I now had someone with which to share the joys of college football. At that time, she was my only friend with a TiVo or an iPod, so that was cool. The click wheel was so novel. I discovered a bunch of new music and I had the option of eating fresh, cooked food that did not have to be heated in a microwave. Also, I started turning left at the light at Park and Cherry. Before I met Jesse, a la Zoolander, I had only turned right (that was the direction of the Target). And, as if that wasn't enough, I now had a host of people who could barely contain their excitement and curiosity upon meeting me. For some reason, there were literally hundreds of people who became very interested in meeting me and finding out everything they could about me. Before, it was just me, Biff, and McFly, but now, it was odd people with names like Buster or Bubba or Gerald or Michael. If this eclectic group of people had one thing in common, it was that they all cared deeply for Jesse and wanted to make sure that she hadn't fallen in with the wrong type. If they had two things in common, it was that they all met at the same place to worship the Lord on Sundays.
Before I met Jesse, I had spent a couple of months at Sycamore View because I'd had some friends from undergrad who were there. In fact, when I first met Jesse, I stayed out there for awhile longer because I didn't want to leave one place and then show up a month later and have to explain my absence. It didn't take long for me to change my mind and head over to Highland for good. It took even less time for me to be welcomed without reservation into a very big family.
The first time I met Buster was at the old duplex on Ellsworth after a Wednesday night when I was still at SVCC. It was cold and I had a hoodie on. It was dark, but he introduced himself and we chatted shortly before he left (it was cold). Buster told Jesse and Brooke the next day that he thought I looked like Nathan Shank. I think he's changed his mind since then.
I also remember the first time I went to Intermission. I was in the lobby before we left on Saturday morning and some guy I had never seen before walked up to me and said, "Hey. You seen that new intern girl? (Kyla Kiser) She's pretty cute. You should go talk to her." I responded, "Yeah. I actually think that Jesse girl is cute. She's my girlfriend." Nice to meet you, Alan Moltz.
I'd met her once before, but that weekend was also the first time I'd see Leslie and Jonathan together. The first huddle I attended (with Jesse - apparently, it was bring your boyfriend to huddle day) was also the first time I met Sarah Bagley. I honestly don't remember the first time I met Gerald and Susie or Pam and Steve, but it wasn't long before the word got out that I was a keeper and I found myself spending Easter at the Guinn's or stopping by for a coke at the Jerkins. It should also be noted that on our honeymoon, Gerald (what's the most graceful word I can use)... Gerald gently hoisted Susie through the back window of our house so they could get in to feed Owens. That's what family does, I suppose.
I may not be able to come up with a more graceful word for "hoist," but certainly "family" fits and it's true to this day. Memphis wouldn't be home for us without family. And though it's expanding, I think it's safe to say that our Memphis family will always have strong Highland ties.
Before I met Jesse, I had spent a couple of months at Sycamore View because I'd had some friends from undergrad who were there. In fact, when I first met Jesse, I stayed out there for awhile longer because I didn't want to leave one place and then show up a month later and have to explain my absence. It didn't take long for me to change my mind and head over to Highland for good. It took even less time for me to be welcomed without reservation into a very big family.
The first time I met Buster was at the old duplex on Ellsworth after a Wednesday night when I was still at SVCC. It was cold and I had a hoodie on. It was dark, but he introduced himself and we chatted shortly before he left (it was cold). Buster told Jesse and Brooke the next day that he thought I looked like Nathan Shank. I think he's changed his mind since then.
I also remember the first time I went to Intermission. I was in the lobby before we left on Saturday morning and some guy I had never seen before walked up to me and said, "Hey. You seen that new intern girl? (Kyla Kiser) She's pretty cute. You should go talk to her." I responded, "Yeah. I actually think that Jesse girl is cute. She's my girlfriend." Nice to meet you, Alan Moltz.
I'd met her once before, but that weekend was also the first time I'd see Leslie and Jonathan together. The first huddle I attended (with Jesse - apparently, it was bring your boyfriend to huddle day) was also the first time I met Sarah Bagley. I honestly don't remember the first time I met Gerald and Susie or Pam and Steve, but it wasn't long before the word got out that I was a keeper and I found myself spending Easter at the Guinn's or stopping by for a coke at the Jerkins. It should also be noted that on our honeymoon, Gerald (what's the most graceful word I can use)... Gerald gently hoisted Susie through the back window of our house so they could get in to feed Owens. That's what family does, I suppose.
I may not be able to come up with a more graceful word for "hoist," but certainly "family" fits and it's true to this day. Memphis wouldn't be home for us without family. And though it's expanding, I think it's safe to say that our Memphis family will always have strong Highland ties.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Mastering Memphis, steps four and following
Keeping a blog is an interesting process. You choose to keep one and no one else really makes you. But, if you don't maintain it regularly, it can become a source of guilt, stress or frustration. Of course, if you do maintain it, the same can be true... all because of something you choose to do. Beyond that, you are choosing to publish words that other people read except, in most cases, you have no idea what they think about it.
Take my last post, for example. Not only did I use the antiquated phrase, "dear reader," I also thought it was clever to refer to Jesse as "said female" as if there were some kind of mystery about who she was. Sorry about that.
