A new life on this earth

My cousin, Hannah, has given birth to a girl.  A child.  A new life on this planet.

And this new life is barely breathing.

Hannah was in labor for DAYS.  We're talking DAYS of labor.  Pushing and sweating and screaming... waiting for this little bit*h (excuse me) to come OUT!

Well, she finally came out, and has been having severe breathing issues.  She's in natal intensive care.

She was due on Thanksgiving.  Ironic.

Sometimes life emerges into the world a gentle, beautiful, simple thing.  The doctor says, "it couldn't have gone better" and hands you a gorgeous child that looks just like you and makes that eye contact that says, "Thanks, Mom and Dad, for your sacrifice."  That kind of life is easy to be thankful for.  More often, life limps into the world broken, ugly, and barely breathing.  That kind of life is easy to get angry about.  "Why my child, God?"  It's easy to wonder.  "What did I do wrong?"

But that's not the real issue, is it?  The issue is: God can give and God can take away.  How can I love what God has given?

But if I'm honest, I will say this: I get pissed off at God when he messes with my family.  When a family member hits a hard patch I quickly lock eyes on Him, demanding an explanation.  I know he doesn't owe me one, but dammit, I still want one.  "Come on, you all-knowing, all-loving God.  Tell me what's going on here, cuz it looks like you're just being lazy."

Sometimes I'm glad God doesn't answer my questions in the same manner that they are phrased.

Either way.

God, please be near my cousin and my family as we wait with bated breath as to your will for her child.

We will miss you, Miguel!

Last night, my bosses and coworkers threw Miguel a little party (attached to our monthly store meeting) including a cake and some pizza.  Poor Miguel was planning on skipping the store meeting since this is his last month but my boss was not going to let him not attend his own party!  They made a cake with the inscription, "We will miss you."  And, in Mexican tradition, we smashed Miguel's face into the cake before we ate it.  The cake, that is.

Miguel has been with the company for 9 years.  From what I hear it's been a rocky, bittersweet 9 years.  He was hired because he knew somebody who knew somebody.  He didn't have any coffee experience, he had serious tardiness issues, and didn't fully speak English.  But he was charming and had a great sense of humor and extremely hardworking and able to keep up with a fastpaced store.  By and by he was promoted and was eventually given the title, "Manager."  The customers love him, his employees love him, and his bosses love him.  He has been a great friend to me, and has helped me learn how to run the store when he is gone.

But there's some things that people don't know about Miguel.  His family lives in Mexico, just outside of Acupulco.  There, in a modest house filled with many pets live his Mom and brothers and sisters and most importantly, his son.  I believe he is about 8 or so.  A young boy- separated from his father by thousands of miles.

All of Miguel's success in the business world of North Carolina- really means nothing except giving him a way to send money back to Mexico for his family.  Anytime Miguel sees a sale at a store he will buy whatever he can and ship it to his family.  Even if the family cannot use it, they will go to friends and neighbor's houses and give it to those who need it.  Miguel's life has not been his own- it has been lived to sustain the lives of his loved ones.

I don't think I need to try and "moralize" his life here.  I can't think of anything more Christlike (and lonely) than living for such a noble cause and yet being so far away from it.  It is with joy in my heart that I can say "God bless you, Miguel"- the angel from Acupulco- and may God bless your reuniting with your family.

Thanksgiving Lessons from the Farm

I love my grandpa's stories.  Some I've heard five or six times (they get embellished a little more each time) and I get a little impatient for him to just get to the punch line... but on this Thanksgiving break, I heard a few new ones...

We were on our way up to "The Ol' Saw Mill" a working mill that my Grandpa bought 30 years ago for about $3,000.  The story goes that back before he had his mill, when one of the trees on his property would fall (due to rot or lightning or age) he would haul it to the local sawyer for him to cut it up into useful boards of lumber.  Well, when Hurricane Hugo came 'round this sawyer had so much work that Grandpa's logs just sat there at his shop.  Grandpa Harry would call every now and then and this Sawyer said, "I'll get to it when I can."  Two years later, Grandpa drove to the shop himself and the logs were still sitting there, only now they were unusable due to old age.  That's when my Grandpa decided to get his own.  He found a spot out on his property that was mostly level and he built a shelter and then customized the mill to fit his needs (tractor driven, not diesel engine driven).

[The long-haired gentleman is my Uncle John, the dude with the beanie is my cousin, Joe]

That's the Morris way.  When we come up against something that's too expensive or too much trouble, we start thinking and plotting to do it "on our own."  Grandpa chuckled and said, "there isn't much a Morris is afraid to tackle."  

After making some repairs to the sawdust excavating mechanism, we fired her up and sliced up a 2 ton log into 2x4's that my uncle John will use in his next project.  It was so much fun, and I worked up quite a sweat trying to keep up with how fast my Grandpa was cutting them.

"You know, my daddy was a sawyer," he said.  We had shut off the mill and were sitting there, enjoying the crisp air and sunshine.  "He owned 3 mills, and had 7 teams of lumberjacks working for him."  I sensed some pride and perhaps a little sadness in my Grandpa's voice.  "He also owned a general store, a cafe, and a handful of other shops in town."  He paused.  His eyes twinkled.  "But I don't know what he did in his spare time."

"I visited the town I grew up in (a small town in Alabama) not too long ago, just to see if it was just as I remembered it," he said.  "After walking around for a bit, memories flooding back, I stopped at a malt shop for a cold drink.  A man walked up to me who I had never seen before, and looked me deep in the eyes and said, 'are you little Henry?'  (aside)  Henry was my Daddy's name.  I told the man that yes, Henry was my father, and he sat right down next to me and said, "That's what I thought!  Son, my name is _____, and I've been the town mayor for 20 years now.  Let me tell you a story about yer daddy."

"I came to this town 30 years ago, hungry, broken, separated from my wife and child, and with not a dollar to my name.  I couldn't find a job or even a drop of kindness to help me get back on my feet.  Then I met yer daddy.  He heard my story and felt pity.  He gave me a steady job, a warm meal, and even let me stay at his place until I could afford to move out on my own.  After a little while, I could afford to go get my wife and kid and move them here with me.  I ran for mayor and have always been active in helping this community that helped me so long ago.  Son, yer daddy saved my life, and I just thought you should know what a great man he was."

Now, at this point in the story, I have to offer a little bit of background.  You see, my Grandpa never really knew his father personally.  It's a little fuzzy, but I think it's because he passed away before my Grandpa was old enough to know him.  From what I can recall from my dad's stories, my Grandpa had to assume the role of Father for his family when he was still just a boy.  Hearing these words from the Mayor of his old town must have really meant a lot to him.

