Like-the Universal Word

So, like, I'm talking to this 19 year-old like college student at like camp and like I kid you not ever other freakin' word was like like. Seriously, I like could not even follow her train of thought because she like kept saying like. Has this ever like happened to you? Or are you like one of those "like" people who feel like the need to liberally pepper like every sentence with" like"? If so, Dante had a like level of hell reserved just for like you.
Before you jump to conclusions this is not some "they spoke better English in my day" rant. The word like was used and abused since I was in high school in the 80s. Perhaps longer. I just wonder when" like" became the universal word, capable of being a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, etc. And why "like"? There are millions of word in the English language, how did "like" win the uni-word award? My money was always on "dude." Granted, it was limited to being a noun, but talk about universal application. Everyone and everything can be and is a dude. Or "sweet." Now there is a word that could fit into almost any sentence and even has the added possibility of dripping with sarcasm, my first language (English came second, ask my Mom).
I guess in an increasingly virtual world "like" makes sense as the uni-word. So many things are like something, but not really the thing itself. Technology allows us the ability to create complex scientific experiments that would be impossible to construct in the "real" world. Many people who have never set foot on an actual farm, and thus don't know the joy of stepping in manure, are expert farmers in Farmville (and yes, there is a level of hell for you folks as well. And it is filled with dirty, smelly real animals with digestive tract issues! Try posting that on your Face Book status!) "Like" as the uni-word makes sense in our culture, even if it can like grate on your nerves when the person you are speaking with like can't go two seconds without like using like.
What does all of this virtual reality, "like" as the uni-word, society we live in mean for God? Is God real or virtual? If God is real (and I like to like think that God is like real) do we have the language to talk about God? Does "like" possess a profound, yet still really, really annoying, theological depth? For most of human history we have had to describe God as being like something else. God is like a Father, a Mother, a Warrior, a Healer. "Like" the uni-word fits in well with this tradition.
So, next time you are in a conversation with someone who uses "like" as a uni-word take a deep breath and think of God. It will not only help you see God in like a new way, but it may be the only thing that like gets you through the conversation without like losing your mind.

One Question for God

I like to think that after we have passed through this life there is something else. I am not at all sure what it looks like, but I hope that God is there and that there is an open mic night. There are lots of questions I really want to ask the great I Am, but if I only get one shot I am ready. I have rehearsed this question in my head a million times. When my turn comes I will humbly approach the mic and say, "Yes, I'm...oh wait, you already know me. Okay, anyway my question is this: why did you create mosquitoes?"
I know, you are blown away by the theological depth and profoundness of this question. What can I say, its a gift.
I have no idea how God would answer this question because I have no idea what the point of the little bloodsuckers is. Yeah, I know all about the food chain thing. I took science. Yet there are lots of insects in the great circle of life that don't view me as a walking buffet. I think I will give myself a new nickname - Ponderosa. One week at camp and it looks like I have the chickenpox. There are itchy welts on my arms and legs. They even got me through my shirt and left massive mounds of pain and suffering on my back. Deet is a myth, a cruel joke. I have come to believe that rather than a deterrent deet is like catnip to mosquitoes.
I have searched my heart and soul to find one redeeming thing about mosquitoes. I can't. Perhaps it is the memory of not one, not two, but three full-blown cases of malaria passed on to me by mosquitoes that is clouding my judgment on this subject. In case you have not had the privilege of surviving malaria (and you really don't know what you are missing) imagine your temperature going from normal to 104 in about an hour and your stomach feeling like it is going to explode. Then add in the headache and the chills and you get a taste of what malaria is like. People die from this stuff. So, God, enlighten me. Why, why did you create the mosquito?
In those brief few moments when I stop slathering myself in Camomile lotion I think I get a faint hint at what the answer might be. Humility. Believe it or not I am a remarkably self-absorbed creature (sorry to burst your bubble on that one, dear reader. BTW, there is no Santa Claus or Great Pumpkin, either). There are times when I think the universe should revolve around me. God, being the actual center of all creation, has seen fit to give me a few reality checks, a couple of reminders that I am not all I think I am. These include college textbook sellers, toddlers, teenagers, and mosquitoes. Just because I find something annoying (or deadly!) does not mean other parts of creation do not find that same thing to be useful or even tasty. There is a great big world out there of which I am just one small part. It's not all about me.
So, it is with great humility that I look at the mosquito perched upon my arm...and then proceed to squash the life out of it. Why? Because its not all about the mosquito, either.

The Epic Fail

Epic Fail. This phrase entered my vocabulary via by teenage daughter. You may be familiar with the term. If not, let me give you a few examples.

