what you know

I again found myself in Oklahoma City last weekend. Seeing friends. Wishing I could rock climb. Drinking the best Long Island Iced Tea I've had in a long time. And generally being refreshed.


Sunday morning, I had a brief conversation with Lance, a pastor and man I deeply respect. He asked me how things were going in Lawrence with our House Church adventures. Immediately, my many questions, concerns and desires poured forth. Lance listened patiently and then simply asked: but what do you know?


A simple question. And yet, even as I began to answer, I felt my focus and priorities shifting.

I tend to be a bit of a thinker. I question a lot. For me, that's the fun and joy of life: embracing the unknown, taking hold of mystery and seeing where the adventure might take you.

But, there was something centering about that question, something that deeply encouraged me in that moment.


For the things that we know, those small tidbits of life that we are confident of and can put the full weight of life against, are small chunks of rock. Each individually are pretty insignificant. Even together they can be nothing more than a pile of rubble. But given care and intention, they can be aligned and positioned in such a way to be a beautiful design and create one unit. There may be holes yet to be filled in, gaping questions and large areas of doubt, but as we step back and look at this formation, we realize that the pattern of rock is a foundation.

And it is on foundations that beautiful things are built.

on repeat

im excited

for... what's next?


(in case you missed the memo... the Dusty Bookshelf in Manhattan & Lawrence is a gem. i could spend hours there perusing the shelves. i may still, if this engineering thing doesn't work out)

40

The last weeks at House Church, we've found ourselves worshiping to U2's song 40. Katie brought it to us over a month ago and it's been with us ever since.

Psalm 40
I waited patiently for the LORD;
And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.
He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God;
Many will see and fear
And will trust in the LORD....

Summer has officially started

This week, I was assigned to inspect the construction of a sanitary sewer line in Johnson County. Please read: week in the sun... yellow hard hat... middle of suburbia... work boots & jeans... Starbucks within walking distance... not terrible, but also not exciting. at all.

Last night, I realized that, over the course of the week, I have developed the official mark of summer for me:

the farmer's tan.

Every year, I declare that I am going to spend enough time in the sun to at least break even. I don't necessarily have to be all that tan, per se, I just don't want to be that guy with the line that goes from tan(ish) to immediately pale. Yet, year after year, I fail. I think this week officially screwed me for the rest of the summer.

Farmer's tan: 15
Rest of my white self: 3


Damn.



(and yes, Katie, Tyler, Nicole, or anyone else in Lawrence, this would be a totally appropriate time to make yet another jab at my brief stint in the tanning booth. BASE TAN people, and no, I didn't get burned in the Bahamas, thank you very much.)

I've been listening to Nine Inch Nails? WHAT?

The alternative blog title would have been: "because I'm really not an up-and-coming yuppie."

I heard Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt" on the radio a couple of days ago and loved it. I was actually quite shocked to learn it was them.


What can I say... I don't regularly listen to NIN.


I've listened to this song over and over the last days and can't get enough. Though it's dark and somewhat depressing, I find it deeply stirring. I appreciate how raw the song is both in lyric and music. Trent Reznor is expressing, in a rather beautiful way, a deep and alarming pain.

Our world can be pretty fake at times.

And so, I gravitate to things I find authentic. Even if they're messy and dismal.




Also, for a little bit less dark and a whole lot better music video, check out Johnny Cash's cover.

soul listening...

I've been on a Robert Kiyosaki kick of late (Rich Dad, Poor Dad and now Cashflow Quadrant). Wow, I feel a bit like an up-and-coming yuppie admitting these are the books I'm reading. Regardless, I plug them because they're legit.

On leadership, Kiyosaki says:

To be great leaders, rich dad stressed that we first had to be great listeners. If you did not listen to the words a person used, you would not be able to feel their soul. If you did not listen to their soul, you would never know to whom you were talking.

I find this to be a stirring and profound thought... feel their soul... listen to their soul. I appreciate the provocative imagery.

My favorite way of thinking of the soul is that it is the part of us which integrates our other parts and brings singular coherency. It is that which allows life to be a thing, rather than things; it integrates the various dimensions of a human being: our body, our thoughts, our emotions, our will, and our relationality. (thanks to Dallas Willard for some initial ideas surrounding the soul and a few friends who helped expand the concept).

As I think about feeling someone's soul, listening to their soul, I am struck with a captivating picture of fully hearing someone. To listen to another's soul is to hear them in all that they're saying, somehow putting together the often complimentary, often contradictory messages of emotion, worldview, body language, passion, words, etc. that they impart. Thus, I fully agree with Kiyosaki, to listen to or feel someone's soul, is to truly know them. And my hunch is that as we embark on this challenging task, we will find ourselves not only understanding other's with greater clarity, but also possessing for them greater compassion, acceptance and, ultimately, love.

cleansing

I just got back from a run in the rain, one of my favorite activities. Though, I must confess: I never remember liking it until I go; it always seems like it will be such a drag. Beforehand, my thought is always: "crap, it's raining. There was a small possibility I was going to run this morning. But now, if I don't, I'll be a wuss for allowing a lame thing like getting wet stop me." I then proceed to change, put on my shoes, and hit the streets.

and, i always love it.

(I especially love running through puddles. There's something freeing about finding your stride and just running; sometimes that lands you in the center of a puddle, sometimes you barely avoid them, but either way it doesn't matter: you're wet regardless.)

What I most appreciate about running in the rain is the sense of cleansing it evokes. For me, the combination of physical exertion and external wet induces a strong feeling of purification. Pushing your body in activity, you release some of the stress and stiffness that has built within your muscles. Your sweat helps release toxins. And all the while, the rain cools the muscles and washes away the sweat encouraging a longer, harder run. That system, that interaction, between body and nature is part of what makes the experience so profound for me; this freshness that you feel is both something you initiate and something you receive.

