seriously, dude

I just got a call from a developer out of Indiana who basically bragged about himself and his company for 8 minutes and 24 seconds. Do yourself a favor, if you are thinking about calling me to brag about yourself for 8 minutes and 24 seconds, don't. Because after 1 minute and 13 seconds I have completely stopped paying attention to you and the only words I'm saying are autofiller words like yeah and uh huh until there's a break in your soliloquy, at which point I will kindly "wrap things up", thank you for your call and then hang up before you can say anything else.

potatoes and coffee beans

Last week I took several spiritual kicks to the face. It started the previous Sunday with a challenge from my pastor, David Platt. He said some things about desiring God that put my mind in motion. At the time, I didn't do anything about it. It sounded good, but it also sounded unattainable and like something I didn't want to do. I've been a Christian for a long time. I've heard thousands of messages. I've had moments where I desired nothing more than to be in the presence of my father and moments where I'm not sure I knew he existed. For the last few months I've been in a complete funk. Here are some words I use to describe my spiritual funk: apathetic, unconcerned, worldly, neutral, pathetic. None of those are words I would ever want to use to describe myself, but they were all true.

As I went through last week I began to beg God for new passion. I wanted to want him so bad, but I didn't. I figured he already knew, so I went ahead and told him that I didn't like reading his word, I didn't like praying, and other than being a David Platt fan I didn't like going to church. Oh, and I was also sick and tired of singing praise songs. They were honest statements that I had never lowered myself to pray before. I could never admit that it was true. I could never admit that I was burned out and needed something new. The week went on and that's when things started to change.

With David's words ringing in my ears, I continued to ask God for a renewed desire and a heart to love him. It was almost like going through rehab. I had to start with the bare basics and work my way up. Then on Thursday my life changed forever. I went to lunch with my man group leader, Lee. Lee is both a scholar and a gentleman and has become one of my best friends. We share a similar passion for life and learning and I can always count on him to shoot straight with me.

After lunch, we headed to Starbucks for a friendly cup of joe. Sitting behind his white mug of cappuccino, he analyzed all that I had just told him about my life, my current predicament, and my recent thoughts on Christian spirituality. Point blank, he looked at me and asked me what the point of being a Christian was. Not the eternal salvation reason why you became a Christian kind of thing, but the why does it matter if you are a Christian now that you're saved kind. I didn't know. I completely froze. I was supposed to know the answer and I could think of a million things that sounded right, but there was nothing that I was really sure of. I was both challenged and disappointed.

One question led to another and before I knew it I was steeped in theology up to my ears. It was like being in a familiar pool but forgetting how to swim. As soon as I felt like I was drowning, Lee would throw the life rope of examples from God's Word that would bail me out. I'm not always a huge fan of deep philosophical debates, conversations, discussions or anything resembling. They never seem to get anywhere, but this was going everywhere. At a base level, I understood everything he was saying, but I had one major reservation. It came about in the form of a question. I said, "Doesn't it seem like we're never going to get to a point in our relationship with God while on this earth, that he's satisfied with. I mean, I always feel like I could have a stronger relationship with him or I could be serving him better."

Tears began to form in Lee's eyes and it appeared as if I had just reached across the table and stabbed him in the heart. "Oh" was all he said. I knew I had said something that moved him and I was pretty sure it wasn't because of its profoundly positive impact on his life. His response was redemption. He explained that as a believer I have been redeemed and when God the Father looks at me he sees his son Jesus Christ because of the atoning sacrifice that he made for me. God in his perfectness could not live with our sinful imperfectness and sent his son to completely fulfill the law that we were incapable of doing. Now God describes his children as holy and redeemed. Additionally, in II Peter 1:17 God says in reference to Jesus, "this is my son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased." How about that?

We have not only received a promise of eternal life with God in Heaven, but we are now viewed as holy in the eyes of a holy God and he is pleased with us. It doesn't matter who we are, what we've done, where we've been or even what we're going to do. As believers in his name we are redeemed. We are free. Though I must have heard that an uncountable number of times, it's taken until now for me to finally grasp it. To finally get what he did and why that matters. And I can't think of anything more exciting.

one A and a couple D's

I've been working at my job for a year and a half now. That's a post-college record for me, which is saying a lot since I graduated in May of 2005. I took my first job as an intern with a Rock Apartment Advisors right out of college. It turned into a full time position and it was great. Until my boss went crazy. Literally. Nice guy, but completely psycho. So, I left there and came over to Coldwell Banker Commercial. Great company, great people, great set up. It's worked out really well for me so far. One thing that I've learned since I've been here is that self-discipline is enormously important. Given that I work off 100% commission, if I don't work, I don't eat. But, given that I have an intense propensity for distraction and a mind that wonders like the Israelites in the wilderness, I've had to put some guidelines in place that keep me on track.