Epic Pool Fail - My daughter's middle school class went to Washington DC this past spring. The kids had been preparing for this trip all school year and they were keyed up for the experience. When they get to DC and make their way to the National Mall they discover, much to their disappointment, that the reflection pools are empty. Draining the pools is something that is done on a regular basis. Unless this is your long awaited trip to see our nation's capital. Then it is nothing less than an epic pool fail.

Epic Prank Fail - I had a cabin of eight 3rd-5th grade boys at camp last week and a teenage Counselor in Training. I felt it is my duty to pass on one of the great camping traditions - the prank. Let me be clear, we were not going after any of the other campers. That would be cruel and unchristian. The teenage Counselor in Training of the adjoining girls cabin, however, was fair game. My CIT had found a plastic rat and we decided to let the boys place it in the female CIT's sleeping bag. Oh, the sparkle in those boy's eyes when we hatched the plot. The excitement, the expectation, the pure joy! It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. This is what church camp is all about.
So, on Thursday evening, after all the other campers had gone up to the dining hall, my boys got to work. We had lookouts, escape plans, and a well conceived prank. Problem was, she was not freaked out by the rat. No scream, no yell, not even a whimper did the female CIT make. This my friends, constituted an epic fail.

Epic fail is a term applied to activity in which people really try at something and it does not work. What distinguishes and epic fail from your run of the mill failure is the amount of expectation and energy put into the failed enterprise. Of course, like any phrase, it can be misused and overused, but I think it has value. Lots of things don't work, but some fail so badly they are nothing less than epic.

There is, however, another part to the epic fail - the epic redemption. You can't have failure without the possibility of redemption. And if something is an epic fail then that which redeems it must also be epic. In the Christian faith we have a word for epic redemption. Its called grace, and it comes from God. Grace is capable of taking even the most epic of failures and redeeming them. Epic redemptions happen everyday. There is no failure too big, or small, for God's grace.

Many of us have epic fails in our lives -broken relationships, addictions, jobs or businesses that did not work out. Some of those failures seem more than epic, they are life threatening. There is good news, my friends. For every epic fail there is an equally epic redemption waiting to happen. So take heart and know that even in your worst circumstance, your greatest blunders, your most epic fails, God's grace is hard at work. Thanks be to God for epic redemption.

Going to Camp

The Blog (I have always wanted to refer to myself in the 3rd person. It makes me feel rich and famous) is going to camp for the next week. When I come back I promise to have some more insights into faith and life, as well as some neat crafts and mammoth bug bites. In the meantime please feel free to enjoy some of our "classic" posts. Think of them as fine wine that get better with age!

The Blues Brothers

From the "Now-I-Can-Die-Because-I-Have-Seen-It-All" file, the New York Post is reporting the the Roman Catholic Church is recognising The Blues Brothers as a "Catholic Classic." No, really. Somethings you just can't make up.
The Blues Brothers is a great many things: hysterically funny, irreverent, and one of my favorite films. A "Catholic Classic" I'm not sure about. Did they watch the same version of the film that I have on DVD? Is there a Director's Cut that I am unaware of?
First and foremost, The Blues Brothers is a tribute to some of the greatest legends of American R&B music. Just consider the magnitude of the cast: "The Queen of Soul" Aretha Franklin, Ray Charles, "The Godfather of Soul" James Brown, Cab Calloway, and John Lee Hooker (who does not even rate a speaking part!) I doubt that anyone could get so many icons of American music in one film today.
Second, the film is a sometimes over-the-top commentary on racial intolerance. Come on, who doesn't hate Illinois Nazi's? What unites the characters in the film is not the Catholic faith but soul music. Jake and Elwood may look like "Hasidic diamond merchants" (bet Aretha wishes she could have that line back) but there is no question that when it comes to music skin color means nothing. If America is a great melting pot music becomes the common language.
Is there a religious element to the film. Absolutely! If R&B is not from God then I don't know what is. Yet, it is James Brown, who plays the Baptist minister, who helps Jake see the light, not the Catholic Nun. Are Jake and Elwood on a mission from God? You bet! Saving the orphanage is just a plot device. The real mission of the movie is saving R&B from being foreclosed on by disco. And yes, Jake and Elwood complete this mission as well.
If our Catholic brothers and sisters want to claim The Blues Brothers as their own go for it. I am content to enjoy it for what it is - a great memorial to some of the best music this country has produced and the most talented musicians the world has ever seen. Thanks to Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi my children will get to enjoy some terrific comedy and some unbelievable music. Maybe they will also see the light.

