Haystacks by Monet

I love the rhythms of life, instituted by God for our sanity, memory, and bearings. Tides, lunar cycles, seasons, comets, birth and old age, festivals, harvests, weeks and years. Jesus, you have been good to us in 2006, we thank you for your mercy, grace, and love lavished on us without restraint. Thank you for the beauties large and small that have filled our hearts and senses. Enlarge our capacity to love and trust you. Teach us how to share your love.

Spotlight on Excellence: The Brown Coffee Co.

"Nothing is more powerful than beauty in a wicked world." - Amos Lee

When things are done with excellence, whether designing buildings, digging ditches, or roasting coffee; we enter into the realm of the sacred. Because we worship and are to reflect God, who does all things to perfection, it is our privelege to join Him in the pursuit of perfection. We will never achieve it here on earth, or possibly ever, but that knowledge, in some strange way, actually sets us free to pursue it that much harder, with giddy delight, free as children. I think of my son grunting and exerting with all his might as he "helps" me move a heavy object, delighted to be helping me, and me, my heart bursting with pride and love for my son, the hard worker. And so it is with us, our hearts full of God's love, seeking to bring little reflections of His light and love into the world through excellence. Because we live in a world that is full of mediocrity, and ourselves feel the pull of the siren song, "good enough", I believe we must shout aloud and champion the excellence that we do run across. With all the energy and vehemence usually reserved for protesting the shoddy, unjust and subpar, we who have tasted the eminent must cry out. This crying out starts with our very relationship with God and continues on down the line from transcendant art to exceptional service and yes to something as insignifigant as coffee. Now I want to make it clear that I am not trying to pull some cheap trick that devalues God by tying him to a product. However, I believe that when Jesus came to earth and humbled himself, "taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness", he elevated all of life. Jesus, who has given dignity and honor to shepherds, fishermen, and carpenters, has elevated every vocation to the realm of the sacred when they are done with excellence and as a gift for Him.

Having said that I would like to shout aloud that I have for the past seven months been drinking some of the finest coffee ever to wash down my thirsty gullet. But before I talk about the coffee, a bit of context is necessary to shed light on where I am coming from. I first started drinking coffee when I was fourteen in an attempt to be more like my grandfather. He was an incredible man worthy of imitation, always working on a cup somewhere, and when you hugged him you were enveloped in the wonderful aroma of coffee that surrounded him. So despite the horrific taste of coffee in those early years, I kept at it convinced that somehow in some small way it would make me more like him. Over the past twenty years I have evolved from a ton of cream and sugar in a styrofoam cup guy to a black and bitter in a styrofoam cup guy to a ritualistic black and bitter in very special mug with the occasional luxurious trip to Starbucks sort of guy. Then in June I met Aaron Blanco who supplies our church with coffee on Sunday mornings. That first cup didn't do much for me as I was conditioned to equate bitterness and a heavy roast with quality, however my wife went nuts over the coffee and week after week kept raving about how good it was. So we bought a pound from Aaron and let's just say, I haven't been the same since. He has ruined me. The amount of water that I must now drink to offset the enormous amounts of caffeine that I ingest is staggering and umm...inconvenient. As usual I went overboard, became a total coffee lush and am now seeking some form of balance in my day to day life.

Aaron Blanco recently celebrated the one year anniversary of The Brown Coffee Company that he owns and runs. I've said in these pages before that I love over the top people, those who go the extra mile, who go way beyond what would be acceptable or "good enough". Aaron is one of those people. After working his way up through Starbucks, he turned down a job as District Manager because it would have "taken [him] too far away from the coffee." So instead he went out on a limb and started his own coffee company. Aaron loves coffee, the entire process from the farm to the cup. He keeps an incredibly interesting and wide ranging blog about all things coffee that I have linked on the sidebar of this page. He recently organized and ran the Texas Barista Jam, a meeting of some of the finest coffee minds in Texas and is currently organizing a trip next month to the farm in Guatemala where they grow my favorite coffee, Guatemala Huehuetenango, Finca Vista Hermosa.

Earlier this month, Aaron invited me over to his house for a coffee tasting, called cupping, where we pitted four of the world's finest coffee's against two of his. It was gourmand heaven for this newbie to the world of exceptional coffees. One of the coffees we tried sells for 30 dollars a pound! Coffee cupping as they call it is an unusual way to experience the essence of what a coffee is all about. It is the process the buyer for a coffee company goes through as he pits various coffee beans against each other to determine their worth. Rather than going into a detailed explanation I will give you the laymans' version now and post photos along with an interview some time next month. Hot water is poured into small cups directly over the ground coffee where it sits for four minutes and develops a crust. You break the crust with a spoon while your nose is as close to the cup as possible and inhale the "essence" of the coffee in it's rawest form. This essence contains smells ranging from chocolate to tomatoes, strawberries, and cinnamon. I now believe those stuffy wine guys, you really can taste and smell some of these things. After inhaling the essence, you taste the coffee by sucking a spoonful into your mouth. The goal is to take it in with such force that it becomes a fine mist and coats the back of your throat with coffee. I never really got this part down despite my best efforts. As you are doing all of this you are taking down copious notes detailing everything from acidity, to flavor, fragrance and aftertaste. Then you score everything on a pretty simple scale in six categories and voila, you have a winner. Despite talking very little, Aaron and I both discovered many of the same flavors and scored five out of the six coffees very close. The coffees from the Brown Coffee Company going head to head against four of the best coffees in the world scored 3rd and 5th on my sheet. And no, I won't say who scored first because I'm partial to Brown, although just to show you what a standup guy Aaron is, he freely praises all four of the other coffee companies on his blog. Aaron believes in roasting the beans very lightly to allow all the complexities and flavors of the bean to come through. You can actually suppress and overpower the bean by roasting it too long, but that is how the majority of the coffee we drink in America is roasted. Because of his light touch in the roasting process, Brown's coffee is unusually clean, more sweet than bitter, and doesn't leave you with an aftertaste that has you scrambling for the breath mints. I want to honor Aaron for his pursuit of perfection. I hope you will give his coffee a try and come back here to post a review.

