Fools That Dream

The Wall

2010-06-11T10:00:00.003-05:00

Refiner's Fire - Quote #2

2010-06-10T14:57:00.002-05:00

From page 39 of Refiner's Fire by Mark Helprin:

"As total and terrible as times may have been for most, she was spared, as some are always spared, and in a remote district near the White Sea they lived subject to God and nature, unbending to revolution or any other creation of man - not because they were strong (for they were frail) but because they stood in the eye of the hurricane, correspondent with mildness and awe. Though they had been mainly sad and unsuccessful, not heroic in any way, not great lords or particularly wise, not so strong, not so beloved, from their obscurity they were moved by the beauty of the world, often touched and often electrified by natural storms and colors, and they formed in their way a silent aristocracy - neither empowered nor bold nor ever known. They were to be born and to die in a long unrecognized line only rarely favored by fortune. In this way they suffered and were not distinguished, but they had one special power. They understood the light."

Yad Vashem

2010-06-09T13:04:00.010-05:00

We went to the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem on Monday. Emotionally it was a very tough experience. I cried multiple times which for me is highly unusual. The two things that wrenched me the most were the pictures of the kids and the displays of family photos that had been found among the belongings of the dead, often in their pockets. Seeing so much life and happiness in these photos was like seeing everything that they missed out on and ultimately lost forever. I think that they could make an entire museum with just those photos and it would be enough to capture the horror. There was one photograph in particular; of a wedding party taken several years before the war and the caption read, "Of the 56 people in this photograph, 48 were killed in the concentration camps."

I've always been interested in the role of joy during times of great pain and so it was the items that were related to joy, or some form of redemption that I copied to share below:

Before we went in to the museum, I took a walk through the Garden of the Righteous which is dedicated to Gentiles who rescued Jews. Each tree is named for an individual hero and walking under the shadow of these trees looking at the nameplates I felt as if I were in a hall of giants, and with this great cloud of witnesses to the goodness that can be found in the human heart sheltering me, I cried, hot tears running down my cheeks, and they were heavy and buoyant all at once.

The following is the suicide note of a young woman who took her life before the Nazi's could. The joy in it struck me because at this point she would have already experienced much pain and suffering in one of the ghettos that the Jews were forced into before they were shipped off to the concentration camps.

Beloved Stefanie, Forgive me, remember me with love. There was no choice. My life was beautiful to the end because of your love and the friendship of those who surrounded me in loving care... I hope to die at peace with the world and in the hope of grace and love. Be strong. Maybe someday justice and humanity will live anew. Signed, Anna Trauman

I went back there, in the shadow of the chimneys, in the breaks between the pain, there was something resembling happiness... For me, the happiness there will always be the most memorable experience, perhaps. - Imre Kertesz

To the One Who Restored My Belief in Humanity by Yehuda Baron

As we were leaving the museum and walking back towards the bus, one of the teenage girls starting doing ballet moves, pliés and leaps upon a curb of stone and it was just such a wonderful moment of beauty and a reminder that life marches on. That light shines in the darkness and that the darkness cannot overcome it.

Day Two

2010-06-09T11:47:00.006-05:00

Sunday morning, after a lovely breakfast at the hotel, we went and worshiped with a group of Palestinian believers at their church in the Old City. It was so much fun to watch the kids running in and out just like they do back home. Then it was off for a stroll through the Jewish Quarter and a visit to the Wailing Wall. There was really something special about being there and offering up a prayer with my hands and forehead pressed up against the stone. It was the most powerful and moving experience I had at any of the holy sites. In the photo above, you can see the discoloration in the stone from all the years of people touching it.

Later, on a tour of an archeological site just around the corner, we came upon a group of about 120 Charismatic Germans of Russian origin singing praise and worship songs with gusto in Russian. What?! I want to know the back story on that one. They were really getting into it, even the men which is somewhat atypical.

The purpose of this trip is to introduce us to peacemakers on both sides of the conflict. Here is a brief summary of the people we met with in the first two days:

Saturday night we met with Rami Fellamon, a Palestinian believer who lives in Jerusalem (there are about 117,000 Arab Christians in Israel) and he talked to us about his life. Rami is a professor at Bethlehem Bible College and works for Jerusalem Evangelistic Outreach, a group that does relief work and evangelism in Israel and Palestine. The spirit of this man was incredible, it was apparent that he had a heart full of grace and love.

Sunday afternoon, we met with a group of Palestinian and Jewish women called Joint Ventures for Peace who are collaborating in teams of two to create products they can sell. For example, one of the Palestinian women makes olive oil soap and one of the Israeli women fires clay, so they designed a soap dish together and sell the Palestinian's soap in the Israeli's soap dish. The women were all a lot of fun and clearly had genuine affection for each other.

Sunday night we met with two men from The Parent's Circle which is a group of bereaved family members from both sides who have lost loved ones in the conflict. We met Ben, an Israeli who lost his daughter in a suicide bombing at a bus stop and Mazzan, a Palestinian whose unarmed father was shot by an Israeli soldier while driving home from a friend's house during the second intifada. They sat side by side, patting each other on the back, complimenting one another, and laughing at the other's jokes. It was an emotional and blunt conversation at times light and hopeful and at other times very matter of fact tinged with a weary sadness.

My roommate Nick and I wrapped up day two on the hotel roof overlooking the city. I love taking it all in from a high point, you get a little tiny sample of God's view and for a moment, the sounds of humanity carried up to you on the wind, a glimpse of his heart.

An Excerpt From Refiner's Fire

2010-06-09T01:44:00.002-05:00

I brought a Mark Helprin book with me on the trip and wanted to share a bit of it. This passage takes place as the captain of a boat full of refugees is standing on the bow of his ship staring down into the Mediterranean:

As he looked down into the bow waves he saw the faithful and miraculous shape of dolphins, speaking to one another in chirps and whistles. They had great strength and endurance, and yet they were beautiful and not hard. By observing this he settled a conflict within himself, determining to be as strong as necessary and yet not to be hard. One of them veered outward and in so doing made it possible to catch Paul Levy's eye, and both seemed to smile without smiling. From that day forward he knew how to knit together strength and love. (pg. 30)

Day One

2010-06-07T13:16:00.006-05:00

Bethlehem. My heart is heavy tonight as it is actually Day Three and we have seen many terrible things today, but I am going to do these in order, so back in time we go to a happier day.

Grace Hotel, Old City Jerusalem. The first thing that really reaches out and grabs you in this ancient city of stone are the sounds. First there are the church bells, then the Muslim call to prayer, add to that the sound of footsteps click clacking down stone corridors as Orthodox Jews hurriedly rush off to Temple, mix in the chirping of birds, the low murmur of the marketplace, and finally the pièce de résistance; the sound of pilgrim's from all over the world breaking into song (both spontaneous and planned) in their own languages as they walk down the narrow streets or sit in one of the many chapels celebrating events in Jesus' life. There is music e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e and it is wonderful! The highlight of the entire day was walking into the chapel at the Pool of Bethesda and there was a group of elderly black women from New York up at the altar singing like the angels in Latin with outstretched arms and faces pointed skyward. It was beautiful. Shortly after they finished, a pigeon tucked away in the massive ceiling somewhere signalled his approval with a hearty cooing that echoed and re-echoed in the perfect acoustics of the massive stone building.

The lowlight of the day was visiting the Church of the Holy Sepulchre which is actually a series of competing and very divided churches parked under one roof on the site where Jesus was crucified. One minute, you are walking through a crowded market and then you turn the corner and across a small plaza there it sits - one of the most depressing places on earth. I felt a bit like Larry Mullen Jr. in Rattle and Hum as he reflected on visiting Elvis' grave at Graceland, (Irish accent please) ''I really wish he hadn't been [crucified] there, I wish it would have been somewhere I couldn't have gone.''

There was so much bowing and kneeling, the kissing of objects, lighting of candles, rituals and recitations, etc... by so many people in so many different religious outfits that it all just became too much. I can't judge any pilgrim or even any act that I saw; and taken one by one they would have all been quite moving, but I think it was seeing all of them together, competing and jostling for space and knowing all the arguing and separation that occurs and has occurred in history over rituals and traditions that pushed me over the edge. I felt absolutely nothing emotionally in that place except sadness. Galatians 5:6 kept running through my head over and over:

For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision has any value. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.

I was so disturbed by my lack of emotion during the initial visit that I decided to give it one more try and went back to the church later in the afternoon right before closing. It was mostly deserted as I watched from a distance as a young mother from Africa knelt and kissed the slab of rock that Jesus was supposedly laid upon in the tomb. Her young son was kneeling beside her but kept acting up and she repeatedly had to stop to correct him, Finally she had had enough and got up to go. She motioned for the boy to get up and join her. Much to her horror and my delight, he got up and ran across the slab nearly knocking his head on one of the low hanging lamps. She hurriedly ran back to the slab and began reverently brushing with her hand every place her son's feet had touched the stone. Her devotion and his exuberance were both so real and beautiful, I knew that this was a scene I was meant to see. (I imagine this next line being spoken by my British roommate, Nick, so you must read it with a cheery British accent) Ahhh... a bit of redemption in the end, it's quite nice really, isn't it?

Lemon

2010-05-24T21:36:00.003-05:00

I realized the other day that everytime I have a lemon in my hand, something good is about to happen. Probably will involve ice tea, but not always. I love the sight of lemons, BAM! how bout some yellow to brighten up your day! I love the feel of lemons, firm and solid in the hand, always a perfect fit in my palm. I love the smell of lemons, pressing the skin up against my nose and breathing deep, the tangy smell when the Hot One is shaving peel, or the deep earth sweet smell when cutting into one, like you are standing over the draft of a mineshaft that goes way down into the Good Times Mine. I love the way that too much lemon is a bad thing, but just the right amount makes so many things perfect. I love the feel of squeezing a wedge of lemon into my tea, and then the way that whatever I eat next tastes like lemon cause I got it all over my fingers. I love the spent wedge, held up by ice, bleeding seeds all over the bottom of my glass. I once bet my dad $20 bucks he couldn't eat a lemon. I guess he likes lemons more than me.

Simple Pleasures: Reading

2010-05-24T19:51:00.002-05:00

To sit alone in the lamplight with a book spread out before you, and hold intimate converse with men of unseen generations--such is a pleasure beyond compare.--Kenko Yoshida

The Artists' Gathering by Viggo Johansen

Happiness is a Choice

2010-03-20T15:38:00.006-05:00

One night when I was no more than ten, after a very grumpy day, my mother told me a story as she was tucking me in that went something like this: There were two boys in prison where they were forced to perform all kinds of difficult chores. One day they were brought to the stables and shown one stall that was filled with manure all the way to the ceiling and told to empty it. One boy gleefully grabbed his shovel, jumped right in and began shoveling with all the energy he had. The other boy scowled and began making fun of the shoveling boy, "Whatsa matter with you? Do you like horse crap, you gonna eat it, or what?" The other boy stopped shoveling long enough to exclaim, "Look at all this manure! There's gotta be one heck of a horse in their somewhere, and I am gonna find him!" My mom went on to say, "you need to be like that first little boy and find the good in everything." I remember lying there in bed that night, amused by the absurdity of the boy's optimism but resolving to be just like him. And as Robert Frost said, "that has made all the difference."

From time to time in life we can get off track in one way or another, slowly drifting from things we know to be true, without realizing how off course we are getting. We need a good friend, a piece of scripture, or the Spirit's nudging to get us moving in the right direction again. Over the last two years, I have slowly but steadily gotten more and more depressed about the current state of the world. I had forgotten to choose joy, and it was debilitating. But then a friendly voice on the radio, pointed me back to truth with his Happiness Hour. Dennis Prager with his insistence that happiness is a moral obligation we owe to those around us, and his constant reminders that happiness in no way is reliant on our circumstances has helped me get back on course. So thank you mom for setting me down the path of happiness and thank you Dennis for reminding me the way back to that path.

Two Great Sentences, One First-Tier Painting

2010-03-10T21:06:00.005-06:00

"Though most settlements of the pale were arranged along the road like the branches of a tree, not Koidanyev, because of its relation to the river. From the main highway a spur led directly to its heart. You entered upon this road and left on it. The road was bisected by the river, against which the citizens of Koidanyev had retaliated by bisecting the river with a bridge."

- From Jacob Bayer and the Telephone, a short story by Mark Helprin

I am rereading The Pacific this week and I had to stop when I came across this sentence so that I could run around the house and read it to everyone. I know it is basically a fancy way of saying there is a bridge across the river, but it cracks me up. The word "retaliated", the assigning of a motive, is what seals the deal. It is simple, absurd, and it works. Reading Helprin is like eating an incredible piece of chocolate, you just savor it and slowly run it back and forth in your mind over and over. Wonderful!

"The most difficult of the dinner parties I ruin are usually around Christmas, and always those of the younger members of the firm, who, no matter how well they have done, have yet to find their place because they have yet to fall from grace and restore themselves. They know I have built and rebuilt, that, quite apart from my military history, I have, in corporate terms come back from the dead. That very thing, though I did not ask for it, is what they fear the most to get and fear the most in me.
It is why, while I sit still and merely smile, they hold forth in a volume of words that would blow up a tire. You would think that because they talk as enthusiastically as talking dogs, they would win. While they say everything, I say nothing. I am shown the second-tier paintings, and harried children who can play Mendelssohn, and from the corner of my eye I can see the ineluctable Range Rovers, the Viking stoves, and the flower boxes perfectly tended by silent Peruvians with broken hearts."

-From Reconstruction, a short story by Mark Helprin

I remember my dad telling me a story about a preacher who quoted C.S. Lewis in every sermon and eventually, the elders of the church told him to quit quoting Lewis in every sermon or he would be fired. The next Sunday he couldn't help himself, heavily quoted Mr. Lewis, and that was the last sermon he ever gave at that particular church. I feel kind of like that preacher tonight. I just can't help myself, but at least I am not alone; the silent Peruvians bear mute witness to Helprin's genius.

Note: this is my one hundredth post. It took me a little longer to get here than I had hoped, but here's to one hundred more. Thanks for reading.

The Beach at Palavas, Gustave Courbet, 1854

And My Oscar Goes To...

2010-03-07T21:01:00.002-06:00

Best Movie of 2009: Bright Star

If Hollywood wants to both make a lot of money and the world a better place I desperately suggest adapting the following books:
1. The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky
2. A Soldier of the Great War by Mark Helprin
3. Memoir From Antproof Case by Mark Helprin
4. Freddy and Frederika by Mark Helprin
5. Any of the short stories by Mark Helprin found in The Pacific
6. A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson

When Perfection Comes

2010-03-07T07:26:00.004-06:00

"But where there are prophcies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away...and now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

- From Saint Paul's first letter to the Church in Corinth, Greece.

Today

2010-03-01T21:28:00.003-06:00

This morning it was very windy, cold and rainy up in North Texas. I work outside most of the time and this morning I forgot my underarmour turtleneck so I was a bit chilly and miserable until I noticed that the grass looked a lot like lichen and the clanging of the conveyor belt running rock up out of the quarry sounded a lot like the slap of the block against the mast on a boat rocking in the waves. This of course could only mean one thing - I was Torgie, a Norwegian miner working in the granite mines on the windswept North Sea coast. And if I was indeed Torgie, a Norwegian miner on the windswept North Sea coast then that could mean one thing, and one thing only - a ferry ride across the fjord at the end of my shift would drop me off a few short blocks from my IKEA furnished flat where I would put on a turtleneck and wool cap before eating a bowl of chowder and a plate of lingonberries! Yesssss!

Three Quotes

2009-07-19T00:37:00.002-05:00

Ran across the three of these this week:

"If I knew for certain that a man was coming to my house with the conscious design of doing me good, I should run for my life." - Thoreau

"How long can you hate yourself for the weakness you can feel?" - Bob Dylan

"FDR [also] surrounded himself with highly intelligent people; that is no guarantee of anything except brilliant rationalizations of failure." - Thomas Sowell

Estate Sale

2009-07-19T00:15:00.003-05:00

I woke up yesterday to cars lined up and down the block. I finally saw the sign on the corner last night that said "Estate Sale - Fri & Sat." They were out in full force again today. I was doing yard work thinking about how sad it was that I didn't even know the person who died when I noticed the second or third pickup truck in a row driving past loaded down with furniture and at that moment I felt the full reality and weight of the saying, "you can't take it with you.." You live and you die and strangers come in and haul off your stuff, ecstatic about the great deals they got. How bout them apples?

"Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the imperfect dissapears...And now these three remain; faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." - Paul the Apostle

A Brief Musical Interlude

2009-06-19T14:01:00.004-05:00

Patty Griffin @ Gruene Hall
The Ballerina and I went to see the Queen of the Known Musical Universe back in late April at legendary Gruene Hall. It was a great Father/Daughter date. We saw the show from several different angles and at one point even wandered outside where the Ballerina danced on a picnic table under the colored lights strung across the courtyard. Magic.

Brandi Carlile @ Gruene Hall
One month later I was back at Gruene Hall to see Brandi Carlile and The Twins strut their stuff. I'm not a huge concert-goer, nor do I stray too far off my personal beaten path (in the past 17 years, I've seen 6 shows - U2 and Patty Griffin three times each) so I felt just a little dangerous. Two shows in one month. Oh my! The video below was shot the same week as the Gruene Hall show but it is from Birmingham. This song was the highlight. The twins (the one on the left looked exactly like my friend Scott Carow) unplugged their guitars and she stepped out in front of the microphones, so the whole thing was acoustic. At the show I was at you could have heard a pin drop, everybody was leaned forward and straining to soak it all in, and when the song was over the place just exploded. It was interesting to watch my two favorite female singers back to back like that. Patty Griffin makes you want to lie back in a gondola on a darkened waterway in Venice and look up at the stars as God's grace falls upon you. Brandi Carlile made me want to smash beer bottles and dance a jig on the picnic tables.

Steve Earle @ Austin City Limits, 1986
As long as I am posting music videos, I've got to throw this one in here too. I have watched all 3 of these videos so many times, my kids probably know the words to all these songs. Steve Earle is amazing, this is not even close to his greatest song, but it is a riveting performance. I love the bass player in the background. Probably one of the greatest sad songs of all time and my favorite from Steve Earle is "Goodbye" If you've got 99 cents burning a hole in your pocket - you can't go wrong with that one on iTunes.

Amusing Ourselves to Death

2009-06-14T20:00:00.001-05:00

I ran across a great cartoon illustrating the foreward of the Neil Postman book "Amusing Ourselves to Death". You can see it here.

The Nepali Response

2009-05-10T20:54:00.004-05:00

Sorry that it's been a while. May was a busy month at work. I've got a few that I'm hoping to post here in June. First off comes this long overdue post. After I wrote about Indian Call Centers, my brother who lives in Nepal sent me a long e-mail response. Jen and I enjoyed it so much that I asked him if I could post it here. Below are two photos taken from his balcony. Enjoy...and thanks Josh for entertaining us.

I step through the door to the balcony of my flat, a cool breeze carries the scent of imminent rain and hits my face. I can’t help but smile. My belly is full from dinner just 40 minutes earlier and my kids, by some miracle, play soccer quite nicely together within my view, making for the perfect moment to wind down. Relax. I gingerly dodge across the terrace and manage to block an attempted goal into the guest room door before climbing the black iron spiral staircase to the rooftop. As I ascend, the kids’ laughter fades and my gaze shifts to the city, my city, sprawled out before me. The setting sun is now faintly lighting the bustling streets below which results in one last rush of errands before darkness takes over and the electricity is shut off for the day. The man who sells potatoes and garlic from his bicycle yells out trying to make some final sales as he pushes his bike home. I watch the exchange as a young girl from a house across the street races out and buys a half kilo or so of potatoes. He pulls out his handheld scale and rummages through his inventory knowing the exact size and number of potatoes needed to make the scale balance. She pays him what must be 50 or so rupees and scurries back to her house calling out to her mother who is waiting by the gate and watching the whole transaction. As the potato man walks out of sight, I can only imagine he is off to the butcher shop to surprise his family with a little bit of meat that he can now purchase with the money from his last sale of the day. I look to my left to the patch of road near the brick pile and smile as seven children play a little game of cricket. A boy is wielding the bat shouting out a mile a minute, pointing this way and that most likely giving a little coaching, or perhaps explaining to Sangita, the new girl, about how ghost runners work.