God and Mr. Potato head

So, when you were a kid did you have a Mr./Mrs. Potato Head? I did (it was a Mr. for what it's worth). It was not my favorite childhood toy by any stretch of the imagination. In fact the two things that I found redeeming about the plastic spud was 1) you could hide his parts in his bottom and what young boy doesn't find that funny, and 2) that you could put the pieces in the most bizarre combinations. My siblings and I would put his lips where his ears went, his mouth on top of his head, or his try and place his hat where the eyes belonged. Yes, I know, we needed help. Or more time away from the television. Or both.
Why do I bring this up? Well, sometimes when I think about my own image of God it reminds me of Mr. Potato Head. Over the years I have picked up all sorts of bits and pieces about who and what God is. Through songs, images, films, writings and just talking to other people I have collected these various "God-parts" and then tried to assemble them on this thing I call "God" (who, for the record, is not plastic, shaped like a potato, or has a hinged bottom). I don't try to make God into some bizarre freak, but honestly, some days, God just looks like Mr. Potato Head. Even though the pieces fit, nothing looks right.
Yet, how do I know what God is supposed to look like? With Mr. Potato Head it was easy. He was designed to look like a plastic potato dressed up as a human (and you think I need help. What about the people who came up with this toy in the first place!) God? Well that is a bit more complicated.
This is why I am convinced that we need each other, why faith is not something we were destined to do by ourselves. Community is a place where I can bring my insights and share them with you and you share your what you have learned about God with me. The bigger the community the more "parts" we have to "play" with. Then we work together to put all these "God-pieces" in place. Do faith communities always get the parts in the right place? No. Sometimes our God looks like one really interesting Mr. Potato Head. When that happens we try again. That is why community is such an incredible gift. There is always another opportunity to listen and learn, to figure out who God is and what God looks like.

Your Life As An Infomercial or An Ode to Billy Mays

Hard to believe that it has been almost a year since TV pitchman Billy Mays left us. Sadly, Billy did not take the infomercial with him into the great beyond. Yes, there are others who have tried to carry on his legacy (thank you, Vince "The ShamWow Guy" Offer). Yet Sunday afternoons seem hollow with out Billy and his beard. Who knows what wonderful products Billy could have introduced to our lives. So much talent, gone too soon.
All may not be lost. Ponder, just for a moment, the possibility that even in the afterlife Billy might still be at it. Instead of pitching OxiClean, what if Brother Mays is making the case for souls before God? Sound too good to be true? Well, wait! We're not done! If you call in the next 30 minutes it could be your life Billy is selling to God.
Admit it, you are intrigued by the mere thought of your life as an infomercial. Granted, its not as cool as having your time on earth turned into a made-for-TV movie, but with Billy you get a full half-hour of hardcore, non-stop, in-your-face salesmanship. There is one question you need to ask yourself (besides whether God is going to turn to another station as soon as Billy appears before the throne). What are you going to give Billy to work with? Remember, Billy does not create the product, he just sells it.
Now, if this whole idea is making you a bit uncomfortable, relax. We "package" and "sell" ourselves all the time. Have you ever applied for anything? Created a resume? Had a job interview? Been on a first date? If you answered "yes" to any of the above then you have nothing to fear. You are an old hat at this infomercial thing. The only difference is the format, the excitable guy with the beard, and, oh yeah, God.The thing about infomercials is they try to convince us to buy things we really don't need. Did I know, or care, about Orange Glo before I turned on the TV? Absolutely not. Was I living a fairly complete life without a Big City Slider maker? You bet. Billy's job was to make these products seem so indispensable I could not live without them. Yet, God already feels that way about us. We are God's creation, made in God's image and likeness. God knows us, loves us, wants us, even without free shipping. There is no pitch to be made, no infomercial needed. And you know what, even Billy Mays does not have to try to sell God on Billy Mays. God's already got the original.
Take a moment today and feel what it is like to be truly loved and wanted. Then, try to share a little bit of that feeling with somebody else. Why? Because if you order now, we will throw in another supply of unlimited love absolutely free. You just pay shipping and handling.