The truth is, it's difficult to fit Jesse into one moment or one step in the process of making Memphis home. That's because it wasn't just one step among others - it's been every step since the day I met her. Every step since that day has included her, in one way or another. From helping her walk Owens down Ellsworth on Sunday mornings to her helping me edit last minute bibliographies, I found a friend who quickly became God's richest blessing in my life. Jesse is technicolor to my black-and-white - my life would be so much less rich and full without her in it.
The first time I wrote nice things about Jesse on my blog, people thought I was proposing. This time, as then, I don't have a particular reason except that I'm in love and I want to express it publicly in words.
When I moved here, I didn't like it at all. The only people I saw every day were Biff and McFly and a perfect day included me being anywhere but Memphis. Now, the perfect day includes me being anywhere in Memphis with Jesse. I can't imagine life without her, and thankfully, I don't have to.
Take my last post, for example. Not only did I use the antiquated phrase, "dear reader," I also thought it was clever to refer to Jesse as "said female" as if there were some kind of mystery about who she was. Sorry about that.
The truth is, it's difficult to fit Jesse into one moment or one step in the process of making Memphis home. That's because it wasn't just one step among others - it's been every step since the day I met her. Every step since that day has included her, in one way or another. From helping her walk Owens down Ellsworth on Sunday mornings to her helping me edit last minute bibliographies, I found a friend who quickly became God's richest blessing in my life. Jesse is technicolor to my black-and-white - my life would be so much less rich and full without her in it.
The first time I wrote nice things about Jesse on my blog, people thought I was proposing. This time, as then, I don't have a particular reason except that I'm in love and I want to express it publicly in words.
When I moved here, I didn't like it at all. The only people I saw every day were Biff and McFly and a perfect day included me being anywhere but Memphis. Now, the perfect day includes me being anywhere in Memphis with Jesse. I can't imagine life without her, and thankfully, I don't have to.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Mastering Memphis, step four
Shortly after I arrived in Memphis, I (along with Biff, McFly and several others) was invited to a dinner at the apartment of HUGSR secretary/student, Amy Hagedorn. As the first person one saw when walking through the doors of the main building on campus, Amy was the hub of most HUGSR activities. She had taken it upon herself to host a dinner for the new and returning students who lived on campus. Since HUGSR is more masculine than The Situation's abs, it makes sense that she would invite at least one other female student. Said other female arrived late, in a t-shirt and jeans. She mistook Biff's name (the real one) as Bruce. I thought this was funny - he kinda looked like a Bruce. Said other female was funny and cute. Incredibly, she was in the minority of people in the apartment that night who actively watched and liked sports. Said female happened to be my teammate for the inevitable game of Trivial Pursuit and as far as anyone knows, we won (I'm pretty sure that the night ended before the game did). We won even though one of us knew that the start of every Kentucky Derby is heralded by "My Old Kentucky Home" but deferred to the other's insistent guess of the William Tell Overture. Said female was single.
Now, lest you, dear reader, decide that fate had provided but one choice, I should admit (to my shame) that said female was not the only female attracting my attention at that time. That may be too vague. It would have been much easier if said male was single. Clearer? Regardless, I wasn't, so this chance encounter began with the timeless and always ill-conceived manly attempt to be honorable during the overlapping end and beginning of relationships. It would be the first of many times where the present would seem much less shameful than time would show it to be. I bring this up for a reason: it gives me an opportunity to point out that said female has been gracious and forgiving to me from the beginning. Grace and forgiveness are things often required by me, being a man.
Too many details for this post took place over those early months. Auburn games, runs together, ironed t-shirts, Red Sox games, TiVo, rocking chairs, hoodies, city maps, who chased whom, Sunday morning dog walks... this is starting to look like a junior high yearbook, pages-long note. It didn't take long for said female to become the female. I like to say that said female was the first normal person I met in Memphis. In truth, that couldn't be farther from it. I'd never met (and still haven't) another human like her and I really liked her. So much so, that she's going to need at least two steps in this process of mastering Memphis... stay tuned.
Now, lest you, dear reader, decide that fate had provided but one choice, I should admit (to my shame) that said female was not the only female attracting my attention at that time. That may be too vague. It would have been much easier if said male was single. Clearer? Regardless, I wasn't, so this chance encounter began with the timeless and always ill-conceived manly attempt to be honorable during the overlapping end and beginning of relationships. It would be the first of many times where the present would seem much less shameful than time would show it to be. I bring this up for a reason: it gives me an opportunity to point out that said female has been gracious and forgiving to me from the beginning. Grace and forgiveness are things often required by me, being a man.