The Brown Coffee Company can be found online at www.browncoffeeco.com

Christmas in Baghdad

(I received this e-mail from my buddy Scott the other day and am reprinting it with his permission. I met Scott and his wife Gina at our church in San Antonio while Scott was attending physical therapy school. A former tank commander, Scott always felt uneasy about attending school far from the action while his fomer tankmates were in harm's way. Despite having two young girls, one born just this summer, Scott was eager to do his part. Scott's selflessness and optimism are wonderful to be around. This Christmas let's remember Scott, his wife Gina and their two little girls in our prayers as well as the hundreds of thousands of families just like theirs.)

Merry Christmas!

It's hard to believe that I've been away from home for more than four months already. I have experienced a great number of things that I could probably never see at home. Some of these experiences, I could do without. Others have been amazing. Through the whole time, my wife has been fantastic. I cannot imagine a finer woman with whom to share this time. She has constantly kept me aware of the things that are happening with our girls. She sends daily reminders of my family by email and with her numerous care packages. And I get to live vicariously through the adventures of Flat Daddy. For those who don't know of Flat Daddy, check out the website that Gina has been keeping: http://web.mac.com/carow2n/iWeb/Site

I have been overwhelmed by the generosity of American people this Christmas. This month I have received packages and Christmas cards from strangers almost on a daily basis. Of course, I have received much from friends and family as well, but it is great to know that there are people at home who appreciate what we're doing here.

So, what are we doing? I have found myself traveling a lot more than I ever thought I would. I am the physical therapist serving a brigade, which consists of about 3500 of the finest Soldiers in the Army. They are spread across a fairly large area Southwest of Baghdad. I travel on a weekly basis to see our guys who are located at different Forward Operating Bases. I have really enjoyed getting out and seeing different people and places here. The main thing I notice when we drive around our area is that there are children playing outside everywhere. For the most part, they have nothing to play with, but they are always playing. Inevitably, this reminds me of my own children who are playing without me these days. Lexi says we are here because there are little girls in Iraq who aren't allowed to be happy. Unfortunately, there is a little more to it than that, but seeing these children has made me realize that these kids deserve a chance to experience freedom and to pursue their dreams just like my kids do.

We had church this morning and it was great. It was a nice break from our routine which has been pretty busy lately. It was also a good time to reflect on the true meaning of Christmas. As I find myself far from home this Christmas, I still have much to be thankful for. I am thankful for an opportunity to serve our country, especially in this time of conflict. I am thankful for my beautiful wife and daughters. Mostly, I am thankful for a baby in a manger, and I am thankful that the same God who I trust in Iraq is watching my family at home.

There are brave Soldiers putting their lives at risk every day over here. In return, we only ask for your prayers for our safety. Have a Merry Christmas and a blessed New Year.

sdc

West Texas

Went out to west Texas this week to do a little work. It is a beautiful part of the state, full of lonely highways, rugged mountains and flat deserts. The people are both tough and friendly. I love it. This picture was taken at our work site off of Highway 17 halfway between Pecos and Balmorhea. Shortly after I took it, a coyote peeked out from behind that little mound of dirt in the foreground and then ran off to the west.

Statistical Daydream

My thoughts about Heaven fall primarily into one of two categories, transcendant moments of inspiration that leave me panting with anticipation and escapist flights of fancy that are utterly worthless beyond their ability to entertain me for hours. One such recurring daydream revolves around a tiny book that I would like to receive upon my arrival. I would love to be handed a book outlining all my personal records, a Guinness Book of Jeremy's Achievements. Not because I'm narcistic, but because I am fascinated with statistics, and anything that can be quantified, measured or compared. My brother Jared and I once kept a notebook filled with hole by hole stats on our weekly trips to Lava Links, the local putt putt course near our dorm in Minnesota. I am thankful that I have only known about Excel Spreadsheets for the past four years, rather than my whole life, as it has helped limit the damage. Seriously, give me an Excel Spreadsheet and any form of data and I turn into Rainman. My apologies to anyone negatively affected by my quest for stats.
So, back to the topic at hand, there are things I want to know about human life in general and my life in specific that I think you would also enjoy finding out about yourself. For example, in the category of Food, wouldn't it be interesting to see how many pounds of meat you have consumed in your life and then compare it side by side with people from other countries, decades, and milleniums?

So here are but a few of the categories of interest:

Sports

• Lifetime batting average (every time you have ever swung a bat at a ball)
• Lifetime shooting percentage (every time you have ever tossed a ball towards a hoop or a piece of paper at a waste basket.
• How many miles you have swum / biked / run / walked and how far that would take you. Example; you swam 40 miles total in your life, enough to swim the Strait of Dover and back.
• Total vertical gain while hiking

Food

• A pie chart showing what percentage each food group represented in your total intake
• How many gallons of water consumed, single day record, weekly record, monthly record, etc..
• What was the longest you went without food
• What food did you eat the most of.

Misc.

• What song did you listen to the most times in your life
• What were the top 10 words you used in your life (non articles and prepositions)
• How many times did you say "I love you" vs. the average for your gender and similar lifespan
• What bible verse did you read the most times. Percentage breakdown per book
• How many words did you say / read / hear in your life
• Miles driven / flown Records for most of either in one sitting
• Did the same coin or dollar ever pass through your pocket more than once
  
• Percentage of negative thoughts vs. positive thoughts, definitively answering once and for all whether you were a pessimist or an optimist.
  

Body

• Volume of sweat
• Longest sleep
  
• Largest 24 hour disparity between intake and outflow
• Longest duration of urinary outflow, single event (sounds gross but you know there have been times where you felt like it just went on and on and you mumbled to yourself as you flushed, "that had to be a record." Well, wouldn't it be nice to know if it was or not?
  

Okay, I have fully exposed myself as a geek, but I know this will resonate with someone, somewhere.