There are times when I have felt disconnected from my father.  Times when he has seemed too stubborn or too private or too perfect to approach.  I know I have felt bitterness, even anger at him for not being understandable or accessible to me.  But this trip with my Grandpa has taught me that even when you don't fully understand your father, you have his blood running in you- and you have the people around you that have been affected by him.  There's often more going on in his life than you know- there's more at stake than what makes sense to a boy- and to cut him some slack is the right thing to do.  The parts in me that I am proud of- the "entrepreneur spirit," a sense of determination, physical strength, a respect for the divine-- these things are in my dad and in my Grandfather and in my Great-Grandfather.  

These things will not easily fade.  They make us who we are.

The Fourth Leg

Some good friends of mine have been playfully arguing over a leg.

My Anglican friend says that the solid foundation of a Christian is like a 3 legged stool:
1.  Scripture
2.  Reason
3.  Tradition
Neither the Bible, nor the authority or the Church, nor the reasoning intellect can claim the last word, but together they offer a balanced way to discern the will of God.  This metaphor was created in the 16th century by Richard Hooker.


My other friend says that these three legs are great, but are unbalanced until you add the 4th leg: Experience.


The 1st friend replies, "Yes, experience is important, but only as they fit into the long line of Tradition."


So.


I am musing on the importance or unimportance of my own experiences with God.  This issue is also made poignant to me based on how my life has been greatly affected by Christians who have placed a HUGE emphasis on their own experience of God to make decisions regarding me.  (For those who don't know, I was kicked out of church leadership because they "felt" I was leading in a different direction than they wanted to go, not based on Scripture, Reason, or Tradition.)


First question: Does my experience of God matter?  YES.  I am certain that I am not just a speck in the universe, nor a drop of water in a bottomless ocean-- I am convinced that my God loves ME, specifically, and cares so much that he knows the number of hairs on my head.  


Second question: Is my experience of God ever misleading?  Hm.  Yeah, I guess it is.  I have sometimes felt convinced that God hated me or was just punishing me for the hell of it, or that He stopped caring-- and to this day I know that although those feelings were very strong in me, they were lies.  Perhaps also in times when I have been blissfully in the arms of a loving God, prancing in the clouds and raising my hands in worship and critiquing others who were not "feeling it" like I was-- perhaps then I was being misled as to whether or not that really was a "God moment" or me just in love with feeling in love.  Perhaps when times are tough we think that must be God's sign to kick someone out of our community.


Third question: How does God want me to interact with (or worship) Him?  Shit.  I wrestle with this constantly.  I see in scripture His emphasis on ACTION: taking care of the poor, being good stewards of money, loving His creation, etc... and then I see His disregard of OVERACTING: the famous "Martha, Martha" passage in which he tells the sister who is serving everyone so diligently to just sit down like her sibling and enjoy His presence.  There's a tough balance here.  


Fourth question: Maybe the metaphor of the three-or-four legged stool breaks down?


There's nothing in scripture that says to create the perfect metaphor to discern the will of God.  There are times when God is "gently whispering" and other times God has just blatantly said, "Ah hell, I'm just gonna come out and say it out loud so you don't get confused!"  Sometimes it lines up neatly with Scripture, Tradition, and Reason, and sometimes it DOESN'T.  (Side note: any time someone says, "I'd like to see you back that up with scripture" I laugh because of how many weird-ass things you can "back up" with scripture.  I.e.- God approves of the brutal mauling of kids who tease their elders about being bald, God approves of having multiple wives, God insists on women having their heads covered in church, etc.)


Although we've seen how the metaphor breaks down, I still believe there is truth in honoring scripture, reason, and tradition in deciphering God's will for us.  And with that, there is danger in adding a 4th element: MY experience.  So, I guess I am going with the Anglicans on this one.  Although I AM important to God, if He wants to give me individual direction and instruction I must LEAVE THAT UP TO HIM (like a burning bush or a soaked fleece).  If God has not come down in a blinding vision (or other miracle), then I have no right to say, "I believe God is telling me to do such and such."  My role within the Church universal is never to raise my own experiences above all others.

Words I didn't write: Teddy Said it Best

Words from Sarah Cunningham.  They spoke to my soul.  Enjoy:

I hope I‘m not the only person whose life circles back to different versions of the same question:

Should I sink my energy into tackling new ambitious projects? Into chasing some noble goal?

Or … should my ambition be to relax off the hero button for a while; to settle into a more natural, less-stressful life rhythm? Could the simple acts of living and loving somehow be just as noble?

To top it all off, I face this question without the infamously Christian “life verse”. (I have a life Bible, does that count?)

I don’t even have a life mission statement tacked to my mirror or refrigerator or car dashboard.

What I do have is a little visual that’s all my own. It doesn’t feel commercial or gimmicky or demanded of me by some charismatic leadership figure. The visual is inspired by a quote that I ran across a long time ago and it stuck in my soul like a dart to a bullseye.

The quote is from Teddy Roosevelt.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

The visual in my mind when I read it is a mix of all the epic arena scenes—a little bit Ben Hur, a little bit Gladiator, maybe even a little bit Rudy.

All of those arenas boil down to a visual, something I could sketch for you on one of those old school transparencies that people used to lay on projectors. In the scene, there are two main spaces—the playing field where champions do battle and the platformed seats where spectators sit.

The obvious thing to say here is that I want to be the man in the arena, right?

And I do. I would rather be criticized for attempting something valiant, than to never know what it tastes like to do so. I want to spend as much time on the field as I possibly can. I want to always believe there is one more fight to be had. To thirst for my Rocky 5, 6, and 7.

BUT … the older I get, the more I believe that although I want to spend the majority of life in the arena, it’s not healthy to live one’s whole life there.

People who try to fight every day, day after day, often become unnaturally exhausted. Their leadership starts to come from a desperate place; they start to develop ruthless qualities that subtract from their humanity.

Some days, its right to pour it out on the playing field—to bleed and be wounded with the best of them. But on a few reserved days or stretches of life, it might be just as right to sit on the sidelines; to recoup, to learn, and to believe in someone else’s battle.

That’s not less courage or nobility talking, it’s the wisdom life beats into me.

Because here’s the thing: I want to spend the majority of life in the arena, not just now—not just for this year, not just for this decade, but for the long haul. Forty years from now, if you check in on me, I want you to see me armoring up my frail, elderly body and leading a new charge.

To love the arena life that long requires a balance, I think. It means loving the many days where I grit my teeth and fight, but to equally love the life stages when it’s my turn to experience renewal and invest in or celebrate someone else advancing.

Sunday

The morning light creeps in like a silent lion in the grass

One eye opens, then another

I know what day it is.

I can sense my longing

I can sense my trepidation

You see, I have begun to attend a service

Yes, me, the cynic, in a small sacred space

Next to a dentist's office.

Why have I come?

No easy answer here

Do they "get it right"?

Is their music powerful and excellent?

Does the pastor preach dynamite sermons?

Do they pour into the community?

Is there a sense of deep respect for tradition, participation, and The Other?

No to the first 3.

Yes on the fourth and fifth.

I am not judged.