I set my Sony Digital SW-33 pocket radio down on the ledge and tune it to 103.1 FM, the BBC World Service just as Gareth Mitchell wraps up his live report from Mexico City on the economic toll of the swine flu pandemic. I shift the radio to the right, then a little more, forward a little, just to get the reception clear enough.......oh, there it went, back left a little.... perfect. "And now a world sport update. The Bayern-Munich Football Club has just sacked its head coach after only 10 months at the job."

I didn't know Bayern-Munich had fired the last coach.

The sky quickly changes from orange to peach to light blue to purple as night settles in. Slowly the lights of those lucky enough to have battery back-ups pop on and light up the valley as though I am looking down on the starry sky. The scent of rain becomes overpowered by the smell of smoke from a fire in the field just to the south of our gate. Not that plastic smell of a trash fire, but the woodsy smell of a brush pile burning. The neighbors have been clearing that field and tilling it for days getting it ready for planting corn as well as preparing for the monsoons that are just around the corner. Three men are working diligently to get all the brush they had cleared that day into the fire. As one man deposits another handful of dead branches and grass into the fire, their tall shadows cast by the sudden flare of firelight dance on the walls surrounding several of the nearby houses.

I take a long sip of my iced-mocha and savor the scene. Now this is no Starbucks Cappuccino by any means. One-and-a-half packets of Cappa Roma's Mocha Cappuccino powder mix and a spoonful of sugar stirred together and left in the fridge for 14 hours. Not perfect, but it beats that Sanka crap the guys are drinking on their breaks at Indian Call Centers.

The sound of the city is quickly overpowered by the roar of a Beechcraft 1900DS turboprop, operated by Buddha Airlines, on its final approach to Tribhuvan International Airport located approximately 1 mile directly southeast of our flat. I follow the plane and watch it until it sinks out of sight below the horizon of shanty shacks and crumbling buildings just before touchdown. Moments later I catch glimpses of it between buildings as it taxies to the domestic hangar. The sounds of the city return. The faint horn of a taxi honking, the chatter of people, cows mooing, and from a nearby house the din and racket of dinner being prepared as a pressure cooker lets off a spray of steam for the third time.

A cigarette. Well, I don’t smoke, but if I did, this would be a perfect time to smoke it. Something about Nepal just makes one want to smoke. Maybe it is the fact that literally everybody is doing it, even kids. After reading statistics about how the air quality in Kathmandu is equivalent to smoking 2 packs of cigarettes a day, I can't help but think, "Hey, what’s one more cigarette?" I am not a smoker and I do consider myself somewhat health conscious, nevertheless, I do see how a cigarette has the potential to elevate good moments into great ones.

The cricket game by the brick pile has just about run out of light and run out of steam. The streets are all but empty and the hush of evening that falls like dew on the valley is beginning to settle, broken only by the occasional bark of a dog on the street excited about a discovery he made in a trash pile: a shoe, a bone, a discarded apple, a scrap of meat. All the while, not a soul has noticed me above the scene watching it all like an unseen deity. I can't help but to put myself in their shoes for a moment. To imagine what they have done today, or will do tomorrow. To imagine what they might be doing in those houses where I hear the sounds through open windows, but see nothing through the curtains. The boy getting yelled at for not doing his homework. The wife asking her husband how his day was, and his half-hearted response. The family dinner. The brother and sister arguing. The wind rustling the tr.......oh wait, those are my kids arguing. The pleasant aforementioned terrace soccer game has turned into something more akin to a bar room brawl and....uh huh, just as I thought the ball just got thrown off the roof.

So also the scene wraps up below me. My moment of relaxation has passed. I turn off my radio, take the last sip of my now luke-warm mocha, descend from my sanctuary and think, "Some poor schmuck on the other side of the world is just now beginning his Thursday sitting down with his morning paper and getting ready to wash down the bad news to a breakfast of 2 eggs over-easy, 2 sausage links, 2 buttermilk pancakes with extra syrup, a tall glass of OJ and a cup of coffee - cream, no sugar."

"Americans."

No automated sprinkler system are seen from my perch. No manicured lawns or shiny new business parks anywhere in sight. But this is my life, my paradise.

-Joshua Wilson, Kathmandu, Nepal May 2009

I Don't Mind Losing

2009-05-03T22:16:00.003-05:00

The following is one of my favorite excerpts from Mark Helprin. It is from the short story, "Monday" which can be found in his outstanding collection of short stories, The Pacific. The entire story resonated with me and as soon as I read the following exchange I knew that I would carry it with me for a long time. (There is a lot of Helprin that I'm carrying around with me.)

Backstory: Fitch is a contractor in New York City and he is taking on a renovation for a recently widowed woman. They have met at a restaurant for lunch to discuss the final terms of the contract which Fitch has tilted extremely generously towards the woman's favor. As we pick up the story at the midpoint, Lilly (the woman) is speaking-

"It sound so disadvantageous to you. It makes me nervous. Do you understand?"

"Of course I do. Look, I don't know what happened to the country, but everybody tries to screw everybody else. More so than in my father's day, more so than when I was a child, more so than when I was a young man, more so than ten years ago...more so than last year. Everybody lies, cheats, manipulates, and steals. It's as if the world is a game, and all you're supposed to do is try for maximum advantage. Even if you don't want to do it that way, when you find yourself attacked from all sides in such fashion, you begin to do it anyway. Because, if you don't, you lose. And no one these days can tolerate losing."

"Can you?" Lilly asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Tell me."

He hesitated, listening to the clink of glasses and the oceanlike roar of conversation magnified and remagnified under the vaulted ceilings of the dining rooms off to the side, "I can tolerate losing," he said, "if that's the price I pay, if it's what's required, for honor."

"Honor," she repeated.

"Honor. I often go into things-I almost always go into things-with no calculation but for honor, which I find far more attractive and alluring, and satisfying in every way, than winning. I find it deeply, incomparably satisfying."

Mark Helprin is the greatest writer in the world and I have excerpted him on these pages often. He wrote A Soldier of the Great War, Memoir from Antproof Case, Refiner's Fire, and Freddy and Fredericka, among others. His latest book, Digital Barbarism: A Writer's Manifesto, was just released.

High Seas - Soothing Videos

2009-04-30T18:30:00.001-05:00

There is something about this video that I find so calming. I hope that you do too. I've been on a deep sea fishing boat in waves that were 1/10th of these and I hurled for four hours, and yet, even with that experience, I still can't stop watching this video and the one below it.

If you watch this entire video, you will see some beautiful cliffs as they near land, towards the end of the video. I also like the sounds in this one. I think that one of the reasons I like these videos so much is because I can't stop thinking about the big ol' bowl of chowder waiting for these boys back home. You sail seas like that and you have earned a big warm steaming bowl of clam chowder with butter soaked corn bread alongside it.

Blue: Storm over the Pacific

2009-04-28T05:00:00.000-05:00

Sunshine and Haze - Charles Courtney Curran

2009-04-27T09:59:00.003-05:00

I am so grateful to my mother for filling the home we grew up in with paintings. I can remember sitting at the dining room table, in the living room, or (in the case of the above painting) in the bathroom, staring at and absorbing all these wonderful pictures. There was no modern art, all the paintings that my mom had were the sort that set fire to the imagination, made you ask all sorts of questions. Mostly natural scenes, they were full of life and light. They were of places that I just had to see. As a teenager I was half in love with the woman in this painting (the sweep of her hair, her flushed cheeks, and that dress!) but more than that, I was desperate to sit on that cliff, or one just like it. And since that time, I have; and I appreciated it all the more because of the desire that was born in me so many years ago by this painting.

Indian Call Centers

2009-04-26T15:22:00.004-05:00

In a perfect world, my family would live in a tiny, self-contained little town in the mountains. We would buy meat at the butcher shop, our shoes at the cobbler, our cobbler at the bakers', and singing chimney sweeps with English accents would periodically clean our fireplace. Julie Andrews would visit from the local nunnery to home school the kids and if we ever got lost in the mountains on one of our many day trips, we would just hunker down and sing songs about our favorite things until we were rescued by a group of St. Bernards wearing giant flasks filled with Irish Coffee. For reasons unbeknownst to me, this is not the world I find myself in. The world that I do find myself in, however, although far from perfect does have some neat little perks. One such perk is that I can have a problem with a product that I bought at a local store here in Texas and in my quest to solve the problem with said product, end up having a conversation with a gentleman in India. Apparently, I am one of the few Americans who enjoy this neat little facet of globalism.

Exhibit A: from the April 18th edition of the Wall Street Journal,

"Delta Air Lines Inc. said Friday it has stopped using Indian-based call centers to handle sales and reservations, making it the latest U.S. company to decide the cost benefits of directing calls offshore are outweighed by the backlash from customers.

Delta said it stopped routing calls to India-based call centers over the first three months of the year. Customers had complained they had trouble communicating with Indian agents, the airline said. Last month, Chrysler LLC said it would move its customer-service center back from India."

Now I am as opposed to globalism as the next guy but it does have several positive side effects: 1) cargo ships (the coolest things besides trains) 2) the growing Indian and Chinese middle class (both nonexistent 20 years ago) and 3) the fact that I, Johnny Six-Pack can have a conversation with a guy in India. Why does this not blow our minds? "Honey, you'll never believe it - I talked to a guy from Bangalore today!" I was pretty excited to end up talking to a lady out of Vegas when we were having problems with our Internet so I can only imagine how cool that it would be to get to talk to a guy from India. The main thing I would want to know is what he had for breakfast. The likelihood that I will ever get to make one of these calls is pretty slim as I tend to avoid the phone as if it were the source of the swine flu. But if I did, I think I would imagine my global counterpart taking a break for tea and a cigarette shortly after our call. I imagine him out on the terrace of a shiny new building overlooking the lights of the city under a waxing moon. As a dog barks in the distance, there is the sound of a horn honking and a man shouting (without anger). The heavy air is occasionally cooled by a breeze freighted with the scent of hundreds of wood burning fires, diesel, feces and spices. In the foreground an in ground sprinkler pops up and begins to water the manicured lawn of the business complex. He smiles as he drinks his tea, it is his favorite time of the day, quiet... He tilts his head back and exhales, stubs out his cigarette and prepares himself to go in and talk to more rude Americans. "That last guy was funny, wanted to know what I had for breakfast", he thinks. He laughs and shakes his head, "Americans..." he mumbles as he walks back into the air conditioned complex.

This is why I love Indian call centers.

Simple Pleasures: Redbird

2009-04-20T20:51:00.003-05:00

It comes as grace, this flit of red amongst the green. An undeserved moment of beauty that reminds me of the One who sees me. No matter what is going on in my life, how down I am, the gift of the redbird never fails to lift my spirit. Everything falls away, and for those brief moments, it is just me, the bird, and the Maker.

Drawing by Heather Ward

Crunchy Cons

2009-04-11T22:22:00.002-05:00

While trying to find some Sowell or Helprin in the bookstore today I ran across a book called Crunchy Cons by Rod Dreher. The book jacket caught my attention so I looked him up when I got home and found the following on Mr. Drehers' blog at National Review Online. Some of these I really agree with and some not so much. I have put my thoughts in parenthesis after his.

A Crunchy Con Manifesto
By Rod Dreher
(hijacked by the Ditchdigger)

1. We are conservatives who stand outside the conservative mainstream; therefore, we can see things that matter more clearly. (I'm automatically suspicious of anyone who can see more clearly than others so this one rubs me the wrong way. How bout: 1. We are conservatives who believe in the freedoms and responsibilities espoused by the founding fathers well over two hundred years ago; therefore, we would like to peel back the manifold layers of "progress" that have buried the simple beauty of their original vision.)

2. Modern conservatism has become too focused on money, power, and the accumulation of stuff, and insufficiently concerned with the content of our individual and social character. (If he had said Modern Americans (accumulation of stuff) or Modern Republicans (power.) instead of Modern conservatism then I would have to agree. However modern conservatism to me consists of a pretty small group who is far more concerned with the content of our character than either power or money. I'm thinking specifically of the Big 3 that I listen to, Bill Bennett, Dennis Prager (especially Prager), and Glenn Beck. Or of the greatest living mind on the right, Thomas Sowell who has taught me that economic and human liberty go hand in hand.

3. Big business deserves as much skepticism as big government. (Nine months ago it would have been a lot easier to instantly agree with this one. The slight pause I now feel is probably just a reaction to the current hostilities (French Revolution Part Deux). Yes, I do agree that big business deserves as much skepticism as big government, however the one thing that big business has that big government will never have is - competition. I believe in competition because in the long run it keeps you, me, and them honest. Having said that, I'll never forget what the old farmer said to me, "more money has been stolen at the end of the pen than at the end of the sword." True for both big business and big government, although as we are witnessing now with the differing response to the AIG and Fannie and Freddie bonuses - only the private sector ends up paying for their sins (which again proves the point that ultimately big business, although deserving of skepticism, is still far superior to big government). Might I add one sentence to #3? - And may the unions meet the fate of pirates.

4. Culture is more important than politics and economics. (Sounds sweet but I disagree. Just ask the dude in Bamiyan, Afghanistan who watched the Taliban blow up a couple of 1,500 year old statues back in March of 2001, or the nature loving Chinese guy who used to love paddling his boat along the Yangtze River in the Three Gorges area before the government destroyed it with the Three Gorges Dam. No, culture is elevated by sound politics and economics and destroyed by the lack of. The principles of personal, political, and economic freedom that this country were founded on explain the difference today between the United States and Russia, or Haiti, Cuba, Somalia, North Korea, Venezuela, Libya, Iran, Afghanistan et cetera, et cetera...) Switch the politics and economics for the last two hundred fifty years or so and we not they would be the ones living in fear, poverty, corruption, and repression. Ideas matter and ideas have consequences, something that we have had the luxury of being able to forget. I would amend this one to say 4. Sound politics and economic principles based on individual liberty will create a common culture of excellence that binds many diverse people together in a harmony seen nowhere else.

5. A conservatism that does not practice restraint, humility, and good stewardship—especially of the natural world—is not fundamentally conservative. (Finally, I agree 100%.) (p.s. - global warming is still a hoax.)

6. Small, Local, Old, and Particular are almost always better than Big, Global, New, and Abstract. (I am not alone, I am not alone! Oh, I just want to read this one over and over again. Perfect. And the inclusion of the words "almost always" covers me on the apparent conflict with this statement and my upcoming blog post about my love of Indian call centers.)

7. Beauty is more important than efficiency. (Yes, yes, yes!!! A thousand times yes!)

8. The relentlessness of media-driven pop culture deadens our senses to authentic truth, beauty, and wisdom. (You had me at #6 and yet, they keep coming! I was actually thinking about this yesterday morning; Jennifer Aniston could kill Angelina Jolie with a roadside IED and then kidnap all of her adopted children and run off to Mexico and live in the desert like a bandito with her clan of kidnapped children, get caught by Dog the Bounty Hunter and sentenced to die in the electric chair, request a last meal of chicken fried steak, rhubarb pie and Dr. Pepper and then get fried herself in a Texas state prison as Brad Pitt, Sean Penn and Tim Robbins lay chained together weeping and shouting in protest at the prison gates before they immolated themselves and I still wouldn't care anymore than I do that this is the mother of all run on sentences.)

9. We share Russell Kirk’s conviction that “the institution most essential to conserve is the family.” (Yessiree, small and local, uh huh.)

10. Politics and economics won’t save us; if our culture is to be saved at all, it will be by faithfully living by the Permanent Things, conserving these ancient moral truths in the choices we make in our everyday lives. (I am going to ignore the first five words because technically they are correct and the rest of this is wonderful.)

And although Rod Dreher ducks down and hides everytime I say it; "I'm a Crunchy Con! I'm a Crunchy Con!"

The Time That...

2009-03-21T15:15:00.003-05:00

The following is a true story that occurred sometime in the spring of 2007.

I was walking out the front door, headed for work just before 5 a.m. when I noticed a car idling in front of a house down the street. An older couple lived in this house, so I was curious as to why a car would be idling that early in front of their house, it wouldn't be someone carpooling to work with my neighbor and probably not someone coming to pick him up for an early morning fishing trip; was foul play at work? I was already in a heightened state of alert (threat level yellow) as a friend had recently warded off a burglary attempt on his home, so I crouched down, hidden between the two vehicles in my driveway and began watching and waiting for some clue as to what was going on. After a minute, the car abruptly roared to life, flipped a u-turn and raced up our half mile street and disappeared. Relieved, I backed my truck out of the drive and was getting ready to take off myself when a pair of headlights appeared at the top of the street. It was the same car! He returned to his previous position in front of my neighbor's house and resumed idling. Something just did not feel right about the situation and I didn't want to take off and leave my innocent family slumbering peacefully and vulnerable with this shady character on the street so I put my truck in park and killed my headlights, I wasn't going anywhere until this clown either revealed his intentions or left. After a long and uncomfortable couple of minutes he again suddenly roared to life, flipped a u-ey and disappeared up the street. I sat in front of my house for a few more minutes just to be sure that he was gone for good, said a prayer blessing my home and family and took off for work. Well no sooner than I got to the top of my street and here he comes again. "Oh how clever", I thought, "wait around the corner till I leave and then come back and sack my house...not on my watch you bastard!" So I whipped the old Chevy around and raced down the street in hot pursuit (by now he was moving pretty fast down the street). He took a couple of quick turns and I lost him down some side streets so I drove slowly down a few streets hoping I would cross paths with him again and then there he was. I was determined not to lose him again so I pulled up a foot or two behind him, if he had any doubts as to my intentions, there were none now. I was fully committed to, well to what I wasn't sure, for now harassing him until he got nervous and bolted I guess. My heart began pounding as I wondered how far should I follow him this closely? One mile? Five? And just how long would he put up with this before there was a confrontation? Should I stop and get out if he pulls over or should I just keep going and consider it mission accomplished? Wait, he knows where I live. He turned onto one of the main streets outside our neighborhood and I followed him quickly, again closing the cap between our two vehicles to two feet or less. He began slowing down dramatically and then put his hazard lights on. "Oh no that trick won't work on me you idiot. I am all over you!" I screamed as I noticed him throw something out the window. And then there it was again, he was throwing stuff out the window. It happened a third time and as I watched the white cylinder sail through the air I realized that I was harassing the paper boy.

Now, in my defense, he was acting highly suspicious, and was clearly looking to evade me once I initially whipped around to follow him (though in retrospect who could blame him). This little episode does illustrates a sad but comedic truth. If awkward situations were an Olympic sport, I would be up on the medal stand mouthing the Star Spangled Banner more often than Micheal Phelps.

A Little Dose of Optimism

2009-02-23T22:23:00.000-06:00

One of the highlights of Saturday morning is reading Peggy Noonan in the Wall Street Journal. Following is the last two paragraphs from her piece on 2/21.

"Perhaps the biggest factor behind the new pessimism is the knowledge that the crisis is not only economic but political, that we’ll have to change both cultures, economic and political, to turn the mess around. That’s a tall order, and won’t happen quickly. One thing for sure: Our political leaders for at least a decade, really more, have by and large been men and women who had fortunate lives, who always seemed to expect nice things to happen and happiness to occur. And so they could overspend, overcommit and overextend the military, and it would all turn out fine. They claimed to be quintessentially optimistic, but it was a cheap optimism, based more on sunny personal experience than any particular faith, and void of an understanding of how dark and gritty life can be, and has been for most of human history.

I end with a hunch that is not an unhappy one. Dynamism has been leached from our system for now, but not from the human brain or heart. Just as our political regeneration will happen locally, in counties and states that learn how to control themselves and demonstrate how to govern effectively in a time of limits, so will our economic regeneration. That will begin in someone’s garage, somebody’s kitchen, as it did in the case of Messrs. Jobs and Wozniak. The comeback will be from the ground up and will start with innovation. No one trusts big anymore. In the future everything will be local. That’s where the magic will be. And no amount of pessimism will stop it once it starts."

Going Negative

2009-02-08T17:42:00.002-06:00

I've been feeling rather depressed lately. I can't seem to beat it, so I'm going to bleed it out on paper.

A Bunch of Stuff That Really Annoys Me:

Standing Ovations. Somewhere along the way, the standing ovation got hijacked. The standing ovation should be reserved for performances so transcendent that they either leave you weeping in your seat or compel you to leap to your feet to shout and clap with wild abandon. My guess is that even if I had season tickets to The Met, I might only see three such performances in a lifetime. On too many occasions I have stubbornly refused to budge from my seat while all around me, entire audiences including my embarrassed wife rose in unison to salute performances that were mediocre at best. Yes, your kid was cute in the Christmas pageant, but he deserves a hug not a standing O. Please join me in the seats, let's make the standing ovation mean something again.

