tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698893121578615602024-03-19T07:35:35.581-05:00BIG LOVEBIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-29633739925945280852012-12-14T11:28:00.003-06:002012-12-14T11:28:33.240-06:00Follow Up Story: America, Its Guns and Our Problem<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Earlier this week I posted about "<a href="http://biglove05.blogspot.com/2012/12/america-its-guns-and-our-problem.html" target="_blank">America, Its Guns and Our Problem</a>," and this morning I was shocked to find the <a href="http://news.msn.com/us/shooting-reported-at-connecticut-elementary-school" target="_blank">following news</a>. Please pray for these children and for change in this country's laws, hearts and minds. </span>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-63555625023625290492012-12-12T13:59:00.003-06:002012-12-12T14:04:15.562-06:00America, Its Guns and Our Problem<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the second time in a year a mass shooting has taken place in a crowded, public place. Another gunman has terrorized defenseless Americans, only this time it happened at a shopping mall. Last night in Clackamas, Oregon, a teenage gunman wearing a mask opened fire on Christmas shoppers. First, it was Aurora, CO and now, this. Something has to change. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember when <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Columbine_High_School_massacre" target="_blank">Columbine</a> took place in '99; it was the first of its kind of news. Sure, shootings took place before Columbine, even at schools, but nothing matched its scale. Two shooters used semi-automatic weapons, shotguns and homemade explosives to kill 13 people and injure 21. Then, like some bad dream that you keep having night after night, shootings appeared all over the news.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Schools of all kinds, shopping malls, workplaces and movie theaters, at one time or another, have all somehow been twisted into fear-filled shooting galleries. So what can we do? We know the problem of mass, public shootings in America isn't getting any better. What will turn the tide against our nation's gun-violence epidimic? Will legislation, counseling or even a mitigation of violent films?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First, politicians and lawmakers must reengage the gun control issue. While Mitt Romney was running for President, he was asked by Brian Williams about his record on gun legislation and what our government should do in the wake of the Aurora, CO shootings </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(<a href="http://video.msnbc.msn.com/nightly-news/48326969#48326969" target="_blank">Video</a> - start at about 1:30 min)</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. "I don't happen to believe America needs new gun laws," Romney argued. At this time in our country's history, I couldn't disagree more. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If the role of the government is to protect its citizens from all threats, foreign and domestic, then we need the government to step up and make it more difficult to purchase semi-automatic weapons, fully automatic weapons and assault weapons. In Mitt Romney's own words, "these guns are not made for recreation or self-defense, they are instruments of destruction with the sole purpose of hunting down and killing people." If not new gun laws, amendments and careful reconsideration of the ones we have are what we need now, more than ever before.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>But what about my right to bear arms (the second amendment)?</i> Great question! I'm not arguing for a removal of the second amendment from the constitution or a revoking of private gun licenses. I am calling for stricter measures to be drafted by our lawmakers to make it harder for people to purchase arsenals of weapons that should only be possessed by trained military or law-enforcement personnel. Furthermore, I hardly believe our forefathers envisaged an America where every man, woman and child could purchase an AR-15 at a gun show. We have wrongfully inflated the right to bear arms to be stretched far beyond its intended purpose. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Guns don't kill people, people kill people</i>. Though this makes a good point about focusing on the people who buy guns, as a matter of fact both guns and people kill people. It's true, as Mitt Romney argues, that we should pursue dangerous people who desire to use guns for taking lives. It's also true that pursuing said personalities alone will not and has not made things better. I would argue for a two-pronged approach: (1) Tougher gun laws (including measures that drastically restrict what's purchased online and at gun shows) and (2) a wake-up call to the American conscious. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To the latter, we as Americans need to get a clue. We are the most violent nation on the planet and we export it gladly to other countries. Changing a few laws will not curb this violent trend, to that end Mr. Romney and I wholeheartedly agree. The heart must <i>also</i> be pursued and changed. So, how does that happen? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first step is to recognize there is a problem. "Hi, I'm the United States of America and I'm addicted to violence." And what is at the heart of all addictions? We are self-medicating through violence, exercising our hate and frustration in the unhealthiest ways. I'll admit it, it feels good to imagine myself laying into the guy who cut me off; it feels good to berate the waiter who ruined my $15 dinner; it feels good when a bully picks on another; it feels good to be angry. The problem is, hate and anger are secondary emotions that don't get at the core of what's going on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What's really going on is this: Americans are angry. We Americans need to do some hard thinking and feeling, to dig deep and discover <i>why</i> we love to hate. And this starts on the micro-level, with you and me. Then, we find genuine healing for our hearts and seek restoration for ourselves and with our neighbors. Next, we tell our story of recovery. "Hi, I'm John and I'm a hate-aholic." By sharing our recovery from hate addiction, we invite others to examine their own hearts and minds. At the very least, all of this creates momentum for more conversation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the same way Martin Luther King, Jr. was able to convict the American conscious with the gospel of Jesus as it relates to Civil Rights, America needs a catalyst for a conversation about hate and gun rights. You could be that person or I could be that person. Either way, our gun control laws and approaches to addressing hate in this country aren't working. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Simply legislating more won't change our predicament. Simply pursuing people to change their hearts won't resolve it either--not on a nationwide scale. We need a two-pronged approach, each with its own scope. Law is terrible for changing hearts, but great for ensuring justice and safety. More introspection and counseling won't stop all people from breaking the law, but it will help them understand <i>why</i> they desire to do so. Politicians should do the hard work of legislation for our safety; counselors, pastors, educators and parents should do the hard work of reconciliation within and without. We're all in this together. We need all hands on deck because the holes in our hull are many and it's going to take a monumental effort to ensure we don't go under. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-60749433052865178462012-11-07T11:31:00.002-06:002012-11-07T11:37:55.588-06:00What did you lose last night?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I knew it would happen. I woke up this morning and had a feeling Facebook would explode with both love and hate. However, since I didn't stay up to see who won the Presidential Election, I didn't know which emotion would dominate my news feed? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do live in Texas, so it was safe to suppose that if Romney won I would see posts of joy and jubilation. If Obama won, which I now know he did, then I would see frustration, despair and hatred. There are times when Facebook newsfeeds are boring and lifeless; I had a feeling this morning would be anything but. And when I finally had a break from work at 10 am, Facebook didn't disappoint. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There have been angry, rhetorical remarks, "How could our country be so stupid?" And insults, "Those poor idiots who voted for Obama don't know what's coming." And finally, appeals to the absurd, "Stupid people shouldn't be allowed to vote." Regrettably, I've also</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> seen long-time friends turn against each other, trading comments as if they were jabs and uppercuts.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Why?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So much rides on our Presidential Elections. It seems each year America breaks records for the inordinate amounts of time, money and energy both candidates and their supporters pour into each contest. And that is partly what excites me about democracy: people mobilize for change. It's no surprise, then, when people feel angry because their candidate didn't win. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The trouble, however, comes when people face loss and then feel like losers. Anger and hatred are really secondary emotions, they speak to something deeper, a <i>cause </i>for rage and outbursts of anger. In the case of last night's election, I am certain of the cause for most people's anger: insecurity. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you are a Romney fan who is inexplicably angry this morning, then you may not like what I'm about to say. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The good news is, both Democrats and Republicans need to hear this because both are human (though even that is contested on Facebook). </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most Republicans who are pissed this morning feel that way because they feel uncertain about the future. They put a lot of hope and trust in Romney to change the country, economy and even their lives. "Now that Obama has been reelected, who knows what will happen?" This is called insecurity and if you feel this way, you are not alone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As one who has always wrestled with insecurity, let me reassure you that what you lost last night was not anything you needed anyway. If you are angry and feeling uncertain today, all you lost was a sense of security that was not real, or safe. Because no matter who is elected or who loses, all of us will face hardships in the next four years - it's inevitable. Unfortunately, some of us believe (including me, at one time) that the President of the United States will fix all of that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I'm describing you, then I must say I'm not sorry for your loss. If anything, this is an opportunity to find out what you really trust in? Where does your hope really lie? Over what issues are you willing to lose a friend, and why? If your identity and security are so inseparably bound to a political party, sports team or another human being, you will always be disappointed. You will continue to be angry and your emotions will be continually tossed like flag in the wind. You won't be much fun to be around, either. But if you are willing to take a chance, step out into the unknown and search for security, the anger and fear will eventually fade and be replaced by something called "life." The choice is yours, but not because we live in a democracy, because we are human. </span></div>
BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-39495258864457248232012-10-10T09:48:00.001-05:002012-10-10T09:54:12.937-05:00Struggling In Between (Part 1)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A month ago I watched a
documentary about the making of U2’s hit album, <i>Achtung Baby</i>. The
film is called <i>From the Sky Down</i>; it chronicles the band's fierce struggle to find unity,
creativity and light at a dim point in their career. U2’s fight to keep pushing,
despite conflict within and without, has inspired me during my own season
of transition, struggle and rebuilding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">At the close of the 80's
and dawn of the 90's, you might not have guessed U2 was on the verge of implosion.
The album <i>Joshua Tree</i> had been a huge success and the boys
from Dublin had more worldwide appeal than ever. Even so, the band's
creative and personal lives were in disarray. <i>Sky Down</i> depicts the band as a collection of aching individuals,
walled into their own spaces both musically and emotionally. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I, too, know what it
means to give off the appearance of success, while inwardly in shambles. After
six years of vocational ministry, two of which were spent serving in Budapest,
Hungary, I learned how to earmark my success within ministry. In recent years you
might have described me as a gifted teacher, experienced leader, knowledgeable
student of the Bible and innovative missionary. My Greek professors once called
me their “star student.” Despite all this outside support and promise, I eventually
became exhausted, disenchanted and frustrated with all-things-ministry. So, what
happened?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">When Bono and the gang
arrived in Berlin on October 3<sup>rd</sup>, 1990 to record a new album, they
found a city they could relate to. Germany had officially been reunited on the
exact day of the band’s arrival in the capital. Since Berlin was the epicenter
of such a monumental historical shift (<i>de
Wende</i>), U2 saw and felt the identity crisis the city was undergoing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Berlin had been divided
by an ominous, concrete wall for 30 years. All of a sudden the German capital
entered the 90’s and became a unified metropolis. U2 wondered if their own
walls might come down? Would the 90’s also be a time of reunification for this
band with so much promise and talent? Or would they remain in isolation, moving
towards desolation and short of redemption?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Budapest was my Berlin.