The Greeting Card Mafia

Mid-June. An interesting time for the Greeting Card Mafia to place Father's Day. Being a big fan of conspiracies (especially the ones I originate) I think the location of Father's Day on the holiday calendar has everything to do with cornering the market. Think about it. Mother's Day comes when almost all school districts are still in session. In elementary schools across the nation children work on cute crafts and handmade cards for dear ol' Mom. This has to cut into the bottom line of the Mafia. Yet Father's Day comes when the vast majority of school-aged kids are home on summer break. Do we, the Dad's of America, get the paper mache crafts? The cards with our kids hand prints on them? Do our children come home singing little ditties about Daddy that they learned in music class? No! So off to the store our families go to buy cards with fishing pools or Golden Retrievers on the cover. For those of us that don't fish or have dogs, tough luck. The Mafia is in control here. Oh, please don't get me started on the whole tie thing. Really, you don't want to go there!
I guess my beef with the Mafia is that it has failed to grasp that a) a card seldom if ever conveys love and b) that the nature of Fatherhood has changed. Ward Clever is dead (sorry Beaver!). Being a Dad in 21st century America is no longer about pipes or grilling in the backyard or "babysitting" our children. It is about negotiating a million changing expectations and desires.
Let me give you a quick example of what I mean. When I came kicking and screaming into this world my Father was not present. The hospital would not allow him to be in the room even if he wanted to be. His task in the whole birthing process was to wait. A pass out the cigars. Fast forward a generation. Today, not only are Dad's allowed in the delivery room, we are expected to be there. Unless we are in the operating room donating a kidney for our wife, in which case we might, might get a pass. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to be there when my kids were born. Yet it is a sign of how the rules have changed.
Fatherhood today is a full-contact sport. We are expected to be present in our kids lives in ways our Dad's and Grandfathers never dreamed of. Again, I think this is a good thing. I love being a Father (except for the whole diaper thing...and cleaning up puke...and toilet training...come to think of it I really don't like any of the bodily functions aspects of parenting). I have a bond with my kids that I would not trade for anything in the world. And it has opened up a new understanding of God for me. If God really is our "Father" then I think it is on this intimate level that I get to experience with my children (though I wonder how God feels about puke. God created it after all).
So, let this be a warning to the Greeting Card Mafia. You better catch up. Father's Day may be stuck in June, but we don't have to settle for the 1950s era cards. We are a new breed of Dad. And we know all about YouTube!

Finding Humanity at the Pool

Summer is upon us and in our house and that means swimming. Our kids are freaks for the pool which means I will be spending copious amounts of time at the pool over the next few months. Which also means I will be spending copious amounts of time looking at the people at the pool. This is not voyeurism, folks. We go to a very popular public pool. On any given day there are a couple hundred people there. Unless I go around with my eyes closed I have no choice but to notice everyone else. I don't mind the crowds, I'm just not sure what to do about what I see.

I am not Mr. Black (which is good since I think he is dead). Most of what passes as fashion escapes me. I have better things to do with my time than sit around critiquing what other people are wearing. Yet, at the pool, I find myself in a heightened state of fashion consciousness. Or perhaps it is more honest to say I am more judgmental of other people. Not just about what they are, or are not, wearing but what kind of humans they are.

Like it or not Hollywood and Madison Avenue have helped to create impressions in my mind about what beauty is. If you are a 5'4" young woman and weigh 120 pounds then feel free to break out the bikini. However, if you are 5'2" and weigh in at 180, well, perhaps a one-piece is in order. Come to think of it go ahead and leave that t-shirt on as well. Oh, and only guys with six-pack abs and buns of steel should brave the Speedo. Otherwise, it is better to conceal than to reveal.

As I walk around the pool (sans Speedo) I'm aware of something else that popular culture has taught me. If you are beautiful on the outside than you must be pretty on the inside. The other side of that coin is that the not-so-good looking people are equally unattractive underneath all the fat and flab. In subtle yet powerful ways we are led to believe that a person's humanity is dependent upon what they look like. At the pool our humanity, or lack thereof, is on full display. Let the judging begin.

There is another way of looking at people at the swimming pool. The Christian faith, my faith, teaches that all people are created in the image and likeness of God. Everyone, regardless of their physical features, is fully human and entitles to be treated with dignity and respect. If this is what I really believe than the pool is a place where I can look around and affirm the humanity of everyone present. It does not matter if a person looks like a super-model or the Governator, if the bikini or Speedo is flattering or not, I can see what God sees - a bunch of people who are wonderfully made and fully human. I think it is going to be a great summer at the pool!

Stewards or Control Freaks

We live in a suburb. A middle-class suburb to be exact. As with any community there are sights and sounds that help you identify where you are. In the suburb, in summer, it is the sight of people working in their yards and the sounds of lawn mowers and weed trimmers. From 8 ish in the morning (don't want to wake the neighbors) till after sunset our subdivision is filled with the roar and hum of lawn care. Keeping the grass and weeds knocked down is a good thing. I for one do not relish the thought of being ambushed by some wild animal lurking in the tall grass when I go to take the trash out. So I have no issue with the mowing per se, it is the trimming that raises some questions. Why do those of us who live in the suburb feel the need to edge and hedge and manicure our lawns? Will something really, really bad happen to us if the grass does not stand at a 90 degree angle to the sidewalk?

My wife and I lived in Kenya for three years. They have grass there, and weeds. They too see the value in not having wild animals stalking them in their own front yards. Their solution is goats. The goats eat the grass in the yard. While they are eating they return to the soil a rich deposit of goat droppings, thus fertilizing the grass. And the best part? When the time comes they eat the goat. Try doing that with your John Deer! (BTW, roasted goat meat is very good). The downside is that goats don't really get into trimming or edging. Thus, the yards lack that suburban manicured feel.