And Now For Something Completely Different

A quick holiday decorating tip before I get to the main topic: It is not acceptable to mix colored and white lights in front yard displays. Pick one or the other and stick with it. Also taboo is the mixing of blinking lights set at different speeds. Thank you.

I Feel it Coming On

Recently, while dining out I got the distinct impression that I was enjoying a luxury that at some point in the near future would no longer be available for me to enjoy. Ditto on recent trips to Starbucks, the movies, and the iTunes music store. There is a storm brewing on the horizon, the thunder of which we can all hear, whose lightning flashes we can all see increasing in frequency and proximity. What is clear is that the storm is headed our way, what is not clear is the exact intensity of the storm or for how long it will last. The storm of which I am speaking of is the rapidly increasing cooperation and unity amongst several diverse nations whose common bond is a desire to see us either subdued or destroyed. I feel as though we are on the verge (next 4-6 yrs.) of a major change in the way that life is lived here in America. And now some minor observations minus the requisite factual support, on account of the busy holiday season.

Who

China. As their economy grows, their need for oil grows, reason enough to cozy up to certain Middle Eastern entities. As their population grows, their need for other limited natural resources grows as well. With the world's largest standing army, and roughly 120 men per every 100 women, they have the might and incentive to flex some serious muscle. I can't see them attacking us outright but rather picture them pulling strings to weaken our economy. I can see them doing this independently and/or helping or waiting for another nation or entity to attack us and then exploiting. They could bring us to our knees without even firing a shot.

N. Korea. Crazed dictator with nukes. Nuff said. With a wink and a nod China could start the scenario mentioned above. Okay, maybe not quite that easily, but you get the picture, any one of these countries by themselves does not scare me but as a team they do.

Russia. Run by Putin whom I do not trust, a major economic partner with Iran, has given (is giving?) them military hardware and know how. Probably wouldn't mind being a big dog on the block again.

Venezuala. Spending a conspicuous amount of money on modernizing and increasing the size of their army. Venezuelan President Chavez and Iranian president Ahmadinejad are buddy-buddy as are Chavez and Fidel Castro who coincidently runs a small country 90 miles off the coast of Florida.

Iran. Calling their shot right now.

Extremist Islam, both here and abroad, like the crocodile in the mud hole creeping closer and closer to the feeding herd, waiting...waiting...

What

Increased cooperation and possible collusion to precipitate our demise. Or even just several of them waiting to opportunistically exploit events set in motion by another.

Worst case: nuclear detonation followed by extreme economic hard times. Best case: extreme economic hard times

Why

A lean, hungry dog will easily take the bone away from a much larger dog who is satiated by a life of ease and plenty. And if said hungry dog loves death more than life, the results could certainly be brutal.

Hope

I remember late August nights on the Jersey Shore in my teen years and the dread I felt knowing that winter was right around the corner and that the sun and salt water would soon be replaced with snow and salt trucks. I kind of feel that way now, only a lot happier. My heart is full of love and that gives the strength and reason to defend. I feel safe, not physically or circumstancially, but still safe nonetheless, "sheltered in the shadow of His wings" and that gives me joy. And after working around some of the greatest men in America for three years at the factory in Kansas City and here in Texas in the rock quarries, I know that these men and countless others just like them will rise to any challenge and meet it head on, with vim and courage.

Plans

I'm tossing around the idea of learning how to hunt. I don't need or even want venison right now but I might need it in the future. Maybe, still thinking about it, I'm not a nut, I just don't want to bury my head in the sand.
Beyond that no real plans, I figure letting God do His thing on us will prepare the family emotionally for potential stresses that may lay ahead. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfullness, gentleness, and self control. I think generous stores of those in our inner man will help us to rise up and act with honor, purpose, and clarity if and when we are called upon.

Some Pics for the Rellies & More Helprin

Got to see Jay, fresh in from South Africa, while we were in Oklahoma City. He brought a disc with about 200 pictures of Anna on it and we all crowded around Josh's Mac (he brought the whole thing) ooohhing and aaahhhing. Cute kid. Melani was sorely missed, only a few more months until that wonderful accent is heard on this side of the Atlantic. Jay had tons of great stories and plenty of thought provoking insights, he was very homesick though and ready to get back to his girls. The entire family had a great time, Granny Betty, my grandparents on my dad's side, mom and dad, and all the brothers, wives, and children were together once again. I don't think we've had that much fun since Brad's wedding. Thursday night we played a great round of Loaded Questions and laughed till it hurt. With all the fun memories lingering in my head it was, for the first time in forever, very hard to get back to work on Sunday night. I just wanted to savor it a little bit more.

More Helprin, this from The Pacific and Other Stories and very appropriate considering the great picture of Anna: "I think we are in a lost age, in which holiness and charity have been traded for the victory and penetration of knowledge, though all the knowledge in the world has not brought us any further than where we can go without it even in the outermost halls of grace. I believe that more is to be known and apprehended from the beauty of a face than in delving, no matter how deep, simply into how things work, no matter how marvelous that may be. The greatest substance of the world is immaterial; the province of the heart, and its study cannot be forced or reasoned. Merely to touch upon the edge of things in parsing their mechanics is to forswear their fullness, for the entry to this fullness lies not in science but in art."

Too Much

I was recently reading a book written in 1953, in which the main character had a biscuit and coffee for dinner when he got home from work. His wife was pretty excited because she had just made the biscuits and was anxious for a little feedback. It was a pretty intense read, full of suspense, drama, incredible dialogue, etc... and yet here I am a week later and all I can think about is those dang biscuits. I want to know what it would be like to eat a biscuit for dinner, push away from the table, go about my chores, put the kids to bed, read for a while, and finally lay down around 10 p.m., satisfied, with nothing but the bitter brew keeping that little biscuit company deep inside my gullet. What freedom that would be, to be satisfied with so little.