Too many details for this post took place over those early months. Auburn games, runs together, ironed t-shirts, Red Sox games, TiVo, rocking chairs, hoodies, city maps, who chased whom, Sunday morning dog walks... this is starting to look like a junior high yearbook, pages-long note. It didn't take long for said female to become the female. I like to say that said female was the first normal person I met in Memphis. In truth, that couldn't be farther from it. I'd never met (and still haven't) another human like her and I really liked her. So much so, that she's going to need at least two steps in this process of mastering Memphis... stay tuned.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Too Long for Twitter
"Thou, O Lord, canst transform my thorn into a flower. And I want my thorn transformed into a flower. Job got the sunshine after the rain, but has the rain been all waste? Job wants to know, I want to know, if the shower had nothing to do with the shining. And thou canst tell me - Thy Cross can tell me. Thou hast crowned Thy sorrow. Be this my crown, O Lord. I only triumph in Thee when I have learned the radiance of the rain."
- George Matheson.
"The fruitful life seeks showers as well as sunshine."
Wow. That is some good old-fashioned theology. As Dr. Fortner would say, "How can you have faith and not know... [this]?"
- George Matheson.
"The fruitful life seeks showers as well as sunshine."
Wow. That is some good old-fashioned theology. As Dr. Fortner would say, "How can you have faith and not know... [this]?"
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Too Long for Twitter
"A method of meditation or a form of contemplation that merely produces the illusion of having 'arrived somewhere,' of having achieved security and preserved one's familiar status by playing a part, will eventually have to be unlearned in dread [ie, an overwhelming sense of one's own unavoidable unholiness before a holy God] - or else we will be confirmed in the arrogance, in the unpenetrable self-assurance of the Pharisee. We will become impervious to the deepest truths. We will be closed to all who do not participate in our illusion. We will live 'good lives' that are basically inauthentic, 'good' only as long as they permit us to remain established in our respectable and impermeable identities. The 'goodness' of such lives depends on the security afforded by relative wealth, recreation, spiritual comfort, and a solid reputation for piety. Such 'goodness' is preserved by routine and the habitual avoidance of serious risk - indeed of serious challenge. In order to avoid apparent evil, this pseudo-goodness will ignore summons of genuine good. It will prefer routine duty to courage and creativity. In the end it will be content with established procedures and safe formulas, while turning a blind eye to the greatest enormities of injustice and uncharity."
-Thomas Merton, Contemplative Prayer
-Thomas Merton, Contemplative Prayer
Friday, May 28, 2010
Mastering Memphis, step three
Tomatoes and steak knives aside, I made/kept some really great friends during my time at HUGSR.
The farther removed I am from undergrad, the more I realize those years were a bit of a lost cause for me. I was a stupid college kid. The odds are I was much dumber in college than I was in high school. This makes sense to me. High school - trauma and all - is still a time of increasing competence. At least, it was for me.
I had been living in the same house since the first grade, same school friends since then, same church since forever, etc. That was my world, and by the time I was 18, it's fair to say I had figured out how to exist in a house on Creekside with my family, in a school called Berkner, on two soccer teams, in the school band, with the BRCC youth group, etc. That was my circle and I had explored it's outer limits and could move within it really well.
I think it might be fair to say that this is the case for most middle-class, suburban kids. I think it's probably also fair to say that these are the same kids who go to college and, like me, become complete idiots. I would argue that the average High School Senior is less of an idiot than the average college Freshman. Of course, it's the Senior's fault that the Freshman is such an idiot, the mistake being that the high school senior thinks he/she has THE world figured out, when in fact, he/she has only figured out THEIR world. Thus, when they move outside of "their world" and into a new one, they take with them this feeling of having it all figured it out, when they ought to be thinking that they are, once again, complete babes in the world.
At least, that's the mistake I made. I was a dumb freshman. I didn't know anything about the new world (tiny though it was) that enveloped in the mythical Harding bubble. Had I known better, I would have done a lot of things differently. I'll leave it at that. For the present, it's enough to say that I have lost or failed to maintain most of the relationships I made in college. A lot of this, I think, is natural. Distance and time have a lot to do with it - when you aren't eating with the same people every day, being made to stay in after 11pm with the same people every night, etc., you're naturally going to drift apart. I don't really regret this about my college years as much as I have tried to learn from it.
At one point or another, we all must learn that it takes a strong bond to overcome the separation of time and distance that comes with the increasing speed of life, regardless of where or during what period of life that friendship was made. This is what I learned from my time in Searcy and I've tried to apply it to my time in Memphis. Thankfully, I had some friends who transitioned with me.
To the big three: Bob, Bobby, and Greg - thank you. Brother Bob, you're welcome for the use of the shower on the days you biked to school. Thanks for being the best conversationalist I know and for volunteering to stick around in the library so we can have instant access to the next big idea or great book. Bobby, blessings in Africa. For the two Bobs, here's to good food. Greg, we took the most classes together and I always appreciated your critical perspectives. I wasn't often thinking ahead to where you were, but you were generous in helping me see that the road was there. I also really appreciate you laughing when I told Dr. Powell that Jesus was my favorite early church history figure on the first day of class of our first class ever at HUGSR.
To Robert Meyer, Dorn Muscar (ping pong champion and co-creator of HUGSR Home Run Derby), Heath Amos (#1 Star Wars fan), Jeremy Garman (snores louder than me), Mac Sandlin, Justin McCreary (dry wit connoiseur, Stella-watcher), Amy Hagedorn (matchmaker), and anyone else who ever dined with us at New Hong Kong - thanks for making life in the cave bearable. To the Maccabees, you know who you are.