Below are the principles that I've come up that have been extremely helpful. They're posted on the credenza above my laptop, which forces me to look at them every day. I have found that most days I fail miserably with at least one of them, if not several. But, with a goal of progress and not perfection, I am comfortable with the effort to do better every day. They're listed in no particular order or priority. I hope you find some value in them...

• Be passionate and full of energy
• Be able to connect with people you encounter every hour, every day. Make people feel comfortable
• Be the hardest working person you know
• Be as detailed as is possible or necessary
• Be the one to exceed expectations every time
• Be honest and candid
• Be the best prepared

Let's just move his office out of this room entirely

Recently, I beat the crap out of my friend, Caleb. Fortunately, we have a great studio shot capturing the event.

Run, Theodore

So, the other day when I was pulling out of the parking lot of my office, I looked over to what I thought was a dead squirrel in the road. No big deal. Squirrels get hit all the time. As I got closer, I realized that my first analysis was vastly incorrect. It actually was not one, but two chipmunks that had perished right next to each other. I was in such amazement that I got out or my car and took a picture of them. I mean, seriously. How in the world did that happen? They weren't squished, so they didn't get hit by a car. But, let's assume for a nanosecond that they did get hit by a car. Wow. How do you hit two chipmunks at exactly the same time? It really looked like they had committed suicide together. Like some kind of Heaven's Gate chipmunk cult thing was going on and they were all doing it together and there were fifty more dead chipmunks wearing capes and covered in purple Kool-Aid in the woods. I don't know.
To ensure that no foul play was involved, I contacted PETA. They are still processing the autopsies and there are some angry activists that have been picketing in the parking lot since early this morning, but my suspicion is that we will never know the true source of demise for these two seemingly innocent urban forest dwellers.

More purple thoughts

This may be on one the best messages I've heard in a long time. Seth Godin, one of my favorite authors and bloggers, is featured in the video below and talks about curiosity. It's brilliant. I'm not a huge fan of the last minute or so, but take four minutes and watch this. I am most enamored by the words that scroll up during the middle of the clip. I'll let you watch it for yourself, but they're written below, as well.





"Once recognized, perhaps the quiet yet persistent voice of curiosity doesn’t go away. Ever.

Perhaps such curiosity will hurt until we come to understand the beauty of a journey that might never arrive at an absolute answer.

And perhaps it’s such curiosity that will lead us to distinguish our own greatness from the mediocrity that stares us in the face."

Wow. That last line is amazing. Here's to being curious.

1,818.09 miles to the bottom of the world

When I was a kid I grew up in a blue house on the east side of Birmingham. Next door to us lived a woman named Ms. Mitchell. Her house was white. I was never sure how hold she was, but I knew she was somewhere between 76 and 100. From time to time, I would stop by her house and visit. I have no clue what we talked about, except that she often made mention of her son. In the summers, I would mow her grass and help keep her yard up because she was frail and I was always afraid that if she did yard work she might crumble. There's nothing worse than having to call 911 because your elderly neighbor crumbled. Plus, she always gave me money, so that was nice.

One year my mom got a call from Ms. Mitchell that she had a Christmas present for my brother and I. She was the last present of the year. Christmas had passed and I had already gotten all the good stuff, so this was just icing on the cake. I started to ponder what she had gotten me and I hoped that it would be awesome... like a go-kart or a flame thrower or something. Not really, but I was definitely curious. I made the 50 foot trek to her house and arrived to find my gift presented to me in a tin box. When you're a kid, unless it's money or gift cards to the toy store, nothing good comes in tin boxes.

Ms. Mitchell had decided to bestow upon me the luxury of blueberry muffins. I was elated. Not. It was so disappointing. What the heck was I going to do with a tin box full of blueberry muffins. Granted, these were no ordinary muffins. They were world famous and prize-winning. Not really, but they were really good and if I had one right now, I would be super pumped. As a kid, though, baked goods were not my idea of awesome.