We live in the land of plenty, and I enjoy it, I have no problems with the land of plenty. Okay, that's not true, I am horrified by Wal Mart for aesthetic reasons and I am paralyzed by anything with more than two options. Aside from that however, I have few bones to pick with the current age of prosperity. What I do have a problem with though is my inability to restrain myself when enormous amounts of delicious foods are available to me almost without limit. As I watch my pant size ebb and flow with tidal regularity, I know that I am missing out on more than rock hard abs. Slowly but surely, pleasure and satisfaction are eroding in the sea of Too Much.

Twilight is the sweetest time of the day for many reasons, most notably its brevity. Like summer in Wisconsin or Sunday morning, we savor twilight because it is delivered in the most fleeting fashion that assigns it incredible value and nearly demands that we revel in it. There is something about things in small or limited quantities that either amplifies or reveals signifigance. I want to rediscover the value of food, specifically great food by learning to consume it in increasingly smaller portions. I have no idea how I am to go about doing this, my will power in this area being practically non existent, but I know it is the only way my soul will survive and my body will enjoy my brief visit here to the land of plenty.

A Picture I Didn't Take & Other Miscellany

My brother- in-law, Mike took the picture of Enchanted Rock posted above the last time he was here and I always enjoy it when it comes up on my screensaver. Enchanted Rock is this huge dome of mostly bare rock(seen in the foreground) surrounded by various outcropping, boulders and the odd live oak poking through. Absolutely breathtaking, especially this time of year.

I did get a persuasive fiction recommendation from my friend John for the book Too Late the Phalarope by Alan Paton. I inhaled it, it impaled me (heartbreaking), and now I recommend it to you. Great study of the inner world.

Granny Betty e-mailed in response to the AM Radio post to tell me about some of her childhood memories involving the radio including her father anxiously awaiting the farm report and hoping the batteries would stay charged long enough to hear it. I accidently deleted the e-mail so I can't include a direct quote here. She also reminded me not to knock technology because it is what helps her keep in touch with her kids and grandchildren. Good point and it made me realize how often times those (i.e., me) who long for "the good old days" are those who never had to live through them in the first place.

Tomorrow is supposed to be a really windy day. Can't wait!

Cultivating Beauty

From Zion, perfect in beauty, God shines forth.

God calls us to both participate in and transform our culture. Amidst the moral, immoral, and amoral elements of culture all across the world God has planted divine seeds of truth that point to Him. (For example, the Passover in ancient Jewish culture preparing and pointing to Christ's death for the roughly 1,400 years preceding the actual event.) As Christians we are called to find and nurture these seeds, to help flesh them out, to allow them to grow to maturity. Because these seeds are so ingrained in the culture, and because we are in part products of our culture, when they bloom in the ways God intended, his power and love are easily perceived and comprehended. And yet because we are fallen men, these divine seeds have often been allowed to grow in barren and misguided ways. Our first impulse when we see these aberrant growths is to curse them and withdraw from the culture that produced them. But we must learn to see original intent in the twisted branches and like a great gardener or sculpter reshape and guide until beauty breaks forth. The power to transform comes first from affiliation, the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us, and then transcendance, we have seen His glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father full of grace and truth. We must engage in our culture, and when necessary stand in stark relief to it, steadfast like a boulder in the river.

Our culture has an insatiable appetite for beauty, the evidence for which is apparent everytime you turn on the tv or wait in line to pay for groceries. We, along with many other cultures past and present, have crossed one too many lines in our quest for temporal and quickly fading beauty. But as John Eldridge points out in his writings, desire reveals design. We have such appetites because we were created with an enormous capacity for beauty, a capacity that will never be fully realized in this life, in part because we would die on the spot if it were. God, as the psalmist said above, shines forth, perfect in beauty. This is a beauty that is expressed through His attributes, the essence of who He is, as well as the physical manifestation of His prescence (Rev 4). In the things He has created and in the hearts of those changed by His Spirit we can see muted reflections of His beauty. Because of the reflective nature of this beauty, directing men from the beginning of time to His love, we must as Christians, cultivate, protect, and champion beauty in its many forms.

From a practical standpoint this means a myriad of things I don't even pretend to know, but here are some ideas. a.) Becoming gardeners. Both my mother and mother-in-law have excelled at this and to sit in either of their yards in summer is to know that God exists. b.) By exposing both ourselves and our children to great art and timeless music. Our culture is full of mediocre expressions of both, counterfeits, that serve to conceal our hunger. As Christians we must champion and promote excellence in the arts which will only deepen and increase the hunger for eternal beauty. c.) By cooperating with the Holy Spirit as he seeks to weave compassion, grace, gratitude, and courage into the fabric of our personalities. All of the attributes of a Spirit-led life are beautiful, but these four move me when I see them expressed in others. Seeing others act in these ways compels me to respond likewise. Jesus was all these things to perfection in the most beautiful life ever lived and through His power we can faintly but powerfully echo in a way that will resonate with those searching for Him. d.) By caring for and beautifying public spaces. e.) By encouraging those who are gifted in the arts, architecture, design, city planning, etc.. to go for it with all they've got for the glory of God. f.) To look up at night, around during the day, and at our neighbor with kindness.

This is just the beginning of a thought process. I am nothing like what I aspire to be. For example, I desperately need to mow my lawn, I enjoy Will Farrell movies, and I am not very compassionate, grateful, or courageous, but a desire has been born. I want more.

Psalm 119: The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

I have always identified with Peter, he of the brash statement and subsequent belly flop. After one too many fruitless promises to God, I now just start laughing whenever I start making one of these inner vows and I feel like God is laughing with me. Not in a mocking way but in the intimate way that those closest to us can get away with when our foibles are revealed. Kind of like this, me: "What was I thinking?" God: "Yeah, what were you thinking?" Guffaws all around. It is at this moment of clarity when my delusional fog has been lifted by the light of his love that I hold out my hand and ask for help. Psalm 119 is one of my favorites because it really illustrates this pattern of human failure and divine intervention.