I suppose there is a risk in naming names. There's a good chance I forgot someone, but there's a better chance that whoever I forgot doesn't read this blog. The point is, by the time I arrived in Memphis, I had made enough mistakes to know that the relationships I forged in Memphis or brought with me from Searcy ought to be pursued with intention and cherished. They would be a part of my spiritual community for as long as I was here. I'm still here and I haven't forgotten. So, to my HUGSR friends, may the bond of Christ supercede whatever distance or time may come between us. Thank you, and if you're ever interested, I think Yi Bao still remembers my order.
The farther removed I am from undergrad, the more I realize those years were a bit of a lost cause for me. I was a stupid college kid. The odds are I was much dumber in college than I was in high school. This makes sense to me. High school - trauma and all - is still a time of increasing competence. At least, it was for me.
I had been living in the same house since the first grade, same school friends since then, same church since forever, etc. That was my world, and by the time I was 18, it's fair to say I had figured out how to exist in a house on Creekside with my family, in a school called Berkner, on two soccer teams, in the school band, with the BRCC youth group, etc. That was my circle and I had explored it's outer limits and could move within it really well.
I think it might be fair to say that this is the case for most middle-class, suburban kids. I think it's probably also fair to say that these are the same kids who go to college and, like me, become complete idiots. I would argue that the average High School Senior is less of an idiot than the average college Freshman. Of course, it's the Senior's fault that the Freshman is such an idiot, the mistake being that the high school senior thinks he/she has THE world figured out, when in fact, he/she has only figured out THEIR world. Thus, when they move outside of "their world" and into a new one, they take with them this feeling of having it all figured it out, when they ought to be thinking that they are, once again, complete babes in the world.
At least, that's the mistake I made. I was a dumb freshman. I didn't know anything about the new world (tiny though it was) that enveloped in the mythical Harding bubble. Had I known better, I would have done a lot of things differently. I'll leave it at that. For the present, it's enough to say that I have lost or failed to maintain most of the relationships I made in college. A lot of this, I think, is natural. Distance and time have a lot to do with it - when you aren't eating with the same people every day, being made to stay in after 11pm with the same people every night, etc., you're naturally going to drift apart. I don't really regret this about my college years as much as I have tried to learn from it.
At one point or another, we all must learn that it takes a strong bond to overcome the separation of time and distance that comes with the increasing speed of life, regardless of where or during what period of life that friendship was made. This is what I learned from my time in Searcy and I've tried to apply it to my time in Memphis. Thankfully, I had some friends who transitioned with me.
To the big three: Bob, Bobby, and Greg - thank you. Brother Bob, you're welcome for the use of the shower on the days you biked to school. Thanks for being the best conversationalist I know and for volunteering to stick around in the library so we can have instant access to the next big idea or great book. Bobby, blessings in Africa. For the two Bobs, here's to good food. Greg, we took the most classes together and I always appreciated your critical perspectives. I wasn't often thinking ahead to where you were, but you were generous in helping me see that the road was there. I also really appreciate you laughing when I told Dr. Powell that Jesus was my favorite early church history figure on the first day of class of our first class ever at HUGSR.
To Robert Meyer, Dorn Muscar (ping pong champion and co-creator of HUGSR Home Run Derby), Heath Amos (#1 Star Wars fan), Jeremy Garman (snores louder than me), Mac Sandlin, Justin McCreary (dry wit connoiseur, Stella-watcher), Amy Hagedorn (matchmaker), and anyone else who ever dined with us at New Hong Kong - thanks for making life in the cave bearable. To the Maccabees, you know who you are.
I suppose there is a risk in naming names. There's a good chance I forgot someone, but there's a better chance that whoever I forgot doesn't read this blog. The point is, by the time I arrived in Memphis, I had made enough mistakes to know that the relationships I forged in Memphis or brought with me from Searcy ought to be pursued with intention and cherished. They would be a part of my spiritual community for as long as I was here. I'm still here and I haven't forgotten. So, to my HUGSR friends, may the bond of Christ supercede whatever distance or time may come between us. Thank you, and if you're ever interested, I think Yi Bao still remembers my order.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Mastering Memphis, step two
The bubble did extend to Memphis. To be fair, though, not to all of Memphis, just part (the part I was in). And, to be honest, it was in me as well. Based on everything I have learned and experienced here in Memphis - and I hope based on who I am now - I can see that the person I was when I came suffered unknowingly from a few deficiencies. I've dealt with those and I'll cover them here, but first, I had/have to deal with the more pressing early obstacles (for lack of a better term) in my first few years in Memphis: Biff and McFly.
My first exposure to this oddest of odd couples was during the summer before my move to Memphis. I had been given a number whereby I could speak with Biff about our living arrangements, as Biff and McFly were already living in the apartment we would share. The conversation was short, but I remember distinctly asking Biff if there was room for a couch that I wanted to bring. Biff's reply was confusing. "No," he said, "I have a weight bench."
When it was all over, I would have two years worth of stories and encounters like this. As they occured, I would literally have at least one per day. I've forgotten many of them, but there are a few that remain firmly lodged in my memory.
