Dear Verizon, thanks for taking so long to fix my phone...

So on Monday afternoon I was sitting in my neighborhood Verizon thinking about God's love. I know that's an unusual segue, but it was a lengthy train of thought that got me from from point A (600+ missing phone contacts) to point B (God's love) so I'll spare you the details of the first half of the story. Suffice it to say, it's not because I was being pious and heaven-centered in my thinking. Rather, I was being a little neurotic and impatient, and strayed upon the topic of God's love unintentionally. Either way, that's where I ended up.

Specifically, I was thinking about something I heard recently...that God's love is so different than any human love we can know for this reason: God knows us completely AND He loves us completely...and ultimately, that's what we all desire more than anything else in life. To be known AND loved. Because most of us have experienced being known by someone who didn't love us, and lots of us can say that we have been loved by someone who didn't really know us. But so often we feel that the people that love us would quit loving us if they really knew ALL of us. Deep, deep down though, we long for the whole package...enter Jesus.

So then I was sitting in Verizon thinking about Jesus. And I was thinking about how if we love Jesus, he asks us to love others the same way we are loved by him. So we are called to know others well and love them well. Which led me to wonder how well I am knowing and loving the people in my life...maybe not very well most of the time.

Sometimes when I consider who or what I want to be and I get to thinking of an department that could really use some improvement, I try to think of people in my life that emulate those traits more effectively I do.

Which is how I came to be sitting in Verizon thinking about my friend Mary.

Mary has a gift. Seriously. She, more than anyone else I've ever met, makes a person feel known. This is why I wanted to be her friend.

Mary and I haven't always been friends. I mean, we were never enemies or anything like that, but we were simply acquaintances for a long time, first. And then one day Mary called me and said she needed an accountability partner and that I might be the person for the job. I have no idea - besides the great and wonderful providence of the Creator of the universe - why she would think that. I didn't exactly have a reputation for being organized, or consistent, or "lovingly confrontational"...things that would be good to look for in an accountability partner. But nonetheless, that's how our friendship began. After about a month of me rescheduling and canceling and flat out forgetting our plans to meet - and Mary not giving up on me - we finally started meeting weekly for coffee. What I lack in organization skills Mary has in abundance. So our accountability took the form of bulleted lists of things for which we needed prayer and help and wisdom and follow up. I was pretty honest about my own crap from the get-go, because Mary and I weren't friends yet so I figured I didn't have much to lose. If she knew all about me and decided she didn't like me...oh well. Lucky for me, that's not how things worked out. The more of my junk I told her about, the more Mary showed me love. Which doesn't make any sense, really. But that just goes to show that she was loving me with Jesus' love, and not just the world's surface-y, fair-weather-friend kind of love.

Sometimes when you share a lot about yourself with someone and they continue to love you in spite of it all, you chalk it up to their own forgetfulness.

But I knew that couldn't be the case with Mary, because I quickly learned that she has a mind like a steel trap. When we would meet every week for coffee she didn't just ask me about the things on the bullet list...she would ask me about things I had mentioned off-hand, and things I barely remembered telling her, and things I didn't even articulate but that she had picked up on. Shortly into our weekly meetings, she made me feel known. Which, like I said, is why we I wanted to be Mary's friend.

That was five or six years ago. A week ago I found myself on the other side of the state, sitting in Mary's kitchen at four a.m., in all of my messy-haired, pj'd-out, four a.m. glory. Her and her husband, Luke, just had their second baby and I had come to meet this new little person and help out for a few days. This particular night was a rough one for both little boys, which is why everyone in the house was up at four in the morning. Mary was apologizing - I suppose at the moment she was thinking that we were knowing each other a little better than even we really should. But the truth is, I couldn't have cared less right then that I was up at four in the morning with two fussy kiddos. Really, I was instead thinking that the whole situation was a lot like what God designed his church and his followers to look like...being deeply known and deeply loved, all at the same time.

I'm blessed by Mary and her family. I'm also blessed by so many other people who know me and love me anyway, not because I'm a walk in the park, but because they've been loved by Jesus and are loving me, and others, out of the overflow. I have so many of these people in my life that it's kind of ridiculous. It's an embarrassment of riches, you could say. Which is just evidence of how much God loves us.

Which is how I ended in Verizon thinking about God's love...

Freedom is not all cupcakes...

I'm currently reading a nonfiction, faith-themed book that I can't recommend. (I'll refrain from naming the book or the author, because first, I'm about to rag on it, and second, I'll probably misquote him...) I was optimistic at the beginning (it had an intriguing subtitle). Then there were some red flags mixed in with some good ideas. And now, about 3/4 of the way in to it, I'm growing weary of wading through page after page of vague, possibly-heretical fluff to find a few morsels of wisdom. I'm going to finish reading it though, because I'm compulsive like that.

The chapter I read yesterday was the one that really made me scratch my head. The author talks about what he calls his "freedom filter." The chapter is on the topic of truth, and the author states that truth can be hard to discern in this world (true). He says that a lot of people will try to tell you their own idea of truth is the final word on a particular matter (true). He says that people with more education, such as professors or pastors, do not have a corner on the truth market (true.) He says that as Christians we have the Holy Spirit, who discerns truth (true). He also says that because of that, all you need is a "freedom filter" - like his own - to discern absolute truth (what?) Ah, yes. the "freedom filter". Paul talks about it in the book of Ro...phil...inthians.