I think I relate to God the same way sometimes. Over the last year he's given me a lot of things that I really didn't want and had no clue what to do with. Initially, I was disappointed and questioned his goodness, his mercy and everything he told me about himself in the Bible. But as time goes on, I continue to realize that what he gives us is good. Even if it's not really what we wanted, even if it doesn't make sense, even if it means our lives are less enjoyable and more painful. I don't claim to be excited about all that God puts in my life, but realizing that his goodness eventually shines through in both the peaks and the valleys has encouraged me to trust him for who he is.

509

My friend, Bryan Johnson, is a local photographer. Besides being an amazing individual, he's got a miraculous eye for great shots and I love his work. Occasionally, when my life lacks inspiration I head down to his studio in the Phoenix Lofts downtown. Yesterday was one of those days. I always seem to walk away from his studio with a renewed sense of who I am and a desire to be really good at what I do. Below is a link to Bryan's website and blog. I'm a big fan of the blog because he keeps it up to date with recent shots and events. Check it out.

www.abryanphoto.com/blog
http://www.abryanphoto.com/

cloth and metal

When I was in London I met a man named Charles. I didn't mean to. It kind of just happened. On my way home one night I entered a busy Tube car and as is often the case, it was packed. I had chosen the wrong train and was now backtracking to the next connecting station. As I made my way to the only seat available weaving my way in and out of the pole dwellers, I sat next to an unassuming man reading the paper. Typically, people don't pay attention to each other on the Tube. It's almost not polite to. You either read or stare at the floor. There's no conversation amongst strangers, often even amongst friends for some reason.

Given my propensity for talking to strangers, I consistently hoped that somehow I could break the system and converse with another human. So far, it hadn't happened. But, through rather unfortunate methodology I gave Charles a reason to talk to me. Just before I took my seat next to him, the train jerked and threw me forward lunging my knee into his as the fluorescent lights flickered above us. He let out a noise that sounded more the result of shock than pain, though I was concerned about the condition of his elderly knee.

Charles was an older man whose age I am still not sure. He sat with a comfortable posture as he immersed himself in the events of the day. His hair was white, neatly cut and brushed to the right side of his head and his face was so cleanly shaven it looked as if he'd never grown facial hair before. He was consciously well dressed in blue slacks, a white button up topped with a tan cord blazer and a navy and red plaid scarf. There was no tie, though it could have been hidden under his scarf if he had chosen. Brown suede shoes covered his feet around socks the same color as his slacks. He didn't look happy or sad, but sat emotionless minding his own business. Until I entered his world.

It was an abrupt entrance. When the lights came back on I was standing over him with my hands bracing the window above his head. His newspaper was forced into his body and served as the only barrier between my chest and his face. Our knees were still touching and a small Asian woman was incidentally on my backside. She suffered from the same train shudder as I did and I could only hope that the man below me would extend the same grace to me as I was planning to show this woman.

I apologized as I stood from my awkward stance feeling like a complete fool, just knowing my face was a billboard advertisement for the such. For all the grief I felt, his response was less than concerning. He just smiled at me and with his British charm said, "No worries, mate." Relief rushed through me as I discovered that personal space may only be a pre-conceived American notion and I sat down. Finally in my seat, I was comfortable. Only three more stops and I could switch lines and begin my long journey in the correct direction.

I noticed my victim rubbing his knee as if to find some relief from the pain I has just inflicted on his body. I again apologized. He turned to me and explained that he had had knee problems his whole life and it was nothing to worry about, as if somehow that was supposed to make me feel better about my assault. Then he broke the code and I thought that this time the train might come to a complete jerking halt. He asked me where I was from. No one ever did that. No one ever made conversation other than to ask someone to get out of the way of the exit at a stop.

This was good, though, and I answered his question. His accent was thick, but clear and easy to understand. He spoke with a soft tone that reminded me of a loving grandfather. Apparently, my accent had tipped him off to the fact that we did not share countries of origin. He went on to ask me about my travels, where I was staying and how I was enjoying the "British experience" as he called it. Our conversation progressed and we answered trivia questions back and forth about our respective countries and way of life. He was on his way home from seeing Phantom of the Opera and he told me all about the night's performance. It was was his 39th attendance to the show, but he spoke with such passion it was as if it were his first. He loved the story, proclaiming its brilliance and relished the talent of the singers and their magnificent voices.