I remember my first few weeks in Memphis vividly. After moving my stuff to the second bedroom in our two-story town home apartment, my parents and I stuck around to meet my new roommates, the aforementioned Biff and McFly. I call them that because Biff actually looked a lot like Biff. McFly was shorter and more animated and the two of them shared a room and spent a lot of time together, so it just makes sense. We stayed for about an hour getting to know B&M before leaving for dinner. I remember my dad telling me later, "I don't think you should believe everything [Biff] tells you." In the weeks before school, I wouldn't. In fact, I didn't stick around long enough to hear a word. Every morning, I would wake up early, eat breakfast, and leave the house. I'd come home for dinner and retire to my room. In between, I drove around Memphis, trying to figure out where things were located. At least, that's what I told people. The truth is, B&M were spending their free time (read: ALL day) playing a Dungeons & Dragons-type video game on the living room (read: only place to sit besides bedroom) TV (read: only one in the apartment/mine) and I wasn't interested in watching someone else play for 12 hour blocks at a time. This went on for two weeks. Wake up, drive around aimlessly, avoid eye contact, repeat.
The night before classes began, there was a meet and greet for new students. I was sitting at a table with B&M when someone asked what they had done in the weeks off between summer classes and the fall semester. I answered for them, that their time had been spent primarily playing video games. Out of nowhere, McFly snapped in my direction, "Take it down, Nick. Take. It. Down." Sparing the details (there is a convoluted and totall ridiculous explanation), I quickly learned that avoidance would be my best tactic with B&M. As an aside, it was an almost daily routine for McFly to pull out a knife from the steak knife set he kept in the kitchen and loudly proclaim that if he ever got into a bar fight, he would come back to the apartment and get a knife then go back and stab someone.
One other story begs retelling. Later that fall, I returned to the apartment and walked quickly upstairs. I passed the bathroom and noticed that five whole tomatoes were resting on the floor, each one crushed and slowly oozing juice out on the floor. The floor was their final resting place, but not the only place they had been. Five matching streaks of tomato juice stained the far wall of the bathroom, leaving an easy trail to follow. I turned 180 degrees and risked a glance into the room of Biff and McFly.
"Hey, Biff? There's tomatoes in the bathroom."
"Yeah, there are."
"Um, do you know why there are tomatoes in the bathroom?"
"Yes."
(waiting)
"Biff, would you care to explain?"
"Well, McFly was singing in the shower."
"And...?"
"I didn't like it."
"I don't follow."
"Well, I told him that if he didn't stop singing, I would throw tomatoes at him."
"Uh huh. And I take he didn't stop."
"That's right."
"Are you going to clean that up?"
"Maybe later."
There are those who suggested that I married Jesse just so I wouldn't have to live in that apartment anymore. There are those who told me when I arrived that they had specifically prayed for whoever would be sharing an apartment with B&M. I say that now I have some really great stories to tell. It was rarely easy and frequently awkward, but it's a part of my story in Memphis. It wouldn't be right to just take it down.
My first exposure to this oddest of odd couples was during the summer before my move to Memphis. I had been given a number whereby I could speak with Biff about our living arrangements, as Biff and McFly were already living in the apartment we would share. The conversation was short, but I remember distinctly asking Biff if there was room for a couch that I wanted to bring. Biff's reply was confusing. "No," he said, "I have a weight bench."
When it was all over, I would have two years worth of stories and encounters like this. As they occured, I would literally have at least one per day. I've forgotten many of them, but there are a few that remain firmly lodged in my memory.
I remember my first few weeks in Memphis vividly. After moving my stuff to the second bedroom in our two-story town home apartment, my parents and I stuck around to meet my new roommates, the aforementioned Biff and McFly. I call them that because Biff actually looked a lot like Biff. McFly was shorter and more animated and the two of them shared a room and spent a lot of time together, so it just makes sense. We stayed for about an hour getting to know B&M before leaving for dinner. I remember my dad telling me later, "I don't think you should believe everything [Biff] tells you." In the weeks before school, I wouldn't. In fact, I didn't stick around long enough to hear a word. Every morning, I would wake up early, eat breakfast, and leave the house. I'd come home for dinner and retire to my room. In between, I drove around Memphis, trying to figure out where things were located. At least, that's what I told people. The truth is, B&M were spending their free time (read: ALL day) playing a Dungeons & Dragons-type video game on the living room (read: only place to sit besides bedroom) TV (read: only one in the apartment/mine) and I wasn't interested in watching someone else play for 12 hour blocks at a time. This went on for two weeks. Wake up, drive around aimlessly, avoid eye contact, repeat.
The night before classes began, there was a meet and greet for new students. I was sitting at a table with B&M when someone asked what they had done in the weeks off between summer classes and the fall semester. I answered for them, that their time had been spent primarily playing video games. Out of nowhere, McFly snapped in my direction, "Take it down, Nick. Take. It. Down." Sparing the details (there is a convoluted and totall ridiculous explanation), I quickly learned that avoidance would be my best tactic with B&M. As an aside, it was an almost daily routine for McFly to pull out a knife from the steak knife set he kept in the kitchen and loudly proclaim that if he ever got into a bar fight, he would come back to the apartment and get a knife then go back and stab someone.