Though I do feel the Lord's gaze

He may wonder where I've been

And how long since my last confession

But

I am welcomed to the Table

With all my shit behind me

I kneel, on a cushy pad

next to those who have given me peace

And I accept the gift of Christ

And I fear Him but I love Him

And I remember His death and life

And when I cross myself after I have sipped the wine

After the priest has leaned down and whispered

And I have smelled his sweet breath

And seen his furrowed brow

Under robes of white

I know that I have died again

I know that I will live

And that Christ has provided and sustained

So I may live

and believe

And I do

The Coffee Post

Here it is: my philosophy on coffee in America.  I know you've all been waiting for it.

Coffee is a fantastic thing.  Like wine, from a single sip you can taste the soil and climate of the region in which it is grown... and unlike wine, you can drink it in the morning without feeling guilty!  Within just one small cup a discerning tongue can experience the softBut there's a catch.  Just because you CAN taste the true quality of the bean and the integrity of the farmers and the soil where it was grown doesn't mean that you actually will.  And why won't you?

1. Most Americans only see coffee as they see gasoline for their cars.  They need it to keep going, but they don't really notice a difference in quality but they complain constantly about the price.  So what happens?  Companies like Folgers capitalize on offering the cheapest coffee out there.  They don't need quality--they just need quantity.  So they dangle the carrot of granting them business with the farmer who can get the most coffee with the least amount of money.  Who needs integrity/quality when your paycheck is determined by how fast you work for the least amount of money?  And right now, there's a surplus of coffee in the world-- there's heavy competition out there for these poor farmers that are just trying to feed their families.

2. Your barista has NO IDEA what he is doing.  Most baristas out there (and I've seen my share of them) get trained like this: "Put this and this in that cup and put a lid on it and call it a 'Double-tall nonfat wet cappuccino.'"  They don't know WHY.  They don't understand what a good shot is supposed to taste like, or worse, THEY DON'T EVEN LIKE COFFEE.  Sigh.  This is probably the most frustrating thing for me.  Why can't these people work for Verizon or Dairy Queen (products they use) so they can practice what they preach?

So, where do you fit in to all this?

YOU, my friend, have more power over these coffee farmer's lives and communities than you think.  While I was with Starbucks (snicker snicker, yeah yeah, I know) they showed me that some of the farmers that they had partnerships with really had the chance to build a better life for themselves and their families, while others changed their entire city.  Starbucks (and other coffee purveyors like Peets and Counter Culture and Stumptown) invest in their coffee farmers, giving them personal loans and contracts that say "we will be with you through the storm" that allow farmers the freedom to not wonder if they should sell out to the bigger chains, but rather to strive for excellence and environmentally friendly practices and reinvesting in their own communities by building schools, hospitals, and the like.  All it costs YOU is to do a little research (read Starbucks' RESPONSIBILITY PAGE), refine your palate, go to a coffee shop that CARES and pay a teensy bit more for a damn good cup of coffee.

The problem of the bad barista is tricky.  One school of thought is just keep trying different places until you find one that gets it right.  The other school of thought is zero in on a business that has all the other things in place (ethically sourcing, proper freshness standards, etc.) and keep encouraging them to get better.  Get to know your barista and say things like, "I love the way you guys do espresso drinks- I think my foam gets better every day.  You can tell how much you guys care."  And please tip.  :)

"Write me a blog!"

Okay, okay, Jeff.  This one's for you.

What is a man's role in a heterosexual marriage relationship?  (Easy topic, eh?)

I find myself being asked this in so many words by many of Julie's comrades at school.  Most MTS (Master's of Theological Studies) students are men, with lovely wives who more or less don't really "get into" theology.  Often professors tell their students to "Go home and have your spouse read this so that you can get a layperson's perspective."  With us, however, Julie will often pose a theological question and if she asks my opinion I will start babbling on and on and really reflect on the truths and paradoxes she reveals...

"...but you don't ever feel... competitive with her?" Julie's classmates ask me.

Why should I?  The most gorgeous woman chose me over every other eligible bachelor in the world...   I'm thrilled when she includes me, but frankly, Julie "wears the pants" when it comes to academia.  I love a good book and I do get excited about theology (specifically how it pertains to ethics) but I don't need to prove that I can "run with the big boys" by competing with her or arguing with her when I disagree.

I guess that wasn't always the case with me.  I have a little bit of my father in me...  I can be real stubborn and insist on my way and my logic...  But I also have a bit of my mother in me.  I can be real sensitive and yield to those who will never yield to me in order to preserve the relationship.

Julie and I have a semi-egalitarian relationship.  I say semi because we kinda sorta fit the bill for a stereo-typical "man is the head of the household" relationship.  I work, she studies; I pay the bills, she cooks.  But all it takes is a second glance to see what's really going on.  When we got married, we started with a fresh slate.  I didn't say, "Honey, since I am the head of the household, I will decide what tasks you should do and what role you shall play."  We took it one day at a time, slowly figuring out what our relationship dynamic was like when we split up the chores, or took them on individually.  We were honest with each other, and if there was something that one of us just REALLY didn't like to do, the other person would pick up that task.

As an example, we tried to tackle finances together for the first year or so- we had separate accounts, we took turns looking at bills, budgets, etc, and ultimately it was extremely frustrating for us.  We discovered that we were both feeling unsatisfied and frankly, angry when we would "have our finances talk."  I discovered that, like driving, even though I'm not the best at being in the driver seat, I'm MUCH WORSE at being in the passenger seat!

In contrast to this, when it comes to academia and pursuing a "real career" Julie is currently in the driver's seat and I love sitting beside her and watching her go.  Sometimes people ask me if it was hard to abandon my job and friends in Sacramento just so Julie could go to school at Duke.  "Not really."  She is so alive when she is learning- how could anyone love their spouse and not encourage them to do what they live for?

To wrap up, I guess when I hear couples ask the question, "What should a man's role be in the relationship" I think they have missed the point of marriage.  Your role, man, should be the result of loving your spouse, not the framework for how to love your spouse.  Loving her uncontrollably and listening to everything she says and doesn't say might leave you as the breadwinner, the stay-at-home dad, the cook, the cleaner, or the candlestick maker.  (Anyone ever come across an actual candlestick maker?)

Mark Driscoll can take a hike.  ;)

Occasionally, it's apparent
That a dream exists.
Much like the way kindness exists
You may shut your eyes
And begin your journey
Towards an inviting end
Letting the current pull you in
Letting the world swallow you

And in place of yourself
You are the perfect you
And she always notices
And cries while you play the piano

Flash
You awake and you have to decide
Not if your dreams are real
But if you will choose the dream;
Choose the reality;
Or choose to push the dream
Into the truth
of your life


-inspired by the movie The Good Night

Thoughts on killing animals

Headlining news this week has been following the chaos of a certain private zoo in Ohio.  An account of it can be found HERE.  Essentially, all hell broke loose as a 62 year old zoo owner released all of his exotic animals into the neighborhood and then shot and killed himself.

The police's reaction was to order the immediate killing of all loose animals due to "public safety."