Somewhere along the lines we exchanged names and it was at that point that our conversation stepped off into a land I was completely unprepared for. It was as if his mind started to wonder a bit and he was somehow briefly absent from our conversation, though words continued to come out of his mouth. There was suddenly a seriousness in his tone that he had not previously used and it seemed that something was bothering him. Charles asked my age and upon my response he revealed what had captured his mind like a pickpocket thief.

"24. That's when my son passed away. You remind me a lot of him." They were words I wasn't expecting to hear, but Charles went on to explain the details of his statement. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my connecting station come and go as there was no way I was breaking from this.

Charles' son's name was Dylon. His adventurous heart led him to the States where he studied political science for four years at NYU. After graduating he spent a year in the workforce until he became enchanted with Africa and the hope of saving their continent from poverty, hunger and AIDS. It was an easy decision for him. He could continue to work a job he hated for little money and no freedom or live off his life savings in Africa indefinitely while he made what he deemed, a huge impact on society. It was a noble cause and Charles supported him, though a little concerned that Dylon had no idea what he was doing.

6 months after Dylon arrived in Africa, he was dead. It was nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. While delivering food to a small people group in the center of Nairobi, he found himself at the center of a terrorist attack, a car bomb that wrecked the entire village. It was never determined who did it, or even why. There was no civil war taking place at the time and the political state of the country had been stable for several years. Regardless, Charles spoke of the story as you would expect a father to. It had been eleven years, but it was retold with a freshness that revealed he often relived the event in his mind.

I sat quietly, not knowing what to say. It was so real to him and so obviously painful. We had been talking for over an hour and I had no idea what stop was coming up. The somber mood left as he changed the subject to a list of things I should be sure to do while in London. Charles once again suggested I see Phantom, as he had already done twice before. I thanked for him for the advice, but my mind was still dominated by his story. It was so unfair.

I thought of Africa and the great need for people like Dylon, then the cruelty of people who made him a sacrificial lamb. So many countries in their vast continent have so many needs. The reality of never ending poverty, starvation, and disease pushed my mind to find thoughts more comfortable and I returned to the conversation at hand. I asked if he had ever been on the London Eye and he responded with a resounding, "Oh yes, it's magnificent. You have to go." Something about his accent made it seem all the more necessary and I knew I would.

As the train began to slow, Charles gathered his things and we came to a stop. It felt as if I was saying goodbye to an old friend. I had beaten the odds and not only connected with someone on the Underground, but had been moved by the story of a father's loss. Charles smiled and wished me well on my journey, then stepped out into the bitter London cold. It will likely be the last I ever see of him, but our conversation will never be forgotten.


Sometimes I like to make up stories. This is one of those stories. None of this ever happened, but I hope you enjoyed reading it.

the half-life of plastic

Yesterday I put my hand through the back of a TV. My grandparents decided to go HD and got a new flat screen. In the process, they elected to give me their old one. I had no problem with that, given the fact that it's always debatable as to whether my current TV will come on completely when I push the power button. If it does, it has to warm up for 3 or 4 minutes. Since I don't usually watch TV for longer than the few minutes it takes to get caught up on sports scores, it was hardly worth owning.

When I went to pick up the new TV, I picked it up from the front and the back. About half a second after my attempt I realized that my hand had broken through the plastic casing on the back and was now in the TV. Not good. I got it home and it didn't work. This was very disappointing as I had promised my grandmother it would still work. Luckily, when your TV doesn't have a back case, it's not hard to analyze the problem. I plugged in the wires my hand previously ripped out upon its intrusion into the back and tried again. It fired right up. Now it works like a champ and there's nothing like having an open fire hazard in your room.

filter

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned that my friend Drew fell off a skateboard being pulled by a car and cracked his skull.

After being in and out of ICU and the threat of surgery looming, he got better and went home this week.

He seems to be doing pretty well and even went to church on Sunday.

Other than getting some words mixed up and suffering from an occasionally incomplete vocabulary, he doesn't appear to have suffered any long term damage.

Everyone is glad.