As someone prone to needing a large volume of purification in multiple areas, I appreciate this living metaphor. I believe that, in partaking, I am actually going through a cleansing process deeper than just my body. At the very least, it reminds me of the cleansing I have needed and have received, as well as the cleansing I do need and hopefully one day will obtain.

My latest obsession...

LOST, obviously! BUT, my 2nd favorite...

www.stuffwhitepeoplelike.com

i heard about it in Rome. it's been visited everyday for the last 3 or 4. multiple times.


potentially offensive? maybe (i'm a pretty poor judge).
hilarious? absolutely!!


(for extra fun... start reading people's comments)

my life is LOST: Pt. 4

Today, I was blegged* to keep up my stream of consciousness LOST blogging. I'm not certain if I will, but since it was likened to one of my favorite books, I've at least gotta post a couple more times.

What is happening?

So Jack's father is dead... but the casket is empty... and Jack is just wandering around the island? Lock is kinda creepy, kinda cool, kinda creepy. So that's 2 parts creepy, 1 part cool. Where did that crazy monster thing go? Why is Sawyer so lame? How does Kate transform from supervillian, so bad that we don't even know what she did yet, to superfox, Jack's little helper who secretly is digging him?

WHAT IS HAPPENING???

* Im sad to discover that Nick did not, in fact, invent the word "bleg." Bummer. I thought it was original!

my life is LOST: Pt. 3

Jack said it well, "It doesn't matter, Kate, who we were, what we did before this, before the crash. It doesn't really. Three days ago, we all died. We should all be able to start over."

Subtitle: Kate's innocent.

my life is LOST: Pt. 2

Pilot 2 of 2... done. This is worse than I thought.

Jack continues to remain a badass.
Sawyer happens to be a jackass.
Kate in handcuffs... oh no, I thought she might be the One!

my life is LOST

I just finished the Pilot (1 of 2, of course) of LOST. I've avoided it for years knowing that I would become addicted, as I did with Alias, and 24 previously. Yep, Im hooked. I love Jack & Kate and have a feeling I will be stuck in the web evermore with each passing show. And, ABC has all the episodes streaming in HD on their website.

I'm screwed.


Also, noteworthy from this weekend: yesterday I made the best homemade pizza known to man. As good or better than CPK. Now, rather than spend money out, you can use that same amount to drive to Lawrence and enjoy it at my place.*

* No, this is not an invitation. Merely a boast. And a subtle hit on high gas prices.

Happy Birthday America!!

May you celebrate it by blowing things up, eating delicious grilled meat products, and enjoying a day with friends!

Oh, and maybe toss the Frisbee for a bit...

Rome 3: the music

I have a tendency towards over saturation with music.

I get a song in my head and I play it over and over and ovvvvver again. This is wonderful for me, who happens to love that particular song on that particular day/week/month, and absolutely terrible for anyone who takes long road trips with me, comes over for coffee or a beer at my apartment, etc.

One of the by-products of my music addiction is that I end up marking events, trips, people with songs. I don't really mean to; it just sorta happens. And so, this trip to Rome was marked by a little Muse, a little OneRepublic, and a whole lotta Phil Rice.*


If a certain friend had done his job (he failed miserably, not even picking up on the hint that I posted on his blog wall post...), the trip would have been marked by Coldplay's latest Album: Viva la Vida.

It wasn't. But here's the song I've got on repeat:

(or if you want better quality with the lyrics... another hookup)


* Phil Rice is a worship leader for Norman Community Church, in Norman, OK. It's a church plant of Bridgeway and our team to Rome was composed of both NCC and BW folks. The recording I have is live worship led by Phil at Bridgeway. It's pretty crazy. If you want it on your iPod, let me know; I'd love to distribute... and it's totally legit.

Rome 2: premonitions

(you would think that a blog titled "premonitions" would be the 1st post about Rome, but apparently I things of order do out...)


Almost immediately upon hearing of the Rome trip, I had a sense that part of my trip was to take a few days and travel on my own. I can't quite describe this feeling, but I can say it was felt immediately and firmly. My thought process went something like this:

Rome. Awesome! I can't wait to go back to Rome with Zak and see the Pattersons and the Lyles and... oh, crap. I'm supposed to travel on my own aren't I? Oh no.

Maybe it was being the new kid alone at the lunch table one too many times or just an over gravitation towards people, but for years, I have pretty well avoided being in public places alone. Yes, I definitely show up places 15 minutes "fashionably" late to ensure not being the first one there. I love solitude, but I love private solitude. My worst nightmare would probably entail doing "group" activities by myself... dinner at a busy restaurant followed by bowling and then hanging out at Sheridans with my concrete... all alone. Utterly terrifying.

As the trip came closer and closer, I continued to feel that possibly the most important part of the trip was going to be the days by myself. I had no clue where to go or what to do, and frankly didn't feel any of that was important. What was important was me being faithful to this internal guidance.


The days leading up to my trip, I had lunch with a friend, Craig, who patiently heard the story of facing my irrational fear. Surprisingly, he got really excited for me and the possibilities in that time. He then explained his gravitation towards the unknown, how he ever attempts to put himself in places where his back is against the wall and he has to use his wit to get free.

Those words stuck with me.

I would say they actually flavored my trip. My side trip into London during my layover. The mini-adventures in Rome. The enjoyable days in Florence & Orvieto by myself.

There was something in these times, and on this trip as a whole, that unlocked a boyish gravitation towards the unknown. It's gone latent for quite some time, but, I think it's beginning to show it's beautifully, terrifying head!


(this is a picture from the top of Florence's Duomo that I took right before jumping a train to Orvieto.)