Bicycle Helmets. My wife and I used to make fun of people who wore bicycle helmets. Then we had kids and she bought them bicycle helmets. (Cue longstanding marital disagreement.) My friends and I never wore bike helmets growing up, whether we were standing on the seat with one leg, riding backwards, or bombing down steep hills and we never wore helmets. There is no better way to say, "I am a risk averse American wuss" than to put on a bicycle helmet.

Nuance. This word is used all the time in the media, usually to explain how brilliant a certain politician is, how he understands things at a deeper level than either his colleagues or you. The dictionary defines nuance as "a subtle distinction or variation". So when the media says something along the lines of, "Senator Wormwood brings a more nuanced approach to universal health care than his predecessor", they are implying that Senator Wormwood is so brilliant, so heavy that he can distinguish between a thousand shades of grey. I'm not buying it, whenever I hear the word nuance used in this way, I automatically translate it into its actual meaning, "unnecessarily complicated."

The guy in shorts and flip flops who passes you doing a wheelie on his motorcycle at 90 miles an hour. Always prompts me to shake my fist and scream, "if you crash - I'm not stopping to peel you up off the pavement!" This entry may seem strange considering my dislike of bike helmets. Nuance, my friends. Bicycle helmets and the flip flop wearing wheelie poppers reside at opposite ends of the safety spectrum. One is too safe, the other is too dangerous and in between lies that forgotten trait, common sense.

Guys who wear "Second Place is the First Loser" t-shirts. I would like to assemble a couple thousand of these guy in a convention center and force them to play musical chairs until there was only one winner. Everyone else would then be told they were losers and their shirts would be confiscated.

Catching Up

2008-12-26T17:16:00.004-06:00

The Plain at Suzaki by Utagawa Hiroshige

I apologize for not posting on a more frequent basis. We've been without the internet for the past 6 months and so it has been difficult to get around to posting. We're tossing around the idea of going back online next year so hopefully I'll be able to resume a more regular posting schedule. In the meantime, I've enjoyed not having the internet cause I read a lot more books, but do miss it for all the little conveniences. I've been on a bit of a Middle East binge lately, here are some recomendations:

Books:

From Beirut to Jerusalem by Thomas Friedman. Kind of a memoir of the time he spent as a journalist in the Middle East. Eye opening and pretty fair for a guy from the enemy paper.

Guests of the Ayatollah by Mark Bowden. Super interesting read about the Iranian hostage crisis from 79-81. I absolutely love the way this guy writes. Super thorough, never dry, covers all the angles. Stayed up way too late, way too many night in a row reading this one.

Vengeance by George Jonas. This thriller is the true story that Steven Spielberg based his movie Munich on. The movie was horrible, the book is incredible. When I got done reading it I wished I wished I had never read it just so that I could read it all over again for the first time. Disturbing, makes your pulse race.

Movies:

The Color of Paradise. This Iranian film is about a blind boy whose widowed father is ashamed of him. Beautiful, a real treat for sensates, moves slowly enough to let you feel it. Also gives you a heart for the Iranian people and their land (which was surprisingly scenic).

The Kite Runner. A heavy but ultimately redemptive film about two boys from Afghanistan. Again, will give you a love for the people and the parts of their culture not corrupted by the Taliban. These two movies are both sad and heavy, but I can't stand nor would I recommend a movie without redemption. Redemption doesn't have to come wrapped neatly with a bow on top at the end of the movie, but it must be there for me to enjoy a movie.

Charlie Wilson's War. Gentlemen, you'll have to avert your eyes during the first 3-4 minutes of this one, but it's clean after that. Interesting. The end will make you whistle and mutter sadly, "well, we really blew that one didn't we?"

Taming the Beast Within

2008-11-12T20:57:00.001-06:00

I ran across this opinion piece by David Brooks over the summer. I cut it out of the paper and keep going back to read it from time to time. I figure if I am still enjoying it 5 months later, than it is probably worth sharing.

The Meaning of Maturity

Clean Slate

2008-11-10T19:42:00.003-06:00

The Friday before the election while working in Houston, I turned on the radio to try and find some music to help keep my pace up. The alt country station I had been listening to back home (92.1) had become a gospel station. The music was energetic enough so I let it play on. This particular station was doing a remote broadcast from an early voting site and was interviewing local pastors as well as various people who were exiting the polls. Two things were immediately clear, everyone I was hearing was black, and everyone was voting for Obama. After nine months of listening to talk radio and reading my favorite conservative columnists, this was exactly what I needed – a different perspective.

The joy in their voices began to affect me and I found myself growing quite attached to these people on the radio. “Come Tuesday,” I told myself, “I will find myself thinking about these guys. If their candidate loses, my elation will be tempered by their sorrow; and if their candidate wins, my disappointment will be nearly washed away by their joy.” These folks were my brothers and sisters in Christ and that is a bond that trumps all political belief, regardless of how deeply held those beliefs are. Quick aside: I am a small government economic conservative in the tradition of Adam Smith first and foremost, and I believe that this view of government is key to raising the greatest number of people (of any color) out of poverty and bondage. So even though I feel that their vote was counterproductive economically, the point is practically moot as McCain was no economic conservative himself.

No matter what your politics, you would have to have a heart of stone to not be moved by the excitement running through the black community this past week. So it was Tuesday night that although the guy I voted for took a beating, I found myself happily caught up in the emotion of the night (made all the easier by the exceptionally uninspiring McCain). My brother, Josh, and I got to talking and decided we would wipe the slate clean, at least give him a chance. After watching the shameful ways the left has treated Bush the past eight years, we are faced with a choice: give it right back to’em or treat the left with the grace neither they nor we deserve. Choose grace, it feels fantastic. Sitting there in front of the tube on Tuesday, I could feel all the anger, distrust, and pessimism wash away. I feel at peace, happy, and full of optimism and all this without budging an ideological inch. Hopefully, the Republican Party will purify itself over the next four years and actually bring something inspiring to the table in 2012. In the meantime, I’ll at least give Obama a fighting chance and give him the opportunity the left never gave Bush. So, off to the honeymoon, it might be a short one, but by golly, I’m going anyways.

Big Bend

2008-10-30T17:40:00.005-05:00

Spotlights sweep over a thousand shades of green

Contemplating a swim on the border

View from an abandoned mine

< "...under a black belly of cloud in the rain, she brings me white golden pearls, stolen from the sea, she is raging, she is raging, a storm blows up in her eyes..." -U2

Mas! Mas!

White Sands, N.M.

2008-10-19T21:29:00.001-05:00

Solzhenitsyn Quotes

2008-08-10T21:34:00.002-05:00

The following quotes were found last week in The Wall Street Journal.

From Solzhenitsyn's Nobel Literature Prize lecture in 1970:
The timid civilized world has found nothing with which to oppose the onslaught of a sudden revival of bare faced barbarity, other than concessions and smiles. The spirit of Munich is a sickness of the will of successful people, it is the daily condition of those who have given themselves up to the thirst after prosperity at any price, to material well-being as the chief goal of earthly existence. Such people-and there are many in today's world-elect passivity and retreat, just so as their accustomed life might drag on a bit longer, just so not as to step over the threshold of hardship today-and tomorrow, you'll see it will be all right. (But it will never be all right! The price of cowardice today will only be evil; we shall reap courage and victory only when we dare to make sacrifices.) Ouch! - JW

From a speech at Harvard, 1978:
However, the most cruel mistake occurred with the failure to understand the Vietnam war. Some people sincerely wanted all wars to stop just as soon as possible; others believed that there should be room for national, or communist, self-determination in Vietnam, or in Cambodia, as we see today with particular clarity. But members of the U.S. antiwar movement wound up being involved in the betrayal of Far Eastern nations, in a genocide and in the suffering today imposed on 30 million people there. Do those convinced pacifists hear the moans coming from there? Do they understand their responsibility today? Or do they prefer not to hear? The American Intelligentsia lost its [nerve] and as a consequence thereof danger has come much closer to the United States. But there is no awareness of this. Your shortsighted politicians who signed the hasty Vietnam capitulation seemingly gave America a carefree breathing pause; however, a hundredfold Vietnam now looms over you. That small Vietnam had been a warning and an occasion to mobilize the nation's courage. But if a full-fledged America suffered a real defeat from a small communist half-country, how can the West hope to stand firm in the future?

My Favorite Stretch

2008-08-07T21:28:00.005-05:00

Don't pay the ransom, I escaped! Thank you for coming back after such a long break.

Purity of Light and Color
The drive between Iowa and Texas is divided into three different sections; the giddy anticipation and breathless buildup to driving through the Flint Hills of Kansas, the roughly 30 minute stretch through the Flint Hills, and the drug like euphoria of having just passed through the Flint Hills which lasts until about the Texas-Oklahoma border.

This year I had the chance to drive through the Flint Hills on four separate occasions, the last being in early June and I still can't shake off that gorgeous drive. I've heard that the Flint Hills were an inspiration behind the Rich Mullins song, "The Color Green". The Flint Hills have probably been an inspiration for a lot of things. The thing that strikes me about them is the purity of the place. There are a few trees and fences and cows but mostly its just grass covered hills and a big sky. The greens of the earth and the various shades of blue sky locked in perpetual struggle for dominance on this vast blank slate, like Jacob and the Angel, neither one overcoming; the result - perfect balance, and one that makes me wish I were a cowboy.

Rich Mullins once said that the best accompaniment to the Flint Hills was either Aaron Copeland or silence, I tried just about everything, even some Irish music on one foggy morning and I would have to agree with the silence part. But if you insist, I recommend the piano.

"Be praised for all Your tenderness by these works of Your hands
Suns that rise and rains that fall to bless and bring to life Your land
Look down upon this winter wheat and be glad that You have made
Blue for the sky and the color green that fills these fields with praise." - Rich Mullins

The Peaceful Valley

2008-05-02T09:29:00.012-05:00

"Lord take me home
To the peaceful valley
Down the winding river
To your city of souls
I've grown so tired
And my hearts too heavy
To walk any longer
To your cities of gold

All my life I've longed for forgiveness
But I can't ever seem to get enough
All my life I've been rocked into the darkness...

Trying to find a peaceful song
Trying to find a peaceful song
To sing when everything goes wrong
Till the peaceful valley calls me home"

-Ryan Adams

There is a cemetery just south of our house where the kids and I like to walk and ride bikes. When I walk out my front door in the morning and head to the left I can see the military portion of the cemetery; the tombstones of soldiers from the Spanish American War, World Wars I and II and the Korean conflict lined up in procession, cresting and dissapearing over a gentle rise. Seeing those tombstones every morning is a handsome and needed reminder of the grim sacrifices made on a daily basis for our nation.

One thing that surprised me over a decade ago when I left home to strike out on my own was how hard life is. I don't know why this surprised me like it did, but it was a shock. I think the thing that surprised me, as it probably does most people was just how much work life is. As a youngster I guess I just assumed that once you got old you reached some point where you leveled off and then it was pretty much auto pilot from then on, till the landing. But at some point in my twenties, it dawned on me that everything is in a steady state of decline (home,car,body, holiness, relationships) and requires constant upkeep. So much work! As a young boy, I had always looked forward to Heaven, but once I realized how much work was between me and the grave, I was ready to throw in the towel. I'm sure you've probably felt the same thing from time to time so you understand me when I say this is not suicidal, but rather a weary mental submission to the inevitable. "Same sh*t, different day" and "no rest for the weary," that sort of thing. So I spent plenty of time daydreaming about Heaven, looking forward to the great escape. As I matured (slowly), my need for mental escapes grew fewer and fewer, but my basic frame of mind was still basically, "just grin and bear it, this too will soon pass, and then...ohhh! how glorious it will be!" As I walked through the graveyard last fall I still had a tinge of envy for those resting souls, the song by Ryan Adams excerpted above always running through my head.

Slowly over the last year my thinking has been transformed on the subject of Heaven. I read Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell which kickstarted the process, and then recently read The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis which completed my mental one-eighty. I can now say that I look forward to and even desire a long life, regardless of how hard, painful, or full of toil it may be. Jesus has invited us to join him in a grand adventure. And it is! He has shown me to view every hardship and pain as opportunity, and toil as a gift.

Here's Rob Bell in Velvet Elvis: (silencio John!)

"When we choose God's vision of who we are, we are living as God made us to live. We are living in the flow of how we are going to live forever. This is the life of heaven, here and now. And as we live this life, in harmony with God's intentions for us, the life of heaven becomes more and more present in our lives. Heaven comes to earth. This is why Jesus taught his disciples to pray, "May your will be done on earth as it is in heaven." There is this place, this realm, heaven, where things are as God desires them to be. As we live this way, heaven comes here...

The question wasn't, how do I get in there? But how do I get there here?"

Finally, here is C.S. Lewis as found in the absolute masterpiece, The Great Divorce:

"There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, in the end, "Thy will be done." All that are in Hell, choose it. Without that self choice there could be no Hell. No soul that seriously and constantly desires joy will ever miss it. Those who seek find. To those who knock it is opened."

So now, as I walk through that same cemetery where the trees are beginning to blossom, my prayer has changed from, "how long, oh Lord, how long?" to "God, I'm in. I want to fight down here, with these people, for as long as you'll let me, I'll take as much as I can get."

Everything has changed.

Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee

2008-04-27T21:38:00.003-05:00

Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee,
God of glory, Lord of love;
Hearts unfold like flow’rs before Thee,
Op’ning to the sun above.
Melt the clouds of sin and sadness;
Drive the dark of doubt away;
Giver of immortal gladness,
Fill us with the light of day!

All Thy works with joy surround Thee,
Earth and heav’n reflect Thy rays,
Stars and angels sing around Thee,
Center of unbroken praise.
Field and forest, vale and mountain,
Flow’ry meadow, flashing sea,
Singing bird and flowing fountain
Call us to rejoice in Thee.

Thou art giving and forgiving,
Ever blessing, ever blest,
Wellspring of the joy of living,
Ocean depth of happy rest!
Thou our Father, Christ our Brother,
All who live in love are Thine;
Teach us how to love each other,
Lift us to the joy divine.

Mortals, join the happy chorus,
Which the morning stars began;
Father love is reigning o’er us,
Brother love binds man to man.
Ever singing, march we onward,
Victors in the midst of strife,
Joyful music leads us Sunward
In the triumph song of life.

-Henry J. van Dyke, 1907
Paintings by Albert Bierstadt

These words are life giving sustenance and should be savored slowly. Like a smooth stone in the hand, my mind runs over them time and time again drawing strength from the power they convey. The lyrics to this song captured me as a young boy sitting in the pew. I remember taking a hymnal home and reading this song over and over. I couldn't get enough of it and eventually memorized it so that I would always have it with me.

The Greatest Song of All Time

2008-04-27T21:13:00.008-05:00

The fourth movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony is, in my opinion, the greatest song of all time. Much like the theme song to Chariots of Fire, it has been used in commercials, movies, and as the background music in various video montages, and yet its repetitive use has stolen none of its power. Clocking in at 25 minutes, it has time for two heart pounding climaxes, one at the midpoint and then the grand finale, either of which is powerful enough to induce cardiac arrest. Here is a small portion of the song with an eloquent intro from the conductor. Roughly 9 minutes long, this video is worth every second,(the singers enter at about the 5:25 mark).

An excerpt from An die Freude by Friedrich Schiller, 1785

"Joyously, as his suns speed
Through Heaven's glorious order,
Hasten, Brothers, on your way,
Exulting as a knight in victory.

Joy, beautiful spark of the gods,
Daughter of Elysium,
We enter fire imbibed,
Heavenly, thy sanctuary.

Be embraced, Millions!
This kiss for all the world!
Brothers!, above the starry canopy
A loving father must dwell.

Can you sense the Creator, world?
Seek him above the starry canopy.
Above the stars He must dwell. "

Thomas Sowell (an excerpt)

2008-04-25T12:45:00.005-05:00

I ran across a book over Christmas break entitled, Basic Economics: A Citizen's Guide to the Economy by Thomas Sowell. It was eye opening and started me on a Thomas Sowell reading frenzy. In the last couple of months I've also read and would recommend The Quest for Cosmic Justice as well as Ethnic America: A History. I have learned so much about politics, human nature, and economics from Mr. Sowell that my head is spinning from it all, it's almost been too much information to absorb in that short amount of time.

So while I sort my thoughts the following is an excerpt from his essay The Quiet Repeal of the American Revolution:

"A quarter of a century before he delivered the Gettysburg address, Abraham Lincoln gave another speech, much less celebrated but all too relevant to our theme and times. In an 1838 address in Springfield, Illinois, Lincoln asked where future dangers to the freedom and security of the American people might be found. It was not from foreign enemies, he said, but from internal threats. If and when the fundamental principles and structure of American government should fall under attack, "men of sufficient talent and ambition will not be wanting to seize the opportunity" and "strike the blow against free government."

What is particularly significant about Lincoln's warning is that it was based on a vision of what human beings are like, and especially what talented and ambitious leaders are like. To Lincoln, the historic achievement of American society in establishing a new form of government was in jeopardy from later elites precisely because that achievement was already history:

The field of glory is harvested, and the crop is already appropriated. But new reapers will arise, and they too, will seek a field. It is to deny, what the history of the world tells us is true, to suppose that men of ambition and talents will not continue to spring up amongst us. And, when they do, they will as naturally seek the gratification of their ruling passion, as others have so done before them. The question is, can that gratification be found in supporting and maintaining an edifice that has been erected by others? Most certainly it cannot.

While the ambitions of some might be satisfied with "a seat in Congress, a gubernatorial or a presidential chair," Lincoln said, "such belong not to the family of the lion, or the tribe of the eagle." He added:

What! Think you these places would satisfy an Alexander, a Caesar, or a Napolean? - Never! Towering genius disdains a beaten path. It seeks regions hitherto unexplored. - It sees not distinction in adding story to story, upon the monuments of fame, erected to the memories of others. It denies that it is glory enough to serve under any chief. It scorns to tread in the footsteps of any predecessor, however illustrious. It thirsts and burns for distinction; and if possible, it will have it, whether at the expense of emancipating slaves, or enslaving freemen.

That some leader dangerous to the basic institutions of American society would arise, Lincoln thought inevitable. Safeguarding those institutions would require a public sufficiently united, sufficiently attached to freedom, and sufficiently wise, "to succesfully frustrate his designs." Today it would also require a public sufficiently resistant to incessant criticisms and condemnations of their society for failing to achieve cosmic justice. Moreover, if the dangers in our own times were limited to those of "towering genius," there would be much less danger than there is. However, all that is needed are towering presumptions, which are increasingly mass-produced in our schools and colleges by the educational vogue of encouraging immature and inexperienced students to sit in emotional judgement on the complex evolution of whole ages and of vast civilizations.

Political leaders are not the only ones with a vested interest in opposing the existing framework of American society, precisely because it is the existing framework, so that supporting it offers no path to the kinds of glory that they seek. The intelligentsia have exactly the same incentives as Napoleonic politicians, even if the glory they seek is not necessarily direct political power in their own hands, but only the triumph of their doctrines, the reordering of other peoples lives in accordance with their own visions, a display of their own intellectual virtousity, or simply a posture of daring in the role of a verbal dandy. The easiest way to achieve all of these goals is to disdain the beaten path, as Lincoln put it, and to attack or undermine the fundamental structure of the American political system and society."

Thomas Sowell, The Quest for Cosmic Justice (New York: Free Press, 1999) pp. 147-149

Viva Tommy! Sheds a little light on things doesn't it? This is not only a bipartisan criticism, it also serves as a warning to look into your own heart to see the areas where you disdain the beaten or the ancient paths as my buddy John likes to call them.

"This is what the LORD says: "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. But you said, 'We will not walk in it.'" - Jeremiah

Good Times for Curious Cheapskates

2008-04-18T09:32:00.007-05:00

As a notorious cheapskate I am always on the lookout for free entertainment, well free anything really, and as a guy trying to figure out how this thing called life works, I am always on the search for clues. People watching and eavesdropping are great for both.

Now by eavesdropping I do not mean listening to entire conversations but rather little audio snapshots picked up here and there. There is no better place to do this than walking through a busy airport or crowded restaurant. I love hearing little snippets that give me insight into the human experience and fuel my imagination with their brevity. Some highlights from the last year:

"I sold seven units today!" From a man arriving late (I assumed) to a multi-generational table already halfway through their meal at a nice restaurant in Texas.

"So where are we at?" Attractive and mournful young gal in Starbucks to a guy whose appearance made me wonder why she even cared.