Allie and I moved there in 2010, seeking to serve and experience God in new
ways. I didn’t know it at the time, but this city that had seen so much
darkness, depression and loneliness would create the ideal backdrop for confronting
these very qualities in my own being. And, like U2, I was not only stepping into a new city and culture, I was also stepping foot into a decade of uncertainty. Would I survive this overseas adventure and return home with a refreshed sense of God's presence? Or would I leave Hungary with a full passport and an empty heart? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-4612778128875531222012-08-15T16:26:00.000-05:002012-08-15T16:26:21.182-05:00Birth-Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_X8D3Yi40tTzt9RPMHqXkS10KdDteKIcf-4j0El4hTpP0pne8vJMJo75YR_U56ccAJqC4dDQkamAHjRAfWnRauLB6mWOkjVx39_ADbiEptDk01Wh1V-3YyJcH1_6KFL_6EnyPoHCOUPZ/s1600/baby.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_X8D3Yi40tTzt9RPMHqXkS10KdDteKIcf-4j0El4hTpP0pne8vJMJo75YR_U56ccAJqC4dDQkamAHjRAfWnRauLB6mWOkjVx39_ADbiEptDk01Wh1V-3YyJcH1_6KFL_6EnyPoHCOUPZ/s400/baby.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What are birthdays like in your late twenties? If you don't already know, it's much different from the confetti-filled, balloon-popping, sugar-enhanced celebrations of your youth. My past few birthdays--when I turned 26, 27, 28--have taken a turn for the existential. Outside of sharing a few drinks with friends, you would have found me taking long walks, hands behind my back, contemplating life itself. Today has been no different. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm inching closer to 30. It's not as depressing as people make it sound. Jokes about getting old are just as common and equally as annoying as marriage jokes; they usually incorporate death, frailty, and sexual under-performance in the punch line. However, with a six-month old and a beautiful wife at home, a heart full of </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">friendships </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">experiences</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, and a genuine sense that my life is shaping into something beautiful, I can't complain. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today I've been especially aware of how precious life is. A colleague of mine was making a presentation when a G-Chat window popped up, it was his wife checking in. "I felt the baby moving again, so don't worry...everything's fine." It was a sobering reminder of what really matters: Powerpoint slides about upcoming change or the beating of the tiniest heart? </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The accidental </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">eavesdropping reminded me of when I first learned the answer to that question. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In March of 2011 we suffered through a miscarriage. After so much anticipation and excitement, telling our friends and family we would soon be parents, everything stopped. A little heart stopped and so did ours. We were left desolate, wondering "Where do we go from here?" Doubts, anger, frustration, and fear filled the air. And through that deep sorrow we began to shuffle along this mortal coil in a different way altogether.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember riding subways in Budapest and as I looked around at each passenger I would think, "<i>You're</i> a miracle, <i>you </i>made it here because of a miracle, <i>you </i>made it here for a reason..." I suddenly appreciated the people around me because I realized how hard it can be to travel from the womb to life outside of it. Today I've had the same revelations. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm thankful to be alive. Though I've faced many crushing trials, I am happy to be alive. More than that, I'm thankful to be surrounded by life. To have a wife and son who God has entrusted to me, to have friends who care for me, to breathe with others is a gift. I'm thankful to know my God, my Father who has never given up on me, even in my mess. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, I don't know how your Wednesday is going, but just know that you are reading this because you have had life breathed into you. I pray you take it in deeply and pass it along with grace, love, and hope. </span>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-8502334984131764022012-08-10T09:57:00.003-05:002012-08-15T15:38:20.888-05:00America, I Love/Hate You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBYNx-2NUjXpNUugBJuQdXJjYu-KT8AN_S-y36sewsrmLHkcK0Gn_EPlvn7cgfe6TTDi4mF8zeotsE6KovqHWOjvAwf__ThPVzwY4UVgTNBIzvALbh5jx55w-CVIP2fNN5wbZZ5HXQ-ky/s1600/americanflagabstract.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBYNx-2NUjXpNUugBJuQdXJjYu-KT8AN_S-y36sewsrmLHkcK0Gn_EPlvn7cgfe6TTDi4mF8zeotsE6KovqHWOjvAwf__ThPVzwY4UVgTNBIzvALbh5jx55w-CVIP2fNN5wbZZ5HXQ-ky/s320/americanflagabstract.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In an effort to better process my
re-entry into American culture, I thought I’d put together a list of things I like and dislike, or "enjoy" and "could do without," as I think about settling back into my homeland. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ENJOY</span></b><br />
<i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Friendly
Faces</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">—People smile at you here, a lot! Not only are people generally warmer in
the US than in Hungary, Americans can also be really kind and caring. If I can brag on my parents a bit, most recently they visited Dallas and came across a homeless man begging on a street corner. My parents saw the man, had compassion for him, rolled down their window and offered the man $10 to help him on his way. The man looked at my parents, looked at the bill, looked back at my parents and said, "Holy Shit!" My parents took that response as a "thank you" and wished him well. Even the homeless in the US are not out of reach from American kindness. </span><br />
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<i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Generosity</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">—Americans
are very generous. Though we consume more than any other nation, we also give,
give, give and give some more. I have an American-Vietnamese friend named Thai,
who upon learning that we didn’t have cable TV because it’s outrageously
expensive shared his Netflix account with us. Now we can catch up on two years
of movies we missed while overseas, all for free. I have dozens of other stories like this one, or the one with my parents, where kindness and generosity go hand-in-hand. </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Dinner
and a Movie</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">—Living in Dallas, we have found ourselves in the restaurant capital
of the world (Dallas has </span><a href="http://kevinfields.articlealley.com/which-city-really-does-have-the-most-restaurants-per-capita-108023.html" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">more
restaurants per capita</a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> than any other city). We have top-notch Tex-Mex,
cafes, burger joints and, what’s quickly becoming my favorite, Indian
restaurants. A colleague of mine took me to a breakfast spot called, “The Dream
Café.” Apparently Bono like the place when he’s in town; I myself was having a
beautiful day following granola-crusted French toast!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dallas also boasts
some outstanding movie theaters. Here you’ll find everything from
state-of-the-art IMAX screens to low-key, artsy movie houses. When we first
came back from Budapest, I was desperate to see <i>Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy</i>. The British-made film was shot
partially in Budapest and we wanted to see our old stomping grounds on the big
screen! We had an impossible time finding a screening of the movie at first,
but then one of the art-movie houses—The Angelika—began showing the film and we
had a blast revisiting our favorite European city while being in Texas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Could Do Without</b></span><br />
<i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Here
in my Car</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">—Life happens in the American car, which isn’t necessarily a bad
thing. Road trips are a blast and </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzUU7SRRsGo" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><i>Wayne’s World</i></a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"> moments are even better. However, for two years I
had been living with and loving public transportation. I am not such a fan of
traffic, countless auto expenses and angry-as-hell drivers. We live on a street
corner where many people mistakenly believe they have a stop sign, when
actually they could keep cruising through. This has led to many near-misses and
one street fight I witnessed from our balcony. Some dude got so mad about
almost being hit that parked his car in the intersection, moved ferociously
towards the other car and began cursing while threatening to pull the other
driver out of the car. There is no shortage of enraged Americans on the
roadways.</span></div>
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<i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Busy-ness</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">—The
pace of life in the US is often overwhelming. In Hungary we ate meals over the
span of at least two hours. Our Magyar friends would sometimes apologize for
leaving a coffee date after two and a half hours of conversation. Back here in
the States, our waiters rush us through our meal in 45 minutes, Starbucks has
drive-thru coffee and we all rush from here to there. So I swore to myself that
I wouldn’t rush so much when I returned. I said I would never again eat and
drive when I got back to Texas. I thought, “I will make time to eat and enjoy
my food.” On the contrary, I have already eaten my fair share of hamburgers or
other forms of food in the car so that I wouldn’t be late to work or some
meeting. Slowing down to enjoy life, and food, is going to be harder than I
thought.</span></div>
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<i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Fear</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">—I’ve
never been in a culture that operates under fear like that of America. Especially
when it comes to consumer purchases, fear is a motivator unlike any other—even sex.