Bags of leaves

In the company of rain, hot tea and a beautiful smile I entertained the luxury of good conversation last night. In the world I live in these opportunities are rare and so welcome when present. Somewhere in between pine trees and theology I was reminded of some of the constant topics I ponder in my head. I find it so interesting that God created us and I still don't understand why. Growing up in church, I must have heard 10,000 times that we were created for God's glory. But, why? He's God, he could have chosen an infinite number of other ways to bring glory to himself. He could have stopped with the planets and stars and given them hearts and souls and allowed them to glorify his name in the same way we do. Or, he could have developed a completely different system of worlds and beings than how we exist today. I started to realize that what we are today may not be the best he could do. But, that only led me to wonder if there is a such thing as his best. I mean, to say that he's created his best means that it could not be topped. But, if what we believe is true about God's unending greatness, then couldn't he just as easily one up himself the next time?

I also wonder if God cares less about certain aspects of our lives than we think he does. I am convinced that he loves us deeply and dearly and his Word is very clear about that. Additionally, I think that he cares about even the smallest details of our lives and is in control of said details. But, as I've thought about the decisions I've made over the last year I've wondered if God was as concerned about me making the "right" decision as I was. It seems like maybe our definition of right, may not be the same as his. How many millions of jobs are out there? I'm supposed to pick the one and only right one? What if there is more than one right option? If not, why did he give us free will and allow us to make decisions? I think we think we are following God if we make all the right choices, but outside of issues specifically outlined in the Bible, how are we to know? Maybe he wants us to live our lives and serve him in the process as we do what we believe is right based on his Word and he's not hyperconcerned with every single decision that we make. I'm not saying he is apathetic. I don't think he is, but I do thinks he views our lives differently than we do.

Some would say the Holy Spirit guides us. I think he does, but I'm not sure how. In conversations I've had with unbelievers in the business world, or people I think are unbelievers, I've been told to go with my gut when making decisions. As I have practiced this theory and it has proven most useful, I wonder what guidance the Holy Spirit provides. It doesn't look like unbelievers are doing anything different than I am day to day, but I'm pretty sure they're not being guided by the Spirit. I'm not even sure what it means to be guided by the spirit.

The idea of no beginning is another one that baffles me. God doesn't have a beginning. He was never created. He didn't ever not exist. The question, when did God create our earth and our humanity does not even make sense. How do you measure it? Sure our earth has an age, of which no one knows and everyone loves to argue, but that's only because God decided to create time. How do you identify when in God's existence he decided to make us? It can't be when God was a million years old or ten trillion years old because he doesn't have a start point and therefore you can't reference our creation against his age. In other words, if God is infinite there was no time before our existence and for him there is no time during or after. He just is. Given my propensity toward being created and creating things and start and finish dates, that completely blows my mind.

God hasn't revealed all the answers to life's questions to us yet. I'm not sure why. I was instructed last night to make a list of things to ask God when I get to Heaven. I may not be able to take my silver and gold, but I'm sure he'll let me take my list.

sick of the ridiculous exchange rate

I'm back in America. It feels both good and bad. I was enjoying being somewhere else, somewhere new. It was fun getting to know another culture that is so very different from ours. Part of me wanted to head to Africa and delay my return the states for a little while longer. We have so much to be thankful for here and I have missed my friends and family. But, the world is so big and there's so much to see and it irritates me that I can't take the time to see it all right now. I wonder if Heaven will have different parts for us to travel to and discover.

Gloucester

New Year's Eve was amazing. Basically, there are hundreds of thousands of people that go down to the Thames River to watch the fireworks. It gets pretty crowded and there's basically enough room for you to breathe and that's about it. Fortunately, we were able to get there early enough to get a spot directly across from the London Eye. It's a surreal experience. The Thames is in front of you, across it is the Eye, to the right is Big Ben and Parliament, to the left is the Millennium Bridge. We waited for four hours on a fifteen minute fireworks show and it was worth every second we stood there in the drizzling rain and cold. There are no words to describe the magnitude of the explosions that take place right over your head. The show begins with shots from the ground along the river and then moves to shots off of the Eye and ground together. Fireworks are best experienced when you feel their intensity in your chest. At least, that's my opinion.