At first glance the psalmist appears to be one of those annoyingly pious jerks we'd all love to throttle. "Early in the morning before the sun is up, I am praying and pointing out how much I trust in you. I stay awake through the night to think about your promises." Just in case their was any confusion about his elevated spiritual state that has transcended the need for a little shut eye he also declares, "At midnight I will rise to give my thanks to you for your good laws." My reaction to this guy would be something like, "go ahead retard, just don't wake me up." He makes such bold declarations as, "With my lips I recount all the laws that come from your mouth," "I will never forget your precepts" and "My soul is consumed with longing for your laws at all times." Granted, it was a different culture, a different time, but this is still a human being, and that is what makes these statements so ridiculous. But then he gets honest, and it is beautiful. "Open my eyes, teach me, let me understand, strengthen me, direct me, sustain me, redeem me, deliver me, defend my cause, preserve my life." These are just snippets of his many cries for help in his quest for holiness. Consider the absolute dependence in "turn my eyes away from worthless things", and "turn my heart towards your statutes." "Turn me;" this is the request of a man who has lost the use of his limbs and cannot look out the window without assistance. It is the deeper meaning behind the cries of an infant on his back too long. Absolute dependence. And here lies the true picture of our relationship with God. Left to our own devices we have neither the desire nor the willpower to follow him. He sweeps in and there is this fragrance in the air, desire is born, a hunger acquired. He throws us on his back and we soar, our hearts light and free, and then somewhere along the way we mistake his power for ours. I am writing this not so much for you, this is something I've got to declare. I can do no good thing on my own. I have evidence. So why is it so hard for me to bend my knee? To rest? When flying, why do I think it is my wings that take me to "such great heights"? And after falling so many times, why do I persist in this arrogance?

It is because of this internal battle that I identify so strongly with the apostle Peter and with the father in Mark 9 who exclaims the great paradox, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!" Jesus woos us to himself with a persistant, undeterred grace and we respond presenting him with all that we can muster, a mustard seed at best, and full of impurities at that. He takes this imperfect microscopic offering and he breathes life into it and it begins to grow and as it grows our capacity to love Him grows with it. Grace, undeserved love. Absolute dependence. Turn me towards the light that I might live.

"Keep me far from every wrong; help me undeserving as I am, to obey your laws, for I have chosen to do right. I cling to your commands and follow them as closely as I can. Lord, don't let me make a mess of things. If you will only help me to want your will, then I will follow your laws even more closely... I have wandered away like a lost sheep, come and find me." -From Psalm 119:29-32, 176 Living Bible

Verdant Pages of Life and Light

My favorite author by a longshot is Mark Helprin. He has ruined me, in the way that exceedingly great things do, to the point that I can't imagine reading any fiction but his. I suppose that one day I will be open to reading other people's fiction and will take any suggestions here, vehement proposals only.

How to describe him? Hmmm... regal, dense, layered, whimsical. If his writing were a song it would be part Enya (lush, atmospheric), part Springsteen (brawny, masculine), part U2 (packed, weighty). Oh, and funny too. Really funny. And for a guy who can load a sentence full of beauty and meaning, his stories read pretty fast. He somehow manages to intersperse these incredible ink arias with straightforward humorous narrative so that you end up being pulled through his books with an almost giddy glee.

From The New York Times Book Review, "I find myself nervous to a degree I don't recall in my past as a reviewer, about failing the work, inadequately displaying it's brilliance." Ditto. Here's my shot at it; reading Helprin is the equivalent of being on an Italian farm at twighlight when the light is low, yellow and full of dust. You and your loved one are sitting in the middle of the field at a table spread with white tablecloth watching the sun sink as you slowly savor cheesecake and espressos. In the background, standing knee deep in the fertile crops, is a 62 piece orchestra performing Beethoven's Ode to Joy.

I have read Memoir from Antproof Case, A Soldier of the Great War, The Pacific and Other Stories, and his latest Freddy and Frederika. I wholeheartedly endorse all but the last. Helprin's characters tend to be aesthetics who live over the top, principled lives, consumed by one thing or another. His characters are so appealing because they live out of their hearts, without fear or compromise. Helprin drops little nuggets of truth into the dialogue or narrative that will have you inwardly screaming, "yes....yes! I've never put words to it before, but that is how I feel!" I will post brief excerpts of his writing from time to time and I'll leave you with one now.

Backstory: A British paratrooper has just injured himself severely on a solo jump behind enemy lines. He is in agonizing pain but knows he can help save lives if he can only complete his mission. He keeps fading in and out of conciousness while attempting to work through the pain.

"For the second time on the roof he awoke in heat and glare, and when he heard the shelling pick up he stirred, eager to get about his work now that he could. He was sick, and he wanted to stay still. The slightest movement was painful and nauseating. Though his fever had partially abated, even in the absence of morphine he was not quite himself. He knew that it was best not to move, that he had to let things settle, and the prospect of reopening his wounds by strain contradicted every natural impulse.
But upon going into battle-at the instant he volunteered, in the moment he accepted his orders, when the plane left the ground, and when he had stepped from it into explosions and flak-he had already written himself off in the quiet way that allows soldiers to do their duty even unto extinction. The more he presumed he would not last, the better he was able to take satisfaction from doing what was required. The delight of honor unknown to anyone but himself would have to substitute for a life that no longer lay ahead."

AM Radio

Wonder is dead in our culture. With technology rushing ahead at breakneck speed, we have grown accustomed to yawning at things that would have knocked our socks off 100 years ago. Take flying for example, roughly half or more of the people in window seats don't even bother to look out the window anymore. Another example, and one I want to dwell on for a minute is the miracle of radio. It is a marvel that we can listen to the musings of a man speaking into a microphone a dozen or even hundreds of miles away. I tried explaining this to Calvin the other day. We were driving out to the lake and happened to pass the radio station we were listening to at that moment. His mouth hung wide open in a confused awe as he processed this new piece of information. I hope he stays that way, but the odds are stacked against him.