And they did.  They killed them.  49 of 56 rare bears, tigers, lions, baboons and wolves.  A freaking massacre of exotic, beautiful animals.  

I'm.

PISSED.

I just can't comprehend that killing these animals was the best way for them to handle the situation.  They interviewed the director of the Colombus zoo and he said because tranquilizing animals in the dark is dangerous, the best thing to do is to just shoot them all.  The zoo was called to bring in the tranquilizers, but BEFORE THEY COULD EVEN GET THERE, THE POLICE HAD ALREADY KILLED THEM.

You know what I think?  I think all of the Sheriff's deputies got all rednecky and excited about shooting some exotic animals that they would otherwise never be able to hunt, and just went ballistic.  I'm just ticked off.  What did those animals do to deserve their slaughter?  Nothing.  Just existing outside a "safe place."

We need to put those police officers and their chief on trial.  This was horrific.

Some articles say that only ONE MONKEY is unaccounted for.  Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

This monkey is looking around, calling his friend's names, and hearing no reply, he's going to realize what happened.  He's gonna go ape-shit and begin assassinating the killers that murdered his pals.  Bring it on, Planet of the Apes.  

BRING.

IT.

ON.

Yes, I am an a**hole

I've been under a bit of stress lately.  I got hired by a company that gave me very unspecific direction about "blending in" but also "helping to maximize the store" and "winning the hearts" of the staff.  So I've been doing my best to be the perfect employee at this tiny little cafe.  Problem is, it worked, and now, less than a month later, they want to promote me to be the manager at the cafe on Duke's campus.  I'm freaking out.  Inside.

[Side note: The other day I was trying to find Walmart to take back some sh*tty  piece of junk I bought there and I got lost.  And when I get lost, I. GET. LOST.  I was so lost that at one point I had to switch which side of the road I was driving on.  Hyuck. Hyuck.  But seriously, I was lost for about an hour and a half, I went through 6 different cities, and when I finally came back to civilization, I was so frustrated and mad and I just tried to bottle it, but it all came out the next day when I was supposed to meet Julie for *ahem* chapel.]

Julie told me to meet her at the chapel at 11 am.  Easy enough, right?  Wrong.  I get to Duke at 10:50 and can't find a place to park, so I call Julie.  She doesn't answer.  I drive all the way around the school. It is now 11.  I call Julie again, no answer.  Still can't find a place to park, it is now 11:15am.  She calls me, because she only just got out of class, and I'm pissed.  Everything from my expedition to Mars the day before is coming out, and I say something a**hole-like, to the regards of "YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO HAVE YOUR PHONE ON.  You disappoint me."  We have a number of miscommunications from here on out, and we get so mad that we don't go to chapel after all.  I would hate to have brought all that negative energy into such a place of peace!

I realized, after about 20 min of self-righteous anger directed at my poor wife (who just wanted to go to chapel with me) that I was completely in the wrong and I was just having a really hard time expressing my frustration at my terrible sense of direction and all of the stress of potentially being a manager had been building up-- and I decided I needed to get her some flowers and QUICK.

It's hard work discovering you're an asshole (sorry, I ran out of **s).  It's much easier to just think that you are always thinking of everyone else's best interests and that you are always good and kind and generous.  But now that I know that when it comes down to it, I still only think of myself- my need to vent and be angry at someone that has nothing to do with why I'm angry--  it's kind of pathetic.  Humbling.  The man I want to be would never have snapped like that. The man I want to be would have felt the boiling frustration early on- would have called it out for what it was, take a deep breath, and then speak to my wife in loving tones.  Sigh.

Thanks for hearing my confession.

Love,
Tim

"Hierarchy is the skeleton of the church"

I don't get the benefit of going to a nice divinity college like Duke because I am not smart enough to hack it.  I barely limped along as a Youth Ministry student at a small struggling Bible school in glorious Redding, CA.  But I DO get the benefit of being married to a brilliant scholar who is currently attending Duke's Divinity program.

Julie said she had a class that discussed the hierarchy of the church as being its "skeleton of love."  The hierarchy helps to focus our love- to retain it from "going out of control."  She gave an example of a time before the canon was formed in which a man who called himself a Christian wanted to scrap the entire Old Testament altogether and leave it out of the Bible.  To be honest, it might be a whole lot less confusing to only have 27 books to read and study instead of 66 (or 73 if you're Catholic?), but I guess I am glad that they punted that guy.  The Old Testament shows so much of the rawness of following God, the way God moves throughout different cultures in different lands, and the way He has stayed by His people despite the numerous times they have betrayed Him.

BUT MY POINT is that some people view a church's hierarchy as being one of gentle, loving, protection against heresy, and I do not find it as such.  Maybe on the sunniest of spring mornings, with the fresh smell of flowers and the angelic sounds of birds chirping in perfect harmony-- perhaps only then could I see a Christian hierarchy fitting that description.  On its more typical days, hierarchy is like a medieval knight of the round table's clunky suit of armor that constricts and limits any sort of true love or discipleship.

Granted, I am a West Coaster- we tend to be a little flighty, a little less distrusting, a little more "follow your heart", yada yada.  But I just can't seem to shake loose those scenes with Christ when people come up to him and try to get him to nail down a pecking order or a system of dogmatics or ANY SORT OF ORGANIZATIONAL THEME and he instead takes their mind for a spin.  Remember James and John's mother trying to get on Jesus' left and right side in heaven (he said no)?  Remember the whole "working on the Sabbath" fiascos (Jesus destroyed the contemporary church leader's rules)?  Remember all of those "The Kingdom of heaven is like ..." that mentioned nothing in the way of Elders or Bishops or overseers?  Or how about in the Old Testament when Israel wanted a religious King to lead them like the other countries nearby and God said, "No, you shouldn't do that" but they wanted it anyway and so God said ok and they elected Saul cuz he was the tallest and he basically turned into a raving lunatic that tried to kill his successor?

It is my humble and boisterous opinion that the hierarchies that Christian men and women have made for themselves have sprung up out of fears of the unknown and desires for control over one another rather than a "loving skeleton."  Love that is based off of a skeleton is just that: DEAD.  Too many good men and women have been trampled by these skeletons of hierarchy.  Too many children have suffered under its veils of secrecy and "don't question the Lord's church!"

The strongest argument against my views is someone who says, "yeah, but you're suggesting total chaos!  There has to be some kind of order!!"  And to that I nod and say, "Okay, here's an order that is approved by Christ: The last is first and the first is last."  The POINT IS THAT IT DOESN'T OFTEN MAKE SENSE, especially when we are focused on the wrong thing.  If we are serving side by side and witnessing the saving, redeeming power of Christ, who needs someone to say, "Yeah, but who is the servant who gets to tell all the other servants what to do?"  or "What happens when somebody doesn't serve as much as the others?  Who is going to tell him to serve more??"  These questions, as silly as they might seem, are very real fears of today's church and I say that they are merely instruments of Satan rather than the whisperings of the Spirit.