The trip home was intense, though. There was a point at which I though I might be crushed to death. When that many people start to move together in the same direction, it can be a recipe for disaster. I was with Danielle and Clay and we somehow got stuck in between a bus stop canopy and row of buildings. Given the mixture of panic and high blood alcohol levels, people started getting impatient and began trying to push their way through... another recipe for disaster. Fights broke out, children were crying and one woman was walking a dog in the middle of the insanity. I felt like a riot was going to break out at any moment and I've never been in such close proximity to that many people at once. It only lasted about five minutes, but it was five minutes of sheer insanity. There was literally nowhere we could have gone. Had we been closterphobic, we would have died. Fortunately, we weren't injured and we evenutally made it through. There's nothing like sheer chaos to bring in the new year.


It's easy to get lost in this city. Not in the, I can't find my way around kind of lost, but in the lost as a person kind. There are so many people here. Most of them don't look alike, sound alike, smell alike, talk alike or dress alike. One of my favorite things to do is people watch. It's so intriguing. People probably get tired of me staring at them, but I think I do it anyway. Some people look lonely, like they don't have any friends and when they get off the tube they're going home to any empty house. Some people are tired and sleep from the time they get on to the time they magically wake up at the right stop to get off. One guy looked drunk. I only say that because he was really loud and was wearing a pink kids cowboy hat with silver frills on the brim. Based on the rest of his ensemble, he wasn't wearing it for fashion's sake.

My hostel is full of really interesting people. Just walking around, there are plenty of opportunities for conversation with people from all over the world. Here are a couple of my favorite personalities:

Chris from California... I met Chris from California a couple days ago. Most of the time he has a really lost look on his face. He asks me the same questions pretty much every time I see him. I told him three times that I went down to the river on New Years Eve to watch the fireworks. I am certain that if I got up from this chair right now to find him and ask him what I did, he would have no clue. As a matter of fact, he would probably recognize me, but I'm certain he wouldn't remember any of the numerous mindless conversations we've had with each other. Chris from California is leaving tomorrow and I'm considering making up a new identity when he starts asking me questions in the morning. He'll never know.

Phil... A kind old chap from Melbourne. Phil has a crooked pinky finger on his left hand and is a PE teacher. He is apparently traveling by himself and seems to really enjoy guided tours of the city. He always has something worthwhile to say and asks me how my day was. Phil often says things that people only say in Australia and I'm glad he does because it's often funny.

Another Australian... Don't know his name, but he's from Australia and I can't understand a word he says. Super nice guy, but our conversations usually entail him saying something and then me saying, What? He repeats, I comprehend, and then respond. He's in the Australian army, has a girlfriend, and somehow we never exchanged names.

Allen and the Brazilian women... I met Allen in a dark alleyway. Our hostel is at the end of Holland Park, which is at the end of a poorly lit walkway next to some tall houses. Allen is from Brazil and lives in Ireland with his two friends. The three of them were scared to go down the dark street by themselves the other night so they waited til they saw our group of five going before they made the trek. Curious as to why they were following us, I turned around and Allen introduced himself. The three of them just decided to move to Ireland to learn English and because it's easy to get a working visa there. They decided to visit London for New Years and to attend a Spice Girls concert tomorrow. Fair enough.

Taylor and Ian... I met these guys at breakfast the other morning. They're from Boulder, CO and occasionally sound like surfers when they talk. After talking to them I became convinced that Colorado is the cold version of California. I'm not sure if that's true of not, but they make it seem true. I hope to hang out with them again.

The French... These guys are annoying. There are three of them. They talk very loudly and have little concern for anyone else around them. At night, they come in talking and making a lot of noise. During our brief interactions they speak this language that I wish I never had to hear again. I don't care what anyone says, the French language is not romantic. It's obnoxious, especially at freaking 3:3o in the morning. The other day they saw that I was getting my towel and soap to head to the shower. After a few words with each other, the French mounted forces and headed off to the shower in effort to go before me. Unaware of what was happening, I put my stuff on the wall outside the shower and two of the three of them jumped in two of the three available shower stalls. Clay saw what was going on and attempted to thwart their plan by jumping in the third stall forcing the third one to wait on him. It was awesome. I kind of want to fight them, but they would probably just run away, so what's the use?

I love meeting new people and there's nothing like staying in a room full of strangers from all over the world to provide an atmosphere for such.