"They don't count calories in Singapore, they're called kilograms." Hmmm...not so sure about that one. Overheard in the Memphis airport.

"Of all of my medical conditions, it..." My personal favorite. This one I also overheard in Memphis on a seperate trip, it came from a very healthy looking young lady revealing her hypocondria to a mildly disinterested young man. I nearly laughed out loud. All? How many medical conditions do you have? I was power walking down the moving sidewalk so that was all I heard.

"I drank the whole bottle last night and I'm still feeling it this morning" Guy wearing a christian t-shirt walking in front of me. Brilliant advertising, dude.

Cell phone conversations are one notable exemption from enjoyable eavesdropping, especially on a plane or in line at the store. If there is one thing that puts me in a near homicidal rage it is when the knucklehead, er, gentleman sitting in the row behind me calls the office to check in the second the plane touches down. I sit there silently fuming looking like that guy in Edvard Munch's painting The Scream. There is NO NEED TO TALK SO LOUD THE BAGGAGE HANDLERS UNLOADING THE PLANE CAN HEAR YOU! Aaarrgghhh! &$#@! I'm getting upset just writing about it.

It's funny, sometimes when we are out in public, Jen and I will be talking and I can hear little snippets of conversation from all around us. She says my eyes bug out, which is true, because I am straining so hard to block out all the conversation around us and concentrate on what she is saying. Jen is not an eavesdropper so she is constantly saying things that would be great fodder for anyone within earshot. For example, while watching one of Cal's soccer games in a crowded bleacher she turned to me and said in a normal speaking voice, "doesn't that kid in the number four jersey look like he'll grow up to be a serial killer?" Hilarious.

Also fun, and especially at the airport is people watching. People watching is best done in pairs so that you can conduct your own What Not to Wear clinic. I enjoy watching people deplane from Vegas and anywhere tropical. The Vegas people always look slightly depressed and I am always curious when I see pale men in business wear mixed in with the tan honeymooners getting off the flight from Cancun. What, you couldn't spare half an hour to go to the beach?

It is always tempting to ogle attractive women while people watching but as a married man I try my best not to do this. In my attempts to avoid becoming a dirty old man I have developed the practice of immediately scanning the periphery when an attractive woman walks by. I do not mean to betray my gender; but you have got to try this - it is so funny. I have seen guys from 7 to 97 turn their heads on a swivel when a pretty lady walks by. Men holding babies, men walking arm in arm with their wives or girlfriends, men trailing oxygen tanks - you name it. It is so universal, so automatic you can go out and witness it today wherever you happen to be. The worst/funniest is seeing some guy trip over himself to hold the door open for an attractive woman and then nearly slam it shut in the face of a far less attractive woman. I'm sure I've been guilty of similarly transparent behavior, but the practice of people watching is hopefully teaching me some behaviors to avoid, and yes, slowly but surely I am learning what not to wear.

Taxes

2008-04-16T10:23:00.004-05:00

From the Nov/Dec issue of The American, by Stephen Moore.

"6. What is the economic logic behind these lower tax rates?
As legend has it, the famous “Laffer Curve” was first drawn by economist Arthur Laffer in 1974 on a cocktail napkin at a small dinner meeting attended by the late Wall Street Journal editor Robert Bartley and such high-powered policymakers as Richard Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld. Laffer showed how two different rates—one high and one low—could produce the same revenues, since the higher rate would discourage work and investment. The Laffer Curve helped launch Reaganomics here at home and ignited a frenzy of tax cutting around the globe that continues to this day. It’s also one of the simplest concepts in economics: lowering the tax rate on production, work, investment, and risk-taking will spur more of these activities and will often produce more tax revenue rather than less. Since the Reagan tax cuts, the United States has created some 40 million new jobs—more than all of Europe and Japan combined."

- Stephen Moore

I would like to add that this issue really frosts my chaps. The budget deficit is caused by overspending not undertaxing. Of course the rich are going to benefit the most from tax cuts since they are the ones actually paying the taxes!

When you punish success it affects everyone negatively. Reward success and everyone has a fair shot at getting ahead. It won't be easy (Pursuit of Happyness) but it will be possible.

Here is a prominent Senator speaking on taxes in 2004, "We're going to take things away from you on behalf of the common good." How is that anything other than legalized covetousness?

But what about the poor, you say? Well, Americans have always been among the most generous people on earth. Private citizens efforts on behalf of the poor are always more effective, compassionate and cost efficient than anything the government could dream up.

Thomas Sowell has a great analogy in his book, The Quest for Cosmic Justice. He is speaking about government efforts to make life more fair and he uses the following illustration to make his point. I'm paraphrasing here- "If a ship with 300 people on board is sinking and there is only room for 200 people on board, the fair thing is that all 300 people should drown. It is not fair to the 100 to let them drown while the 200 live." Obviously no sane person would recommend that we let all 300 drown just to make it fair, even knowing as Sowell points out that the most selfish scoundrels among the lot would probably end up in the life boat. And yet this policy of fairness, or "cosmic justice" as Sowell calls it is the guiding principle of so many in government today. Damn the whole lot for the sake of the few, rather than to let the horses run free and wild, knowing that some will get left behind. Let them fall behind I say, statistics prove that there will always be plenty of us who will turn around to help them on their way.

Light and Life

2008-04-14T20:55:00.003-05:00

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it." - John, the apostle

I don't know that the world is getting any darker but it sure feels that way. Humans are pretty good at coping though and so it becomes pretty easy to live in a self induced state of denial about how bad things are (and have been for oh, the last six thou or so). We learn to tolerate, adapt to, and even participate in darkness and the celebration of. For example, I remember briefly being disturbed by the fact that I was rooting for a gang of thieves while watching the movie Ocean's Eleven, but apparently not disturbed enough to refrain from watching its sequels; Ocean's Twelve and Thirteen. That has been me in a nutshell up to this point in my life - mildly or even blatantly amused by sin, willfully ignorant of convenient injustices, and in general deaf to most of the din and roar beyond whatever walls my mind could create. A line from my friend John's blog sums it up well,

St. Cyprian wrote to his friend in North Africa in the third century admitting from his “fair garden under the shadow of these vines” that the world looked cheerful. Yet he also knew that if he were to step away from the shade of his comfort, he would see that “It is really a bad world Donatus, an incredibly bad world”

At some point in the past year I feel as though I have been shaken from the comfort of my mental "Shire" and have started to become aware of the prescence of the Valley of the Shadow. It hasn't been tragedy or hardship that has jolted me awake but rather the overwhelming prescence of beauty. Patty Griffin's voice, Mark Helprin's writing, Brahms, Thomas Sowell's mind, the boundless delight found in my wife Jennifer's face, the subdued pastels and heartbreaking silence of twilight, the Guadalupe on my skin, the grace in my daughter's smile, the smell of warm bread and it's ability to satisfy so deeply. All of these and more have shattered me. I am ruined for anything less. These gifts have driven me straight into the arms of the one I call, "The Great Other." Father, Spirit, Son. Jesus, Yahweh, The Great "I Am." And all of this feels like about the twentieth of what will surely be hundreds of salvations. Saved from myself, saved from death, saved from illusions, saved to life, and on and on it goes.

Like many believers I have dutifully attempted at times in my life to steer clear of sin, with some modest successes, and too many failures to count. My primary method for doing this was to attempt to build a series of floodgates to keep the darkness out. Not only did it not work, but in my fixation to keep the darkness out, I was ignorant of the light. My primary focus was in keeping darkness out rather than letting light in.

And then in spite of myself; morning broke, and I was awakened to the glorious light, and in that light I found life.

To my left and to my right is a darkness blacker than death, I am more aware of it now than ever before, but in front of me is Light and Life and with a face set like flint on what I desire, I choose Light and I choose Life. I exult in its radiant joy. I can see it (hear it, taste it, touch it, smell it) now.

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." - Jesus, (The Light and The Life)

Clouds

2008-03-01T00:38:00.008-06:00

Of all the simple pleasures, few can match the faithful and overwhelmingly majestic beauty of the cloud.

Sublime – adjective
1.
elevated or lofty in thought, language, etc.
2.
impressing the mind with a sense of grandeur or power; inspiring awe, veneration, etc.: ex. sublime skies over Wisconsin field.

Winter Sky over Wisconsin.

Deadly storm boils up over North Texas.

This one washed over us in giant undulating swells. The view from the ocean floor.

Art show above the Mountains.

Cropduster against a perfectly cloudy summer sky.

"The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork” - Psalm 19

A Poem by John Frederick Nims

2008-02-14T20:28:00.003-06:00

Love Poem

My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing

Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door
You make at home; deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.

Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers' terror,
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before apopleptic streetcars—
Misfit in any space. And never on time.

A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only
With words and people and love you move at ease;
In traffic of wit expertly maneuver
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.

Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,
Your lipstick grinning on our coat,
So gaily in love's unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.

Be with me, darling, early and late. Smash glasses—
I will study wry music for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.

-John Frederick Nims (1913-1999)

The Song of the Lark - Jules Breton

2008-02-02T12:14:00.000-06:00

This & That

2008-02-02T10:41:00.000-06:00

Does anybody else out there love the freecreditreport.com songs as much as me? I give a slight edge to the "F-R-E-E that spells free" version over the seafood restaurant one, but both never fail to put a smile on my face and a little extra bounce in my step.

Election Results

I love watching the primary results roll in. I have wasted many an hour sitting there staring at the percentages change as the results roll in night after night. I was first sucked into this back when Iowa held their caucuses in early January. I remember them calling the race with something like 40% of the votes tabulated. I couldn't believe that with only 40% counted that they already knew who was going to win, so I sat there for another 2 or 3 hours convinced that the results would change as more votes came in, but they didn't. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE? I am going to go mad trying to figure it out. I have watched every primary since, obssessed with those little numbers at the bottom of the screen.

For those who haven't seen what I'm talking about here is a hypothetical example: let's say the Rhode Island primary is going on and after 1% of the votes come in Romney leads with 37% of the votes (278), McCain is in second with 31% (233), Ron Paul is in third with 22% (165), and Huckabee is in fourth with 10% of the votes (75). Based on what I've witnessed so far you could almost call the race right there as I've rarely seen anyone move more than 4 percentage points. How is such a small sampling of independent thinking people so predicitive of the state as a whole? I sit there night after night willing the numbers to change dramatically and of course they never do. However if say with 55% of the votes counted, Romney has dropped to 35% and McCain has jumped to 32% then we are talking about some serious drama. Good times for the geeks! One note for the networks; you could make it much more riveting by adding a decimal point so that we could track movement within a percentage point easier.

The fact that a representative sampling of the votes is such an accurate predictor of the final results is apparently common knowledge as guys routinely give concession or victory speeches with less than 50% of the results in. I still don't get it; we come from an incalculable number of backgrounds and perspectives, are known for our freedom of thought and expression, surprise all the pollsters and pundits with how we end up voting and yet are so predictable that a small sample of our actual votes is enough to forecast the eventual outcome. How is this possible? Why aren't there wild fluctuations all night long? Somebody help me with this one.

Once

There are so few truly good movies out there that I feel obligated to let everybody know when I come across a great one. My buddy Eddie got me into a movie called Once. It's about a street singer and a girl he meets. Great plot, good dialogue, great background (Ireland), phenomenal music...it's a winner any way you look at it. One warning: they do say the F word a lot (but it's with an Irish accent so it sounds more like a cough). The movie is worth watching just for the scene in the music store. This movie has got soul. It also introduced me to the music of Glen Hansard, Marketa Irglova, and The Frames, all worth looking into.

Thanks.

I have had so many great conversations this week with people about the subject of my last blog. Thanks to all for helping me get some clarity. If you did read my last post, check out John's comment for a great rebuttal to the example I gave.

Here is a quote from a friend's blog that I found helpful, "Perhaps we’ve become too hyper-critical of ourselves to reach out to our own community. Too many times we compare ourselves with those who are receiving national or international acclaim or recognition for their achievements. The celebrity-style spotlight often leaves us feeling inadequate or inefficient in our own efforts to serve God. Instead, we should funnel the inspiration that comes from that attention into our own hearts and what God is doing through us to change the world around us." - Sam Gualtieri in Relevant magazine

The Story - Brandi Carlile

2008-01-26T22:11:00.000-06:00

Jen introduced me to this gal and we cannot get enough of her music. Jen still gets goosebumps everytime she listens to this song. One of the first albums we've bought in a while. Definetely worth the cash.

"All of these lines that cross my face
tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
and how I got to where I am."

-Phil Hanseroth

The Economics of Interaction

2008-01-24T09:04:00.000-06:00

Several years ago while delivering Christmas presents I learned a hard lesson in what I like to call “the economics of interaction.” The lesson learned was that it is possible to give to others even with the best of intentions and yet in the process end up taking more than you give.

We were delivering presents on behalf of a prison inmate to his children through Chuck Colson’s Angel Tree program. My wife and I along with several teenagers in our youth group pulled up to a rundown house in a shady section of KC with an armload of presents for three children who lived with their grandmother. Their mother was in jail and the father, who knows…

I have never quite learned how to exist comfortably as a rich guy, (relatively speaking, both globally and historically I am filthy rich regardless of how high up the American ladder I am) on the one hand I can’t get Jesus words out of my head and on the other hand I am too distracted by the pleasures of wealth to give a hoot. So I sit in this uncomfortably passive state satiated for the moment by cake and American Idol. So on this night I was very excited to be finally doing something. I was going to make a difference! Perhaps in doing good I could somehow assuage the guilt I felt for my wealth.

We met the kids and delivered their presents to the grandmother, a saintly woman who had lost most of her foot to diabetes and if I remember right, whose vision wasn’t far behind. We chit chatted for a few minutes and then I asked if we could pray for her, she agreed, I prayed a blessing over her and the kids and we left. As we drove home I kept replaying the night in my head, something was bothering me but I couldn’t put my finger on it, and then it hit me – the wrong person prayed. Rather than praying for her, I should have fallen on my knees and begged her to pray for me. Here was a woman missing half a foot, in ill health, raising three children – this woman knew more about love and life than what I didn’t know about life and love. I realized then and there that by coming in to this woman’s house as someone with something “to give” that I had actually exalted myself over her and that by “giving” without recognizing that she was actually the one with something to give, that I had actually “taken” some small part of her dignity. Now then whether or not she actually felt I had taken her dignity, I'll never know, but I certainly felt as though I had, and resolved to never to let it happen again. Actually, in an effort to ensure that it doesn't, I have just sworn off helping anyone, ever.

Well not really, but the realization that night has heavily influenced my thinking since, I have never forgotten that lady. I don’t want that night to prevent me from reaching out, but when I do reach out; I want to do it with humility. I want to receive and in the process give dignity. I have come in part to the following conclusions. Conclusions that become more and more relevant every day:

a)Results matter more than intentions

b)The ends do not justify the means

c)It is possible to give and yet take in the process

d)Jesus’ instructions to us regarding those in need are as much for our benefit as they are for the benefit of those in need. Recognizing this is crucial to understand as we go into giving situations. When we give we should also receive in a way that gives dignity to the recipient by acknowledging that they too as a child of God have something to give us.

e)Doing the right thing sometimes makes you feel terrible and so I’ve got to ask myself, “am I doing this because it is the right thing to do or because it makes me feel good about myself?”

For example, consider the following verse from the New Testament “if a man will not work, he shall not eat.” This rule if followed absolutely serves to protect society from leeches but it wasn’t until recently that I realized that this rule is just as much about the protection of the man who does not work as it is for the society in which he lives. It is a brilliant recognition of human nature. Everybody has some area in their life in which they will repeatedly slack if not challenged. For some people this area happens to be work. Without loving people to challenge us (spouse, parent, friend) in these areas we will slide into our personal lowest common denominator and live in perpetual underachievement. So when presented with an underachieving loved one or a lazy man the choice becomes, do I do what makes me feel good or do I do what in the short term will make us both feel miserable but in the long run create a great good?

f)Just as there are things that look good that actually produce negative results, there are things that appear harsh that actually produce good results.
Althought they sound alike, this is more of a political revelation while the previous point was more of a personal one. The hard way is the right way. I think about this nearly daily as I watch those who would be king do their best to make us forget it.

These are not groundbreaking revelations I know, but bear with me, I am a slow learner, and their freshness to me means they are still exciting. I am still trying to figure it all out, and would appreciate your thoughts on the topic.

“When social service is performed out of a sense of guilt, the inevitable result is chaos.”
- The Reverend Jimmy Carter

Violent Beauty

2008-01-08T08:30:00.001-06:00

There is a spot on State Highway 101 northwest of Fort Worth where the road runs like a spine between two quarries. I love driving along that road between the deep pits, a place where late at night you can almost smell the sweat of a thousand men. The history of the place is palpable, it's almost as if Dallas and Fort Worth were pulled whole out of the ground and plopped down 30 miles to the south and east.

A rock quarry is a violent place, the rock is blown to pieces which are then crushed in a large rotating drum, run along a belt according to size, dumped in a pile and then scooped up and dropped in a dump truck for delivery to a construction site somewhere. All of this activity creates a lot of noise, dust, and movement; non-stop movement. Dump trucks the size of houses run in perpetual motion, the belts never stop spitting out rock, and the front end loaders dance and spin (smash into the pile, reverse half circle, forward, dump, reverse, half circle forward, grab your partner do-si-do) to the chorus and hum of hungry lines of trucks and trains waiting to be filled.

But a rock quarry is also an incredibly beautiful place full of color and impressive geometry. The clean lines of the white limestone walls, the veins running at angles through the rock, the shapes of the piles, the deep blues and greens of the water in flooded pits. Then there are the deer, cattle, wild boar, goats, vultures, snakes, herons and various other crittters that make their home in hidden and long forgotten corners of the property. And all of this as sun and shadow paint their constantly evolving work across the towering rock faces. Finally, there is something timelessly beautiful about rock and when I grab a handful of it and run my thumb over the smooth surfaces I am reminded of the line from St. Patrick's Breastplate:

"I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock."

Here are some pictures that will give you a glimpse into this wonderful and violent world that we get to watch unfold through the eyepiece of our lasers. Notice the deep veins running through the rock in photo #3. Photo #4 taken by Bobby Forehand.

Glenn Beck on Huckabee

2008-01-04T16:06:00.000-06:00

This guy cracks me up. He reminds me of my brother Josh. Here are his thoughts last night on Huckabee. (Background: He had surgery last week and is still recovering which is why he keeps refering to pain medication)

I really don't want to become a political blog so don't worry this won't last much longer.

The Iowa Caucuses

2008-01-04T00:39:00.000-06:00

The street in front of our house was jammed with cars and people tonight as I headed out towards my caucus site. There were two caucus sites between my house and the school where I ended up casting my vote and my excitement grew as I passed group after group of people walking with the cartoonish urgency that can only come on a cold night. I was so excited to live in a country where I was free to participate in an election process without fear of violence or doctored results.

The Republicans in my district gathered in a local middle school cafeteria. I sat down at a table after arriving roughly 20 minutes early and studied the crowd of nearly 90 people. There were only two people under the age of 30, which I took as a good sign, I mean honestly, when I was 18 I liked Bill Clinton solely because his theme song was Fleetwood Macs' Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow. There were a few people in their forties, quite a few of us in our thirties and fifties, while the majority of the crowd was over sixty. Male female broke down to roughly 60 % male, 40 % female. Most of the crowd looked like they were very hard working, moving with the purposeful economy of motion common to those who need to save their energy for a long day coming. There were more than a few Carharts in the crowd, the instantly recognizable winter wear of the working man.

Most people spent the extra time trying to talk their seatmates into or out of various candidates. I was seated with two other gentlemen who knew they would be voting in the minority. All three of us shared a negative view of the eventual winner, Mike Huckabee.

After we all recited the pledge of allegiance, the emcee asked for a representative of each candidate to speak for roughly 3-4 minutes on why we should vote for his or her candidate. A friend of Fred Thompson’s spoke on his behalf, a woman from the crowd (small business owner) spoke brilliantly on behalf of Ron Paul, a young man spoke for Mike Huckabee, and three people from the crowd spoke on John McCain’s behalf. One of the people speaking for John McCain was an elderly woman whose husband had also been a prisoner of war. After each speech the crowd applauded, no one spoke on behalf of Romney, Guliani, or Duncan Hunter. Then paper ballots were passed out and we voted. The ballots were collected and a supporter from each candidate was called up to supervise the vote tally. As a man read aloud from each ballot, the emcee put a mark next to the name of the candidate receiving the vote on a large white tablet. The word Huckabee, repeated in a monotonous drone, bounced off my forehead 34 times like some audio version of Chinese water torture, by the end I had to resist the urge to stand up and scream, “You idiots! You lemmings!” Coming in second was Fred Thompson with 18 votes, tied for third with 12 each were Ron Paul and Mitt Romney, John McCain had 11 votes and Guliani although ahead of Hunter walked away with only one vote.