Hierarchy may be helpful in times of confusion, but more often than not it is confusing in God's timing and Kingdom.

A quick thought on the addition and subtraction of friends

I wrote this about 2 months ago, but didn't have the courage to post it until now.  Please read with a grain of salt.

------------------------------------

Math has never been a strong point in my life.  I appreciate it's simplicity... it's bold assumptions.  When you take away "This," you are left with "That."  It helps to clarify your situation.  But it never gives the whole picture.

Why did you take "This" away?  What are you supposed to do with "That" now that you have it?  How many new "This's" will you have to add to your "That" before you are healed?  Will you ever have a new "This"?  Will "That" ever change from here on out?  Will you change because of "That"?

I read somewhere from someone that if they ever thought for a moment that God was the one who took away his dearly beloved dead relative from him, than he would never believe in Him again.  I understand that sentiment.  But I don't share it.

Time changes things.  And it honestly doesn't matter who you blame.  Blame God.  Blame Sin.  Blame me, for all I care.  All it does is help you to manage your own feelings.  I get that.  Cuz our feelings (especially when loss is involved) are wild and crazy things.  People kill themselves when their emotions are too unbearable.

But that brings us back to me.  Sorry this has all been so lofty.  I'll try to put us back on the ground.

I'm about ready to say goodbye to some friends.  Jeff and Tracy and leaving for Spain.  Noah and Sara are moving North to Portlandia.  They've been the best friends I've had in a long time.  I couldn't have survived the great DC assassination without them.  But I'm trying to figure out how life will work without them in it.  And I know there's email and Facebook and blogging and the occasional phone call... but that's not relationship.  That's penpalship.  I'm sure there are others out there who can survive on penpalship alone, but I am not one of them.  For me, it will feel like I have only one leg, one hand, one eye for awhile.  And it's common, I know it happens everyday, but I still feel like blaming someone to help me cope.

Time changes things, and I want to be at peace with that.  God help me.  Thank you for this day and this life.

----------------------------------

Dear friends, I miss you terribly!  Please let's stay in touch!

Take me to your leader

So, I read in a New York Times article today (found HERE) that some GOP candidates who are in the process of selecting running mates are looking for someone who gives a "strong conservative presence" since that is their best chance of overcoming a "weak, passive president."  I don't want to get political or partisan, but it made me wonder what men and women in general look for in a leader.

Let's start with strength.  Who among us, when asked "Do you prefer a weak leader?" would say, "Yes, that is what I am looking for.  Someone who crumbles under pressure.  Someone who will just kinda go with the flow.  When there's a tough decision to be made, I want my leader to just pretend that everything is okay and try to distract everybody from the real issue."  No.  People want a leader who can deliver.

However.  Sometimes having an extreme position on an issue appears as strength, but in reality, is just fear with a loudspeaker.  Just because I can rally a crowd by telling them what they want to hear doesn't mean I have the strength to stand upon real values- to resist the urge to sellout or to accept bribes... to stand up for justice, even when it means disagreeing with those who are approving your paycheck.

Some people also are looking for "conservative-ness."  I wonder if this is just the affiliation of being "Conservative" (I believe in blah, blah, and blah), or if this is conservative in behavior.  Dictionary.com defines conservative as: "disposed to preserve existing conditions, institutions, etc.,or to restore traditional ones, and to limit change."  Some people like it when their leaders "leave well enough alone."  Don't change things!  Don't tell me how to live my life!  If I want a non-efficient light bulb (see my article HERE), then let me buy one, dammit!  It's my life, and I like it just the way it is. I saw a bumper sticker on the back of a pickup truck that said, "I'll keep my money, guns, and freedom, and you can keep your 'change'!"  Things are great for some people, and they don't need a leader to change that.


But what if that same person who likes things the way they are were to look around and see things that weren't so great for other people?  Warren Buffet is a new hero of mine for doing this exact thing (read his recent article HERE).  He's got tons of money (being a brilliant business man), and the current tax system is helping to protect his fortune with lots of great tax cuts, but he looks around and sees 9% unemployment in the U.S., and that poverty is widespread and that the middle and lower class are getting taxed more severely than him.  He stands up and says, quote: "My friends and I have been coddled long enough by a billionaire-friendly Congress. It’s time for our government to get serious about shared sacrifice."  Props.


I don't mean to attack conservatives- I guess I just naturally see a downside to that way of thinking (as I'm sure anyone can find the downside to my thinking).  When I look for a leader to follow, I don't look for someone who will coddle me by trying to appear strong and give me everything I want: I look for a leader who cares about true justice and one who's strength lies within him to stand up for the rights of all people, not just those in his rich circle.

Cowboys and Aliens (in a one-dollar theatre)

Julie and I saw the previously-mentioned movie in the dollar theatre in Raleigh tonight.  Not Daniel Craig's or Harrison Ford's best or even second best, but still a decent flick.  I left feeling a little better about the whole Cowboy/Indian misunderstanding... ("Oh, this was YOUR land?  Oops.  Well, we're already here, so...")  and I also felt a little bit of sympathy for the Aliens.  I mean, sure, they're abducting us to perform experiments to figure out the best way to wipe out our entire civilization just so they can have easier access to our gold, but who wouldn't do that in their position?  We do experiments on mice and rabbits with the justification that there's a lot of them and they don't have as sophisticated brains as we do.  Well, to a brilliant Alien, our minds are quite inferior, and we've overpopulated the planet, anyway, so picking off a few cowboys really won't make too much of a dent.  It's all about comparisons.

In the luxurious theatre that we saw the movie, the seat next to mine was broken, and about 300 people kept asking to sit next to us (the place was packed- cheap bastards, all of us) and we had to tell them the situation.  You know, not one of them thought twice about why there was a broken seat in the movie theatre.  "This seat is broken."  "Oh, okay."  How often does this happen?  What if I had said, "This seat has an invisible man sitting on it."  Would they have still just said, "oh okay"?  Or what if I had said, "This seat sometimes spontaneously combusts into flame"?  "So, is it available?"

My new job is pretty fun, except the espresso machine is TOTAL CRAP and my bosses know it.  I'm going to be PUSHING for a new one very soon.  In the mean time, I have to learn how to stop the damn machine from ruining all my lattes.

-Tim

Leave "well enough" alone?

Hammer.

 MC Hammer.  

I just couldn't help myself.


Julie and I got into a discussion yesterday about our duplex and our role as tenants to ask our landlord to repair the place.  I was bitching about this and the other that didn't work properly and the health hazards attached to that and she (very wisely) said, "Tim, we are only going to be here for a couple years.  Maybe we don't need to upset our landlord."