One other story begs retelling. Later that fall, I returned to the apartment and walked quickly upstairs. I passed the bathroom and noticed that five whole tomatoes were resting on the floor, each one crushed and slowly oozing juice out on the floor. The floor was their final resting place, but not the only place they had been. Five matching streaks of tomato juice stained the far wall of the bathroom, leaving an easy trail to follow. I turned 180 degrees and risked a glance into the room of Biff and McFly.
"Hey, Biff? There's tomatoes in the bathroom."
"Yeah, there are."
"Um, do you know why there are tomatoes in the bathroom?"
"Yes."
(waiting)
"Biff, would you care to explain?"
"Well, McFly was singing in the shower."
"And...?"
"I didn't like it."
"I don't follow."
"Well, I told him that if he didn't stop singing, I would throw tomatoes at him."
"Uh huh. And I take he didn't stop."
"That's right."
"Are you going to clean that up?"
"Maybe later."
There are those who suggested that I married Jesse just so I wouldn't have to live in that apartment anymore. There are those who told me when I arrived that they had specifically prayed for whoever would be sharing an apartment with B&M. I say that now I have some really great stories to tell. It was rarely easy and frequently awkward, but it's a part of my story in Memphis. It wouldn't be right to just take it down.
Friday, May 21, 2010
new names
I've decided to go with something simple. Nerd confession: I keep three blogs on blogger. One is a private journal, which I have renamed meditatio. Another is also a private blog for more literary endeavors, which I have renamed oratio. And, the third is this one, which is now titled contemplatio. I've named my blogs after latin phrases commonly used to represent fundamental principles of the contemplative life. This fits with a personal goal of mine to become a more contemplative person in an effort to simplify my life in this world and to deepen my life in the Spirit. Now that I've graduated, I'm trying to focus myself even more on growing my heart in God. I feel as though my mind has gotten a head start (oh, that's a pun - unintentional) and I'd like my heart to catch up and perhaps even take the lead from here on. So, there you go. I recently deleted all but two of the games on my iphone (I left the two I never really want to play but might if I were stuck in an airport) and I've renamed my blogs. Lame, but it's a start.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
name change
Now taking suggestions for a new title for the blog. Chad Billy-Steve Pknicholson doesn't even make sense to me anymore, even though I know what it means....
Until then, it's a shout out to Arrested Development.
Until then, it's a shout out to Arrested Development.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Mastering Memphis, step one
Not all people are wired the same way. Some people play video games because they love the challenge. They only play their games on the most difficult setting. They like having three lives to challenge 1 billion immortal zombies, or they like it when the QB throws a pick on their own 20 with 30 seconds left in the fourth when they're up by three.
I don't get those people. I prefer utter domination. I play the game on the easiest setting first and wait until I'm winning football games 250 - 0 to advance to the next level (250 because the game stops counting points at that number). I prefer mastery.
Knowing this about me, you would think that I'd be pretty excited to have graduated last Saturday with my masters. You'd be right. Officially, I have letters after my name. Unofficially, Masters of Divinity has to be in the running for most egregious misnomer in history. Still, I've got the paper and the library to show for it, so there's that.
Graduations are by nature both ultimate and penultimate experiences. They are pivotal moments, the last step of one journey and the start of another, one apex before the next. Since this one, right now, feels more like a last step than a first one, I thought I would take a few posts to look back at the steps that got me here...
Most college seniors spend their last spring break, well, reinforcing the stereotype of last spring breaks. I spent mine with my dad. We took the week to travel to Pasadena and Chicago to visit Fuller Theological and Trinity seminaries, respectively. The weather in California was fantastic. The cost of living? Not as much. It snowed in Chicago. I had a great time with Dad, but the trip didn't give me much clarity about what to do. My main goal was to get outside of the normal CofC stream and expose myself to new ideas and challenge the ones that had become my own. When I got back to Searcy, I decided to talk to a few professors to see what direction they could provide. Dr. Ken Neller helped me understand more about the language of seminary and how to make distinctions between what each school was telling me about what they taught. Dr. Fortner told me, quite simply, that if I wanted to read as many different ideas as possible I should go to HUGSR in Memphis. He told me that I wouldn't necessarily find a broader perspective at the schools where I was looking than what I would get in Memphis. Dr. Monte Cox, a Trinity alum, told me the same thing. I was skeptical but trusted their advice and experience over mine.
In a few weeks, I had applied, gotten accepted, and had received a very nice scholarship offer that included working as a graduate assistant for Dr. Allen Black. All those spring breaks spent at less than tropical climates had literally paid off. After a brief period of deliberation, I accepted the offer. I would join my friends, Bob, Bobby, and Greg (admit it, you were thinking Robert) in the fall at Harding University Graduate School of Religion. I would live on campus. I would work as a GA. And I would pray that Memphis proved to be well outside of the Harding bubble.
I don't get those people. I prefer utter domination. I play the game on the easiest setting first and wait until I'm winning football games 250 - 0 to advance to the next level (250 because the game stops counting points at that number). I prefer mastery.