Christians believe that God has made us, humans, stewards of the creation. It's God's world, we have to take care of it. Yet we, humans, have a bad habit of wanting to be the owners of this world rather than stewards. I wonder sometimes, what the suburban obsession with manicured lawns says about our relationship to God. Are we being good (perhaps OCD) stewards of the creation? Or does our attempt to make our yards so neat and orderly reflect a desire to control "our" world? I don't know. Just something to think about. I have to go now, the trimmer is calling.

The perfect birthday gift #3

This weekend I celebrated another birthday. For what it's worth I am now 43 years old. What do you do to mark such a momentous occasion? I mean, come on, its hard to get all giddy and excited about middle age. Ponies and balloons really don't light my fire anymore. Someone asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I pondered this question for a while. At first I came up with all the Miss America pageant cliches: world peace, no more wars, an end to childhood hunger. Then I thought no, midlife is nothing without a crisis. What would I want that would ease that growing since of anxiety I have sometimes about getting old (do you realize in 7 years I will qualify for an AARP card!!!) In a flash of self-absorbed brilliance I came up with three perfect gifts.

Gift #3 - A Kitchen for the 24st Century For some reason I liked watching the cartoon "The Jestson's" when I was a kid. I cannot remember a single episode and the plots (assuming there were plots) escape me. What I do recall was the way the characters in the show got their food. They simply walked up to a computer, told it what they wanted, and there it was. As a child growing up in a very poor home the idea of unlimited food was fascinating. As an adult who does the cooking for my family the mere thought of a computer doing all the work is tantalizing. I want one of those machines. I mean, really, really want one.

Food occupies a weird place in my life. I love to eat, though I can be a picky eater. I prefer to do the cooking (a control issue) but can think of a million things I would rather do than be in the kitchen. Having food in the house is a reminder that I am no longer dirt poor, yet I am worried about my weight and try not to keep to much food around (at least not the fatty, sugary kind I really like).

The attraction of a 24th century kitchen, or whatever time period the Jetson's are from, is that I would not have to think about food. When it is time to eat I (control issue, again) would just tell the computer what to make and let the feasting begin. Naturally there would be tons of fruits and veggies which would lead my children to love me even more than they already do. If the meal is not good I get to blame the computer. If the meal is great I am the one who programmed it. No worries, no problems, no thinking. The only issue is whether the purchase of this computer qualifies for free shipping from Amazon. I'm guessing it might. Oh, and whether I can install it myself. I am sure I can't.

Like my time machine, this technological wonder does not exist. Which means I have to continue to think about food. Which means I have to think about where it comes from and how much it costs. Which means I have to think about all the people who don't have any food today, or not enough of it. And that is the real problem. I don't want to think about that. I don't want to remember what it is like to not have food in the kitchen. Or to have to use Food Stamps. Or depend upon grocery bags filled with donated food that other people did not want. Above all, I don't want to think about the powerlessness that comes with poverty. And my guilt that today I have enough to eat while millions of other people don't.

Being a follower of Jesus means I will not ever be able to forget about other people. Being a follower of Jesus also means that instead of feeling guilty I can be filled with hope. I believe the stories about Jesus feeding five-thousand people with a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish. I have seen it happen in my own life. I have been witness to more than one instance when people freely shared what little they had and no one walked away hungry. There was no futuristic computer involved, just compassion, love, openness, and willingness to not to forget. So I give thanks for a wonderful birthday gift - the ability to think about food. And the desire to share it with others.

The perfect birthday gift #2

This weekend I celebrated another birthday. For what it's worth I am now 43 years old. What do you do to mark such a momentous occasion? I mean, come on, its hard to get all giddy and excited about middle age. Ponies and balloons really don't light my fire anymore. Someone asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I pondered this question for a while. At first I came up with all the Miss America pageant cliches: world peace, no more wars, an end to childhood hunger. Then I thought no, midlife is nothing without a crisis. What would I want that would ease that growing since of anxiety I have sometimes about getting old (do you realize in 7 years I will qualify for an AARP card!!!) In a flash of self-absorbed brilliance I came up with three perfect gifts.

Gift #2 - The Return of the Stick
Please! This is not what you think (I'm not that insecure)! This gift is all about restoring a sense of control to my life. It comes in the form of a five-speed stick-shift. It requires that I dump the family mini-van in a body of deep water where no one will ever find it. Ever.

Sure getting kids, and soccer balls, and those fold up chairs all parents take to soccer games, and bags upon bags of groceries is so much easier with sliding side doors and fold-down back seats. But the mini-van cost me, dearly. My first car was a standard. My second car, a standard. When I lived overseas I drove a standard. Fourth car, you guessed it, a standard. When we got the mini-van (around the time of child number 3) I had to trade in my stick-shift. It hurt. There is something about having a five-speed that is so empowering. You feel connected to the car. More importantly, you are in control. No automatic anything here. If that car is going to move from zero to whatever, you, the driver, are going to have to make it happen. I want that feeling again. I want my five-speed stick-shift back.