My choice came down to voting against Huckabee by voting for Romney, voting against the Government by voting for Ron Paul, or voting for conservative principals by voting for Fred Thompson. I wrestled with this for days, but eventually decided that for once in my life I would like to vote for something instead of the usual vote against the worse of the two candidates. So I voted for Thompson, a guy who doesn’t really act like he wants to be President, but who is for a limited government. And as long as I’m keeping things on the optimistic side, I would like to say I’m positive that Mike Huckabee would be a horrible candidate for President.

What Will Become of the Hobo?

2007-12-16T21:57:00.000-06:00

(I have always wanted to hop a ride on a freight train but have never had the courage to attempt it. I made passing reference to this desire about a year ago in a post and my Uncle Randy left a comment asking if I had ever heard the story of his freight hopping experience. Well, this was too good an invitation to pass up so I asked him if he would write it out and send it to me. Last month I received a package in the mail that contained this story and a cassette tape by Emmylou Harris, Linda Ronstadt and Dolly Parton singing an old Jimmie Rogers song called Hobo's Lamentation, the perfect musical accompaniment to this story. Everybody has a crazy uncle, I was blessed with two, and I admire both of them a great deal. Uncle Randy, the older of the two, is a man of great tenacity and courage. Here is his story.)

Riding the Rails

A true tale by Randy Bender

In the spring of 1966, I was a freshman at Abilene Christian College, in Abilene, Texas. I know not whence the notion sprang – but, there it was; “wouldn’t it be a great adventure to hop a freight train and ride the rails to home in Tulsa?” The idea took root and began to germinate. In the fertile mind of an eighteen year old, a spectacular brainstorm does not languish.

I promoted the idea, and two friends decided to join me. It would be a weekend trip. We would cut Friday morning classes, but would have to be back by Monday. The first task was to assure that we would have a ride back on Sunday. That need was satisfied by an acquaintance who would be returning from Bartlesville, OK.

With a date and a secure return in place, the next task was to obtain train information. I called Santa Fe [Railroad} and told them I needed to ship a refrigerator. I got the approximate time the freight train would come through Abilene and learned that in Ft. Worth we would have to change from the Santa Fe to the Frisco RR.

We packed clothes and toiletries the three of us would need for the weekend into a medium sized suitcase and a tote bag and on Friday morning went to the place where I thought the train would stop. Then we waited; and waited, and…….waited, and ………………….waited.

Questions and doubts began to knock at the door of my mind. Were we in the wrong place? Had I been given the wrong time by Santa Fe? Was the train merely late? Could it be possible that it just would not come through today? Then…, is that the thunderous rumble of a mighty diesel engine I am hearing/feeling. Is it? Is it? Could be. It just might be. …………It is, it is, IT IS!!! Louder and louder; closer and closer. Our great adventure was about to begin in earnest. Then, ……..shouldn’t it be slowing down? If it’s going to stop it has to start slowing down really soon. Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity-clack, right on by us. Now what do we do?

As the caboose became even smaller, we decided we would have to hitchhike to Tulsa. As we started walking toward the highway, I looked down the tracks toward our missed opportunity. Something was different. The caboose, now seeming to be about the size of a book of matches, was no longer shrinking. The train had stopped. I told Ron and Danny to look and they agreed with my assessment. New hope arose.

We began alternately walking, walking fast, and trotting down the tracks. As we went, we traded off carrying the luggage so that at any given time, one of us had the suitcase, one had the tote bag and one was recuperating. As we got closer, anticipation and excitement were rekindled and began to grow. When we were within 100-200 yards of the caboose, the train began to move forward. Digging deep within and summoning every last remnant of strength and will, we sprang into a sprint. Just by chance, Danny, who was scrawny and the weakest of the trio, was carrying the suitcase. Fortunately, there was a flatcar just ahead of the caboose. Ron and I were able to mount it. We were almost completely spent but turned to encourage Danny. Unfortunately, the gradual increase in the speed of the train combined with the extra weight and total exhaustion did not leave enough in Danny’s tank. We regretted that he had been unable to join us but we were happy to be on our way. Incidentally, the suitcase contained our clean clothes and underwear for church.

The next few hours were awash with a feeling of unbridled freedom that is rare and uncommon. The afternoon was warm enough that we were comfortable in t-shirts. The sky was pleasantly and refreshingly overcast. So that flatcar provided an idyllic perch from which to watch the West Texas countryside flow by us. Our only responsibility was to enjoy the ride and we fulfilled that responsibility in a magnificent manner.

We arrived in Ft. Worth in the late afternoon. When the train stopped in the yard, we hopped off, determined the general location of the Frisco Rail Yard and started off in that direction. As we neared it, we happened upon a greasy spoon diner. We had not eaten since breakfast, so, in we went. To our delight we discovered they had a home-style cooking menu with entrée such as fried chicken, meatloaf, chicken-fried steak, vegetables like peas, mashed potatoes, carrots, bacon seasoned green beans, and cherry pie, devil’s food cake, apple pie a la mode for desserts. The prices were good and the portions were generous. It was an ideal eatery for hard working rail yard employees, or a couple of hungry teenage boys out on an adventure. I don’t remember what I had, but, to this day, I believe it is in contention for the title of, “Best Meal I Ever Had.”

With bellies full, we set off to find a ride for the next leg of our journey. When we entered the Frisco Yard, we saw two or three trains that seemed to be linked up and ready to go. There was no way to determine which one was headed for Oklahoma City. We would have to ask. Seeing a man who looked like he belonged there, we went up to him and I asked. He said it was the nearest one. We walked toward the first boxcar with an open door. The man yelled to us, “Try to find a clean one, if you can. “If” was the operative word. You see, there is really no reason to sweep out a boxcar. Everything that is supposed to be in it is boxed in a crate, which is on skids, so that a forklift can get underneath it. Before long, we made our choice, climbed inside, and settled in to wait.

If you drive on the highways, it’s about 30 miles more from Ft. Worth to Oklahoma City than from Abilene to Ft. Worth. So we figured we would probably get to OKC about midnight, or shortly afterward. We could hardly have been more wrong. It was after 1:00 a.m. when the train pulled off on a side rail and stopped in Ardmore, OK which is about the halfway point. After the sun had set, and as we traveled further north, it grew chillier and chillier, until it became down right cold. So the train sat on the side rail, and we sat inside our car shivering for hours, literally. At some point we had been there long enough to realize that we probably were going to be there for a good while longer, we decided to dismount and search for a place nearby for a good cup of coffee. As I remember, it was an unfruitful quest. But I think we did go into a railway office where one worker was stationed, and that enabled us to warm ourselves. Of course, that just emphasized the cold when we went back out to get in our boxcar. I believe it was after 4:00 a.m. when the train resumed its movement.

I don’t know if it was in Ft. Worth or Ardmore, but somewhere along the way, we learned that the Frisco Line went straight north out of OKC, so we would, again, have to change lines, this time to the Katy RR to get to Tulsa.

It was after 8:00 a.m. by the time we got off the train in Oklahoma City. In only about 32 hours, our ride would be picking us up for the trip back. We knew not when the next train would leave for Tulsa, nor how long it would take to get there when it did. We had a decision to make. We determined the best course of action would be to hitchhike the rest of the way.

The last leg of our journey brought us within four blocks of home. I looked at my watch as we exited the car and made an observation. I told Ron and we decided to act upon it. We adjusted our gait, walking faster, trotting for a bit, slowing to a walk again, and then picking up the pace a little, so that we walked through the front door 24 hours to the minute from the time we had climbed on board the flatcar in Abilene.

Ron and I had a spectacular weekend adventure. On an adventure, you must accept the unpleasantness along with sheer joy. Poor Danny [remember Danny?] had just another average, dull weekend in the dorm. C’est la vie!

A Walk Down the Hall

2007-12-06T21:07:00.001-06:00

Joe Biden at Cooney's Tavern

2007-12-04T20:02:00.000-06:00

Being as that I'm new to Iowa and all, I figured it would be a lot of fun to get out there and go see a couple of candidates strutting their stuff. So when my friend Eddie mentioned that Joe Biden was going to be speaking at an Irish bar near our house I jumped at the chance on both counts. I went in with a pretty negative impression of Biden based solely on the (D) that comes in front of his name and a general perception that he was just another blowhard in a nice suit. But I walked away with a lot of respect for the guy, he probably is just another blowhard in a suit but he does have the courage to speak his mind and that's saying a lot these days.

You had me at hello...

It was in the low twenties with a decent wind blowing when we ducked into a packed Cooney's about three minutes before the fire code was officially broken. Seriously, three minutes later and we wouldn't have even made it into the door. It was packed and electric, shortly after we arrived, an older and very happy gentleman near the door led the crowd in a fun version of "Happy Days are Here Again", a song I had never heard before but that was pretty easy to pick up. After about a half hour wait Biden showed up and walked past us, shaking hands and saying hello to people on his way up to the "platform" which was as I later saw, a couple of cases of beer pushed together. The crowd quieted down as he spoke, the bartenders quit serving and leaned back against the bar to listen to his speech, given under the green Christmas lights. In his opening remarks he mentioned having gone to the University of Delaware which got a couple of lighthearted boos from some of the Iowa fans in the audience. He replied to our great delight, "Unlike other candidates I'm not afraid to stand up for what I believe in - we kicked Iowa's a**!" That was such a great moment, so non pandering that you had to respect his candor.

I enjoyed his speech primarily because he really didn't make any promises at all. He wasn't offering bliss, prosperity, and to tuck us into bed every night like most of his Democrat rivals. He basically said, (paraphrasing) "we've got a hard road ahead of us but nobody said life was going to be easy, the American people love a good challenge and I believe they are up to the challenge so let's pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and get after it." That's not exactly what he said but I feel like that was the gist of it. Or maybe that was just what he said when run through my conservative filter. Anyways, I was surprised to hear what I was hearing.

During a brief question and answer time after his speech, someone asked if he would support partial birth abortions. I took from the tone of the question that they were really hoping he would say yes. Well, again to my surprise he gave a pretty lengthy and specific answer saying he was completely opposed to partial birth abortion. I thought that for a Democrat running for the party's nomination that was pretty gutsy. Maybe I'm just easy, but I've always said that I am so sick of the dishonesty in politics and that I just wanted someone to speak the truth about their views and I couldn't shake the feeling that Joe was speaking from his heart what he believed.

Since then I've learned that he was one of the few Democrats who recently supported refunding the troops, a potentially politically damaging vote about which he said, "there are some things worth losing the election over." In the divisive climate in which we live we need to champion the honest no matter what side of the aisle they come from. Our allegience should be to Honesty and Character before Party.

I'm raising a glass now to the two Joes, Biden and Liebs, two islands of honesty in a sea full of empty promises. Thanks for having the character to speak your minds.

And for my part, I'll be honest by saying "Ron Paul in '08!"

The World Unseen

2007-11-14T22:32:00.000-06:00

"Then Moses said, "Now show me your glory."

And the Lord said," I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the Lord, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But," he said, "you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live."

Then the Lord said, "There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen."

-Exodus

A Soldier's Thoughts

2007-11-02T14:25:00.000-05:00

(My buddy Scott should arrive home from Iraq any day and so in honor of his return I wanted to post something he wrote back in the spring for our old church in Converse, TX. For more details on Scott and his homecoming, check out his wife Gina's blog here. Thanks to all of you who prayed for his safety while he was gone. Enjoy.)

"Men of Grace, it is an honor to write to you from Mahmudiyah, Iraq. I am serving with the 10th Mountain Division in the suburbs south of Baghdad. Darren asked me to write to you about what God has shown me this year.

If I wrote about everything God has shown me this year, this might be a long message. Instead, I'll write about what God has shown me this week, which might still be a bit lengthy. Perhaps referring to what God has "shown" me is a use of the wrong tense. "Showing" might be a more accurate choice of words. But actually, I feel like I am resisting the thing He is showing me right now.

Before I elaborate, I should provide a bit of background for the thoughts I want to share. This week, I was reading in Matthew where Jesus says that we should love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. In any other time of my life, that would've seemed like a good idea, and an idea not altogether difficult to carry out into action.

But that was before I had any actual enemies. That was before I lived in a place where people would gladly kill me. That was before I soaked my uniform in another man's blood or attended the memorial of a fellow soldier who will never make it home.

That these are our enemies, I have no doubt. But the people I have the hardest time loving are those who spend their time and energy plotting to kill not me, but each other.

On Easter, some who I consider my enemies, detonated a large bomb outside of the local hospital. Though there were no American injuries,15 Iraqis were killed, including some of their doctors as well as patients. Many more people were injured. Of these, 17 came to our aid station seeking care for significant injuries. One of those patients was a 9-year-old girl with a huge hole in her leg as well as an arterial bleed. She was screaming in a combination of pain and absolute terror. I don't think I know words to describe just how terrible her scream was. We could do nothing to comfort her because we could not speak her language. We could neither answer the questions of her parents, nor provide any explanation as we whisked her off in a helicopter for further care. All we could do was work to get her stabilized while listening to her scream.

I will never forget her scream.

Another of our patients that day might lose his leg. His son was killed in the blast, though he did not know it yet.

Still another patient from another day was severely injured in a blast that killed her husband and 3 year old son.

There were others, but you get the idea. I don't relate these events to impress you with my war stories, but rather to help you understand these enemies of mine.

Surely, Jesus didn't mean that I should actually love people like them.

When I think about those we politely call "insurgents," my reaction is akin to that of Conan the Barbarian who found fulfillment in one thing: "to crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women."

But Jesus says to love them. I don't know how.

It seems that it would be a big victory for me if I could just stop hating these people who bombed a hospital and who, twice this week, bombed an outdoor marketplace. I have prayed about this often over the course of the last seven days.

Did Jesus really mean that we should love these men who are, seemingly, the embodiment of pure evil? I want to think not.

But then I am reminded of my savior on a cross asking "Father forgive them." I also know that I "don't have a high priest who can't be touched with the feeling of our infirmities, but one who has been in all points tempted like we are, yet without sin." (Hebrews 4:15)

Jesus knew what it was to have enemies and He was, no doubt, tempted to hate them. But He was without sin.

Ultimately, I know that my nature will not allow me to love these people apart from Christ. In my heart, I know that they don't deserve my love or Christ's. However, I know that God loves me, and I definitely don't deserve it either.

I haven't learned how to love these insurgents who are trying to kill me, my comrades, and their own countrymen. Truthfully, I am not sure that I will ever learn to do this.

Deep down, I don't know that I even want to.

But there is one thing this experience has done for me: I have a much deeper respect, admiration, and appreciation for what Christ did for us on the cross. He loved me, and millions more like me who go against His commandments every day. We are not worthy of His love, much less his sacrifice.

So I am trying to learn to love Christ, and praying that He will enable me to love someday like He does.

I will close this message like I close much of my correspondence from Iraq. As a Soldier, it is not my job to critique our policies in Iraq. I wish that decisions could be made by Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen instead of Democrats, Republicans, and opinion polls

However, this I do know: our Soldiers are doing some incredible things in this country across the world from you. There are many amazing people here who put themselves in danger every single day to try to bring freedom to this land and its people. In return, we ask only for your prayers. Prayers for our safety, prayers for our morale, prayers for those who do not yet know Jesus, and prayers for people like me to learn to love those who seem so unlovable… unlovable just like you and me."

-sdc

Talkin Bout Country

2007-10-26T12:41:00.000-05:00

Here's a video from country legend Waylon Jennings. This is from back when it was about the music and not the market. Just a good ol' sweaty jam.

El Paso & a Poem

2007-10-24T15:07:00.000-05:00

Brothers

Rolling down 54

between

the setting sun and rising moon

so fat and full tonight

they hang there like scales

and I can't help but feel that we are

the ones being weighed

On the Road Again

and

I've Always Been Crazy

blaring from the radio

as we blast down that desert highway

the music coarsing through our veins

like blood

cause their ain't no song

like the one you're livin'

All day long we fought

the desert wind

and dust

but never

let them get the

best of us

we're off to celebrate

at Andale's tonight

Gathered round the table

we eat and drink our fill

cause tommorow

we'll die

again

between the rising sun

and setting moon

only to be

resurrected

by the beauty of mountains

and the strength of brothers

Ray's doing his best Cosell

and Brett is cracking jokes

as Shawn takes it all in

up on the hill

overlooking

dirty Juarez

Nobody's smiling

but its not cause

we aren't happy

the night wind

is blowing now

and it picks up our souls

Spinning, spinning

it carries them

high up into

the mountains

We can't get there

any other way.

Excellence

2007-10-22T13:05:00.000-05:00

Two quotes on excellence, the first I relate to (the debilitating part), the second, healthier quote, I aspire to:

"But being [excellent] is also about having an insecurity that is almost-but not quite-debilitating. The best people have trouble living in their own skin, because nothing is ever great enough." - David Lubars in The Wall Street Journal

"This is how I see excellence, it embraces generosity, humbleness, and sincerity of effort. At it's heart it is about never being satisfied. It has nothing to do with perfection. I'm not a perfectionist. I'm an excellence-ist." - Chef Charlie Trotter in Hemispheres

Feels Like Years...

2007-10-12T16:00:00.000-05:00

Placid
Here she is. I cannot tell you how much peace this little girl brings to me. Amidst moving (twice), starting a new job (sort of), and Margaret's birth, the last four months have been crazy. But this sweet little package of grace and love has flooded our souls with a sustaining peace and surprisngly, rest. We had initially been planning on calling her Charlotte, but as I told friends, she looked much too regal for that when we first saw her and so out of the blue she ended up as Margaret. I have received quite a bit of gentle ribbing about this, but scoffers take note: in our house, we play an endless procession of music cds and Margaret has no reaction to any of them except for the visible reaction she shows to classical music. Unlike Willie Nelson, it never fails to put her in a great mood. Told Ya!

Ramblin
We are now located in Des Moines, Iowa - one third of the way between Canada and Mexico on Interstate 35 and almost halfway between New York and San Francisco on Interstate 80. I am enjoying being at the crossroads of two great American highways, but still wish I was further south at the crossroads of I-35 and I-10. Although it is a slightly different string of pearls than I-10, I just love heading West on I-80 knowing that Cheyenne, Salt Lake, Reno and San Fran are all just sitting out there in the setting sun waiting for me.

Unbecoming
In the course of my work, I run across quite a few men in their 50's and 60's. I look up to and enjoy being around older men and so I am always excited by these brushes with wisdom. Probably more so because of the initial burst of anticipatory excitement, I am always extremely let down when they turn out to be more like a 30 year old than a 60 year old. I've got to say that one of the saddest sights in this world is a dirty old man or a bitter old woman. Old age should be a glorious time. So many battles behind you, so many rivers crossed, valleys endured and peaks enjoyed. It is a time to pass on lessons learned to those in need of your wisdom, a time to slow down a little and enjoy the world with your knowing yet grateful eyes. I am so thankful that I have grandparents who are people I can look up to.

From the Mighty Mo' to the Mighty Miss
I've been to Omaha four times now in the last few months and I've got to say that it is such a great town. The Missouri River runs along the eastern edge of town and the wide and sandy Platte River runs just to the south of it. It is a town with a great railroading heritage that is celebrated by the two locomotive engines permanently parked on the river bluff just above the highway as you come in from the east on I-80. You can feel the history in the air, the stories of both hard working men of the field and of free living hoboes riding by on boxcars heading from one great city to another. Like Des Moines, it is immediately and completely surrounded by fields full of grain, corn and beans as soon as you get out of town. Sitting on the edge of Omaha gazing west gives me a similar feeling to the one I used to get as a teenager when I would stand knee deep in Atlantic staring out into the darkness at the great emptiness between me and Europe. As you sit there can feel the vast and wonderful nothingness between you and the mountains of the West, and out of the dark, a siren song wails, tugging, tugging at you till you can barely stand it and almost give in.

Also had the chance to visit Dubuque, Iowa on the Mississippi River, a town where you feel like at any minute the ghost of Johnny Cash is going to float by, feet dangling off of one of the many barges moving either north or south as he soaks up the sun. Really, the Mississippi is stunning from St. Paul all the way down to at least Davenport ( that's as far as I have been up to now). The river runs through a deep valley surrounded on either side by towering river bluffs topped with tall and leafy trees.