Our home or car must be protected from malicious intruders, our bodies from
harmful foods or chemicals, our future from financial uncertainty and the list
goes on. I even get tired of people telling me to “Be careful” whenever I’m
leaving a restaurant or someone else’s home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was on
Facebook and someone had posted a picture of a gun where the caption read, “Welcome
to my home…That door you just kicked in was locked for your protection, not
mine.” I can remember living in irrational fear like this once before, where I
was constantly afraid of someone breaking into our house. After living
overseas, travelling a lot and learning to trust God in thick and thin, I’ve
changed. I’ve seen there is an entire world to explore out there and people to
be enjoyed. I’ve learned that not everyone is out to get you. Fear is
paralyzing, it distorts reality and robs our lives of adventure; I pray that I
can overcome my fears while facing them here in America. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-59614509907835514862012-05-23T09:54:00.002-05:002012-05-23T09:54:35.857-05:00A poem a day keeps the devil away<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">GRACE</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grace is a ghost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She climbs through my window, and I don’t
know whether to laugh or cry,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She floats across my room, and darkness finds
no place to hide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, elusive grace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Come back and haunt me a few more times,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Scare away all the wretched demons who
against me testify.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because when you call on me, I hear my
name<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you touch my face, I’m not the same<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you call on me, I hear my name<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you touch my face, I feel no shame<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grace, I’m hot on your trail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stumbling down alleys and through moonlit
streets,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You know I’m barely able to stay on my
feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pick me up grace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Carry me home and change my clothes,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Put me to bed so these eyes can close,
and I can finally rest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cause I need you to breathe,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I need you to see<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I need you to wipe away my hate and
fear, and help me be free<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Be free.</span><o:p></o:p></div>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-21449394755529558672012-03-10T14:59:00.008-06:002012-03-17T13:43:35.602-05:00Top 10 Flows<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rWOzUocq5K03j6wmp6E_remu3QYQScMf2j9g43ykLcoSPibhiWJOcXucZQbAVmBBoBSJhWw943dsZPkuwR_-GYI3MnM2pbO0ytG9YR6-XB2e-I6sZVkaRJA53h4FndbTKbY8zQ4CvCyh/s1600/mic.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 146px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rWOzUocq5K03j6wmp6E_remu3QYQScMf2j9g43ykLcoSPibhiWJOcXucZQbAVmBBoBSJhWw943dsZPkuwR_-GYI3MnM2pbO0ytG9YR6-XB2e-I6sZVkaRJA53h4FndbTKbY8zQ4CvCyh/s400/mic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720938551579252066" /></a><div>I was going to post a "Part 2" to the whole Kony 2012 phenomenon, but I'm sick of thinking and talking about it. Therefore, I am offering a more nostalgic and entertaining post.</div><div><br /></div><div>While lounging around the other day, I caught a documentary on Fuse about the Death Row record label in its hay day. Though it was depressing to see how twisted the West coast label became, the documentary got me thinking about my favorite rap tracks. A quick note, my criteria are 1) the song must have a killer opening flow, 2) it must be a popular rap song, one that most people would know (no underground stuff--it's too hard to rank underground) and 3) the words must be the focus, not necessarily the beat. I submit to you, therefore, the top 10 flows in rap during the 90's and 2000's:</div><div><br /><div>10) C.R.E.A.M. (Wu-Tang Clan)</div><div>9) B.O.B. (Outkast)</div><div>8) So Watcha' Want? (Beastie Boys)</div><div>7) It Was a Good Day (Ice Cube)</div><div>6) Jesus Walks (Kanye West)</div><div>5) 99 Problems (Jay-Z)</div><div>4) Keep Ya' Head Up (Tupac)</div><div>3) Big Poppa (Notorious BIG)</div><div>2) Lose Yourself (Eminem)</div><div>1) Nuthin' But a 'G' Thang (Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg)</div><div><br /></div><div>Honorable Mentions: Elevators (Outkast), Gold Digger (Kanye West), It's A Hard-Knock Life (Jay-Z), Dear Mama (Tupac), Stan (Eminem)</div></div>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-16047511952792755082012-03-07T21:32:00.013-06:002012-03-08T18:56:36.198-06:00Kony 2012 (Part One): An American-African's Critique<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXB7X000QioXQGb9OICiVEe5BSzbXAeFXUZj24ld1e28MoX5tX3V5sjBDO6yZmYA_7pgb8Ci3lMVa4U3SLzCMMZs7W3tlKk83I2PjiHdi6Ju-6I-rqYbHHwy1RgjgK-C494oYAqijH9p1s/s1600/kony-2012-550x343.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 138px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXB7X000QioXQGb9OICiVEe5BSzbXAeFXUZj24ld1e28MoX5tX3V5sjBDO6yZmYA_7pgb8Ci3lMVa4U3SLzCMMZs7W3tlKk83I2PjiHdi6Ju-6I-rqYbHHwy1RgjgK-C494oYAqijH9p1s/s400/kony-2012-550x343.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717694308459915762" /></a><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">In case you haven't heard enough about Kony 2012, I would like to offer a perspective that is truly unique. The thoughts below are brought to you by a friend (Tony) who lived in Africa for over 20 years. You might call him an American-African, someone who grew up in the Northeast and then lived life as an African with his wife and family. After sharing Tony's perspective in this post, I will explain in "part two" why I think we should applaud Invisible Children's efforts.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">Tony traveled to Central and Eastern Africa quite frequently, working to empower the indigenous peoples everywhere he went by partnering with them and putting his own agenda aside. He is someone I deeply respect for how he views the African people, gives them dignity and believes in hope for the "dark continent." Here are his thoughts on the Kony 2012 video when I asked him what is helpful and harmful about the viral campaign:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:100%;" >It is helpful in that a whole generation of techno savvy, video watching, FB using, cause-driven young people are being informed about a situation that is thousands of miles away. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">It is helpful in that many of those who see the video will be mobilized to want to do something about the LRA and Kony.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">It is helpful that there have been those who have traveled to Uganda and helped rebuild schools, it looked like it anyway in the video. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:100%;" ><b><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">It is not so helpfu</span></b><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">l because it communicates that the USA, or at least this generation of Americans, can cure the world of this ill because we want to and because we can. The underlying belief is that if we just keep pushing the information in front of people, they will respond and they, the US government, will have to send more troops to Uganda. If we just keep up with making Kony famous, the US troops will go in and take care of what the incapable Ugandan army was unable to do themselves. It smacks of paternalism and colonialism.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">It is not helpful</span></b><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"> because there are a lot of groups that are seeking to help and serve the children who are being rescued from Kony's army<u> already</u> working in Uganda. How about if we spent more money giving those organizations food, supplies, clothes, volunteers and more centers to welcome the lost children? Rather than spend thousands on flyers, posters, stickers and t shirts for the April 20 media blitz covering city walls, subways and signs with Stop Kony junk, how about we give it to the folks who are on the ground in Uganda being there for the children? On a side note, who is going to clean up the city after the media blitz the morning of April 21st? Just asking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">It is not helpful</span></b><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"> because it shows a ton of white young people visiting Uganda to help build a school or meet with the children but who will go on with their lives and forget the relationships. We are such quick fix type of people from the USA. This approach encourages us to get it done by 2012. So, my fear is that many will be involved up front but few will last more than six to eight months after the swell dies down. We will check it off our list of "things done to impact the world" and move on to our self centered living.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">It is not that helpful</span></b><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"> because it portrays Uganda as such a terrible place that only we as young, hip Americans can be mobilized to save the Ugandans from themselves. The African pride is very strong. They are also very wily. We have created a spirit of dependence in many African societies over the years starting with colonialism and even into many years of missionary work by the Catholic church and more social Gospel based groups, unfortunately. While the people of Africa have received from us and do appreciate it, I fear that we risk crushing their spirit again by imposing our way of stopping Kony and bringing him to justice. There are a lot of groups seeking to improve the African society from within. There are a lot of great programs that have reduced AIDS and sexual promiscuity in Uganda. The church is alive there. Why are we not talking about what they are already doing and seeking to come alongside them and help within their framework? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">It is not helpful</span></b><span style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"> because it seems that it is about this guy's decision to make a difference and it is all about him. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">The next blog post will be from my perspective as a new father and my defense of Invisible Children's effort. </span></span><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--></div>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-68832932910050810922012-02-10T15:58:00.016-06:002012-02-13T18:29:13.907-06:00Gratitude and The Grey<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZSb0ZXNnqewbhQH72F_TZXK05qHaqekVuLfKkiEesaejwzTrcmGTKKykIrGNa_8nzwktg-Ir7IkiKwbHca_HUpfwxYpoMAMu4Gw5CTAh_lB3gFvtfy7tX2rnNPbI6BmWztdbL7M4TCwF-/s1600/thegrey.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZSb0ZXNnqewbhQH72F_TZXK05qHaqekVuLfKkiEesaejwzTrcmGTKKykIrGNa_8nzwktg-Ir7IkiKwbHca_HUpfwxYpoMAMu4Gw5CTAh_lB3gFvtfy7tX2rnNPbI6BmWztdbL7M4TCwF-/s400/thegrey.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708781789161934114" /></a>I was in a terrible mood when I went to see <i>The Grey</i>. Being new here in Dallas, I am woefully unfamiliar with its freeway system and was late to meet a friend at the theater. Prior to my leaving for the movie, I also engaged in a conversation with my wife that can only be described as "intense." The combination of my disoriented driving and family friction made me doubt whether watching Liam Neeson survive in the Alaskan wilderness would be the peaceful end needed to my stressful day--boy was I wrong. <div><br /></div><div><i>The Grey</i> is about a small band of oil-and-gas roughnecks who, upon a plane crash en route to some needed time off, must survive in an unforgiving winter landscape. Conflict, both within and without, abounds in this survival flick. Man-eating wolves, freezing temperatures and spontaneous blizzards combine with human despair, divisiveness and good ol' fashion fear to create a frigid hell on earth. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's up to Neeson to lead the survivors through the snow and on to safety. More than a few people die along the way and everyone must face their fears. And fear truly leaps off the screen for 117 minutes. It was easy to forget my pre-film problems in the midst of a nightmarish storyline made up of men hunted by all forms of nature. I felt pretty good about eating popcorn in a heated theater; I was beginning to see my life wasn't all that bad. </div><div><br /></div><div>As each man stares into death's cold, dark eyes, they are asked to reduce their lives down to one or two important things. In one of the few let-me-catch-my-breath moments, the survivors engage in an existential campfire discussion about life, God and what really matters. What we learn about these hardened misfits is, when faced with life and death, the only thing that matters is who--not what--we love. It's a theme that carries through the movie, that people matter most, and I had to keep myself from texting mid-movie wife, "Thinking of you...I love you." </div><div><br /></div><div>We also learn that staring across the chasm that separates life and death turns all men spiritual. Go watch <i>Touching the Void </i>or<i> Deep Water</i> and you'll see that man cannot avoid the spiritual realm, either its dark or light regions, once death is in sight. Around the campfire Neeson swears that neither faith nor God mean anything to him, yet when all hope seems lost he cries out to the God he doesn't think will respond. And though Neeson concludes that his assessment of God is correct, his visceral and spiritual lament at the film's end is one its most powerful scenes. </div><div><br /></div><div>I, too had a spiritual response to Neeson and the others' journey. Frustrated by uncontrollable circumstances and relational conflict, I had my own <i>Grey</i> moment before the movie when I wondered, "Does God care about me right now?" It's a fair question that everyone asks, whether around a campfire in Alaska or on a highway in Texas. The breath in my lungs, though I will one day lose it, and the wife in my arms, though she too is on loan, give me cause to answer, "Yes. God does care." All of life is a gift given and <i>The Grey</i> makes this point emphatically. My circumstances are bound to change and more complaints are sure to follow, but this film reminds me that life and all its possessors are the bold and bright spots on a sometimes grey horizon. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-34797192198182792242012-02-09T14:35:00.003-06:002012-02-09T14:47:08.982-06:00Presence<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDouG0ykApBEbQPeEXc-XdByZne2EphyWEyxucp8AoKKu8h2tAYLvKHjjfvQW8t-0fEH0WZLu31RlFycrko52BO7kJEbbjMG-li3WJ7tXrFBGG-Pp7Ng6Wo8GPfEYOdd8SPdS9Ff0b_Ca/s1600/1354940_72946183.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 161px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDouG0ykApBEbQPeEXc-XdByZne2EphyWEyxucp8AoKKu8h2tAYLvKHjjfvQW8t-0fEH0WZLu31RlFycrko52BO7kJEbbjMG-li3WJ7tXrFBGG-Pp7Ng6Wo8GPfEYOdd8SPdS9Ff0b_Ca/s400/1354940_72946183.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707240230508439682" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style="mso-fareast-language:JA"><i>I recently had to answer a question about how "the Lord has impacted my life." I didn't think I could answer such a broad question, but I'm proud of what eventually came out:</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style="mso-fareast-language:JA">When I think about Jesus and his place in my life, what comes to mind is the word “presence.” Even before I trusted in Jesus as Lord and Savior, I can recall moments when the presence of God was very real and even palpable. During the darkest times of my life, especially in those times, Jesus has never stopped chasing me. Through a tumultuous childhood, the death of my Mom, wandering teenage and college years, doubt, fear and depression, Jesus has never let go of me. I have learned the Lord’s presence is sometimes best perceived in our “dark nights of the soul.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none">With a diligent love and a persistence that is beyond my understanding, the Lord has met me in my darkest places and then changed me. Jesus has never left me feeling condemned or worthless when he exposes my sin. Instead, the Lord is quick to heal and bring grace to my soul, even in times of painful exposure. Lately I have been doing a lot of reflection on my past and I can see a very real change and saving grace. If it were not for Jesus, I would not take risks, seek adventure, grow in love and trust, be a husband or a father (especially not a good one) or simply enjoy life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style="mso-fareast-language:JA">The presence of Jesus in my life has taught me how to be more fully human and let him be more fully God. I experience a great freedom in embracing my humanness because it allows me to receive grace as a created child of God. In this grace I enjoy my life, the world and the people around me more fully—with genuine joy. But most importantly, aside from the many blessings Jesus gives, I am constantly seeking the presence of God. Jesus’ presence in my life has given me a thirst for something beyond, something already here but not yet fully present. Bono sums up this pursuit of presence for me nicely:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style="mso-fareast-language:JA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(103, 103, 103); line-height: 21px; font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;font-size:medium;">You broke the bonds<br />And you loosed the chains<br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(103, 103, 103); line-height: 21px; font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;font-size:medium;">Carried the cross, o</span><span style="mso-fareast-language:JA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(103, 103, 103); line-height: 21px; font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;font-size:medium;">f my shame...You know I believe it</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(103, 103, 103); line-height: 21px; font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;font-size:medium;">But I still haven't found what I'm looking for</span></p> <!--EndFragment-->BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-19038966207960462532012-01-22T12:09:00.002-06:002012-01-22T12:13:55.795-06:00The Bottom<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1luOzWXV28KNh2yZvNdXn34VOXqpp7kdf2io3e8Lr6FVFMV8xyX6qg1cj4uQ2wwwd-OL26XHI_KW848ZyrnTeuUVQlr7bYSKkqpavFj4icwYwlce4LiXWKWwjlXVlmWGiii7moICfh9sM/s1600/darkness+and+light.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 165px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1luOzWXV28KNh2yZvNdXn34VOXqpp7kdf2io3e8Lr6FVFMV8xyX6qg1cj4uQ2wwwd-OL26XHI_KW848ZyrnTeuUVQlr7bYSKkqpavFj4icwYwlce4LiXWKWwjlXVlmWGiii7moICfh9sM/s400/darkness+and+light.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700521220039328466" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Blood that trickles down like tears,</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">racing to get to the bottom of something.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Gravity’s cruel effect on humanity.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When nearness to you feels more like death than life,<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">your illuminating presence exposes my dark.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Your love forces its way into every corner of my house.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At the bottom of everything is a question, “Can I be loved?”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So that’s where we’ll meet then, at the bottom. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My great crash is where you’ll raise me up,<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">and in a moment of weakness I will let my guard down,<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">leaving the door just wide enough to let love in.<o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-26500969335344566592012-01-14T11:39:00.003-06:002012-01-14T11:50:50.845-06:00Spiritual Exercises: "A Loved Sinner"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVd47_SFjiWYGgMWkLm5D1CgDDZcWVkUTOy6BC0A1KmTdtWXcYEZ2ohMxP_I0nzqm8r_2DKHtvCt7rKjVSrMb8IGRiscFNz75nK9Ukti5iIfI9H6a2Cx1TKr2bk8Ct4BFbY4CnU0VRWihu/s1600/prodigal_son.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVd47_SFjiWYGgMWkLm5D1CgDDZcWVkUTOy6BC0A1KmTdtWXcYEZ2ohMxP_I0nzqm8r_2DKHtvCt7rKjVSrMb8IGRiscFNz75nK9Ukti5iIfI9H6a2Cx1TKr2bk8Ct4BFbY4CnU0VRWihu/s400/prodigal_son.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697546591447890338" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">I've been working through some spiritual exercises that are modeled after Ignatius and what he took his followers through. Here's what I'm learning today:</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">102 (Loved Sinner):</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I can’t understand God’s grace or love as a Holy God who would get Himself dirty to love us. It takes grace to understand grace. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s hard for me to admit I’m a poor sinner because I’m afraid of 1) being disarmed and unable to control what God sees when he chooses to love me and 2) being rejected for making mistakes. This is mostly why I resist God’s love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I resist, I’m like a prostitute who is being loved truly. I resist it, can’t believe it and reject it. I want limited, controlled, somewhat distant love. What I really want, however, is deep love for who I am, but I put my arms out to reject quite often.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">God is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">for</i> me, not ever against me. God is love. He started the reconciliation process between he and I. He also waits on the porch while we are away from home and then jumps off of it to come after us while we are slowly wandering on a road we hope will lead home. He embraces us with a passionate kiss, dirties his own clothes with that embrace and so confounds our understanding of how deep, far, wide and intense love is. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-78479249825782831582011-12-05T06:59:00.008-06:002011-12-06T02:58:14.693-06:00Geri, Meet Facebook<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwG1GgXwpT0x23CjbR645XDF-1LkuRk9YUWHkdD9_gF9aH2wvyLKX1W3H1JLLCkSQIKRiq0lUfVEWaAAEgXyVeorIl2DtAYBGIUBIqD1kwsnJsczvaMLMSz0PSz3Olt7lT1siPAYLMyAS/s1600/facebookblog.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwG1GgXwpT0x23CjbR645XDF-1LkuRk9YUWHkdD9_gF9aH2wvyLKX1W3H1JLLCkSQIKRiq0lUfVEWaAAEgXyVeorIl2DtAYBGIUBIqD1kwsnJsczvaMLMSz0PSz3Olt7lT1siPAYLMyAS/s400/facebookblog.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682738278729881090" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><u><br /></u></span></div>With only four days left in Budapest, we are saying our fair share of "goodbye's." Everyday we wake up, sometimes in a panic, and think, "Ok, did we say 'bye' to 'him' or 'her'...Oh! And what about 'them'?" It's as if we have some sort of sick Christmas list where we cross off the people to whom we've bid adieu. Last Sunday my friend Geri came over to wish us well on our journey and share some French press coffee with us. Geri and I have had many conversations about many topics--politics, hiking, European culture--but I never imagined our last conversation would revolve around friendship within Facebook. <div><div><br /></div><div>Geri and I have been practicing our respective English and Hungarian speaking skills over coffee with each other for almost a year. Since my Hungarian is about as solid as the Euro and Geri is a beginner-level English speaker, we've both needed the practice. But this Sunday, with much-needed help from caffeine, we spoke freely and with ease about what it means to be a friend in Hungary and on Facebook. </div><div><br /></div><div>"I don't understand," Geri said while shaking his head and hands simultaneously, "I have a friend, I see him on street or at home, why this cyber world?" Hungarians and Americans define friendship differently. The analogy we often hear and use is one of a peach and a cantaloupe. Americans are like the peach: Easy to access on the outside, but once you get to the core it's much harder to break in. Hungarians are like a cantaloupe: There is a hard outer shell that's difficult to break through, but when you do it's sweet and much softer inside. So you can see why, once you're in, Hungarians take friendship seriously and don't call just anyone their "friend."</div><div><br /></div><div>Given our fruity analogy, it's easy to see just how American Facebook really is. Everyone can be your friend, in fact you can have thousands of friends--the more, the better! You can sink your teeth into everyone's soft outer skin, "liking" their music, movie or political preferences. It's a hyper-extension of the person behind the keyboard who is constantly updating and refining their internet avatar. Just how real is the person you see on Facebook? Well, that's a question that both Hungarians, philosophers and anyone who has ever thought about dating a potential Facebook "catch" has asked. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's not that Hungarians aren't on Facebook, because many are, it's just not for Geri. "Where is life, it's right here...You and me." Geri was making his point about the present and it's place in a friendship. Through out our Sunday morning coffee date, Geri made his case for "real friendship" versus "hyper-real friendship." It wasn't an annoying or overbearing attack on something new, like an old man would complain about a new street that brings too much traffic through his neighborhood, it was simply an appeal for life to be enjoyed right now, in the moment. </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead of refining his circle of friends as those who are "close friends, family" or just "coworkers," Geri prefers to cultivate close friendships over coffee, attend family birthday celebrations and get to know his coworkers at work. What I love about Geri's detachment from Facebook is how genuinely real it makes him. When we're talking about how much we love the coffee we're drinking, he doesn't whip out his smartphone to tell dozens of pseudo-friends about it. Whenever Geri celebrates Christmas with his family in twenty-some-odd days, he won't leave the table to tweet about the outstanding goulash his Mama made. Geri is simply here, with his friends and family, not "out there" promoting his avatar on Facebook or Twitter. </div><div><br /></div><div>Geri has taught me a lot about being grounded. "How many friends do you have in the US," he asked me just before he left. Because I know Geri, I didn't feel the need to impress him with some great number. "Three, maybe four close ones," I answered, constantly reevaluating in my mind the ones I can truly call friends. Geri simply nodded his head, finished the last of his coffee and smiled. </div></div></div>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-67514452994552761422011-11-21T13:29:00.000-06:002011-11-21T13:30:05.955-06:00Hospitality and the "Pop-In"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; "><p class="Body" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0pt; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; ">Hungary has taught us how to be spontaneous. The other night our friend Dáni Hamar came by to pick something up and hang out for a few minutes. As we stood in our entry way, talking about the change in weather and the boat trip we recently took together, Dáni’s brother, Dávid, called. It turned out Dávid was just down the street and Dáni wanted to know if his brother could pop in for a minute.<br /></p><p class="Body" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; "><br /></p><p class="Body" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; ">Now Let me pause the story here. Honesty is a quality we both admire and sometimes loathe in our Hungarian friends; it depends on the situation and what they are being honest about. But that night, as Dáni hung up the phone and waited for his brother to arrive, he made an honest inquiry about whether we could host the two Hungarian brothers for dinner. His boldness in asking us to host a meal on such short notice was both endearing and exciting!<br /></p><p class="Body" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; "><br /></p><p class="Body" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; ">Luckily for the brothers Hamar, Allie had already planned on whipping up some Tex-Mex for the evening. So there we were, two Americans rushing around the kitchen, eager to show our Hungarian friends that we too can be hospitable. When Dávid walked through the door, Allie was preparing chicken tacos with beans and rice, while I took the cork out of our best bottle of wine. We all stood in our kitchen, sipping wine and laughing as we told stories and waited for our impromptu supper.<br /></p><p class="Body" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; "><br /></p><p class="Body" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; ">The meal was a hit! Allie hit a home run, which is no surprise to anyone who knows her. Through out supper our conversation was only interrupted by, “mmmm” or “Ha! This is so good--Nagyon finom, Allie (very delicious, Allie)!”<br /></p><p class="Body" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; "><br /></p><p class="Body" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; ">Afterwards, we sat with our elbows on the table and reclined into more casual conversation. I kept thinking, “This moment was brought to you by ‘Spontaneity’.” And it’s true, because if we had said we were too busy or didn’t have enough food for everyone, we would have missed this moment. Nights like that one make me incredibly thankful for Hungarian spontaneity, honesty, hospitality and their appetite for life.</p></span>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-71188449673085063512011-08-18T13:10:00.008-05:002011-11-22T11:30:25.067-06:00Cold War Kids: Mine is Yours<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvKPeVeUw1LLgH7hK5v89Ka589JstBK_GX60M4hJz9zrHcw9rjkbc5r5S0CDMLZKzVBVgAODV2tojNKPxi_TpPEjzD8-PE317Gu43taIr5okipQYC20F9EEqfSGiRoQOE5dyD2T-HgSzNW/s1600/CWK.png" style="font-weight: bold; " onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvKPeVeUw1LLgH7hK5v89Ka589JstBK_GX60M4hJz9zrHcw9rjkbc5r5S0CDMLZKzVBVgAODV2tojNKPxi_TpPEjzD8-PE317Gu43taIr5okipQYC20F9EEqfSGiRoQOE5dyD2T-HgSzNW/s400/CWK.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642261291215887698" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><p class="Body" style="font-weight: bold; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0pt; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; "><br /></p><p class="Body" style=" -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0pt; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">One of the drawbacks to living overseas is IP restriction. For example, if you want to watch a late-night movie on NetFlix or listen to free music on Pandora, you will find an unnerving message awaiting you: “Due to licensing restrictions, we cannot allow you to watch/listen to this awesome site you once greatly enjoyed in the US--have a terrible day.” The first time Pandora recognized my European IP address and slammed its cyber-door, I scrambled to find alternatives for sampling new music. Thankfully, I stumbled upon <a title="http://www.jango.com/profiles/42857509?l=0" href="http://www.jango.com/profiles/42857509?l=0" style="text-decoration: underline; ">Jango.com</a> and there found the new album by the Cold War Kids, <span class="style_2" style="font-style: italic; line-height: 20px; ">Mine is Yours</span>.<br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">The Cold War Kids were wedged in between Cage the Elephant and The Black Keys on Jango’s “alternative” station. Their “alternative” sound is exactly why I love CWK. Lead singer Nathan Willet’s unconventionally high voice and penetrating melodies are a perfect match for guitarist Jonnie Russell’s jagged riffs. The Kids from Long Beach, CA manage to channel Southern blues with triumphant soul searching and pulsing rhythms. Though they've not yet won awards for their creative efforts, their latest album establishes CWK as an unsuspecting talent with stories to tell.<br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">In <span class="style_2" style="font-style: italic; line-height: 20px; ">Mine is Yours</span>, Willet and company get much more personal than their last two studio LP’s. Songs like “<a title="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fRFo2GvpSCs" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fRFo2GvpSCs" style="text-decoration: underline; ">Louder Than Ever</a>” and “<a title="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwU3PxtHeFE" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwU3PxtHeFE" style="text-decoration: underline; ">Mine is Yours</a>” portray a journey away from love and back into its arms again. Instead of detached, third-person storytelling, Willet sings about “I” and “you.” In “Louder Than Ever,” he reflects, “I was takin’ you for granted, you were holding the reigns, but I can hear you louder than ever.” The simple switch to first person opens up CWK for inspection and allows listeners to connect with Willet’s winding path. </span></p></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><p class="Body" style=" -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><p class="Body" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">When I listen to <span class="style_2" style="font-style: italic; line-height: 20px; ">Mine is Yours</span>, I hear someone who has traveled the globe, tapped into the full spectrum of human emotions and lived to sing about it. And after the last few years, it's a surprise to many that CWK is singing at all. Following the huge success of their first album (<i>Robbers & Cowards</i>), the Kids received scathing reviews for their sophomore album (<i>Loyalty to Loyalty</i>). The effort was criticized as sloppy, loose and devoid of any real substance. In an interview with <a href="http://www.relevantmagazine.com/culture/music/features/24768-the-faith-story-behind-cold-war-kids">RELEVANT Magazine</a>, Willet admits to selling his own bandmates short by closing himself off and "not stepping out and saying something" in their earlier efforts. </span></p></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><p class="Body" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">The darkness, confusion and even criticism of their second album seems to have laid the groundwork for something more authentic. The result is a weathered, yet brighter, musical expression, one that I can respect. The song "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BlHfXAxeO8o">Finally Begin</a>" betrays the wounded heart of an artist who faces the cold, cruel world and is left with a decision. "Do I open up my arms wide and learn to trust again or keep my eyes to the floor and just look out for myself?"<br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">It’s risky being an artist. Art asks you to put yourself “out there” for the masses to either empathize or criticize, understand or scorn and various shades in between. I appreciate CWK’s boldness in sharing their experiences, especially since they were at first hesitant to do so. It takes a lot of guts and talent to use music to tell a story, especially your own. Even so, the Cold War Kids' emotional investment on this album gives us something deeper than story, where narrative and experience intersect: real life.</span></p><p class="Body" style=" -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p></span></span>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-67768690595721768592011-07-13T09:20:00.005-05:002011-11-21T14:05:52.569-06:00Bence, meet Starbucks<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdDbHqFht_gCSukVvGyDSc6SACnwrF8a-m2eZCS-XP3mEw9xYzSLqHH_Mv_PyuUIzqDulTDIVYL1S69QHqtx-8cMYoUhKM54dpVyPMM_jvY6trjSpabX3oqW_OCSUHEKN3ltnODSRpQoJ/s1600/starbucks-cup.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 159px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdDbHqFht_gCSukVvGyDSc6SACnwrF8a-m2eZCS-XP3mEw9xYzSLqHH_Mv_PyuUIzqDulTDIVYL1S69QHqtx-8cMYoUhKM54dpVyPMM_jvY6trjSpabX3oqW_OCSUHEKN3ltnODSRpQoJ/s400/starbucks-cup.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628843038466394402" /></a><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Two weeks ago I met my friend Benc<span lang="HU" style="mso-ansi-language:HU">e for coffee. The last time we met, we watched the Dallas Mavericks beat the Heat in a repla</span>y of the NBA Finals. Since our prior meeting had us feeling “quite American,” we agreed to meet at a newly-built Starbucks for a cup of Joe. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Inside the Starbucks at K<span lang="HU" style="mso-ansi-language: HU">irály </span>Utca (“King Street”), Bence was eager with curiosity. “I’ve never had Starbucks before, so this will be a first,” he said in a barely-excited rhythm fit for 9:30am. Unbeknownst to Bence, his morning was about to get very interesting when Hungarian and American cultures would engage in an awkward head-on collision.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Bence reluctantly dished out the money for over-priced coffee and was then asked, “And what’s your name?” The question caught him off guard and in a double take he replied, “tess<span lang="HU" style="mso-ansi-language: HU">ék</span> (“excuse me”)? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He had already given too much money for coffee that ranks about average in Budapest, but Bence wasn’t sure he wanted to give his name to Lady Starbucks as well. Asking for someone’s name is just as personal as asking, “How are you,” and it doesn’t happen here as a passing gesture. All the same, he relented and the strangely friendly barista scribbled his name on the cup.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What was that about,” Bence turned to me and asked. Now I had some explaining to do. Because my wife was once a fully-indoctrinated Starbucks barista, I was able to draw from my well of Starbucks corporate and consumer culture.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I explained that most Americans don’t sit down for a three-hour cup of coffee (which is common in Hungary) and so asking someone’s name puts a personal touch on an otherwise impersonal transaction. Cue the blank stare. I went on to tell Bence about the “third place,” a setting that isn’t home or work but a place where “community happens.” “You see, Bence, Americans go from home, to car, to office and so they need a place where they can actually interact with one another,” I said as we made our way to an air-conditioned lounge area.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I could tell that Bence’s head was still spinning. In Hungary, community is one of the primary values of the culture. We often have people apologize to us for being able to “only” spend two hours over tea, coffee or a beer. Even when you are growing plants on your balcony, everyone in the building will have an opinion on how they should be watered and taken care of. As opposed to America, one must work hard to separate themselves from community in Budapest. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Eventually Bence settled into his comfortable chair and enjoyed his first Starbucks coffee. We had a great conversation, talked about sports, music and international politics. But the best part of our time that morning took place when we left the American coffeehouse. For the next two hours Bence led me on a walk through the city. Much like our meandering conversation, we wandered about and simply enjoyed the cool, morning air.