It took me a second to compose myself.  I was thinking, "But I'm right!  This place needs to be fixed up properly!  It's... the RIGHT thing to do!"  And then I thought a little longer...  I think I ended up giving a bit of a bullshit answer about how if the roof doesn't cave in on us, what if it caves in on the next tenant's little kid and now we're to blame because we didn't have our landlord fix it...  I said that I'm made of stuff a little different than other people.  I told her that other people don't have the guts or stupidity to stand up to their landlords and ask that they do their damn job.  I successfully managed to get some sympathy from my wife.  But, if I were to get off of my soap box for a minute...  I think I missed something important.

Julie understands something that I often overlook: the relationship we have with our landlord is WAY more important than ensuring that our doorknobs turn smoothly, or the banister doesn't fall off.  He's a good man, from what I can tell, and he has been coming over once a week to fix stuff or spray poison ivy, or try to help us get rid of our cockroaches.  He gave us a tour of his fricken electron lab, for crying out loud!

Sometimes when I point to a problem I forget that I'm also pointing at a human being (God has asked that I show love to) who has feelings.  It can be embarrassing to be told, "Hey, this duplex that you own is a piece of shit."  He wants to make it good... and he also wants to save a buck or two if he can by only fixing what is absolutely necessary.  I get that.  I learned that from my dad all growing up.

Plus, I'm overlooking something extremely important.  This is where we are supposed to be, and I'm learning a hell of a lot in how to upkeep a house while we are here (which will be extremely important if we ever own a house someday).  BESIDES, I got nothing else to do today, what am I bitching about?

My next projects are: seal off 3 windows that leak, put new weather stripping on 3 doors, fix the gate so it actually closes properly, fix two old wooden chairs, and find a punching bag and weight set for the basement... those are just as related as you would think.  :)

My Time

Lyrics to new song:

I am patient, yes I am
I can wait til morning light
I am prudent, yes I am
I can see through the misaligned

My time will come
I promise you this
My time will come but until then
Until then

I am careful, yes I am
I won't step on broken stairs
I am mournful, yes I am
But the light will soon be here

'Cuz a broken man once said to me
The world don't turn in harmony
For every good and perfect deed there's a penalty
And if the good Lord gave us wings to fly
We would curse him just to feel alive
There's no point in guessin' why but to wait until
Wait until

My time will come
I promise you this
My time will come, but until then

Homeless Perspective

With Julie in school, frantically filling her fixated mind with facts and philosophies, some of what she's learning about is rubbing off on me.  Right now she's finishing up a small writing assignment on the poor.  A subject that I think is easiest to write about and hardest to DO about.  I mean, I can theorize and philosophize up the wazoo about why I think they are poor and how to keep them from getting poorer and what a Christian's response to the poor should be..  But to be honest, I haven't really dealt with it in my own life.  I mean, sure Julie and I sponsor a child in Africa (his name is Shongon)  I think anyone that can save a dollar a day should do it.... but what about the smelly guy outside Walmart that asked for a dollar so he can buy himself a beer?  What about the nice looking lady on the lawn chair at the street corner with a handwritten sign saying, "I don't have a dollar to my name, please help"??  I don't know what to do in these situations, so my gut level reaction is to make a super fast judgment call ("The last thing this guy needs right now is a beer-I'll buy him a sandwich" "This lady is a phony" etc. etc.) and give accordingly.  I, by no means, endorse this kind of perspective.  But it's where I'm at.  My heart breaks when I see homelessness and poverty, but I feel so helpless.

I feel like whatever I do, it's not going to go far enough to put a dent in the real problems of our society.  For those that dedicate their lives to helping the poor turn their lives around- I thank you and I love you for what you do.  But as for my role- I feel it is too tiny to do anything more than to hopefully just brighten someone's day for a little while.

I give what I can not because I think it will do so much for them, but because the act of giving is Christian, and hopefully it will make me less stingy with what I have.  But I'm still working through all of this...

Books I've read recently

I finished my first Stephen King novel, Desperation, thanks to Jeff's suggestion.  It was exciting to get spooked out by a book again...  I give it 3 out of 5 stars.

My brilliant father-in-law gave me a copy of Generous Orthodoxy by Brian McLaren.  I found a kindred spirit in McLaren.  I love that he is completely at home with paradoxes (i.e., "I am a protestant, and I am a catholic, I am liberal and I am conservative").  He speaks truth like a kindly grandfather.  I give it 4 stars.

I reread Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell.  This guy has been making a lot of waves lately.  I appreciate this.  I find it really inspiring that a guy with all of his responsibility of pastoring a church and being in such a high profile position is still able to voice his convictions and his take on life, despite it being hard to stomach for many powerful Christian voices out there.  This book was decent- 3 out of 5 stars.

I kindled Alice's Adventures in Wonderland off of my iTouch and was overjoyed with the satire and nuances of the novel by Lewis Carroll.  4 out of 5.

I'm Kindling (is it okay that I'm using it as a verb?) The Count of Monte Cristo and have been pleasantly surprised with all of the extra background for the characters (I say "extra" because I've seen the movie dozens of times)... This is one of the first books I have read in which the main characters, Dantes and Mercedes, have barely been developed at all, while nearly all of the supporting characters are painted so vividly and undergo so much change.  I'm only 10% through it (some of you know how monstrous a book it is-- another reason why I read it thru Kindle) but I'm thoroughly hooked.

That's it.  Okay bye.

What did I do today? Glad you asked...

Julie woke me up from a dream in which I was in the movie Jack Frost with Martin Short (which I have never seen, incidentally), and I helped her roll the scooter out of the basement (it's a steep incline with a narrow doorway).  I watched a couple episodes of ridiculously stupid cartoons (the satire in American Dad is almost unbearable at times!), and then got to work.  I folded laundry, did the dishes, swept the front pathway, fixed my leather recliner, hooked up white lights in the backyard to surprise Julie (she's been asking me to do it since we moved in 3 weeks ago!), and read about 8 chapters of The Count of Monte Cristo before falling asleep.

The job hunt is kinda at a lull... I have work for the week of September 7th, but that's all until Copa Vida Coffee opens back up on October 21st.  Till then we just gotta make the money stretch!!

Oh, and I have a bicycle and it's pretty swell cuz we got it for free from our landlord.

Oh, and our new friends Naaman and Amber are taking us out to see a Shakespeare play!!  Isn't that flippin' sweet?  I think it's a Midsummer Night's Dream or Much Ado About Nothing.

Love
Tim

Fly like a robot

So I came across this "Ted Talks" episode and it intrigued me:

For those of you without the time to watch it (but for some reason the time to read my banter) it's about these inventor people who have finally done it.  They have made a robotic bird that more or less looks and acts like a real bird and can fly not using propellers or fans, but with the robotic simulation of a natural bird's flapping wings.  It's made out of carbon fiber and is remote controlled.  The bad part is that it makes a pretty loud whining noise as it flaps, and the good part is that it doesn't poop on your head.