After the sun goes down it quits interfering with radio waves allowing them to travel hundreds and even thousands of miles away. This means that you can listen to a Yankees game on their flagship station while driving through Indiana or listen to a weather report from Toronto while sitting in your kitchen in Kansas City. In the age of satellite tv, the internet, and cell phones this is completely unremarkable and not even worth talking about. All of that information can be found countless other ways. And really how relevant is a traffic jam on Lake Shore Drive in Chicago when I'm driving on Interstate 10 in Texas 1,242 miles to the south? It is irrelevant, it is outdated, corny even; but man, is it fascinating.

I found this out years ago while driving from New Jersey to Texas with my dad. We were listening to our local radio statio out of New York City when we started and roughly eleven hours and 700 miles later we were still listening to it. Later in life I picked up that same radio station in the Virgin Islands. I really got into this during our years in Kansas City, as we had multiple late night runs from KC to northwestern Wisconsin to visit Jen's family. We had an older car with a dial on the radio (much better for this activity than the current digital tuners) and I found that fiddling with the dial, my ears on high alert as I sifted through the fog of static and squeals searching for distant voices, was a great way to stay awake through the night. The search is fun, (think audible treasure hunt) and the payoff when you actually find a far off station is well worth it. Hearing an argument over a neighborhood issue in the Garfield Heights section of Cleveland gives you a proper perspective by making the world seem bigger and smaller all at once. It appears bigger when you realize the world is full of billions of people and neighborhoods you'd never even considered who are passionate about places you didn't even know existed. Sometimes it's easy to forget that your issues are not the only issues, but eavesdropping on a local radio show in another state quickly reminds you of this. The world seems smaller when you realize that even though the specifics are different, we're all arguing about a lot of the same things.

Radio has been called the theater of the mind, a befitting description, especially when hearing weather reports from distant locales. I remember once listening to Monday Night Football on a station out of New Orleans as I drove through Iowa farmland on a still, cold late fall night. As I tried to keep warm and awake, the game was interupted every few minutes with a severe thunderstorm warning for the New Orleans area. Before long my mind was down on the bayou, racing around trying to batten down the hatches before the storm blew in. Driving home from Dallas here recently, I picked up news of a blizzard from a local station out of Denver. There is a difference between hearing "there was a blizzard in Denver" and "it's cold out there folks, we'll have wind and driving snow all night, please stay indoors and off the roads." The local ads, accents (find Boston and you've hit the jackpot), and worries all combine to take you far away, which at 2 am on the highway is where you want to be anyways. All it takes is a little patience, a high tolerance for static, and an old fashioned sense of wonder.

The Weeders - Jules Breton

An Articulate Mind

The summer after Jen and I met in Kenya, we went to Tanzania where we met three people you will hear about in this blog, Walter, John, and Marilyn.

Even though we were about the same age, John and I were years apart in maturity, myself stuck at age thirteen and he, already advancing well into his mid thirties while still physically seventeen. The difference can clearly be seen in the photos in Jen's scrapbook. John engaged in serious discussion with a Tanzanian, me making faces at the camera, John hard at work, me making faces at the camera, on and on it goes. Jen and I noticed that in several group photos, John can be seen in the background talking with the locals which, apparently, was why we all went there in the first place.

I first started reading John's thoughts on myspace and ate them up. He recently shut down that site and opened one up on blogspot. I have linked it on the side bar under ahavafriend. He just started it so there's only three posts but this is one you will definetly want to check out from time to time.

And John if you read this, I am begging, b-e-g-g-i-n-g you to retell Pigs on a Plane. That was one for the ages.

Cold Weather

Ahhh, finally cold weather has arrived in South Texas. Which is to say, that between midnight and eight a.m. it is somewhere in the low to mid fifties. It is not enough but we'll take what we can get. Since many of our fellow Texans have actually fled here from points North to escape the cold, our joy at it's brief visit puts us squarely in the minority. As a young man I was never too crazy about cold weather either but somewhere around age 19, I turned a corner, embraced the cold and have never looked back. And now like any kind person who has seen the light, I feel compelled to spread the word.

If you were asked to think of a type of weather that brings you to an ecstatic awareness of the world around you, you would most likely think of a spring day with the sun warming your skin as you walked through green fields with flowers blooming all around, or perhaps a dip in the cool blue sea to beat the summer heat. That's all good and great and I love those things too but I would like to propose that winter is every bit as sensual as the more popular spring and summer. This common knowledge to millions of happy Norwegians, Minnessotans, and Inuits, will comes as a surprise to many of my Southern friends as they have never experienced cold in it's rightful habitat. Cold weather when it descends this far South always comes as an intruder, an unwelcome visitor who disturbs the natural order of things and so I can't really blame them for the fear they display towards the cooler temps.

In Defense of a Frigid Day

Cold weather enhances almost to the point of exaggeration, the value of common things in our daily lives. Take coffee for example. During the summer coffee is a habit, something we drink because we have no choice. In the winter it is takes on this life sustaining quality. That first hot sip spreading warmth through your chest, the warmth of the mug in your hands, the steam rising off the surface and spreading across your face as you draw the cup closer to your face. Bliss. Sustenance. Strength. This luxurious moment brought to you courtesy of winter.

No matter what your feelings for it the rest of the year, your house on a cold winter's night takes on an almost Thomas Kincade like quality. More than a shelter from the elements, it becomes a sanctaury bathed in golden light, warm, full of loved ones and good food. And the bedding, oh thank you Jesus for our beds on a cold winter's night. How is it that someone in their mid thirties, having laid down to sleep in excess of 12,000 times in his or her life life can lay between flannel sheets, under a down comforter as if for the very first time?

Even breathing it's self is transformed. What is a subconcious reflex in warmer times becomes an act of subtle delight as each breath fills your lungs with cold air. Vigor! Breathing in winter is as refreshing as a glass of ice water is on a hot summer's day.

The key to enjoying winter is in dressing appropriately. It brings such a feeling of contentment to move about in sub freezing weather feeling the cold only on your face as your boots, gloves, hat and jacket surround you in a protective cocoon of warmth. And you look great too. Take the grumpiest person on a bad day, dress them in a parka with a wool hat and they appear downright huggable.