The corn was 6 to 7 feet tall and green as grass when we got here and it now a bleached tan just waiting to be harvested. I am so jealous of the farmers running down miles of corn in their green John Deere combines from well before sun up to well after sun down. That has got to bring such a great feeling of accomplishment as well as a connection to both the past, and the rhythms of life and earth.

Fellow Sojourners
Before we left Texas, Jen and I were able to catch Patty Griffin live in concert in Austin. While waiting for the show to begin, we started talking to the couple next to us. I love Patty Griffin, but I've got to say the highlight of the evening was getting to meet this couple. They were so much fun to talk to. He is a scientist/conservationist type guy who was in Kileen, TX studying birds and has since moved to Florida to work on another project. I would like to point you in the direction of his blog which is filled with tons of great wildlife pictures like this one. You can get a better look at the photos by clicking on them which will enlarge them. Check out the amazing colors in the coral snake.

Iraq
My buddy Scott has one month left in Iraq, after being there for 15 months. Would you please pray for his safety during this last month?

God Bless Texas.

A Great Line

2007-10-10T18:14:00.000-05:00

"It was a lovely night, one of those nights, dear reader, which can only happen when you are young. The sky was so bright and starry that when you looked at it the first question that came into your mind was whether it was really possible that all sorts of bad-tempered and unstable people could live under such a glorious sky."

-Opening line to White Nights,

a short story by Dostoevsky

The Tiny, Daily Joy Known as WSJ

2007-07-27T14:23:00.000-05:00

The day we loaded up the moving van and headed north for Wisconsin, a friend dropped by with a bag full of old Wall Street Journals, two magazines, and six mini bottles of Scope. For those of you familiar with moving day and its well accepted practice of throwing away absolutely everything you can without getting caught by your wife and/or children, this would appear to be a gift headed straight for the garbage can. However my fellow addicts of the written word will understand why when there is no room for the little red wagon, the grill, and the patio furniture - there is still plenty of room for a bag containing two months worth of old newspapers.

I grew up reading The New York Times, The Asbury Park Press, and USA Today. I delivered the Press in the 7th and 8th grade and remember many a morning when I got out a little late because I got distracted from my duties assembling and rolling the paper by the contents contained within. I enjoyed all the aspects of being a paper boy - the tightly bound stack waiting to be cut open and assembled every morning at the end of the drive, the early mornings on deserted streets, the freedom of riding a bike through town, trying to set speed records for the entire route, meeting my friend Steve Dow in the places our routes overlapped, the heavy bag over my shoulder gradually getting lighter, and many a route spent contemplating the news of the day. It was a job so much fun I would have done it for free, and often did as I was much better at delivering papers than collecting fees. Later in life, while working as a porchboy at the Sea Bright Beach Club, I would collect and read discarded copies of the New York Times, and throughout all, avidly read USA Today which is worth it's price just for the half page color weather map that graces the back page of the news section and is very handy for planning hypothetical cross country trips. The newspaper, a little time in the morning, and a cup of coffee; although each are common and inexpensive, when combined, they make up one of the great luxuries that rivals anything modern life has to offer.

So, on to the Wall Street Journal which had been ignored by me, probably just like you, based on the false assumption that it is only for guys who worry about the negative effects of sub-prime lending on the housing market in the second quarter. I could not have been more wrong...think of the WSJ as a written version of NPR with a strong bias towards business related stories, and oh yeah, sweet illustratrions. The pen and ink dot portraits have a way of making everyone look warm and engaging, which of course only serves to make the story seem that much more interesting. Combine that with a great Op-Ed section, a global outlook and the added benefit of maybe learning something about sub-prime lending and you have got one seriously misunderstood paper.

For your reading pleasure, some highlights from the Spring of '07:

March 15th
Headline Reads: Their Duty Done, The Drowsy Dogs Can Doze Off Again Author: Ron Winslow

"For three decades, Stanford University researchers kept a colony of narcoleptic dogs to study the mysterious disorder that causes people to become excessively sleepy in the middle of daily activities.
When excited by a favorite treat or roughhousing with one another, the dogs- mainly Doberman pinschers and Labrador retrievers would suddenly crumple to the floor, limp as rag dolls"

The story goes on to explain that the pack of dogs which once numbered 80 is now down to just one as scientists have started studying the same disease in zebrafish "which are cheaper and more suited to genetics research."
As we read on we discover that one of the problems with keeping a pack of narcoleptic dogs is reproduction, discussed here by Lewanne Sharp, a researcher hired to work with the dogs. "It was a definite challenge trying to get two narcoleptic dogs to breed," she says. "When the male would get excited and mount the female, invariably he would fall asleep." Priceless.
I think my reaction to this story prompted Jen to say, "I haven't heard you laugh that hard in a long time.

March 30th
Headline Reads: To Make Lemons into Lemonade, Try 'Miracle Fruit'
Author: Joanna Slater

"Arlington, Va. - At a party here one recent Friday, Jacob Grier stood on a chair, pulled out a plastic bag full of small berries, and invited everyone to eat one apiece. 'Make sure it coats your tongue,' he said.
Mr. Grier's guests were about to go under the influence of miracle fruit, a slightly tart West African berry with a strange property: For about an hour after you eat it, everything sour tastes sweet.
Within minutes of consuming the berries, guests were devouring lime wedges as if they were candy. Straight lemon juice went down like lemonade, and goat cheese tasted as if it was "covered in powdered sugar," said one astonished partygoer. A rich stout beer seemed "like a milkshake," said another.
After languishing in obscurity since the 1970s, miracle fruit or Sysepalum dulcificum, is enjoying a small renaissance."
How have I never heard of this? (answer:FDA) The possibilities are endless. I could satisfy my sweet tooth while eating nothing but vegetables.

April 27th
Headline Reads: Twist of Fortune: Widow's Legacy Rivets Hong Kong
Authors: Geoffry A. Fowler and Jonathan Cheng

"Hong Kong- A family soap opera that has captivated Hong Kong for more than a decade has just gotten even more bizzare.
It already involved one of Asia's riches women, known for dressing in miniskirts and bobby socks with her hair in pigtails; her late, twice-kidnapped husband and his combative father; and a long trial featuring a surprise will. In the latest twist, the wealthy widow has died and a mysterious master of feng shui-the Chinese art that tried to harness good fortune through design and numerology-has emerged to challenge her charitable foundation for the multibillion dollar estate she left behind."

The moral of this story: don't pay the ransom. Twice kidnapped?!?! The first time it cost Ms. Wang 11 million, the second time she had to fork over 30 million and unfortunately but predictably it was all in vain as Mr. Wang never appeared for the inevitable 3rd kidnapping.

June 5th
Headline Reads: For Jordanians, Shotgun Weddings Can Be a Problem Author: Cam Simpson

"Madaba, Jordan-It's wedding season here. Florists are preparing bouqets bursting with white roses, lilies and irises. And in a noisy basement print shop, a 45-year-old German-made press pounds out thousands of invitations bearing entwined hearts and the message: Gunfire is forbidden.
The message is part of an unusual campoaign here in Jordan, where many people like to puncuate nupitals and other summer celebrations by aiming skyward and squeezing off a few rounds from assault rifles and handguns. Unfortunately, because of misfires and gravity, the tradition transforms some weddings into funeral processions.
"You have to wear a helmet if you are going to go to a Jordanian wedding," says Ali Zenat, who runs a small social-services agency here.
Mr. Zenat is on a mission. From his office with salmon-colored walls and torn vinyl love seats, the 38-year-old father of three is trying to get residents across the Madaba District to forgo their long local tradition of celebratory gunfire."
I love the detail of WSJ stories, comments like "salmon colored walls and torn vinyl love seats," take you in to the story and let you feel, taste, and smell it.

June 21
Headline Reads: The Rabbitslayer: Saving Rotterdam from the Varmints Subheading: A Man With a Gun, a Son, A Dog and 45 Ferrets Nabs Bunnies for the Busy Port.
Author: John W. Miller
"Rotterdam, Netherlands- Cees Noorlander, undisputed master of this port's vast open spaces, shoots intruders on sight. And he shoots to kill.
The official gamekeeper for Europe's busiest trading hub, Mr. Noorlander patrols the docklands in a tireless hunt for the varmints that could undermine global trade by tunneling under pipelines, rail tracks and levees that keep Europe's economy operating smoothly. As a container of Chinese goods rumbled by on a train early one morning recently, the 57-year-old Mr. Noorlander quickly shouldered his weaponand cut down his first rabbit of the day. "That's a small one," he said. "I'll feed it to my ferrets."
Later in the story Mr. Noorlander details some of the stresses his job involves, "You have to be careful about the place where you're shooting," Mr. Noorlander says. "Is there a pipeline, a railway, a car, a man on a bicycle?" He rarely misses, he says. He has never hit a tank or pipeline- or a man on a bicycle."
Later on the story comes to its detail soaked and commentary free conclusion on page A14 sandwiched between a story about Hillary Clinton's (who looks old but happy in the inkdot illustration) Fundraising efforts and a story about the internal strife between AIG's former chief executive and it's board of directors.
"He parked on a grassy strip in front of a network of a dozen holes atop an underground oil pipeline. The Kuwaiti refinery emitted a low hum. Nearby, traffic on the A15 highway was building with morning commuters. Mr. Noorlander pulled the two ferrets out of a wooden box and poured them down one of the holes.
'The Big One'
Three minutes later, a rabbit emerged. A loud boom from Mr. Noorlander's Browning rumbled across the flat land. The rabbit fell dead, its body peppered black with shot.
Shortly thereafter, a smaller rabbit jumped out of the hole. Mr. Noorlander held his fire. "I wait for the big one," he said. On cue, the big rabbit appeared. The hunter fired but succeeded only in wounding his quarry. Mr. Noorlander released Rex. Instincts blazing, the six-year-old bounded out of his cage toward his prey. His master guided him with hand signals.
Rex returned, rabbit in mouth. It was still alive. Mr. Noorlander finished the job with a clean karate chop."
The morbid aspects of this story are not what is interesting, it is the way in which they are delivered. I cannot get enough of the way they tell a story. To paraphrase Larry the Cable Guy, "now that's interesting...I don't care who you are...that's interesting."

Thank you Victor. And you dear reader, please support the kind of news that is delivered in a form that you can hold in your hands, smell, touch and fold as you linger over coffee. The newspaper business is struggling to stay afloat in this digital age. As we come to view information instantaneously delivered as a necessity, let us not forget the great luxury that is the newspaper.

In Good Company - Part 2

2007-05-28T14:06:00.000-05:00

Quarrytech - Late Summer 2006

Quarrytech - Fall 2003

What a fun ride it has been! I've got to thank the two owners, Jay Heck and J.R. Heck for giving me the opportunity four years ago to come and help them build Quarrytech into a South Texas powerhouse. They have been unbelievably generous over the years, paying us all way more than anybody else would have, treating us to beach trips, lavish dinners,numerous bonuses, and time off. In addition, they have always bent over backwards to supply us with the highest quality equipment to ensure that we are able to do our jobs without the hassles of repeated equipment failure. It's been fun to work for two guys whose faith has compelled them to spread the wealth around rather than hoarding it for themselves.

In Good Company - Part 1

2007-05-26T13:18:00.001-05:00

Thomas, getting 'er done in New Braunfels, TX

Nicknames: Longshanks, X-Factor, Bones, T-Train
Songs: Hard Working Man - Brooks & Dunn, Jole Blon - Waylon Jennings

In one Word: Loyal

Tom is the kind of guy who can build, fix, or modify anything. I keep telling him that when the Chinese, or whomever, invade us, that my family is moving with his up into the mountains in [secret location] where we will live off the land and form a resistance movement. A hard working and talented guy, Tom has been a great co-worker over the past couple of years.

Shawn, happy to be standing on a frozen lake in Colorado moments before we set off on a four mile hike through the snow that nearly did us in.

Nicknames: Sunday Morning, Mr. Automatic

Songs: Easy - The Commodores, Boom - P.O.D., Copenhagen - Robert Earl Keen

In One Word: Steadfast

Shawn is the most reliable and constant guy I have ever worked with. He is like Tim Duncan, quietly and steadily banking 10 footers off the glass day in and day out. I will miss his easy going personality and infectious laugh. I can imagine Shawn sitting on his front porch calmly chewing tobacco and drinking ice tea during a category 5 hurricane saying something like "how bout that?", as the world crashes down all around him.

Bobby, on cloud 9 in southwestern Oklahoma.

Nicknames: Mr. Boucher, The Comeback Kid
Songs: Heart of Gold - Neil Young, Against the Wind - Bob Seger, Rusty Cage - Johnny Cash

In Three Words: Tough as Nails

If you can imagine it, Bobby has experienced it. Life keeps dealing him blow after blow and Bobby keeps getting back up long after most guys would have given up or died. Three stories filed under the category "Dog" will illustrate what I'm talking about. The first year I worked with Bobby, one of his dogs was kidnapped and taken to Pennsylvania by a heartbroken elderly man whose own dog had recently passed away. With the help of friends, Bobby was able to track down his dog and fly it back home.
Last year, on the company beach trip his son Dylan ended up in the hospital after a pit bull bit his knee. And finally, earlier this year his dog killed a monkey in the front yard. Yes, read that last sentence again, bearing in mind that we live in Texas. His dog killed a monkey!

As tragedy after tragedy far more serious than a kidnapped dog or dead monkey has entered Bobby's life, he has risen with a resolve and inner reservoir of strength that has left me amazed. And just like Job, he has refused to curse God, his faith stronger rather than weaker after all he has been through. I have seen Bobby work hard all day, time after time on days when most guys in his situation would just have called in sick. More importantly, Bobby is an all-star dad who gives 110% to his kids as well as his job. I am humbled to work with him, his example will live in my heart as long as I live.

Nate, pausing to watch Shawn's 4x4 hijinks after a hard day's work clearing brush.

Nickname: Nate Dogg
Song: Crazy - Gnarls Barkley

In One Word: Creative

Nate is a computer, marketing and PR genius. He is slowly transforming the look and presentation of the company. Nate's sharp wit and sense of humor keep us all laughing whenever we are in the office. And whenever anybody has a computer question the response is always, "call Nate, he'll know." Nate's computer skills, business savvy and humor will take him far in life.

Brett, auditioning for "When Animals Attack!" in southern Cali.

Nicknames: Friday Night, Dyno-mite!
Songs: Get Down Tonight - KC and The Sunshine Band, Bang a Gong (Get it On) - T. Rex

In one Word: Encouraging

Brett is the life of the party, always clownin' around and making everybody laugh. On the toughest days, he'll drive by whistling and hollering or doing something to lift your spirits. Also incredibly devoted to his teammates, if Brett's around - you know somebody's got your back.

The people you work with end up being like a second family - you laugh, cry, fight, and experience large portions of life together. In our case, "like a band of gypsies [we've rolled] down the highway" spending many a day together in far away places, working our tails off, enjoying the scenery, eating like kings, and trying not to let the "sound of our own wheels drive us crazy."

Helprin Quote

2007-05-24T13:59:00.000-05:00

" How he loved it when an electric lamp shone in a room just on the edge of darkness, for then the light was mobile, its condition like a sunrise or sunset, the relative strengths of room light and lamplight changing in infinite gradation, at first the lamplight unneeded and then the only thing left, having become a sun. It was four o'clock, just at the point of balance after which the war of lights would intensify."

- From Freddy and Frederika

Searching For The Perfect Job

2007-05-22T22:15:00.000-05:00

Well, the race is on as we prepare to peel north like the Dukes of Hazzard, hootin and hollering the whole way as we try to outrun unemployment before the baby comes. I've got a great job now that I will miss sorely but Uncle Jesse is calling Daisy home and so off we go. As I search for a new job my thoughts keep wandering to the perfect job and just so I'll quit thinking about it here's a partial list of some of the many jobs I would love to have.

Tugboat Captain. A life on the sea and home for dinner every night. I can only imagine how neat it would be to pull up next to a super tanker and feel completely overwhelmed by the immensity of it. The sounds of the sea gulls, water lapping, the hum of the diesel engine, and the almost rhythmic clanging of the buoy bells would create a wonderful sonic backdrop to the incredible views you would be taking in all day. I would love to do this job with my family as the crew. I would wear a thick wool sweater during the colder months and would occasionally smoke a pipe.

Shepherd. I imagine it would be a lot of fun to roam the hills of Scotland trying to keep a herd of sheep safe and in line. I would carry a small knapsack with wine, water, bread, chocolate and a harmonica. I think the kids would enjoy this as well, Jen... not so much.

Lighthouse Keeper. Again, another job the whole family could enjoy together. Unfortunately, I don't think this job exists anymore.

Winemaker or Farmer. Every time I pass a vineyard, orchard, or field of crops I am mesmerized by the order of it all, and I can only imagine the bliss of watching the asymmetrical dramas of nature play out over, under and through symmetrical rows of harvest.

Train Engineer. If you are a train guy (or gal) then I don't need to explain the lure of this one, and if you are not , then no amount of explaining would help.

California Love

2007-05-17T21:47:00.000-05:00

The last four years I have had the fortunate privilege of visiting Southern California in the spring when the snow is still capping the peaks above Los Angeles and wildflowers carpet the high desert. I have mixed feelings about California, I love to visit and I love to leave. They have every conceivable variety of vegetation, desert, and mountain all jammed into a pretty small area. All four years my head has been on a constant swivel just trying to take it all in. The negative, of course, is all the people jammed into that same small area. Don't stop to smell the flowers - you'll get run over.

A little slice of heaven off of Interstate 5 south of Lebec

A Texas-like view on Highway 138 between Gorman and Palmdale

The RR tracks running along Historic route 66 in Oro Grande

My co-worker Shawn with Mt. San Antonio in the background last April. Getting to see this sight was a total surprise and near accident.

Yeah, I think I can make it

2007-04-29T15:36:00.000-05:00

Took these pictures yesterday on the bridge just below Gruene. Not sure what this guy was thinking, but heard on the news that he was rescued and then immediately arrested. You can't see it in the picture but his car was getting tore up from all the debris in the water. The dam is going to be letting off this much water all week so he's not going to have much left if they don't figure out a way to get it out of there.

Overflowing

2007-04-24T11:05:00.000-05:00

"He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good and sends his rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." - Matthew 5:45

The grace of God is everywhere and it has overtaken and consumed me. In the midst of both the ordinary and unusual pains of life, there is this joy that cannot be squelched. It is a joy that has become physical in that I feel this lightness in my chest as if my heart had wings and it is just floating around in my body, my ribs being the only thing preventing it from flying on out of here. And yet occasionally in moments of ecstasy it does escape, floating about the room and I'm forced in my mind's eye to run after it, leaping off the sofa to catch it before it becomes entangled in the ceiling fan. It is the strangest feeling, and one that has been growing in intensity over the last five years. I guess you could say that I am falling in love. God has grabbed a hold of me and I can't look away.

Life doesn't make any sense to me. I honestly can't figure it out. Part game whose rules I don't know, part random tragedy, part minor heartbreak, and all struggle from the first to the last. My perception, right or wrong, is that there are some people who have an innate knowledge of how "the game is played", some internal indicator that let's them know how to act or react in any given situation. Whether or not that is true, what is true is that I am not one of those people. I am at a complete loss as to how to move through this life with grace and effectiveness. The image that comes to mind when I think of my life and thus my relationship with God is of a rat in a flood swollen and raging river clinging to a log, scrambling, scrambling, claws extended trying deperately to keep from being ripped off and swept away.

At some point in the last five years, I finally started to get a grip on the log. The river, choked with debris and rapids is only getting worse, the bank further away, but amidst the terror, I have started to enjoy the journey. Perched precariously atop my log I have seen glimpses of beauty, perceived only from this vantage point that sustain me and give me strength for the ride.

The grace of God is the most beautiful thing in the universe and because of its beauty, it has the power to sustain and uphold. The most beautiful and powerful display of God's grace was Jesus birth, life, death and resurection. The beauty of Jesus, in principle and in reality is so powerful that it overflows and fills all of life. As I cling desperately to Christ amid the torrents of life, inwardly my soul is flooded with beauty until I find that the rat has begun to do an Irish jig atop his log, laughing and crying all at once as the waters rage.

I have never experienced a major tragedy in my life and so I'm not yet qualified to speak on that subject but I have found that throughout the minor aches and pains of life that Christ's love and grace has given me the power to move forward. His love has saved my soul, yes, but in the meantime his beauty is redeeming my life.