I know, I know, this sounds so much like a typical response to a mid-life crisis. Feeling unsettled in your life old boy, well just go out and buy yourself a nice little sports car (young secretary optional) and all will be well. Perhaps there is a bit of that going on here. But I am aware that the stick shift is more of a symbol than a real answer. A powerful symbol, but a symbol nonetheless. The real answer is about control in my life and who has it. I want it to be me. I am afraid it is God.

Try as I might I can't make the sun come up tomorrow morning. I do not possess the power to make it rain. Nor can I stop a hurricane or a tornado or a beautiful rainbow from appearing. Even the things I think I am in control of - what clothes I wear, what I eat and where I live, really are out of my hands. I have choices, but not control. God is the only one with real control. My task is to not just accept that fact, but to learn to rejoice in it. Because God is about life. God's will for me is life in all of its fullness. There will be things that happen to and around me that I don't like. But nothing, nothing can prevent life from springing forth from every situation. When Jesus rose from the grave it was proof that even death has to give way to God's desire for life!

So, maybe what I need for my birthday is the resolve to just focus on the choices I have been given each day and give up on trying to control everything. I'll work on it. But it would be easier to do with my hand on that stick-shift!

The perfect birthday gift #1

This weekend I celebrate another birthday. For what it's worth I will be 43 years old. What do you do to mark such a momentous occasion? I mean, come on, its hard to get all giddy and excited about middle age. Ponies and balloons really don't light my fire anymore. Someone asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I pondered this question for a while. At first I came up with all the Miss America pageant cliches: world peace, no more wars, an end to childhood hunger. Then I thought no, midlife is nothing without a crisis. What would I want that woulde ease that growing since of anxiety I have sometimes about getting old (do you realize in 7 years I will qualify for an AARP card!!!) In a flash of self-absorbed brilliance I came up with three perfect gifts.

Gift 1 - A Time Machine
Some people might look at this gift and think about all the great historical events they would want to visit. Not me. My time machine has one purpose and one purpose only: to ferry me back to those events in my life that need to be fixed. The list is rather long, unfortunately, but doable. At last count I identified around a dozen key mistakes that if corrected could make me into the man I always wanted to be. All I have to do is travel back in time, make a different choice or, in one instance, just keep my mouth closed, and shazzam, life is perfect. The whole process should take 20-30 minutes, which is about the average time we use gifts anyway. Then that little machine could take its rightful place in the corner and start gathering dust and my dirty clothes.

I was pretty excited about the mere prospect of this gift (purposefully ignoring that such a machine does not exist in real life) when a feeling of unease hit me. This whole fantasy was predicated on the belief that by fixing those mistakes I would be perfect, or near perfect. What if, heaven forbid, I fixed those dozen bad decisions only to discover that I made 12 equally horrible choice later on in life. Then I would have to go back in time and correct those mistakes. And then correct the mistakes I made after I fixed the second set of mistakes. It would never end. My life would be consumed by this process. Stupid time machine!

I had another realization as I was imagining all of this. If I had such a time machine not only would I not be able to fix every mistake in my life but I would be missing out on one of God's greatest gifts: grace. I'm human and I am going to make wrong decisions and bad choices. Even with a time machine I will never be perfect. But I don't have to be (though God really wants me to give it my best shot). God loves me even with all my imperfections, perhaps even because of them. Grace is love that comes not to us not because we have earned it, but as a gift freely given. Come to think of it, that's a pretty good birthday gift. Better than a time machine...though if I had only kept my mouth shut that one time...

Field of Dreams

In 1982 director Steven Spielberg paid $60,500 at auction for the sled "Rosebud," the famous prop from the film Citizen Kane. By today's standards that hardly seems impressive (it might, might cover three trips to Starbucks) but at the time it was one of the largest sums of money ever paid for movie memorabilia.

A few weeks ago the owners of the property where Field of Dreams was filmed announced that they were putting it up for sale. That's right sports/movie fans, you can own 193 acres of rich Iowa farmland, including the house and baseball field that appeared in the movie (corn and the ghosts that come out of the corn not included). Asking price? A mere $5.4 million. What a bargain! Who wouldn't pay that kind of money for heaven...er, Iowa?

Well, Kevin Costner for one. The star of the film was reportedly offered first dibs on the land but said no thanks. Perhaps Mr. Spielberg will step in and buy up some more movie history. Whoever buys the property is likely to do so for reasons other than business. Some 60,000 people a year come to Iowa and visit the ball field but even if they paid $20 a person (as James Earl Jones suggested in the movie) its not a great investment. No, my guess is that someone will buy it because Field of Dreams means something to them. That ball field is sacred space in their minds and they want to have the opportunity to connect to it.