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Bence taught me that I don’t need a building to have community. All I need is people, time and genuine interest. As a timesaving, on-the-go American, I have gained a lot from Hungarians. And if we leave Hungary next year, I hope I can take back with me Bence’s high appraisal of community. I hope I can still schedule coffee appointments with no agenda or impending meeting. I pray I can make space for people to interrupt my schedule, even if it means paying four bucks for over-roasted coffee—for community, it’s worth it. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-57087448755009516422011-07-04T12:20:00.004-05:002011-07-04T12:26:38.659-05:00Video: "You're Never Giving Up"<b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_D__FhynL7k"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This song</span></a></b> has been wrecking my heart for months now. Ever since I've found Jonathan David Helser's music I've been in touch with someone who uses worship music to sincerely connect with the living God. As someone who is now leading worship, it's a constant challenge to put my heart out there and have it be something genuine that I am singing to God and leading other people to worship through. <div><br /></div><div>Because the past year and four months has been one in which I have often questioned, "Is God really here for me; Will He leave me this time," this song has broken me with the reminder of God's unending love.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Watch the video above and let me know what you think. What spoke to you about the song? Which words touched your heart? </div></div>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-46936155842093894762011-06-13T08:06:00.004-05:002011-06-13T08:09:50.583-05:00Listen to the King<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUOx197TJjmbcd8gJXwtoBp_zjCUphWZnytQqDlC4HfwAZ23VwoeHFrq27o9MVAlvIa16p1tQ15RA5sWEZQmxH_suA6V10znpJkgIi9VIPeDdq2XXxa56EpQ1k6O7UEvKaYkqBUoH429y/s1600/lebron.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUOx197TJjmbcd8gJXwtoBp_zjCUphWZnytQqDlC4HfwAZ23VwoeHFrq27o9MVAlvIa16p1tQ15RA5sWEZQmxH_suA6V10znpJkgIi9VIPeDdq2XXxa56EpQ1k6O7UEvKaYkqBUoH429y/s400/lebron.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617690826798017618" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family:Times;font-size:medium;"><p class="Body" style=" font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0pt; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">When the NBA Finals kicked off, I swore I wouldn’t be one of “those guys” who cheered for the Mavs simply to spite the Heat. Though Lebron James has done enough to make people criticize him from afar (see </span><a title="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTeCc8jy7FI" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTeCc8jy7FI" style="text-decoration: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"> and </span><a title="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6ubf-250nc" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6ubf-250nc" style="text-decoration: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">) and the Miami fans are rumored to be the worst in the NBA (according to Charles Barkley’s trustworthy opinion), rooting against a team--or player--seems to suck the fun out of sports and replace it with bitterness. Even with all of this well-reasoned basketball moralizing, I caved in by Game Six and caught myself hoping for a Heat loss.<br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">I turned sour towards the Heat after I saw a video with Dwayne Wade and Lebron mocking Dirk Nowitzki. I don’t watch a lot of Mavs basketball, but while we visited our family in the Dallas I was able to catch the Western Conference Finals. Dirk played incredibly and with great character, doing little, if any, trash talking. So when it was reported that Dirk played sick and with a fever against the Heat in Game Four of the Finals, I was impressed! The Heat, not so much. Apparently Wade and Lebron thought his sickness was a little feigned and that the media blew it out of proportion--hence the video linked above.<br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">Whatever their reason for poking fun at Dirk, the whole incident was arrogant and, in Dirk’s own words, “childish.” So I decided from that moment on to cheer against the Heat (oh yeah, and for the Mavs). What was I looking for in a Mavs win? For Wade and Lebron to be put in their place, to learn their lesson and recognize the higher road of integrity. In two words: too much.<br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">I became like so many sports fans who put entirely too much stock in a game. In wanting “justice” for Dirk and heaping contempt on Wade and Lebron, I was acting no better than the European soccer hooligans I hear so much about, who fight and maim “football” players--on the home or visiting team--for winning or losing. All of the negative energy is tied to an unmerciful and unforgiving attitude. So I cannot help but wonder, what does my so-called defense-of-Dirk say about me?<br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="color: rgb(169, 169, 169); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">When the Heat finally lost Game Six, Lebron was asked if it bothered him that so many people were hoping he would fail? He answered,</span><br /></p><p class="Body" style="color: rgb(169, 169, 169); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><br /></p><p class="paragraph_style" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:ArialMT, Arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;">“Absolutely not, because at the end of the day, all the people that were rooting on me to fail, at the end of the day, they have to wake up tomorrow and have the same life that they had before they woke up today...They have the same personal problems they had today.” (Brian Mahoney, <span class="style_1" style=" font-style: italic; font-weight: 400; line-height: 15px; font-family:Arial-ItalicMT, Arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;">AP</span>)<br /></p><p class="paragraph_style" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: ArialMT, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; "><br /></p><p class="Body" face="HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif" size="14px" style="color: rgb(169, 169, 169); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">I believe I’ve just been told. The uncrowned king has a point. All of us sports fans who hang our entire hopes and hate, cheers and boo’s or dreams and despair on professional sports need to get a life: our own. Lebron exercised outstanding wisdom by sending the hate he so often received back to its rightful owner. My hatred for Lebron, any athlete or team says a lot more about what’s inside of me than it does about someone’s sports performance. </span><br /></p><p class="Body" style="color: rgb(169, 169, 169); font-family: HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; "><br /></p><p class="Body" style="color: rgb(169, 169, 169); font-family: HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">Another King once said, “</span><span class="style_2" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; line-height: 18px; opacity: 1; font-family:TrebuchetMS, 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;font-size:13px;">[O]ut of the overflow of [the] heart [the] mouth speaks.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">” And, “</span><span class="style_2" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; line-height: 18px; opacity: 1; font-family:TrebuchetMS, 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;font-size:13px;">[H]e who has been forgiven little loves little.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">” I must admit that I’ve had a tough week and Lebron James made for a perfect whipping boy. On him I could hang my condemnation because it felt good to hurt other people when I was hurting. The times when I am most harsh on my favorite or most hated sports icons are usually those very times when I myself feel hated or condemned.<br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style=" font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; font-family:HelveticaNeue-Bold, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;">Lebron is right. I still have this aching heart and imperfect life, even after a Mavs victory. Sports is great for entertainment, but in terms of therapy it can only indicate which problems we have in life; not solve them. Jesus is also right. My reactions to these sports events are a telling barometer for where my heart lies. In the meantime I will continue to watch and enjoy sports. More importantly, I will continue to be thankful for the King who was and is willing to take my scorn, abuse, blows. For the One who through life and death revealed my hatred and then was gracious enough to begin healing it. </span></p></span>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-58989430605132489252011-04-22T03:56:00.014-05:002011-04-22T05:57:30.646-05:00Why all the blood?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9I07VXqNd8PtfrV9VpIOTriHtYnzF9BSmRRrAH3Lkl9KywgQ5AtBFs4quqxogMblVeckE6EM8eUh7SElsXrRYFKIW9UFoC1eSr9Fl2br5XbzY6yTKja5Mtb8JKrtVakSubvVT1aaMPI4C/s1600/rome.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 108px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9I07VXqNd8PtfrV9VpIOTriHtYnzF9BSmRRrAH3Lkl9KywgQ5AtBFs4quqxogMblVeckE6EM8eUh7SElsXrRYFKIW9UFoC1eSr9Fl2br5XbzY6yTKja5Mtb8JKrtVakSubvVT1aaMPI4C/s400/rome.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598360332250278850" /></a>This morning I opened my laptop and began surfing around the internet, searching for something interesting to start my day. Every morning I look for an exciting and revelatory news headline or an encouraging sports score. "Wow, Syria is protesting...the Astros won, just six more games to .500!" What I didn't expect this morning, largely because I forgot what day it is, was a gruesome picture of Jesus staring at me from the cross. <div><br /></div><div>The shot-in-the-arm I was looking for in my dawn, internet surf session was more like a shot in the gut. "Well, that's kind of a downer," I thought. And then it hit me, "What's the cross all about anyway; What's the point in Jesus being betrayed, tortured and dying; Isn't this 'Good Friday' thing a little over-the-top?"<div><br /></div><div>The thing that bothers me most about the cross of Jesus is all the blood. I hate blood. I can't be around it, I don't like talking about it and I certainly don't like seeing my own. I once convinced a professor to turn off an in-class video of a woman giving birth because I had turned white and put my head between my legs--the blood and flowing liquids were just too much for me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even though I'm a Christian, I confess that sometimes it's hard for me to understand why Jesus had to shed his blood--and so much of it. Why did he go through the scourging and have his flesh torn from his body? Why did he willingly receive a barbed crown of thorns on his head (Everyone knows head wounds bleed easily)? And why did the Son of God, "God with us," go through a merciless Roman crucifixion? Jesus' blood would have been smeared all over Jerusalem. His divine DNA trail would have been easily followed to the place of his death outside the holy city. </div><div><br /></div><div>A week ago I was walking to church when I had to step over a large, fresh pool of blood on the sidewalk. I have no idea how it got there, but its owner was long gone and the blood was slowly moving down a slope into the street. Throughout my entire week I had to walk down that same sidewalk. Each day I watched as the red blood made a path, turned brown and stained the concrete. I kept wondering, "What happened to this person last Saturday night?" If Jesus was looking to make a lasting impression with his death, there's no question that he chose the perfect means to his end. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>So, like I asked at the beginning, why? In my clean, sterile, controlled little world, the shedding of blood interrupts everything. Suddenly I'm uncomfortable and can't keep from asking "why?" Inherent in my question is a desperate plea for sanity, for justice, for things to be cleaned up. Part of me simply hates the sight of blood, but a deeper part of me hates <i>why</i> it was violently forced from someone's body. To understand the "why" behind violence, we must learn to see it in ourselves. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's too easy to remove myself from headlines about a violent "Ivory Coast Civil War" or the deaths of "800 Egyptian protestors." Most days it's hard to see how such tragic events relate to me. It's easier for me to scoff at "barbaric" acts of violence and separate myself from "those monsters." But when I face up to the innocent blood I shed daily, my perspective changes. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am in traffic, my blood begins pumping and I fire a murderous gesture or comment at anyone who dares to interfere. I am at work, and I cut the throat of anyone who stands in my upward path to the top. I am on the bus, the doors fling open and I thrust my shoulder into the people who won't let me get off before they try to get on. The truth is, I do everything I can to protect myself and my world--even if it means using violent force. </div><div><br /></div><div>Jesus knew we needed to see the physical manifestation of all our violent acts. He knew we needed to see the shed blood in order to understand the severity of our crimes. He understood that not everyone would understand, and some people would reject the cross outright. But if it weren't for the most innocent, beautiful and miraculous of men suffering at the hands of sinners and holy people alike, we might have gone on thinking everything was alright. If it weren't for the bloody crucifixion of Jesus, we might have stayed in our plastic-wrapped worlds, content to ignore our pain and the pain around us. Jesus' spilled blood made quite a mess, but it's the only way we can come clean. </div>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-89785813558658625502011-03-07T07:35:00.011-06:002011-11-22T11:56:04.384-06:00I Messed Up the Macaroni<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqO1lTSizk3qIr8wwcSDuR9zcxpg3fwPWBFZ2UTXC5FDHQvbK888pG_8nSS95y0hHMRkNfxYyDeyau-_pbA18voVXri0-JBer68OqbcalHy-oDwRoccEwDAcC-TDKAIvupRi7eLfkmIGL8/s1600/2455322429_cd05637fe7.