Knowing this about me, you would think that I'd be pretty excited to have graduated last Saturday with my masters. You'd be right. Officially, I have letters after my name. Unofficially, Masters of Divinity has to be in the running for most egregious misnomer in history. Still, I've got the paper and the library to show for it, so there's that.
Graduations are by nature both ultimate and penultimate experiences. They are pivotal moments, the last step of one journey and the start of another, one apex before the next. Since this one, right now, feels more like a last step than a first one, I thought I would take a few posts to look back at the steps that got me here...
Most college seniors spend their last spring break, well, reinforcing the stereotype of last spring breaks. I spent mine with my dad. We took the week to travel to Pasadena and Chicago to visit Fuller Theological and Trinity seminaries, respectively. The weather in California was fantastic. The cost of living? Not as much. It snowed in Chicago. I had a great time with Dad, but the trip didn't give me much clarity about what to do. My main goal was to get outside of the normal CofC stream and expose myself to new ideas and challenge the ones that had become my own. When I got back to Searcy, I decided to talk to a few professors to see what direction they could provide. Dr. Ken Neller helped me understand more about the language of seminary and how to make distinctions between what each school was telling me about what they taught. Dr. Fortner told me, quite simply, that if I wanted to read as many different ideas as possible I should go to HUGSR in Memphis. He told me that I wouldn't necessarily find a broader perspective at the schools where I was looking than what I would get in Memphis. Dr. Monte Cox, a Trinity alum, told me the same thing. I was skeptical but trusted their advice and experience over mine.
In a few weeks, I had applied, gotten accepted, and had received a very nice scholarship offer that included working as a graduate assistant for Dr. Allen Black. All those spring breaks spent at less than tropical climates had literally paid off. After a brief period of deliberation, I accepted the offer. I would join my friends, Bob, Bobby, and Greg (admit it, you were thinking Robert) in the fall at Harding University Graduate School of Religion. I would live on campus. I would work as a GA. And I would pray that Memphis proved to be well outside of the Harding bubble.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
A 1000 Words or Less
I would have done the same thing. Really. I get it. I mean, if you had the choice between eating a donut and holding a baby, you drop the baby, right?
So when Sophie dropped her "baby" on the floor at Gibson's, no one got mad. We all understood the hierarchy. Chocolate donut, then everything else. The only thing I can disagree with is that I would have gone with the glazed.
The tables are a tight fit at Gibson's. Maybe it's a subtle reminder not to overeat? Regardless, it was tough to reach the scorned baby lying hopelessly on the floor in a puddle of glaze and sprinkles. The best we could do was have Jesse pick it up with her feet and swing them in my direction so I could grab the baby.
Holding the baby, I glanced at Sophie. She looked at the last bit of chocolate donut in her hands, made a feeble attempt to lick off her still-shiny chocolate lip gloss and reached half-heartedly for the baby.
"How about if I hold the baby until you finish?" I offered.
"Mrmshmshrehad," she mumbled in reply and returned to the donut.
Momentary distraction aside, Josh and Brooke and Jesse and I returned to the conversation at hand. Until we all realized how funny it was that I was holding a baby.
And so, for your pleasure, the following picture was taken:
So when Sophie dropped her "baby" on the floor at Gibson's, no one got mad. We all understood the hierarchy. Chocolate donut, then everything else. The only thing I can disagree with is that I would have gone with the glazed.
The tables are a tight fit at Gibson's. Maybe it's a subtle reminder not to overeat? Regardless, it was tough to reach the scorned baby lying hopelessly on the floor in a puddle of glaze and sprinkles. The best we could do was have Jesse pick it up with her feet and swing them in my direction so I could grab the baby.
Holding the baby, I glanced at Sophie. She looked at the last bit of chocolate donut in her hands, made a feeble attempt to lick off her still-shiny chocolate lip gloss and reached half-heartedly for the baby.
"How about if I hold the baby until you finish?" I offered.
"Mrmshmshrehad," she mumbled in reply and returned to the donut.
Momentary distraction aside, Josh and Brooke and Jesse and I returned to the conversation at hand. Until we all realized how funny it was that I was holding a baby.
And so, for your pleasure, the following picture was taken:
Friday, October 23, 2009
Last Day
I started blogging about anger because I couldn't think of anything else to write about and it's my constant companion at work. It seemed prudent to write out my thoughts on this strange and powerful emotion. As I was attempting to map out my feelings about the feeling, I really wasn't looking much for feedback as much as finding my way to a conclusion on the matter.
Well, I should have known better if iii was involved. iii is a good friend and blog associate and impulsive commenter! He also turned out to be a good dia-blog-er on the matter. His perspective has given me a lot to think about and has changed my thoughts on anger. But not so fast my friend! Before iii starts claiming total victory, I still think anger never helps. I just think I need to tweak that thought.
Put simply, I think there is one important distinction that gives me a way out. That distinction is the one between feeling and expression. If we allow a distinction between the feeling of anger and the expression of it, then we can both be right.