Sacred space is important and in our culture hard it is to come by. Americans move, a lot. Many of us don't live in the towns we grew up in (if we grew up in just one town) and a good number of us don't even live in the same state. The houses we lived in, the schools we attended, the parks we played in, the malls we hung out at are not ours anymore. Someone else owns the house, the schools look different, the parks have changed, and the mall is now full of weird stores like Starbucks.

This is not to say that all of our sacred spaces are gone, rather to suggest that we value the one we have all the more. Sacred space helps us remember the people and events that shaped who we are. Some of those memories are great, others painful, but they are all important. So this summer, if you have the chance and the means, go visit one of your sacred spaces. And if you happen to be passing through Iowa bring your checkbook. For a few million you can have your own Field of Dreams (again, ghosts not included).

Of Vampires and Love

"Myth: A stake in the heart will kill a vampire.

Truth: Well duh, it will kill anyone."

Kimberly Pauley, Sucks to Be Me

My 13 year old, like many of her peers, really got into the "Twilight" saga. Not being a preteen/teen girl I successfully dodged reading the books (my wife took one for the team in this instance). I was, however, roped into watching the first film with my daughter. Not in the theater, mind you. No, I held off until it came out on DVD. See, in a theater I could not mock the film nor make fun of the "acting." At home I could, and did, fire away. Here was a movie destined to be on Mystery Science Theater 3000. Since that wonderful show is no longer on the air I did what I could to carry on the legacy. Partly because she has outgrown the books, and because sarcasm is my second language, my daughter did not mind the snide comments I made throughout the film. In fact she really enjoyed it. Sadly, that means a date with the second film, "New Moon." Note to self: try not to be so funny next time.

Hollywood loves making monster flicks and audiences enjoy watching them. Americans see so many of these films that we have internalized many of the cliches from the never ending supply of vampire, werewolf, and Frankenstein movies. For instance, we all know, thanks to the silver screen, that to ward off a vampire you use garlic, and the only thing that will kill such an undead creature is a wooden stake through the heart. However, as author Kimberly Pauley so eloquently reminds us, "Well duh, it will kill anyone."

She's right. No matter who you are getting shot with a silver bullet is going to be fatal. Yet we want to believe that there is a magic way to get rid of the monsters in our world. Whether it is holy water or crucifixes, wooden stakes or silver bullets, we hang onto the myth that it takes something special to get rid of evil. It doesn't. The most common things are all we need - compassion, caring, a willingness to stand up and say "no." Oh, and love. Lots of love.

I know, that sounds simplistic, so cliche, too much like the inside of a $.99 Hallmark card. Maybe it is. Perhaps we can't get rid of evil without burning or shooting or stabling it. After all, if it does not bleed and smoke and writhe in pain how can we know that we have killed it.

"Love your enemies," Jesus said. Why? Because love is something that all the evil in the world combined cannot overcome. It is from God, of God, is God. And God has yet to be defeated. So enjoy the vampire/werewolf/swamp creature movies to your hearts content. Just remember the films are pretend. The real monsters of the world are overcome with love. Well, duh!

Lessons from Kindergarten #1

Things I Learned in Kindergarten...well, actually the title should be "Things I Learned While Working in My Daughter's Kindergarten Class on Friday Afternoons," but honestly, that really doesn't roll off the tongue does it?

Jesus was big on children and believed that they had some special insights about faith. Overlooking the fact that Jesus did not have kids, and thus was spared changing dirty diapers and dealing with a two year old who have just learned the word "no," let assume he was right. I have put my keen intellect to the task and come up with several "insights" about faith that I discovered while working in my daughter's Kindergarten class. Here we go:

#1 - Spelling is a Communal Activity

Kindergarten is not the same anymore. Granted, its been a few years, but I vaguely remember that Kindergarten was basically a prep course for elementary school. We might have worked on our alphabet and numbers. Perhaps we even learned a few colors and shapes. But the real focus was on social skills. And naps. The rage in nap time fashion in the 70s were these little rugs that had been made from strips of cloth. Everybody had one. No one wanted to use it. To this day my back hurts just thinking about laying on that rag-rug on the hard floor. Oh to be young and limber again!

Social skills were important because for most of my classmates this was the first time we were thrown in with a bunch of other kids for an extended period of time. So, in order to avoid a potentially chaotic situation in 1st grade we were shipped off to school to learn how to sit, listen, share, sit, and nap.

Today, kids have more experience with being in settings with other kids. Preschools and daycare have cornered the market on basic social skills (except for tattling, but we have already covered that little jewel in the last blog) so now Kindergarten is all about hardcore learning. There are no rugs, no naps. Nope, today the little tykes are expected to walk into 1st grade knowing how to count to at least 100 (by 1s, 2s, 5s, and 10s) and recognize shapes that I did not learn till 3rd grade. ABC's? Forget about it. They are reading, and not just Dick and Jane kiddies books. I swear I saw a kid in my daughter's class browsing through a copy of "Ulysses"!