In the summer it is nearly impossible to cool off and any relief you find is predicated upon your moving and exerting as little energy as possible. In the winter the exact opposite is true, the more you move and exert the warmer you become. Say, you were chopping wood or playing offensive line for the Green Bay Packers on a 12 degree afternoon, it would be possible to generate enough heat that you could shed your coat and labor in a short sleeve shirt and the heat would still rise off your back and head in plumes of steam.

In his book"We Are Still Married", Garrison Keillor describes jump starting his neighbor's car on a morning when the thermometer was well below zero. I will leave with the following excerpt: "We finally get her started and then go into her kitchen for a cup of coffee-we say, 'Hooooo, it's a cold one out there. You hear the weather this morning? Cold out there. Terrible.' Except it's not terrible at all. You're a man who is phenomenally alive, your whole body, the nervous system and along the cortex and in the marrow of the bones, every part of the body has got the message: 'Heat. Let's go. Come on team. Little more H now. Let's have some more H.' There is no depression at twenty below... You venture out and every internal organ is up on it's feet doing the schottische, your skin is singing the Habanera."

The Station Agent

So, it's Friday night and you and your honey decide it's going to be an ice cream and movie night. She doesn't want you to go to the video store because she's afraid you'll come back with an Adam Sandler movie, you don't want her to go because you're afraid she'll come back with a ballroom dancing movie and you can't go together because well, for some crazy reason the kids get freaked out by all those videos that feature bloody women in lingerie on the cover. What to do? I have a suggestion, why not rent a movie about a midget who lives in an old, neglected, one room, former train depot in rural New Jersey?

The Best Movie Youve Never Heard Of

I can not tell you how many times I have walked into Blockbuster after a six week absence thinking, "surely one good movie has come out in the last six weeks", only to walk out half an hour later emptyhanded. It seems like they are only making two to three good movies a year anymore. Sometimes out of desperation Jen or I will take a chance on some unheard of movie that looks kind of different. There is no in between with these movies, they are either spectacular or spectacular flops. A lot of these movies are really different, lots of long pauses, extreme close-ups, fuzzy shots; random, inexplicable scenes, etc... You know what I mean, you've probably suffered through your fair share of them. The Station Agent is not one of these movies. There is an old saying that runs something like," don't be different to be different, be different to be better." The Station Agent is different and it is the best movie to come out in the last three years.

It is slow. There are frequent moments of silence or limited dialogue. There is a lot of cursing, and one of the film's major themes is pain. Have I convinced you to see it yet?

It is also full of hope, kindness, and love. It has some truly funny scenes that are all the funnier for the subtle ways in which they are delivered. The scenery is lush and rich, the dialogue rings true, the acting rings true, the silence rings true. All three of the main characters are extremely likable, loveable actually. The movie doesn't rely on gimmicks, plot twists, over explanation, or over acting. It just slowly unfolds in this wonderful, honest, understated drama that will leave you smiling at the end, full of love for your fellow man and your friend who recommended it to you.

Saved by Grace

The youth pastor of our old church in KC had a gift for designing really great t-shirts and logos. One of my favorites was a black t-shirt that said Naughty by Nature in small white letters on the front and Saved by Grace on the back. It was one of those fits-just-right shirts that I ended up wearing so much that Jen called it my uniform. One day as I passed a coworker he took a look at the shirt and called out, "Grace...is that the name of your wife?"

Never have truer words been spoken. Jen has truly been a salvation, saving me from myself time and time again. Like a dam channels and makes useful a wild untamed river, so is Jen to me.

I live with my head lost in the clouds about 90% of the time so it would be really easy to have this blog be a boring exercize in belly gazing narcissism. Actually, that was my plan. I wanted a place to put my thoughts in black and white and maybe slowly invite 1 or 2 people to read them. That all changed when I checked our e-mail this morning I saw quite a few e-mails entitled RE:Blog. Sweet Jimmy, Woman! Sooooo.... although I will be writing about things that excite and interest me I would like this blog to be primarily about other people. If you have a blog send me the address and I'll link it on my site. For some reason I'm having a hard time linking to Mac sites but I'm working on that. I had actually been planning on writing today's blog about Jen and perhaps that's why she wanted all the witnesses.

Chaco, mi sweet Chaco

I first saw Jen in the spring of 1988 in a small 2x3 photo on a page filled with pictures of the teenagers we would be going to Kenya with that summer. They say that people with goals succeed and those without goals fail, so I quickly made it my goal to make out with her sometime that summer. Some people go on mission trips to help people in distant lands, I went on mission trips to make out with chicks in distant lands. Although we never did kiss that summer, she caught me hook line and sinker. Over the next 8 years we wrote, visited, ran up enormous phone bills, crossed wires, stopped writing, stopped calling, went out with others, couldn't forget each other, started writing and calling again and eventually completey smitten, I moved up to Minnesota and we got married a year later. Jen is a realy hard person to forget, she gets under your skin and before you know it she's there for life.

The first thing that gets you is her gorgeous face; big expressive brown eyes that seem to be lit from within, a disarming smile full of perfectly aligned bright white teeth and all those cute little freckles. As if that weren't enough throw in her strong jaw line, dimples and a never ending procession of the cutest haircuts and we are talking about one hot i-talian mama! And she is so versatile, she has so many looks depending on time of day, hairstyle, makeup, lighting, etc that it is like being married to five women at one time. The beauty I have seen in her face has been burned into my mind in a thousand little snapshots that would be sufficient to sustain me for a lifetime were I to go blind. The world is full of beautiful women but there is only one whose face I cannot forget.

Jen has this gift of disarming me when I am full of fury and attacking her with my verbal six shooters. I can rant and rave and she can respond as if I had just asked her to pass the butter. In the face of such grace it is hard to stay angry for long. I have never figured out how she does this and I have never managed to return the favor, but she keeps at it after all these years. She also has this rare gift of keeping me grounded when I get to big for my britches. "Hey Mr. Full of Yourself, you're not as hot as you think", she can say in the kindest and funniest of ways that usually ends up with both of us laughing.