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqO1lTSizk3qIr8wwcSDuR9zcxpg3fwPWBFZ2UTXC5FDHQvbK888pG_8nSS95y0hHMRkNfxYyDeyau-_pbA18voVXri0-JBer68OqbcalHy-oDwRoccEwDAcC-TDKAIvupRi7eLfkmIGL8/s400/2455322429_cd05637fe7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581354633882206050" /></a>My pregnant wife is on bed rest so I've been trying to help out a bit more around the flat. My hands are dried and cracked from daily dish duty and I'm developing expert timing when it comes to simultaneously washing and hang drying clothes. Allie likes to laugh and call me a "lady" when I talk about "all the laundry I have to do today." I've told her over and over again how sexist her jokes are, but some women just don't get it. <div><br /></div><div>So far, my favorite inherited task is cooking dinner. Whereas I use to play video games to let my mind rest in nothing space, preparing dinner has been a restful end to my day. And fellas, if you want to surprise your lady and make a meal, the internet has never made it easier! The other night I browsed the Food Network's website for Friday-night Mac 'n Cheese. All I had to do was follow the simple steps and "one, two, three," Mr. Mom made another wonderful meal. </div><div><br /></div><div>Internet recipes are foolproof, unless you get greedy and try to double the recipe. After two hours of chopping, pouring, preheating, grating and making an impromptu grocery run, I was ready to hear, "You're the best husband in the world!" Instead, I left out about half of the cheese needed and heard, "Does it taste cold to you?" The reason it tasted cold was for lack of cheese and excess milk, which cooled the meal almost instantly after it left the oven. Now I was the one feeling cold, and bitter, because my heroic cooking effort failed. </div><div><br /></div><div>At this point some of you might have thrown up your hands and ordered a pizza--not me. I stormed back into the kitchen and pitched the cooling casserole dish into the oven with a "crash!" While I waited and hoped the oven would fix my miscalculation, I melted down faster than a half-serving of Euro cheese. I've never been more pissed off about Mac 'n Cheese and more confused as to why I was so angry. </div><div><br /></div><div>Being the sympathetic and proven cooking veteran she is, Allie graciously told me it would be ok and asked me to sit down. Then she fired a question: "Do you think this Mac 'n Cheese represents your life right now? It's messy and imperfect. And the harder you try, the worse things get?" The oven light suddenly turned on inside and I grew quiet. </div><div><br /></div><div>Lately I've had a lot of trouble allowing myself to be human. I take the wrong bus and whip myself for it. I say the wrong Hungarian phrase in a café and then cower in embarrassment. The Mac 'n Cheese incident was the capstone of a week when I felt painfully human. For some reason I have this expectation that I should be a better husband, cook and even Christian. </div><div><br /></div><div>In preparing to teach from Genesis this week, I've noticed just how imperfect people in the Old Testament can be. People sleep around, lease out their wives to avoid trouble, kill each other and still God is gracious. The Patriarchs--Abraham, Isaac and Jacob--continually disobey God and put their entire family at risk. And yet God reiterates his promises to bless them, multiply them into a "great nation" and take them into the promised land. No matter how hard they try, the Patriarchs' humanness doesn't get in the way of God's purposes. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is the kind of God I need. This kind of God allows humans to be human, so long as they are willing to let God take His place. It's when I think that I can control everything, rely solely on myself and live without flaws that I stop being fully human. It's then that I step into the role of demigod, not quite divine and unwilling to simply be human. I have found a sweet grace, however, in releasing my claim to divinity and embracing my humanity. When I make that surrender, suddenly I feel lighter and more peaceful about my changing circumstances. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sick of playing God; I'm ready to be more human. I want to order another cappuccino, even if it means I'll be awake until 2am. I want to take the wrong bus and enjoy the view on my way to an unknown destination. I want to burn dinner and laugh about it over pepperoni pizza. I want to take risks and not be afraid of fear. I want to trust in the God who is love and is powerful enough to overcome me and my mistakes. </div>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-18802761655643203262011-02-21T11:25:00.003-06:002011-02-21T11:30:06.716-06:00Lessons from a Year<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyw51o0-31ZeUFnX7m68jjGFE44t025RYLjhnAPEx4DS8I2Xswlo3jZAjkwAeb4cc6_-wTdo75ozc6b0cUpodwXV_JcdIxtWe5lS-IYW0qiFt_ogvU5jaQ90fSLcuc9QbZJ3CTHNFVNcE/s1600/The+Great+Commission.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyw51o0-31ZeUFnX7m68jjGFE44t025RYLjhnAPEx4DS8I2Xswlo3jZAjkwAeb4cc6_-wTdo75ozc6b0cUpodwXV_JcdIxtWe5lS-IYW0qiFt_ogvU5jaQ90fSLcuc9QbZJ3CTHNFVNcE/s400/The+Great+Commission.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576196374575020434" /></a><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">Today we celebrate our one-year anniversary of living in Budapest. It’s frigid and overcast outside, which means it is still winter in Central Europe. While I am thankful for the snow I can’t help but hope for sunshine, and soon. We are both feeling a little depressed today. We miss home and wonder what the next year holds. In this melancholy state, I hit my knees desperately searching for hope and answers when I came across Matthew 28:16-20.</span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; min-height: 19px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "></span><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">This passage is commonly referred to as “The Great Commission.” As missionaries, we have read this passage a thousand times before we left and re-read a couple more thousand since we’ve been here. Today, however, I am floored by a few things that either I haven’t paid much attention to or have never noticed at all. </span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; min-height: 19px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "></span><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">The eleven disciples, who have been through the emotional ringer and even lost one of their own, gather at a mountain where Jesus instructed them to meet. When they see the resurrected, crucified Lord, “they worshipped him, but some doubted” (v.17). Then Jesus makes yet another dramatic statement, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me” (v.18). Apparently being nailed to a Roman cross didn’t soften Jesus’ flare for the controversial.</span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; min-height: 19px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "></span><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">The first thing to observe is the power of Jesus and frailty of His followers. Verses 17 and 18 remind me that Jesus is still God-in-the-flesh and the disciples are still human. After laying eyes on the risen Jesus, some of the disciples break out in triumphant worship and still others have the audacity to doubt him! I can’t help but wonder which crowd I would have joined. Despite seeing God work miracles before my eyes and within my own heart, I still have trouble trusting Him. God only knows why He would call me to go overseas in the midst of the darkest season of spiritual doubt I have ever experienced. </span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; min-height: 19px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "></span><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">Even so, Jesus does not rebuke the doubters or call them foolish for being skeptical of what they see. Instead He affirms his authority over <i>all</i> things (an incredible statement) and charges the half-believing riffraff with a worldwide rescue mission:</span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; min-height: 19px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "></span><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Footlight MT Light'; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (v.19-20).</span></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Footlight MT Light'; min-height: 16px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "></span><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">The second observation I have so often missed deals with <i>how</i> one makes disciples, by “baptizing” and “teaching them to observe <i>all</i> that I have commanded you.” I can say with certainty that I haven’t always taken seriously <i>everything</i> Jesus taught and commanded. After all, Jesus did and commanded a lot of crazy things: The casting out of demons, healing the sick, healing the lame, multiplying food resources and even raising the dead. He can’t be asking His followers today to “observe” or obey those things?</span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; min-height: 19px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "></span><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">While living in Europe, I have seen God heal people on more than one occasion. The first time it happened I thought my brain would short-circuit. I didn’t have a category for “modern-day miracles.” It made me feel uncomfortable, out of control and humbled, like watching lightning strike a building and shut down all of its power. I am seeing just how important it is for God to display His power in a place like Europe, where God is by-and-large a subject to be discussed in Philosophy courses. Despite yours or my system of theology, Jesus is still empowering His followers to heal people, cast out demons and even raise the dead. </span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; min-height: 19px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "></span><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">The final words of Jesus, as recorded by Matthew, are the most intimate of His commission. The promise to be “with you always, to the end of the age” is one I have clutched dearly over the past year. When my ugliness and selfishness seems too potent to have divinity anywhere near me, God is here. Regardless of my doubtful thoughts, overwhelming feelings or hateful actions, I can’t stop Jesus from being the great “I AM.” Jesus simply won’t leave me alone, and I am thankful. </span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; min-height: 19px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "></span><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">Jesus’ persistence in loving us and breaking out of our boxes reminds me of a quote from CS Lewis in <i>Surprised by Joy</i>, so I’ll close with it. </span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; min-height: 19px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "></span><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">In describing his hatred for authority, Lewis explains how he tried desperately to be a rebellious individual, to hide himself even from God...</span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; min-height: 19px; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; "></span><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Futura; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; ">“But Christianity placed at the center what then seemed to me a transcendental Interferer...There was no region even in the innermost depth of one’s soul (nay, there least of all) which one could surround with a barbed wire fence and guard with a notice No Admittance.” </span></div>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-3955103523347142732011-02-11T14:03:00.001-06:002011-02-11T15:08:01.126-06:00Riding Along<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">On my way home tonight I sat next to a homeless man riding the metro line around Budapest. Sometimes homeless people will ride the metro from the beginning of the line to the end because it’s warm and provides a comfortable place to sit. I watched as this man used the window next to him for a pillow and gazed into nowhere. I can’t stop thinking about that guy’s life. He’s not really going anywhere, but he still rides and the tram will take him somewhere.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Tonight I feel like the homeless and aimless metro passenger. It’s been nearly one year since we moved to Hungary and it still doesn’t feel like home. And when it comes to our service here, I’m moving forward but I don’t know where to. I’ve tried my hand in many different areas (I believe working with youth is my best option), but what impact can I really have in two years? I have lots of questions, but that doesn’t seem to slow this tram down.