Tim's thoughts:

Let me start by saying this is freaking rad.  But then let me also say this:

Why has it taken us so long to recreate the same style of flight as a bird?  They've been around for thousands upon millions of years, we've been around for just a bit less than that-- we've put countless things into the air that shouldn't be in the air in the first place... we've gone around the world and to the moon, but until now (as far as I know) we haven't been able to recreate a bird's flight.  They are the masters- they are the way that God arranged animals to soar through the skies-- and yet instead of copy the bird's design-- humans have created jets and helicopters and hot air balloons and gliders (all of which I love, I'm totally not knocking them).  I just wonder why the idea of flying inspired mankind to get ourselves airborne in whatever way possible, but the actual logistics of how we do it seemed to come not from nature, but from man's stubbornness to just get up there.

Perhaps there is something innate within us that resists being told how to do something by God or by anyone else.  I remember a time when I was much younger and was just learning how to tie my shoe.  I saw my brother tie his shoe earlier and it looked so easy, but when I leaned down to tie my own shoe, I was lost.  Utterly lost.  I tried this way and that but to no avail.  Instead of the pretty bow that was supposed to arise, I only got knots and more knots and bigger knots.  My parents were in the other room and I knew that all I had to do was ask and they would help, but NO! I was determined to do it myself.  Finally, minutes (or possibly hours?) I was in tears and my dad was baffled at why I didn't just come and ask. 

Throughout the course of my life my dad has often brought up this scene when I refuse his help/advice for things like love and work and finances.  I'd like to think that I've gotten better over the years.  But maybe that's just wishful thinking.

But I'd like to think I've gotten better.  How else will I hear God's gentle whispers?

Have you ever forgotten what you look like?

Since Julie and I have been moving across the country for the last two weeks, we haven't really had a chance for much... vanity, I suppose.  Camping, Motel6-ing, and driving 12+ hours everyday leaves a person somewhat disheveled.  We did our best to stay clean, mind you, but as for monitoring my appearance, I sorta forgot about that.  So here we are, at our new place (which is so cute and charming), and I'm looking into the mirror going, "Who is that??"

I have a beard!  Granted, it's a little scrappy at this point, but it's no longer just scruff!  And my eyes look older.  And, I've grown a second head!  Ok, so I lied about the 2nd head.  But still, it's alarming to not recognize yourself.  Has this ever happened to you?

Texas fights for freedom and inefficient light bulbs

So I was browsing the news today and I found this article from the Los Angeles Times:
Texas aglow with effort to save the incandescent bulb. Essentially, Texans are so mad that Government is butting into their lives and trying to tell them to only buy energy efficient bulbs that they have created a bill saying that they will buy whatever bulbs they want to buy, thank you very much, inefficient or not-- cuz it's their damn right as Americans. BOO YA!! Gimme my gun so I's can shoot the commies!!

This is ludicrous.  Freaking ludicrous.  Look, Texas, when the government says, "Please allow us to stand on your street corner and enforce a curfew of 9pm," okay, let's start a rebellion.  But when they say, "Hey, we're trying to catch up with the rest of the world in creating a greener, more efficient country-- and to do it we have to break some bad habits" you say, "Yeah, okay, you're right.  I have been a bad American."  STOP SLOWING DOWN OUR COUNTRY- FIGHT A BATTLE THAT MATTERS.

As if Texans didn't have enough of a bad rep to fight against.  Now they have another notch in the stupid stick.  

Sheesh.

Inspiration - Forced?

My friend Jeff says that sometimes he has trouble being inspired to blog.  I share that sentiment.  But not just about blogging.  About life.

What inspires you?  What in this world makes you stop and go, "Whoa-- I feel like responding in some way because of that!"

In the past it's been music- when I would hear an amazing musician I would run to my guitar and try to learn a new riff or something...  Also acting- when I would see a good actor/actress I would try to do my best impression... Maybe even Christiany stuff- I would see a pretty sunset or trees or mountains and then be inspired to pray or cry or journal.

As for now...

I'm not sure.  As far as music goes, it's been fun doing open mics and small concerts, but I miss being in a real band-- and it will be months and months until we're adjusted to Durham enough to start a band.  As far as acting-- nothing.  Christian stuff- I haven't been inspired/motivated to do anything but just sort of float along...

So I guess I could try to inspire myself to find things that are inspiring...

But that seems silly.

Guess I'm just uninspired right now.  And that's okay.

Generous Orthodoxy

My brilliant father in law gave me a book entitled "Generous Orthodoxy" by Brian Mclaren.  I've read some of his stuff in College but it never occurred to me that I might be kindred spirits with this gray-haired man until now.  I'm only 3/4 of the way through his book (that came out YEARS AGO, where was I?) but I can see that there is a path for me within God's diverse Kingdom.

I have had a somewhat colorful experience with church.  I've served on worship teams, volunteered at youth retreats, wrestled with pastors, yelled at elders, cried with ministers.  I've been accepted, adored, admired, and kicked out.  I've been taken advantage of, and I've done my share of making the church serve my own selfish purposes.  On some occasions I've lied, I've cheated, and I've given all that I am to the church.  It wasn't until my last experience that I've honestly and truly considered leaving altogether.

The pain was (and is) so great that I thought now would be a great time to get the hell out and take a hint that church isn't for folk like me.  The people like me, we don't get invited to church potlucks and "planning committees."  We walk cautiously on the outside, marveling at the strange goings on inside, and wondering why we weren't created to indulge in such bizarre (but fun looking) behaviors.  We all remember a time when we felt God's touch and we stood up to say something and were met with prejudism and harsh replies.  "How dare you challenge us?"  "Why can't you just go along with everyone?"  "You are slowing everything down"  "What do you mean, you're not a Republican?" -- these are all things that we hear on a regular basis.  Every now and then, someone says something like, "You know, we need people like you because it helps us to keep from making a potential boo-boo." But you know what they mean.  They hate you.  And it's only a matter of time that they take matters into their own hand to get rid of you.

But back to my point.... Despite the fact that I know I am not welcome in 90% of church circles-- doesn't mean that I do not have access to a community that will accept me.  It may be small and it may be hard to find, but there are people within God's Kingdom that see people like me and their hearts will be stirred because they have a similar story as mine.  I feel like Mclaren is one of those people.  Who knows, maybe if we met today he would decide I'm a lost cause as well, but I like to think that he and I would have much to talk about-- much to cry about-- and much to celebrate.

Having an Orthodoxy that's important to you, but not exclusive or stone-set is something he stresses time and time again.  We need to have the flexibility to allow God to move within our belief system.  We need to give God room to breathe.

Anyway, just some thoughts I had.  Feel free to disagree- that's the joy of it all!

-Tim

So the word is out...

Yesterday I let my boss know that we're moving.  Yes, it was difficult- I know he often looked to me to keep the store running smooth.  At times I "caught" him saying nice things about me, although he rarely did to my face.  I think there were times when I was a bit too hard on him- complained too much about the way he was so relaxed when he was running the shift so that the baristas started to dislike working with me because I kept them accountable to the job they were hired to do.  I wouldn't say anything behind his back, though, that I didn't say straight to his face.  He always knew right where I stood.  All-in-all he was a good boss-- he gave me opportunities to run the store that I wouldn't have anywhere else.  Never before have I felt so trusted.  Even in the midst of some malicious accusations against me, he stood up for me.  I hope he will say that I was a damn fine employee.  I took my job seriously, but not too seriously.  I strove for perfection, but I admitted my mistakes.  I pushed my fellow employees to succeed and our store showed it.