With reading comes writing. From day one the teacher had the kids do something called Writer's Workshop. They get a special piece of paper on which they are to write a story and then draw a picture about it. In the fall the kids were able to draw better than write. But as the year wore on they had to write longer and more complicated stories. Writing involves one of my least favorite activities in the world - spelling. The kids come up with some wonderful ideas for stories but they don't always know how to spell the words. So they ask the teacher, or me (big, I mean big mistake). Or they ask someone else at their table. This, to me, is the greatest part of Writer's Workshop, watching 5 and 6 year olds try and figure out how to spell. Sometimes one of the kids at the table knows how to spell the word and slowly tells the other child what letters to write down. If no one knows how to spell the word the whole table brainstorms together and comes up with a solution. They don't always get it right, but that is okay. What they are figuring out is that learning new things can be hard. Better to work together than go it alone.

These kids get the point of faith communities (aka Church). Faith is not easy! There are lots of questions and sometimes we struggle to find the answers on our own. But God has given us this incredible gift of community, a bunch of people sitting at our table who can help us figure out the problem. Do faith communities always get the right answer? No, but that is okay. We keep working together, learning together, serving together, loving together. Along the way we learn that faith is not always about the right answer but rather is about being in community with each other and God. Relationships are the answer. And naps, but not on the hard floor.

Lessons from Kindergarten #2

Things I Learned in Kindergarten...well, actually the title should be "Things I Learned While Working in My Daughter's Kindergarten Class on Friday Afternoons," but honestly, that really doesn't roll off the tongue does it?

Jesus was big on children and believed that they had some special insights about faith. Overlooking the fact that Jesus did not have kids, and thus was spared changing dirty diapers and dealing with a two year old who have just learned the word "no," let assume he was right. I have put my keen intellect to the task and come up with several "insights" about faith that I discovered while working in my daughter's Kindergarten class. Here we go:

#2: It's Not Tattling If I Am the One Doing It
This topic may not seem all that original. If you have spent any time with young children you know that tattling is a fact of life. The sun comes up in the East each morning, the Cubs are never going to win another World Series, and Kindergartners can't resist the temptation to tattle. It's biological. It's hard wired into their psyches. You might have more success turning a lion into a vegetarian than getting kindergartners to not tattle.

What I find fascinating about tattling is not that kids (and adults?!) do it, but that they engage in the behavior in spite of our best efforts to reprogram them. There is a lady in my daughter's elementary school who's job it is to teach kids some of the basics of social interaction. Once a month she comes to my daughter's kindergarten class to work with the children about how to share, not be bullies, protecting themselves from people who would try to hurt them, and the evils of tattling. She is a nice woman and the kids seem to like her. For all I know she is a highly gifted educator, but even I knew that the moment the lesson started it was doomed to complete and utter failure. Cub fans know what I am talking about here. You believe in the cause and you want so badly for it to work, but you can't escape the forces of nature no matter who is on your team. Some things are just doomed from the start of spring training.

If I remember correctly it was a cold January afternoon when the offensive on tattling was launched. The kids formed something resembling a circle on the carpet. I sat off in the distance not sure what to do. I felt like I was about to witness a car wreck. I could not stop the accident from happening, but could not turn away from watching the whole thing go down. The "behavior" teacher started to work with the children about what constituted tattling and what was okay to tell adults. Bottom line, if some property or person was going to be hurt or damaged then you need to tell an adult. Otherwise, it's tattling and you should keep it to yourself. For 30 minutes she spoke to them, went through role plays, and drilled them about tattling. It made sense to me. If I was unclear before the lesson I had a firm grasp on the subject when she was done. In fact I even felt a tinge of hope. Maybe, just maybe this high quality presentation did the trick! I stood up to go to the other side of the room and was met by a sweet young girl who promptly informed me that another child had not washed their hands when they left the bathroom. I asked her if she was tattling and with a completely straight face she told me no. POP went my bubble of hope! Again, Cub fans can grasp my emotion here. It felt like June, when the tradition swoon begins.

Humans have this remarkable capacity to rationalize our own behavior. After all, it's not tattling if I am the one that is doing it. Yet God never gives up on us. With remarkable patience God continues to try and teach us how to treat each other. My initial instinct after talking to the young girl about tattling was to weep for the future, certain that all hope was lost (come on Cubby fans, you know what I am talking about here!) With God hope is never lost. So the little girl didn't get it the first time, or the fifth, on three hundred and fifty-sixth. Someday it might click for her which is more than enough reason to continue to try and teach the lesson. So, I raise a toast to all of us who try, and try, and try to teach kindness, compassion, understanding, and love. It is the work of God. And for Cub fans, all I can say is there is always next season...and the next...and the next...