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I use to think my life’s calling was to be a teacher of the Bible. “If only I could teach at a church,” I daydreamed, “then I would be truly content and happy.” After all, I am creative, can tell a funny story, am an effective communicator and I love the Bible. Lately, however, I’ve realized that a few witty jokes, a couple of catchy phrases in a sermon and an enjoyable stage presence isn’t enough. It’s not enough for me or the world I live in.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:36.0pt"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So what do I do? I can’t help but feel like my well-crafted Bible talks aren’t going to change the world. These little blog posts will, at the most, render a barely-audible, “hmmm, interesting thought.” I also can’t help but wonder if the most important part of my week is spent playing Wii Tennis with a sophomore in high school. I wonder about those seemingly small interactions with students that slowly build a friendship. Isn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">this</i> what it’s about? Sacrificing a little time, and sometimes glory, to waste my life on a high school student who just wants to know he’s loved?</p><p class="MsoNormal">I use to long for a cushy preacher job that provided me a book deal with Zondervan and a popular podcast. I know it’s important to reach a wide audience, especially if one has the gift of communicating God’s love well, but it’s not the end of the line. If I never write a popular Christian book, it doesn’t mean I haven’t “arrived.” We’re all riding this tram and all of us have to exit eventually. I still don’t know exactly where I’m heading, or at which stop I will have to get off, but at least I’m awake and growing aware of the people around me. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-72194168155998427022011-02-10T05:09:00.009-06:002011-02-14T08:07:24.530-06:00The King's Father<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpcQC0bK8yXtq74kdUt6tOSCkmBLZSYhxaNleUWWkpXu3N2KJ-JDusqF0RIOb2lamRlS35_tnBn1l8GHAhai9mwoXT0KxMk5H8zpa-6HKjXmwywPdZPSeGEBb-JjkxN2x6K7ZWMaPaWpQ/s1600/kingsspeech.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 164px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpcQC0bK8yXtq74kdUt6tOSCkmBLZSYhxaNleUWWkpXu3N2KJ-JDusqF0RIOb2lamRlS35_tnBn1l8GHAhai9mwoXT0KxMk5H8zpa-6HKjXmwywPdZPSeGEBb-JjkxN2x6K7ZWMaPaWpQ/s400/kingsspeech.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572024564674114434" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpcQC0bK8yXtq74kdUt6tOSCkmBLZSYhxaNleUWWkpXu3N2KJ-JDusqF0RIOb2lamRlS35_tnBn1l8GHAhai9mwoXT0KxMk5H8zpa-6HKjXmwywPdZPSeGEBb-JjkxN2x6K7ZWMaPaWpQ/s1600/kingsspeech.jpg"></a>It sometimes takes a while for movies to make their way to Budapest. So when <i>The King's Speech </i>hit our theaters we were eager to see what all the buzz was about. Last night I was a part of a giddy group of missionaries who had heard about the movie from friends "back home" and were finally able to see it. The hyped-up Best Picture favorite did not disappoint. <div><br /></div><div>In case you live overseas like me, or just have something against popular movies with great reviews, the plot goes like this. Britain's reigning King George V is dying; two brothers stand in line for the throne. The elder brother, Edward VIII (or David), is conflicted between the crown and a consuming love interest. The younger brother, George VI (or Bertie), wants not to usurp his brother, but more seriously is held captive by fear in the form of a stammer. </div><div><br /></div><div>When David willfully steps away from the inherited throne, Bertie begrudgingly enlists the help of an unorthodox speech therapist--Lionel Logue. With Lionel's persistent help and friendship, Bertie is transformed into a more confident King George VI and rallies Great Britain at the start of World War II.</div><div><br /></div><div>Though the story focuses primarily on George VI overcoming an embarrassingly painful speech impediment, I want to highlight the relationship between him and his father. King George V knows Bertie is fit for the throne, yet he too is frustrated by his son's inability to speak clearly and "Get it out!" All the frustrated father can think to do is shout and order modifications to his son's posture and pronunciation. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't work. </div><div><br /></div><div>Unbeknownst to both father and son is the disastrous effect a father's disapproval can have on a boy-turned-man. Only Lionel sees the deeper core issue that Bertie is facing when he stammers: Fear. Bertie fears he cannot be a worthy King almost entirely because he fears that he has been a disappointment to his royal father. The stammer is merely a symptom of a soul desperate for approval. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>Bertie's elder brother David also struggles with Papa's approval. Our first glimpse of David might be deceptive, though. He doesn't appear insecure of his father's love. He first appears in the movie confidently piloting and landing a plane. We then hear of David gallivanting with various women, some of whom are currently married. David lives the life of a King-to-be, doing what he pleases with whomever he pleases.</div><div><br /></div><div>As the story progresses, however, we see that David too lives in fear. Only, David fears that he may never be truly loved. David speaks harshly of his dying father because he knows the King doesn't approve of his "immoral" relationships, or of his son's life in general. In the last hours of his father's existence, it's all David can do to not call his lover once more and hear that someone cares for him. There is a deep fissure between Papa and David. Ultimately David refuses the crown because being in the arms of one who says, "I love you" feels more secure than even the throne of England. </div><div><br /></div><div>Men who don't receive affirming love from their fathers are missing what Patrick Means calls, "The Father Blessing." Such a blessing is a sign of approval from Dad that he is proud of his son, no matter what. Without the Father Blessing, men search for signs of affirmation in their jobs, accomplishments, relationships with women and even in sports teams. David and Bertie were lacking their father's blessing and it drove both of them into acts of insecurity: The elder into the arms of many women and the younger into an agonizing stammer. </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead of medicating ourselves and minimizing the pain of feeling unloved, it's vital that we receive the Father Blessing. Like Bertie, our fathers may pass away before we can communicate to them our need, or they may refuse to talk about such an emotionally-charged subject. If it's impossible for a man to receive such a critical blessing, all is not lost. </div><div><br /></div><div>God has revealed Himself to us a Father to the fatherless; as One who stands on the front porch waiting for His lost son to return home. There is no need for long speeches, excuses or explanations. The Father simply takes us into his estate, tired, afraid, stammering and needing the security of His love. That kind of love feels like home. That kind of love can transform fearful boys into assured sons of the King. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369889312157861560.post-79902590306493719692010-10-15T06:07:00.015-05:002010-10-16T09:08:24.997-05:00Change<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhUD_7yTzeEKh8zRGRvyuC5z_yBtys5zl83c8JzElvmVYhdbbwoXtMtuB0h8pla98KTSGb-Om8pJl81-skxrQ4F9MVUAtEq8NmnEPzxitz67jQpdfh3TOsiN2Cm1_qOWtOGQqDTYMaNy77/s1600/nocountry02.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhUD_7yTzeEKh8zRGRvyuC5z_yBtys5zl83c8JzElvmVYhdbbwoXtMtuB0h8pla98KTSGb-Om8pJl81-skxrQ4F9MVUAtEq8NmnEPzxitz67jQpdfh3TOsiN2Cm1_qOWtOGQqDTYMaNy77/s320/nocountry02.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528645046750179026" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Probably one of my favorite scenes in all of modern film is in the Coen brothers movie </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">No Country For Old Men</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. If you have seen the Oscar-winning flick, you know it has enough action and suspense to require a mild Xanax prescription with its viewing. The scene I am thinking of, however, is not impressive in terms of action, camera work or special effects but, as is often the case with the Coens, strictly in terms of dialogue.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Two Texas sheriffs, separated by hundreds of miles and united by a violent crime, sit down for coffee before one of the sheriffs (Tommy Lee Jones) takes the long drive home. As they process the crime, its twisted and horrific chain of effects, neither of them can make sense of where this world is heading or what all this violence is "leading to?" Aside from the serious discussion about the existence of evil and the trajectory of history, the scene is really funny! I hear my grandfather talking when the other sheriff complains about how 20 years ago people didn't have "green hair and bones in their nose" and that "the dismal tide" is turning. The entire scene lasts only a couple of minutes but it betrays a great deal about evil, humanity, time and the question, "Are things getting better or worse?" </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">When I first saw </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">No Country</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> I felt an arrogant sense of pity for the two sheriffs. How could they not see that humanity has always had the potential for evil? Don't they see that the world is just changing? Surely their own grandfathers probably had identical discussions in their latter days? Now that I am a little older and have probably allowed myself to be more shocked by human violence and tragedy, I can understand the characters' bewilderment. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I am in the process of finishing a book about the Bosnian-Serbian war. More than several times I have had to put it down because the stories of torture, rape, murder and ethnic cleansing are flat-out nauseating. Whats more, the author continually makes the appalling observation that all of this happened in Europe, in the same century that Nazis tried to exterminate the Jews! Has nothing changed? We were told to never forget Auschwitz, Birkenau and Dachau so how could humanity's memory not last into the early '90s? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">If I am completely honest, it's hard for me to look at history and say things are getting better. Even though each generation of arm-chair philosophers posits the downfall of man in their own time, I find it nearly irresistible to avoid the same conclusions. I do wonder, though, if human suffering and violence is simply more amplified now because of our interconnectedness? After all, in one ten-minute session online I can read about dozens of bankruptcies, betrayals, murders, lies and infidelities. To a far-less-serious extent, and oftentimes more annoying, I can also hear the cries of thousands of friends who complain about everything from Democrats to Babies-R-Us on Facebook. "It's the dismal tide." </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So, is history really plummeting to its dreadful conclusion or can we now just see more of what we once could not? I'm not sure if I can answer my own question. It's impossible for me to ignore the amazing amount of good being accomplished in the midst of our planet's constant turmoil. I will say that I don't want to sit in a corner with duct tape, bottled water and a taser that's primed to fend off apocalyptic cannibals. The potential for fear and fear mongering is unceasing. I would rather find ways </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> can change so my own world and the one around me will get better. Jesus, in fact, calls for that same sense of responsibility in the gospels. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">To the often gloomy Pharisees, so concerned with how the dregs of society were polluting their towns and cities, Jesus spoke his harshest words of personal accountability. "Now you Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and of the dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness...Woe to you! For you are like unmarked graves, and people walk over them without knowing it" (Luke 11:39, 41). The point Jesus makes is what singer/songwriter Jon Foreman observes: "A mirror is harder to hold." Jesus understands that in order for the world to change, we must stop regarding wickedness as something we see in the outside world and start recognizing it in ourselves. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So, I suppose I am in the process of recognizing myself as painfully human. Maybe the whole world is going to pot, but I am not responsible for the whole world. My prayer is for the recognition of and responsibility for violence, greed and emptiness in my own heart. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">When I understand that I can't fix myself and that I need outside help, I am less prone to fix everyone else's problems before seeking help for my own. I find that I am much more helpful to people with problems when I look in the mirror and see one of "those people." </span></span></div><!--StartFragment--><!--EndFragment--> <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>BIG LOVEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08647023202471028789noreply@blogger.com0