I'll miss my customers the most, probably.  I bonded with some of them so much that they seem closer than some members of my own family.  It will be hard to leave them, but I know that they will be so excited for Julie to succeed at Duke.  I think I will look back on my time at Folsom Peet's with fond memories.  I hope I leave a good footprint.  (And they better keep recycling while I'm gone or I'll kick some asses!!)

To those who have ever left a job without saying "Good riddance" but rather, "I'll miss you guys"-- you know how I feel.

-Tim

Sell it but don't sell out

Maybe you said it's okay
Maybe you didn't want this anymore
Maybe we should throw this away
Maybe we should sell it on ebay
Cuz maybe we didn't need this anyway
Maybe we didn't need the headache
So yes, let's throw it all out
Let's get back to just me and you
Let's just sail away on these stormy clouds
Did you bring the directions?
No, they're still at the house...
And we're not going back.
So here we are
I'm so unsure all of a sudden
Hope we didn't sell too much
Would you tell me if I made you give too much away?
Would I tell you?
With this empty house and solitary dream-
What do we have left to hold on to?

"Cup Noodles" = tasty dinner

I don't care that there's enough sodium in one cup to change the buoyancy of the Pacific Ocean-- I love Cup Noodles.  I have always wondered why they omitted the "of" in between "Cup" and "Noodles" but ya know, I don't question the masters.

Or do I?

In this case, no, no I do not question them.  You're off the hook, Cup Noodles.

Who is on the hook, you ask?

Fish!  HA HA HA HA HA!



Ahem.

So, anyway.  Julie and I threw ourselves a garage sale this morning, and it went pretty darn good!  It was hard saying goodbye to some things (like my drumset!) but I'm glad that I did.  It will be much easier to move with less clutter attached to us.  A brilliant insightful saying could come out of that, but I think it's just too obvious.

Instead I will create my own proverb:

Many times will a man push upon a brick wall... but seldom will a man push upon the door of his true destiny.

Eh.

How about this one:

To love someone is to let their strengths become your strengths and their frailties to become your place of protection.

I'll keep working on it.  ;)

Beer and UFOs

So Andrew and I finally did it.  We brewed our very own beer.  And it didn't necessarily go as smoothly as I would have hoped.  But here's a step by step journey-- I invite you to tag along.

First, we needed to get supplies so we headed over to The Brewmeister, a homebrewing supply store in Folsom.

Here's a word for word exchange (mostly) we had with Dave, an unenthusiastic employee who had already put in his two weeks:

ME: "So, we want to do a homebrew and we're brand new at it."
DAVE:  (Silence.  Dead stare.)
ME:  "So... someone said that your kits are really good."
DAVE:  "Yeah, our kits are really good."
ME:  "Of course, we could just pick out our own ingredients based on a recipe."
DAVE:  "Yeah, but then you'd be here for an hour and you'd ask me all these questions and I'd be pissed.  I just got my dream job so I don't care about this one anymore.  I've been pretty much getting drunk every night and barely being able to pay my bills."
ME:  "Okay, we'll get a kit."

100 bucks later, we've got everything we need for a Belgian Double Bock except a 4 gallon boiling pot (they wanted 85 bucks for one in Brewmeister and I said NO).  We decided a thrift store is the proper place to get a cheap pot.  And it was.  Andrew and I entered Eco Thrift with a swagger in our step.  We looked left, then right, and then felt, nay, KNEW right where it was.  Aisle three.  Second shelf.  Next to the figurines of baby Jesus.  That pot glowed--nay-- it SANG up there on that shelf.  Calling us to grasp it's shiny handles and guess at the price.  A pot this magnificent should have been priceless, but I had to look: $7.95.  THE SKY OPENED UP AND THE BABY FIGURINES SHOUTED HALLELUJAH!!!!

Ahem.  So we got the pot and headed home.  Stoked to brew, we were disheartened to find out that the yeast needed to sit out for a day before we could use it.  Looks like we needed to postpone our brew date til after Easter on Monday morning at 7am, before I had to go to work.

AAAAA!!!  Now it's Monday Morning, at 9:07AM!!!  We overslept!!  The yeast is risen!  It's risen indeed!!!  We awoke in a panic.

 Quickly we sanitized our equipment and began steeping our grain.

I was still in my bathrobe at this point.

And now it was

The dogs paced in furious anticipation.

Okay, they just sat there and looked at us funny as we kept bumping into each other.

Next we removed the grain and boiled in our malt extract (had a mini panic attack when we discovered that our friend Dave at BM forgot to give us two of our malts).

Then we added the hops (Liberty).

Kinda looks like the surface of Pluto.
Next we added little nuances like Irish Moss and Candi Rock Sugar.

We let it boil all together for awhile and then it was time to

CHILL OUT!!!

(You'll notice I am no longer in my bathrobe.)

We filled my jolly green bathtub full of cold water and chilled the wort down to a reasonable temperature before we transferred it to the primary fermenter (a bucket).

Here I am adding water and yeast and aerating the mixture.  So much fun!

We stuck a lid on it and a cool device that allows it to breathe but I always forget the name of it... let's call it a "bubble-ator."

In two days the yeast had fermented so vigorously that it had clogged our poor Bubble-ator (let's call him Alexander) and our bucket was stretched out to the max.  We decided to shift our setup to a "blow off" style after a confusing phone call to a lady named Nicole, I think, at Brewmeister.  She was trying to be helpful, but I think my lack of experience confused the crap out of her.  Andy and I made an emergency run to Home Depot to find some tubing that could work for the blow off system and VOILA!  we were back in business!  Disaster thwarted.  Alas, poor Alexander was sniffling sadly in the corner of the room as we hurled insults at him.  So stuck up.

A few days later it was time to transfer our beer to the Secondary fermenter, a carboy supplied by none other than the infamous Brewthers up at Catholic Beer Brewery in the basement of a Maple Valley Pastor (a fine gentleman of a man, to be sure) near Seattle, Washington.  They will probably point out many of my mistakes with this batch since they are seasoned professionals (and damn good looking).  Not sure what their looks have to do with it, but I just thought I should state that for the record.

Here's Andy having fun transferring the beer into our Secondary.

So, now the beer is bubbling slowly in Andy's closet.

Soon we will add the final bit of sugar and bottle it up for a few weeks.

THEN WE WILL DRINK IT AND WONDER WHY WE SPENT SO MUCH FREAKING WORK ON MAKING A MEDIOCRE BEVERAGE.

Or maybe it will be fantastic.  One of those two probably.  Cheers!