A red flower in the desert west of Phoenix just last week, a drop of water slowly running down the shower wall earlier this year, the rising sun exposing the flaws in a brick wall by casting a thousand tiny shadows across it's rusty red face shortly after 9/11, my daughters' two arms wrapped tight around my neck in a fierce growling hug (she doesn't hug so much as attack), the color green in a hundred hues as seen through my back door, a breeze weighted with the smell of cedar, a sip of wine, the ripple of muscle in a longhorn's side as he tries to shoo the flies away, and the trembling sound made by a guitar in that Eli Young song that took me took me far, far away. All of these and so many more are examples of the love and grace of God that overflows and spills everywhere; signposts pointing to his beauty, foretastes of the kingdom, hints of the not yet, sustenance and power for the now.

To look at me outwardly, you would not know this great symphony playing in my chest, nor would I probably suspect of you. I guess that is one of our great challenges, isn't it? How do we transfer inward realities into external momentum? The cry for help goes out again...Jeeesuuss!

"There is no event so commonplace but that God is present within it, always hiddenly, always leaving you room to recognize him or not to recognize him, but all the more fascinatingly because of that, all the more compellingly and hauntingly. In writing those lectures and the book they later turned into, it came to seem to me that if I were called upon to state in a few words the essence of everything I was trying to say both as a novelist and as a preacher, it would be something like this: listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace." - Frederick Buechner

Thanks, Lady Bird

2007-04-13T10:44:00.000-05:00

The bluebonnets are back and we are loving it down here in Texas. Carpets of bluebonnets, Indian Paintbrushes and various other native wildflowers dotting the landscape along our highways and county roads make driving just about anywhere in Texas a joy this time of year. For that we can thank our former first lady, Lady Bird Johnson, a woman whose tireless efforts to promote natural beauty and conservation led to the Highway Beautification Act of 1965.

While looking at Mrs. Johnsons' website wildflower.org I ran across the following quote that I'll finish this post with - "Mrs. Johnson's concern for the environment was matched by her deep appreciation for wild America's native beauty. Her belief that beauty can bolster the spirit of a society and her determination to make the United States a more beautiful place became Lady Bird's true legacy. "Ugliness is so grim," Lady Bird Johnson once said. "A little beauty can help create harmony which will lessen tensions."

Photos taken along Interste 10 between Houston and San Antonio.

PATTY GRIFFIN!

2007-03-08T21:46:00.000-06:00

That's Right

2007-03-08T21:12:00.000-06:00

Uno, Dos, TRES!

From Iraq

2007-02-26T21:46:00.000-06:00

I am constantly amazed at how different our war experience is from that of the WWII generation. We have a major war going on right now but aside from the daily rants of self serving politicians and talking heads and the odd bumper sticker you'd never know it. In the place of rations and sacrifice, we have a booming economy and an excess of everything. Instead of individuals laying down personal comfort for the common good, we have the usual every man for himself in the race for more. It is the War That is Easy to Ignore. And yet as we go about the daily routines of our life, 300,000+ of our fellow citizens are in harm's way serving the rest us. One of them is my buddy Scott (see Dec 25th post).

Scott's grandmother died last week, a hard loss to endure at any time, but especially hard when you are halfway around the world and separated from the rest of your family. However, Scott is a humble, selfless man prone to action rather than complaining. One of the tough who get going during the hard times. He would never complain or feel sorry for himself but I know he would appreciate our prayers during this difficult time. If you are reading this would you please pray both for his encouragement during this time and for his safety while traveling around Iraq. And while you're at it throw in an extra one for his wife Gina and their two young daughters as well. Thanks.

Scott sent me a song that he wrote about his grandmother after she died and I would like to post it here to both honor him and his grandmother.

When I Close My Eyes
for Grandma Carow

Shriveled hands hang down from arms that once were strong
Thin white hair is now where brown hair once belonged
My fragile legs lack the strength to stand
But I know I'll walk again when I'm in the promised land

And when I close my eyes I'll see my Father
My eyes will see once again
I will run into the arms of Jesus
When I close these earthly eyes

Do not cry for me for I know to die is gain
I've lived this life for so long and now there's only pain
I must go to the healing arms of Jesus
When I close these earthly eyes

And when I close my eyes I'll see my Father
My eyes will see once again
I will run into the arms of Jesus
When I close these earthly eyes

 Where I go
 I know
 There's a mansion waiting for me
 When I look up
 I'll see
 Brilliant colors that I've never seen
 I'll join a choir of angels
 And our songs will fill the skies
 When I close these earthly eyes

And when I close these eyes I'll see my Father
My eyes will see clearly once again
I will run down a street made of gold with my Jesus
When I close these earthly eyes


sdc

Catching Up: Pictures from the last 3 months

2007-02-21T12:26:00.000-06:00

Jen and the kids on Canyon Lake Dam in November (a family photo if you count my reflection in Jen's glasses)

Snow in the mountains above El Paso last month

Kinda makes you wish you knew how to ride a horse, don't it?

Wonderfully lonely in Rocky Mountain National Park (early December)

A new take on a familiar scene last month in Cloudcroft, New Mexico (see October Archives)

Duststorm near Odessa, Texas yesterday (this picture reminds me of the planet Luke Skywalker lived on in the Original Star Wars)

Church

2007-02-04T22:08:00.000-06:00

From Hans Kung's book, On Being a Christian, as found in Brennan Manning's Book, A Glimpse of Jesus:
"The church of Jesus Christ is a home not only for the morally upright but for those who for a variety of reasons have not been able to honor denominational teaching. The Church is a healing community proclaiming the Father's indiscriminate love and unconditional grace, offering pardon, reconciliation and salvation to the down-trodden and leaving the judgment to God.
A Church that will not accept the fact that it consists of sinful men and exists for sinful men becomes hard-hearted, self-righteous, inhuman. It deserves neither God's mercy nor men's trust. But if a Church with a history of fidelity and infidelity, of knowledge and error, takes seriously the fact that it is only in God's Kingdom that the wheat is separated from the tares, good fish from bad, sheep from goats, a holiness will be acknowledged in it by grace which it cannot create for itself. Such a Church is then aware that it has no need to present a spectacle of higher morality to society, as if everything in it were ordered to the best. It is aware that its faith is weak, its knowledge dim, its profession of faith haltering, that there is not a single sin or failing which it has not in one way or another been guilty of. And though it is true that the Church must always dissociate itself from sin, it can never have any excuse for keeping any sinners at a distance. It the Church self-righteously remains aloof from failures, irreligious and immoral people, it cannot enter justified into God's kingdom. But if it is constantly aware of its guilt and sin, it can live in joyous awareness of forgiveness. The promise has been given to it that anyone who humbles himself will be exalted."

I read this passage nearly two weeks ago and the power of it is still resonating like a church bell within my chest. The vibration inspiring and unsettling at the same time. I view it as a part of the answer, a piece of the puzzle. If you were to hold this in one hand and a call to holiness and repentance in the other, I feel you would be moving in the right direction.

The painting above is Scene at the Entrance of a Cathedral by Karl Brullhoff. For more reading on the church see the February 4th post on my friend John's blog.

A Poem, Author Unknown

2007-02-01T20:55:00.000-06:00

The next time you are in your local bookstore browsing your way through a rainy day I would like to recommend a book to you: How the Irish Saved Civilization by Thomas Cahill. It is a wonderfully rich glimpse at among other things; the Fall of the Roman Empire, Saint Patrick, and the Irish monks who painstakingly copied ancient manuscripts that were elsewhere being destroyed by barbarians. I love the book because it is written, at times, just slightly over your head but never so far as to be out of reach and you are constantly rewarded for slogging through some of the tougher sections with these incredibly alive and downright edible portions of text that will keep you mentally munching for days afterwards. It is one of those books that not only makes you feel smarter than you are but one that actually sticks with you and well..., makes you smarter. Two sections I'll recommend for quick browsing in the store before you inevitably buy it, St. Patrick's prayer on pages 116-119 (hardcover) and pages 152 - 164 (hardcover) or just 159 - 164 if you are in a hurry. The latter section deals with the monkish scribes who actually sat down and copied word for word ancient manuscripts. It has quite a few excerpts from the notes that they would make in the margins as they either interacted with the text or fought off boredom. Hands down one of the most giddy and thrilling pieces of writing (besides Yancey and Manning) I have ever laid my eyes on. Cahill sets the scene so well, you can feel the cold, damp air through which green and rocky hills appear and recede in the fog as young bookish men attempt to keep warm while hunched over musty smelling texts. These men come to life through their various postscripts and suddenly you realize, we are not all that different, us and them. I'll leave you with an excerpt from page 162 that goes nicely with The Moussacre of 07 on my cousins' blog.

"Perhaps the clearest picture we possess of what it was like to be a scribal scholar is contained in a four stanza Irish poem slipped into a ninth-century manuscript, which otherwise contains such learned material as a Latin commentary on Virgil and a list of Greek paradigms:

I and Pangur Ban my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight
Hunting words I sit all night.

'Tis a merry thing to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

'Gainst the wall he sets his eye,
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.

So in peace our task we ply,
Pangur Ban my cat and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his."

Not exactly groundbreaking poetry I realize, but when you consider the context, it becomes a classic. Imagine for a minute that there are no printing presses and you make a living by hand copying word for word such classics as The Catcher in the Rye or Crime and Punishment. Tedious, tedious work, the only thing keeping you from going insane with boredom is your love for the written word. As you copy you entertain yourself by making up little poems in your head that help you pass the time. And then in one heady and mischevious moment you decide to write your poem in the margin or at the bottom of the page, a bold act that declares "I am here! I matter!" This poem is not just about the words, because of its context, it is one of the most essentially human poems I've read, containing the essence of what it is to live down here. "You are not forgotten anonymous Irish scribe, 1200 years later your poem still rings true. For chutzpah alone you are a legend in my mind, may we meet in heaven one day where you can introduce me to Virgil and I will introduce you to Helprin."

How the Irish Saved Civilization was the first of what is now five and will eventually be seven books in the Hinges of History series by Thomas Cahill. I have also read The Gift of the Jews and would recommend it as well. His latest is called Mysteries of the Middle Ages, a book so beautiful it caused drool to run down my chin as I browsed through it mouth agape at the bookstore last month.

Patty Griffin @ Gruene Hall

2007-01-20T12:09:00.000-06:00

Last night, Patty Griffin opened a brief tour in support of her new album children running through at the beautiful and ancient Gruene Hall. It was a rare cold and rainy night here in South Texas that amplified the warmth and beauty of Patty's voice. The roughly three to four hundred people crammed into the hall soaked up every note, screaming for two encores. Unfortunately, I was not among them. Despite the fact that Gruene Hall is only two miles from my house I was unable to score tickets to the concert. But that didn't stop me from listening to the entire show, standing on the lawn outside the venue, in what turned out to be one of the neatest concerts I've been to.

Built on a bluff overlooking the Guadalupe River sometime in the 1880's, Gruene Hall looks as if every piece of wood in the place is original to the structure. On warm nights large wooden shutters are opened and standing out on the lawn you can see in through the chicken wire that covers the open windows and watch the show going on inside. When it's cold and rainy like last night they close the shutters but the building is so rustic and porous that in addition to hearing the music at concert decibels, occasionaly through large gaps you can see parts of the stage. In a rare stroke of bad luck, a speaker blocked my view last night so that all I could see on the times I tried were the bass player and Patty's mic stand. But, I was not there for the view, I was there for the music and it was outstanding. Unless you have one of those quirky college stations in your town you will never hear Patty Griffin on the radio despite the fact that she is the greatest female singer on the planet right now. Slightly raspy, melancholic, lyrical, angelic - Jen describes her voice in the following way, "I can see her singing on a dirty street, and fitting in there, yet somehow rising above, transcending it." A brilliant songwriter, she has written songs covered by the Dixie Chicks, Emmylou Harris, Martina Mcbride and several others. And I can attest, her voice in person loses none of the power that comes through in her recordings.

I love the roar of the crowd when the first notes of an old favorite begin to play. Standing outside, a large grin slowly spreading replaced a scream when I heard favorites like Making Pies, Kite Song, Truth No. 2, and Top of the World. She sang a few from her new album including the brilliant, Heavenly Day and one I'd never heard before Re: Mary, that I looked for but couldn't find on iTunes when I got home. In the beginning I was joined by a couple slow dancing in the rain, but they left after a few songs and I was alone until the first encore when I was joined by a carpenter from San Antonio who was recently turned on to Patty Griffin by a friend, and a tennis instructor from South Africa (living in Texas) who had a couple of CD jackets he was hoping to get autographed. We had a great conversation about our mutual love for Patty's voice before somehow the conversation turned to Bob Dylan. All in all it was a great night, spent alone and then with fellow diehards listening to one of the special voices of our time in a truly historic setting. It will be a long time before I forget, if ever, standing outside under the water tower watching smoke curl up from the chimney of that old wooden dance hall into a night sky heavy with mist as an angelic voice sang out "strange how hard it rains now, rows and rows of big dark clouds, when I'm still alive underneath this shroud, rain." Alive, yes, very much so.

From the Archives - July 2003

2007-01-19T15:53:00.000-06:00

Man's soul leaves body, photographed outside Boston church.

My favorite photo for so many reasons. First, just a great father son pic, second; a great representation of my inner man. So often internally I feel like Calvin, full of joy to the bursting point, but outwardly look just like I do in this photo; semi-catatonic. Third, the red bricks, white window frame, and green hue from the tree reflected in the window make this picture absolutely pop. Kudos to the hot wife for sneaking this one in from across the street.

Accepted

2007-01-14T18:54:00.000-06:00

It would be impossible to overestimate the impact these meals have had upon the poor and the sinners. By accepting them as friends and equals Jesus had taken away their shame, humiliation and guilt. By showing them that they mattered to him as people he gave them a sense of dignity and released them from their old captivity. The physical contact which he must have had with them at table (John 13:25) and which he obviously never dreamed of disallowing (Luke 7:38-39) must have made them feel clean and acceptable. Moreover because Jesus was looked upon as a man of God and a prophet, they would have interpreted his gesture of friendship as God's approval of them. They were now acceptable to God. Their sinfulness, ignorance and uncleanness had been overlooked and were no longer being held against them.

Through table-fellowship Jesus ritually acted out his insight into the Father's indiscriminate love-a love that causes his sun to rise on bad people as well as good, and his rain to fall on the honest and the dishonest alike (Matt. 5:45). The inclusion of sinners in the community of salvation, achieved in table-fellowship, is the most dramatic expression of the message of the redeeming love of the merciful God. -Brennan Manning in A Glimpse of Jesus

Painting is Cornfield by Moonlight - Samuel Palmer

A Few of My Favorite Things: Words

2007-01-12T23:55:00.000-06:00

Before I begin this installment of my favorite things I'll give you another Helprin quote. This one from the story Ellis Island, is from the perspective of a young man immigrating to the United States from Europe. Shortly before the ship arrives in New York he is imagining what life will be like in his new home. "And, I thought that I would finally get to see the American Talking Chicken, who, it was believed in my village (why not?), possessed the mildly altruistic trait of sitting down with you just before he was to be cooked, to determine the best recipe. I imagine that such a conversation would be both candid and touching."

An incomplete list, constantly in flux:

1) Foxes. The fox is probably just about my favorite animal, but that's not why it's on the list, or maybe it is, (with words it is sometimes hard to tell), it's on the list because it is the key word in two of my favorite album titles - Catch For Us The Foxes by mewithoutyou and Fox Confessor Brings the Flood by Neko Case.
2) Lush. One of the hard workers, a word with three meanings. a.) Abundant, plentiful, thriving, productive. b.) Characterized by luxuriant vegetation. c.) Drunkard; alcoholic. I originally wrote this list in high school and as best as I can remember, this word is the only survivor from that original list. I remember the first time I heard someone referred to as a lush (alcoholic) and me, without knowing the meaning thinking, "I want to be a lush, I hope that someday someone describes me that way."
3) Abalone. Much like a woman's neck, this word brings to mind something elegant, slender, and strong. A feminine word. Again, may or may not be tied indirectly to the meaning, we'll never know. A great word, nonetheless.
4) Copse. If I ever hear this word used in a sentence, I'll probably be doing something fun, outdoors, standing in a field, looking off into the distance.
5) Erstwhile. Don't know what it means, don't even need to know right now, still really like it.
6) Oxen. Nice masculine word.
7) Chino. First saw this word in the J.Crew catalog as a teenager. Later on, I was doing some landscaping for a Wall Street hotshot in Jersey when I first heard it in a sentence. His wife was telling me the story about how their son's college party was raided by a SWAT team who had narrowly missed a large drug bust earlier in the night and were dejectedly riding back to the station when a neighbor called in to complain about noise from the party. So the cops busted up the party dressed in full on SWAT gear and swagger. Her quote was something like, "Can you imagine?! Just a couple of frat boys in chinos standing around drinking beer and the SWAT team swoops in!" I enjoyed the story and the word somehow came to represent the entire crazy image it conjured up in my mind. I have used it once in a sentence, felt good, I remember being surprised when it came out of my mouth (nearly animate) after sitting dormant for nearly a decade.
8) Savannah. Even if you did not know what this word meant, I think you would still like it for the sweet yet efficient way it just sort of rolls of your tongue.
9) Cudgel. Back in Kansas City, my old boss and I used to get the word of the day from dictionary.com or something like it. This was one of our words. It can be used as a noun or a verb and refers to a short, thick stick used as a weapon; club or a verb as in "I'll cudgel you!" Makes me think of cavemen and how they who (allegedly) used very few words, had a very fancy word to describe thier crude weapons. I also like the word because it reminds me of two guys without degrees, yet very much in love with learning, trying to better themselves and beat (cudgel) the system in the process.
10) Brogue. Much like copse, if I am ever in a position to hear this used in a sentence, I'll probably be in a pretty happy place.
11) Lavish. This one is definitely tied to the meaning, when used in the spiritual sense, God's attitude towards and treatment of us.
12) River. Probably on this list right now because of the Springsteen song. Whenever I see the word, I hear him singing it.
13) Verde. This word stands on its own strength and needs no comment from me.

Cal Bob Gets After It

2007-01-10T20:08:00.000-06:00

Here is a picture of Calvin with his trophy, a log he cut into thirds with a hacksaw. I was so proud of him, especially for his perseverance to stick with it till the job was complete and his enthusiasm while working. The kid flat out loves to work.

Twilight in the Dallas Railyard

2007-01-05T21:12:00.000-06:00

The second annual Wilson family Christmas CD should be hitting mailboxes this week. Here is the album cover which I am posting here rather than printing 50 times. Maybe by next year I will have advanced to cover art and jewel cases. I realize that our CD and Christmas letter are being delivered in January, that the album cover doesn't look like Dallas, and that you are probably confused by the eclectic mix of music streaming through your speakers, but I promise you I'm not trying to be difficult, it just seems that way. Two more quick notes before I explain the music; if you did not get CD and would like one after reading about it, just shoot me a note and I'll send you one pronto (with 120+ on the mailing list, I had to draw the line somewhere), and technically it's not The Dallas Railyard, but rather, a Dallas Railyard, but it's the only one we work at, so to our crew it is The Dallas Railyard.

Shuffling Down the Tracks

The Dallas Railyard is a large storage area for sand and gravel that arrives by railcar and is dumped in large piles before being distributed throughout the Dallas-Fort Worth area for various construction and road projects. It sits on a former landfill in a large marshy area that is surrounded by a shooting range, golf course, and a small amusement park (Speedzone). Our company visits it three times a year to take inventory of the various stone, gravel, and sand piles that fill it to overflowing. From atop these 30 to 40 foot piles you can see the skyline of Dallas nine miles to the southeast, the roof of Texas stadium, downtown Irving, all the planes landing at Love Field (and some headed for DFW), Interstate 35, as well as the aforementioned golf course, shooting range, Speedzone, and marsh. And as if that were not enough life and motion, you can also watch wild dogs fighting and the occasional hobo shuffling down the tracks headed only God knows where. With planes roaring just overhead, the Interstate humming and trains clickity clacking down groaning tracks, the ground literally shakes with movement. Movement creates possibility, possibility creates hope, and hope sets the imagination ablaze and nowhere is this more true than in the railyard at twilight. Watching hoboes shuffle down the tracks you wonder, could I pull it off? Could I ride the rails, watching life through the open doors of an empty boxcar? What would I eat? As the planes roar overhead, you think of businessmen with plans and important things to do, lovers full of sadness at loved ones left behind or full of anticipation at their reunion now only minutes away. The pop pop pop of gunfire from a nearby range brings thoughts of men sighting in the rifles as they dream of that upcoming hunt for____ out in ______. As the wild dogs chase each other far below, you wonder if the situation called for it could I beat them off with this four foot survey rod?