Jen is unmistakably feminine but she is not girlie and I love that about her. Growing up with 3 brothers and very few female relatives (love ya Julie!) left me pretty clueless about how women operate. If Jen were any daintier I probably would have bulldozed right over her and we would have both been the worse off for it. She can hang with the best and roughest of em and dish it out too.

Jen is old fashioned in all the right ways too, she'll sit with me on the front porch in the dark and listen to the night noises, she'd much rather play cards than watch tv, and she bakes bread. Let me say that again, she bakes bread! In fact there is nothing Jen cannot bake or cook. I keep waiting for the day she plants a vineyard and starts making wine. It's terrible, but I get this smug pride walking down the grocery store aisles, spaghetti sauce...puhleeazze my wife makes that; cookies, no thanks Keebler, my wife will make them; store bought bread?, I wouldn't feed that crap to the the birds. It's horrible, I'm an elitist! People who are over the top and obsessively committed to excellence in their particular field or hobby get two enthusiastic thumbs up from me. Jen is such a person when it comes to the kitchen. There is no method too difficult, no act too time consuming, no amount of sacrifice too much to get things just right. I love it!

Although there are times she can drive me right up to the brink of insanity, she always has the right touch and knows when to back off, when to throw in a joke, or when it's best to just look cute. Jen can walk into a grocery store and stop right in front of the entrance and look around in a state of confusion as if she had just landed on Mars while shoppers pile up in a bottleneck behind her, but she moves about my life with a deftness and grace that keeps me coming back for more.

A Few of My Favorite Things: Sounds

• The slap of a wooden screen door slamming shut, (preceded by the high pitched screee of the spring)
• An oscillating fan as it makes it's rounds
• The crunch of a gravel driveway under a car's tires
• The sound of a glass bottle being opened followed by the cap bouncing across the counter
• The roar and rythym of a freight train passing
• A lamp being turned on or off
• An oar moving through the water
• The beating wings of an otherwise silent bird, startled in the woods
• A coffee pot sucking up the last of the water as it brews coffee
  
• A lone hockey player's ice skates on the ice in an empty arena
• The sound a dishwasher makes when the water hits the front panel during the wash cycle and also the sound it makes when it switches cycles and begins draining the water into the sink
  
• The cry of seagulls
  
• The sound of the lever on the gas tank being flipped followed by the sound of the nozzle as it is inserted into your gas tank (especially satisfying when heard from inside the car on an exceptionally cold night)
  
• A church bell announcing the hour
  
• The sound of the oven door being opened and something being placed on the rack (especially when heard in surprise from another part of the house)
• The deep concussive bass of heavy surf pounding the beach
• An old wooden floor creaking as you walk or shift your weight
• A match being struck
  
• A canoe running up onto a gravel beach
• Zippers on a backpack being compulsively zipped opened and shut in the pre dawn darkness before a hike or an airline flight (this noise quietly announces, "despite the darkness, and my inability to speak this early in the morning, nothing has been overlooked or forgotten, ...we will succeed")
• The barely audible tisk tisk sound that falling snow makes when it hits your jacket

A Cure for Wanderlust?

The crew just got back from a week of work out in West Texas and New Mexico. We had a great time out there, surrounded by and working in the mountains. The views were breathtaking and put all of us in a mild state of ecstasy that took the edge off of the 15 hour days. I got out there half a day early and was able to run around in the Sacramento Mountains for a little bit before heading down into the valley to hike in White Sands National Park in the early evening. The entire trip floored me but the first day was by far the highlight.

When I was a teenager I absolutely could not comprehend why anyone would choose to live more than 20 miles from the beach. I can remember making a list ranking all 50 states according to how I perceived their worth. New Jersey, where I grew up was #1 followed by Florida, California, Hawaii, and Massachussets. I don't remember where I had New Mexico ranked but I know it was in the bottom five, with most of the rest of the non-coastal West filling out the bottom half. I can remember my Dad laughing and shaking his head as he read my list. "But they don't have beaches", I protested. Youth is, as they say, indeed wasted on the young. What I wouldn't give to be able to put my current brain in my 18 year old body. I would have taken the road trip of a lifetime, and with the exception of what was needed to get out of the state, none of it would have included New Jersey.

White Sands sits in a flat desert valley surrounded by mountains to the East, North and West. It is a large deposit of white sand that is constantly being sculpted by the elements and at dusk, when I was there, it is essentially a giant white canvas upon which the deteriorating light lays an evolving work of shadow and muted pastels. It is also a place where you can leave the only visible footprints or sign of man and get far enough away that it is so quiet that all you hear is the ringing in your ears (which actually was very loud, having just driven 500+ miles with the window down and the stereo cranked). To add to the scenery, thunderheads were building over the mountains on all 3 sides and the light played off the ones in the East and peeked in and out of the ones in the West like a bank of spotlights at a rock show. I was forced to walk forward in circles just to take it all in and by the time my head made it 360 degrees around the view in front of me had changed again. I felt as if I were walking on holy ground.

As I walked through the sand I suddenly wanted to see it in every possible situation, what does it look like at sunrise, at high noon, in the dead of winter, on a cloudy day, in the rain, in the snow, with a red sunset, with a pink sunset, in the middle of the night? I didn't just want to see this place, I wanted to know it. I wanted to set up in a lawn chair with a year's supply of grilled cheese and Dr. Pepper and do nothing but watch the seasons come and go from every possible angle until I had fully experienced the place. But unfortunately, I had work to do and I don't think I could get the kids to sit still for that long. Old age I thought wistfully, is wasted on the old.

Fools That Dream

This modern world just fills your head with fears and doubts.
We'd end it now if we were smart.
Cause the only ones that make love last forever
are fools that dream.
C'mon baby let's risk our hearts together.

If we all walk through this world afraid to take a chance,
just imagine where we'd be.

It's always dreamers that teach us how to dance,
and I want you to dream with me.

from Fools That Dream by Radney Foster (a country song)