The feeling of anger might sometimes help. Anger at acts of injustice or unrighteousness may provide the impulse needed to act justly or pursue righteousness. However, the expression of anger, I still maintain never helps. I'm going to hold to the ideal on that point. I can't see a reason, in terms of practicality, healthiness, or spirituality, that would render the expression of anger helpful. Thoughts? Anyone? iii?
Well, I should have known better if iii was involved. iii is a good friend and blog associate and impulsive commenter! He also turned out to be a good dia-blog-er on the matter. His perspective has given me a lot to think about and has changed my thoughts on anger. But not so fast my friend! Before iii starts claiming total victory, I still think anger never helps. I just think I need to tweak that thought.
Put simply, I think there is one important distinction that gives me a way out. That distinction is the one between feeling and expression. If we allow a distinction between the feeling of anger and the expression of it, then we can both be right.
The feeling of anger might sometimes help. Anger at acts of injustice or unrighteousness may provide the impulse needed to act justly or pursue righteousness. However, the expression of anger, I still maintain never helps. I'm going to hold to the ideal on that point. I can't see a reason, in terms of practicality, healthiness, or spirituality, that would render the expression of anger helpful. Thoughts? Anyone? iii?
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
All creatures great and small (poop)
Today was the big in-home visit for our international adoption home study. Yay. It was kind of an anxiety-producing event. It's not everyday that you have someone coming into your home to approve or deny your home's suitability for a child. It's strange to think about child-proofing a house for a child that we know very, very little about. It seems like something most parents probably do at the end of the process. I know I would have. We'd have the crib, the colors, the blankies, the toys, the clothes, the bottles, be walking out the door to the hospital and then think, um, hope the little kid doesn't want to stick its fingers in a socket, because we don't have socket covers. Not so now! Right now, I hope the kid doesn't want any of that other stuff, but if the child wants to stick its finger in a socket, we've got those covered!
So, obviously, we're busy last night double-checking every little detail. Fire extinguishers, check. Carbon Monoxide detector, check. Knives and fireworks, um...
Just kidding. I don't have any of those.
Anyway, one of the things we do have now is a new rug. Check out Mrs. Bailey's blog for pictures. It looks great; I like it. I like it more than the semicolon use in the previous sentence. It gives a nice fresh feel to our main living area, and out of all the things that needed thorough cleaning last night, it wasn't one of them. Which is good because we're double-checking and double-cleaning everything else.
And then, we wake up. Early for Mrs. Bailey, usual time for me. I take the dog running so he'll be super-tired and less jumpy when the case worker arrives. I clean up and begin the wonderful process that all morning people go through: waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. About that time, Owens gets a little anxious.
And by anxious, I mean t
hrow up. On the brand new rug. That we hadn't had to worry about cleaning. Because it was brand new. And did I mention it was brand new. At the time, I didn't have the clarity of mind to see it for the sweet gesture it really was. At the time, I politely said, "Really? Are you kidding me?" and let him go outside. But now? Now I think it was such a sweet thing for him to do. Clearly, Owens understood the significance of this morning's visit and clearly he could sense our anxiety. That was clear. Like, 6 paper towels and 15 squirts of Febreeze clear.
Clearly, he just wanted to remind us that we have nothing to worry about. Adding a child to our family will just mean one more member of our house that needs help and makes noise when it wants to poop at 3 in the morning (that'll make 5 of us). It'll mean just one more member of our house that whines when it wants to be fed (that'll make 4 of us). And just one more member of our house that throws up at the worst possible times (just 3 this time). Thanks for the reminder, O. Next time, a card will do.
So, obviously, we're busy last night double-checking every little detail. Fire extinguishers, check. Carbon Monoxide detector, check. Knives and fireworks, um...
Just kidding. I don't have any of those.
Anyway, one of the things we do have now is a new rug. Check out Mrs. Bailey's blog for pictures. It looks great; I like it. I like it more than the semicolon use in the previous sentence. It gives a nice fresh feel to our main living area, and out of all the things that needed thorough cleaning last night, it wasn't one of them. Which is good because we're double-checking and double-cleaning everything else.
And then, we wake up. Early for Mrs. Bailey, usual time for me. I take the dog running so he'll be super-tired and less jumpy when the case worker arrives. I clean up and begin the wonderful process that all morning people go through: waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. About that time, Owens gets a little anxious.
And by anxious, I mean t
hrow up. On the brand new rug. That we hadn't had to worry about cleaning. Because it was brand new. And did I mention it was brand new. At the time, I didn't have the clarity of mind to see it for the sweet gesture it really was. At the time, I politely said, "Really? Are you kidding me?" and let him go outside. But now? Now I think it was such a sweet thing for him to do. Clearly, Owens understood the significance of this morning's visit and clearly he could sense our anxiety. That was clear. Like, 6 paper towels and 15 squirts of Febreeze clear.Clearly, he just wanted to remind us that we have nothing to worry about. Adding a child to our family will just mean one more member of our house that needs help and makes noise when it wants to poop at 3 in the morning (that'll make 5 of us). It'll mean just one more member of our house that whines when it wants to be fed (that'll make 4 of us). And just one more member of our house that throws up at the worst possible times (just 3 this time). Thanks for the reminder, O. Next time, a card will do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)