There is no sweeter time to be there than at twilight, when the sun's own movement is exaggerated and seems to be both moving swifter than usual and suspended, caught up in it's own beauty, all at once. The lights on Reunion Tower come on and as the sun heads for daybreak in Japan, the sky in Dallas slowly transitions from blue to orange to a pale shade of pink and for a few fleeting moments made sweeter by their brevity, the whole world seems to stop (or at least the whole world inside of me stops) and I feel peace. Surrounded by millions of people, I am on an island of solitude shared with wild dogs and hoboes. I wish you could see it, but since you can't, this cd will have to do.

Twilight's Sonic Wine Cellar

I am a big believer in music fully coming alive in the proper context. For every time and every place there is a song and vice versa. When you find the right song for the right time, something happens, sometimes the clouds part and you get a small taste of that which is ineffable. Think of this cd, eclectic as it is, as twilight's sonic wine cellar, a storehouse of songs that go well with twilight and just may part the clouds. This disc, inspired by the Dallas Railyard, is as full of contrasts and surprises as the yard itself. From blues to pop to gospel and opera, to country and back to the blues again, this CD will take you on as many journeys of the imagination as its inspiration. If you were to compress and distill all of the emotions in this CD and bottle them up, the time to drink that tasty brew would be just after the sun slipped over the horizon at the Dallas Railyard. The 21 songs on this CD will take you in 21 different directions, but they all lead to one place and one time--Twilight in the Dallas Railyard. But, and this explains the album cover, it goes down pretty smooth just about anywhere, so long as the sun is slipping over the horizon.

1. Night Life - B.B. King "When that evenin sun goes down..." and it is ON!
2. Lovin in My Baby's Eyes - Shannon Mcnally
3. When the Stars Go Blue - Ryan Adams
4. Life For Rent - Dido I love the laid back, sleepy, great power under restraint vibe to Dido's voice. Great lyrics too.
5. Love Gonna Walk Out On Me - Toots & The Maytals
6. Beautiful Stars - Isaac Freeman Beautiful song.
7. Painter Song - Norah Jones The accordion is a twilight instrument
8. Romanza - Andrea Bocelli I guess people think of opera type singing as being very highbrow but I really feel like it is blue collar music. I get the mental picture of a slightly overweight, balding man in his early 50's who just got home from work at the factory listening to this song. He's standing in the kitchen in his t-shirt with his suspenders hanging around his waist drinking milk from a cardboard carton. It is spring and the window is open. He doesn't really like the music, but the voice, the voice!
9. Whom Have I But You? - David Ruis An honest love song of faith by one of my all-time favorites.
10. Happy - Bruce Springsteen
11. 5:15 - Chris Isaak
12. Donegan's Gone - Mark Knopfler
13. Constellations - Jack Johnson The lyrics.
14. The Wild Card Spot, you got one of the following here: Heartland - U2, or Hard Times - Ray Charles, or For All the Right Reasons - The Jayhawks, or This Heart of Mine - The Wailin Jennys, or Many Rivers to Cross - The Five Blind Boys of Alabama. Some people got a song by Neko Case, either Hold On, Hold, On or I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight. If you got one of the Neko Case songs, it will show up after song 16. I couldn't put Neko Case and Patty Griffin back to back. It would have been the musical equivalent of two women showing up to the same party wearing the same dress.
15. Rowing Song - Patty Griffin I have a road trip mix on my iPod that has quite a few Patty Griffin songs on it. Whenever one starts playing I am compelled by the angelic qualities of her voice to scream, "Patty Griffin I love you!" at the top of my lungs every single time.
16. Rambling of a Beggar - Shawn McDonald
17. Heart of Gold - Neil Young For the rest of my life I will associate this song with my friends and former coworkers in Kansas City who introduced me to Neil Young. Harmonica = twilight.
18. Girl From the North Country - Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan
19. Slow Dancing - U2, Mickey Raphael & Willie Nelson
20. Abilene - Waylon Jennings I love the way this song sounds like it is being sung over a loudspeaker at a lumber yard or something. Like shortly after it's over the next thing you would logically hear would be "Carlos, please pick up... Line 1."
21.It's Bad You Know - R.L Burnside When my father-in-law, Bob, and I finally work up the courage to hop a freight train and ride it west, this is the song that will be running through our heads.
"It's bad, you know"
"Yup, shouldn't be doin this."
"Nope, shouldn't be doin this."
"Think they'll get our note?"
"Dunno."
Clickity-clack, clickity clack.

Brown Coffee: The Interview

2007-01-01T20:25:00.000-06:00

Back in early December, after a coffee tasting at his house, I had an e-mail interview with Aaron Blanco, the owner of Brown Coffee Co. At the time I was only planning on using excerpts of the interview for the piece I wrote about him last week but found his answers so entertaining I decided to run the entire interview in a separate post. Enjoy.

JW: Do you remember the first time you drank coffee?

AB: I can remember Sunday nights after church as a young boy stealing sips
of the dregs from the cups of my parents and other adults who came
over our house for coffee and donuts. It was no doubt terrible,
rather forgettable coffee and was always laden with lots of "creamer"
and sugar. (Did you know that non-dairy creamer is flammable??? Just
a thought...) Those were my earliest rememberable experiences with
it. If you're wondering when the first time I ever really "used"
coffee then it was during college. My roommate and I would go to
Denny's to study (read:hang out with girls) and what can I say?
Everyone was doing it. So I piled tons of cream and sugar into mine
and sucked it down. Yummy.

JW: Coffee, like beer and cigarretes, is not something you immediately like your first time, what kept you drinking it in the beginning?

AB: Huh? Wha? I loved beer and cigarettes as a kid! I mean, er... That
question reminds me of a Calvin and Hobbes comic strip I once saw.
Calvin had somehow gotten ahold of some cigarettes and he and his
tiger buddy decided to try it out. As they both turned green and
began to choke on smoke, Hobbes says to Calvin, "You think this'd be
an easy habit to break."

Peer pressure kept me refueling. Plain and simple.

JW: How did you go from being a coffee drinker to someone interested in the entire process behind the cup?

AB: I'm not really sure what took me from just barely being able to
tolerate the stuff to trying to drink it for something besides just
fuel. I've always kind of been a purist in all the things I pursue in
life: music, spirituality, food (particularly,tasting the authentic
cuisines of the world the way they were meant to be tasted) and
what not. I suppose maybe one day I kind of realized that coffee was
something that was occupying lots of my semi-conscious time--meaning,
I was drinking lots of coffee without giving it much thought. Why not
try to figure out the story behind the story on coffee. There was
always so much romance behind the concept of nursing a cup of coffee
for hours among friends, discussing the issues of the day. I was
enthralled by the great concept of the coffeehouse in all its
revolutionary glory--whatever that meant!

Then I moved to California to finish college and that's where it
really kicked into high gear. The year was 1994 and the coffee house
as social hangout place was a refined art in counter cultural enclaves
like Santa Cruz. My and my buddies really got into the whole espresso
and coffee scene which was really starting to blossom there...well
before much of the rest of the country was getting into it. I would
go into a bookstore and start looking for coffee books while I drank
my coffee. I guess it all kinda went downhill from there.

JW: How long did you work at Starbucks, and overall how was the experience?

AB: It's funny--I actually begged my first manager at Starbucks to give me
a job for like two or three months before he finally caved. I walked
into the Starbucks in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania in December 2001, no
pro coffee experience, having just a love for coffee and the belief
that I could maybe figure it all out quickly enough before they
learned I didn't actually have any marketable coffee skills. He kept
telling me to come back: after the Holidays; in a couple weeks; next
Thursday, etc. Finally he gave me an interview and I can remember
being so excited when my phone rang and the Caller I.D. read:
"Starbucks Coffee." I think I saved that Caller I.D. record for a few
months after that.

I can say that my time with Starbucks was very good. I started at
that store as a lowly barista, making something like $7.25 and hour
with a wife, a child and another one on the way. I knew I had to do
something with myself and quick. I had heard Starbucks was a pretty
good place to work and I can tell you that I am living proof that they
put their trust in people who worked hard to make a name for
themselves and who took care of the coffee and the customers well.
Less than one year later I was opening the doors to a brand new
Starbucks in Lionville, Pennsylvania, only this time I was the
Manager.

In all I worked for Big Green for just over three and a half years.
Starbucks, for all its ubiquity, is still, in my opinion, a world
class organization. Even though they get disrespected in "indie
coffee" circles a lot, the fact is you can't argue with success.
Starbucks has probably forgotten more about coffee than many other
coffee companies will ever know. I'm proud of my time there and what
I was able to accomplish.

JW: Do you have a favorite or memorable story from your time as a barista?

AB: Way, way too many good times to recount here and now. One funny story
is the story of Aaron the newbie barista at Chadds Ford Starbucks.
This is the story of me in the shower, in the bed, driving to the
grocery store, etc., physically reviewing the motions it would take to
make a Frappuccino, trying to recall the steps and recipes so that I
didn't screw up. I can remember being thankful that it was a cold,
blustery Saturday morning because that meant less people would be
coming in and ordering Frappuccinos. I felt that way for about a
month. Then I realized, it's just liquid, syrup, ice, blend and pour.
Not rocket science, dude.

JW: What made you take the plunge and start your own coffee company?

AB: Revenge, mostly. When I got sued by Starbucks for embezz...er, I
mean, wait a second. Just kidding. Seriously, I kinda realized
pretty early on in my Starbucks life that coffee was a worthy subject
for me to want to explore and grow into professionally for a long
time, if not for the rest of my working life. When my time with Big
Green came to an end I knew I still wanted to be around coffee. I
knew I had learned some skills and a little knowledge and figured it
made clear sense to keep pushing forward with coffee. I secured (what
seemed like a) HUGE loan from my in-laws (not that much in real
business terms, though) and went down to the county courhouse and
bought the name, The Brown Coffee Company. (That name's a whole
'nuther story in itself...) I guess I figured coffee just wasn't
through with me yet, so I stuck with it. I haven't had a single
second of regret so far.

JW: With thousands of coffee companies in America, what sets Brown Coffee Co. apart from the others?

AB: It's funny you ask that. I was just brainstorming that very question
with a friend this morning. We asked that exact question and listed
several strength areas as well as some that were "gaps" that needed
attention. Some of the gaps came from folks just plain not knowing
we're even out there.

That said, we kinda came to a place this morning where we realized
that if you decide to try Brown, you'll actually be taking the first
steps of a great culinary adventure. I know that sounds way over the
top but that's really and truly how I feel about the coffees I have
the honor of representing to my customers. Great coffee IS a culinary
experience, just like experiencing a great wine or a fabulous single
malt scotch. It's kind of like your own little coffee passport and
you get to try exotic and crazy good coffees you never knew even
existed before you stumbled upon my little website. Now all of a
sudden here's this wild-eyed mad scientist kind of guy talking about
blueberries in this coffee and stewed tomatoes presenting themselves
in that. And you read all these descriptions--I know how it must come
across to people!--and you're like, "This guy is off his rocker a
little bit with the coffee thing."

...and then they take the chance and order a bag of coffee from Brown
and they realize that it is indeed different from the commodity grade
stuff being peddled in diners and donut shops across the land. People
who are willing to just crack open the door to the concept of coffee
as a beautiful adventure will recognize that we're not building Brown
on hype or smoke and mirrors. They'll see that we're dead red serious
about sourcing killer coffees that will rock your face off and have
you thinking about them long after you've downed your last sip.

We're not a cheap coffee company, that's for sure. Our coffees aren't
cheap in either sense of the word. But I kind of adopted a saying for
Brown that my sister once told me: Anything that costs you little is
probably worth little. There's a whole lecture from me about why the
great coffees of the world are way, way undervalued, even at $20--25 a
pound. We'll save that one for another time. Suffice it to say that
I believe Brown exists in part to help change those conversations
people are having around coffee from, "Why would anyone pay so much
for COFFEE?" to, "Why aren't more people interested in drinking
amazing coffee like this?" If you drink it just as an economic
factor, you might as well just be drinking tap water. Brown aims to
help people get the whole super premium coffee thing in a way that is
accessible and not really as intimidating as you might think.

JW: Most people probably equate high quality coffee with Starbucks. How is your coffee different than Starbucks coffee?

AB: I sorta struggle to think of how it might be considered similar except
maybe on price and on the principle that Starbucks tries to source the
best coffee their size will allow them to.

Basically, the main difference in Brown versus Starbucks might be
roast styles and philosophies. Starbucks is from (what is now
considered) the old school: the classic Pacific Northwest mentality
of dark roasted and robust cups to stand up to those drizzly, dreary
PNW winters. It's not better or worse; it's just different than
Brown. I tend to use a much lighter touch with my roasting to
empasize not the roast I put to it, but the characteristics that
particular coffee from that particular place may want to present to
me. I guess most people don't realize that coffee is a fruit and as
such it has stages of ripeness and "bestness" if you will. My goal is
to find coffees that are at their peak of ripeness, when they are
actually sweetest, and to roast them delicately enough to allow that
natural sweetness to work its way into your cup. The more "invisible"
I as a roaster can be, the better chance the consumer has of
experiencing great coffee that was roasted a few days ago just for
them, versus [enter any big coffee chain name here], where the coffee
was roasted weeks, sometimes even months ago and has sat in some store
or on some grocery shelf or, worse, in some dank grocery warehouse
waiting to be shoved onto a shelf by some overnight stock boy who
couldn't care less about the coffee aside from just making the bags
stand up straight.

How's that for differences? Mainly, it's just that my tiny size
allows me a greater sense of being nimble and being "artisinal" and
geeky about quirky coffees, whereas a big chain might be more stuck in
having to please the oceans of customers with "consistency."

JW: My favorite coffee of yours is the Finca Vista Hermosa from Guatemala. It was the first coffee from Brown that I had and it's also a sentimental favorite as I recently had the pleasure of meeting the man who grows it. How did you meet Edwin and describe your business relationship with him.

AB: Edwin Martinez is the next in line to operate Finca Vista Hermosa, a
coffee plantation in Guatemala. He grew up there and still spends
about half the year there--the other half being in Bellingham,Washington.
He's a swell guy whose coffee is something of what I would consider a cult
favorite among coffee nerds like myself. He and I found ourselves frequenting
a certain uber geeky online coffee forum and I think I might have actually
tricked him into thinking Brown was a real company, a legitimate business! :)
I forget the exact circumstances but we began to collaborate online on some certain
coffee discussions and one day he left me his phone number and I just
called him up. Before long I was asking him if I could buy his coffee
and that was probably one of the best purchases I have ever made (and
probably one of the smallest for him!). He also represents a small
farm in Honduras with exceptionally sweet and very cool coffee and I
will be buying some of that coffee soon as well.

Every year Edwin, his wife Nina and their Guatemala family host
travelers on their plantation in the form of missions trips. Last
year they hosted a small group of coffee roasters and had such a good
time that this year not only are they hosting a roaster's trip but
also a trip of coffee baristas, which I will be going on.

JW: What are you most looking forward to on your upcoming trip to Guatemala?

AB: This will be my first trip to a coffee plantation. I've read about
them and have seen pictures and videos of them. But I think to
actually be there, to meet the people who are growing, picking,
processing and preparing the coffee to be sent off around the
world...that will be special. Mostly those folks have no clue how
their coffee is being prepared and served in cafes. It will be really
something to get to thank them personally for all their hard work.

I'm also getting pretty excited about a little project Edwin has asked
me to consider staying an extra week to help him with. Something
about a GPS mapping project and he wants me to help with the writing
of the reports and whatnot. It's all really technical and not worth
me boring everyone with here and now. But I'm excited about it in my
own coffeegeek way.

JW: What is the most interesting thing about coffee that most people don't know?

AB: Hmmmm....hard to say what most people might find interesting. One fun
tidbit is that ripe coffee cherries grow on tree branches to about the
size of a cherry and when you pick them off the tree they are sweet
and tart like a cranberry. Okay, so that's not very interesting. How
about the fact that as a fruit, it seems kind of interesting to me
that we actually are concerned with the seeds of the fruit, the pits
if you will, which are the coffee beans we roast, grind and brew.
This is wholly opposite of any other fruit I can think of, such as the
avocado, the apple, the cherry and so forth, where we actually eat the
fruit and discard the seeds/pits. Just par for the course in the
bizarro world of coffee, I guess.

JW: What is your favorite food to eat with coffee?

AB: Yes. ;) Different stuff pairs well with different coffees. I can
remember first sitting in on a coffee tasting where the presenter gave
us a cup of Sulawesi coffee and a wedge of brie cheese. Skeptical, we
all tried them together and were slackjawed at how well they paired.
So maybe my point with that is to be adventurous and try different
things and see what you might find.

JW: What region of the world consistently produces the greatest coffee?

AB: Well, I don't know. Which is your favorite child, Jeremy? I think
the answer to that depends on how one chooses to define "greatest."
Most consistently excellent? Highest prices paid for it? Most
exotic? Every major growing region produces something unique and
special...that is not meant to sound diplomatic, the way some would
describe their children when one is an honors student and another is,
well, "unique and special." I think the thing to consider is how much
more detailed and complex the process of tasting coffees and
identifying greatness in coffee is becoming as it relates to
geography. What I mean is this. Did you know for instance that in
Guatemala alone there are something like 300 distinct microclimates?
They are areas that have disinctly unique weather patterns that have a
direct effect on how the coffee grown in each microclimate will taste.
Add to that customs and processes of how the trees and the land
around them are cared for, how the beans are processed, fermented,
milled, stored, dried, bagged, shipped to market, exported,
warehoused, roasted, ground and brewed and you have an infinitely
complex matrix of how great or not so great a coffee can be when it
gets to its final destination.

But as I was saying about geography, there is a lot of work underway
to continue defining geographic denominations in smaller and smaller
ways as it pertains to coffee, even down to the farm, or a particular
slope of a hill, at a particular elevation and so forth, that will
produce a lot (a "lot" is a size designation, not slang for a whole
buncha) of coffee. Each micromini climate and set of circumstances
can produce strikingly different coffee. Do one thing differently and
one coffee might well present characteristics typcial of coffee grown
two continents away. And some coffee retailers are content to foist
upon their unsuspecting customers the arcane and simplistic
designations such as, "El Salvador," or, "Brazil" or "Kenya." Would
you buy wine that way? Hardly. So why do that to coffee?

Whoah. I hit a major tangent! I guess "greatness" in coffee can be
defined with such ever increasing minutiae of terms and processes and
in so many places that it's nearly impossible for me to say one place
is the best over and over again.

If, however, you're asking the question to give your readers a tip on
which of Brown's coffee to buy first, I'd simply say, "Costa Rica."
It's pleasant and non-threatening/non-intimidating enough and you can
work your way onward from there.

JW: How does it feel to watch people enjoy your coffee?

AB: Do they? Oh, I hadn't noticed. :)

Honestly, it's a little embarrassing. For them, mostly, probably,
because I think I stare at them so wildly as they're about to take
their first sip that it must be a little unnerving. And obviously
it's very gratifying to see someone appreciate your work. In that
sense, however, I think I'd almost prefer to NOT be around when people
try my stuff, especially for the first time, because of the sort of
unspoken pressure to smile, nod and say something like, "Wow, this is
really, really, really great, Aaron!" when in fact it may be the most
potently powerful and unexpectedly strong cup of coffee they've ever
had and that they're not at all used to or prepared to drink all of
without adding tons of milk and sugar or water. I'd almost rather
prefer you try it on your own, and then if you like it you can tell me
later. If not...there's a lot of other coffee out there. Something's
bound to tickle your fancy.

Haystacks by Monet

2006-12-31T18:06:00.000-06:00

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.

2006-12-25T23:26:00.000-06:00

"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

2006-12-25T12:40:00.000-06:00

(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

2006-12-09T19:57:00.000-06:00

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

2006-12-07T22:11:00.000-06:00

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

2006-12-03T20:17:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-28T22:42:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-17T21:13:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-14T22:17:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-08T21:31:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-05T07:37:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-02T14:10:00.000-06:00

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

2006-10-31T10:15:00.000-06:00

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

2006-10-28T23:03:00.000-05:00

An Articulate Mind

2006-10-28T15:45:00.000-05:00

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

2006-10-21T00:05:00.000-05:00

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

2006-10-20T22:31:00.000-05:00

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.