The "freedom filter" works like this:

1. You are presented with/think up a new concept, statement, idea, etc., called a "truth claim".
2. You say to yourself, "Jesus died so I could experience freedom. Does this truth claim make me feel A) more free, or does it make me feel B) sad, guilty or condemned?"
3. If A: you, my friend, have found yourself some real, genuine truth. Celebrate by making a batch of cupcakes. With pink frosting. Share them with a friend. If B: reject the truth claim. Cannot possibly be truth. Eat some cupcakes. You'll feel better. If C: you shouldn't have followed Jimmy into the cave. There are snakes and your candle has blown out. Turn to page 18 to turn back and leave Jimmy in the dark.

(Okay, so I added the part about the cupcakes. And Jimmy. But the rest of it* is pretty much what he was saying.)

I get the freedom thing. I dig it. I mean, the whole concept was Jesus' idea. His brainchild. His MO. He explicitly stated that he came to "proclaim freedom to prisoners". That we shall know the truth, and the truth shall set us free. That whoever he sets free shall be free. Indeed. I get it, and I love it. I do.

But the part in this guy's (the author who shall not be named) thinking that I feel gets a little sketch is the part where he says that Truth (being the very thing that sets us free, according to Jesus) only brings feelings and emotions associated with freedom - and never the opposite, such as feelings of bondage, slavery, guilt and condemnation. The author even gives a specific example of hearing a sermon in which the preacher leads you to believe that you are a sinner...because you sin. And believing you are a sinner does not lead to freedom. So that can't be truth. I beg to differ. And here is why.

I struggle with sin. (Yes way.) There is one sin in particular that I have struggled with for a long while - sometimes less, sometimes more - but it's been hanging around in my life, bringing death to my spirit, and I have been a willing slave to it for quite some time. The last few weeks, I've been thinking an extra lot about how sinful that sin is, and every time I think about that, and every time I give in to that sin, I feel sick. Like a rock in the pit of my stomach. This morning, I went to church and the pastor read from Matthew, where Jesus directly addresses that sin. And that rock in my stomach felt even bigger. Then I came here, to Dunn Bros Coffee, and was reading an article on the Relevant website (if you're not familiar, you should be...www.relevantmagazine.com) that directly referred to the aforementioned sin as...yeah...sin. Go figure. And the rock grew, and I felt even more sick. That rock has a name. It's called "conviction". Interestingly enough, that too is a function of the Holy Spirit. (John 16:8)

The funny thing about conviction is that it feels a lot like guilt. It's not the same thing, but as long as we're talking about feelings, guilt and conviction bear an uncanny resemblance on the emotion radar. And let me tell you...conviction, in it's earliest stages, does not feel like freedom. It feels like bondage. It feels like a rock in the pit of my stomach. It feels like I should have taken a dramamine before I went to church this morning. Conviction feels this way not because it is bondage, but because it reveals bondage.

So the other funny thing about conviction is that while it feels like bondage, it leads straight to freedom. When we decide that we don't want to walk around with this rock in our stomach any longer we can repent and seek Jesus' forgiveness. He will give it without reservation, and we are restored to freedom. Case in point, if the Holy Spirit had not convicted me of my sin, I might be still comfortably wading around in it for who knows how long, while it slowly sucks the life out of my heart. But instead this nagging cloud of "condemnation" that has been hanging over my head the last few weeks is the very thing that brought me back into right relationship with my creator - a place of extraordinary freedom.

I do, in part, understand where the author is coming from, and I don't mean to throw the baby out with the bath water. (On a side note: I used this idiom in the company of high school kids the other day and not a single one of them knew what I meant. They thought I was actually talking about throwing babies.) Paul warns us about being taken captive by empty and deceptive philosophies, namely legalism...and the author quotes that and other related scripture in "freedom filter" chapter. And I'll be the first to admit that I used to really get my kicks from being legalistic and just feeling guilty all the time. But I find that in our post-modern culture, so many of us want to freeze the pendulum on the opposite, feel-good upswing....because it doesn't make us squirmy and it looks more attractive to the world.

The thing I find though, when I try to look at the big picture of the real freedom God offers, is that the more I earnestly grieve my sin (something that makes me quite "squirmy" to say the least), the better I understand the price my freedom cost Christ, then the more deeply I can breathe when my chains are gone...and the deeper my love for Jesus.

*I don't have the book in front of me while I'm writing this, and I can't remember if the author used the word "feel" or not, when referring to the operation of his freedom filter. But for all practical purposes, I believe it was inferred that feelings were the primary gauge he was tuning in to - the chapter subtitle was, after all, "Can We Trust Our Gut?" - his conclusion is yes, we can.)

Coffee Beans, Karl Marx, and a Cookie Recipe...

I spent some twenty-thousand dollars and learned some twenty-thousand theories to obtain my college degree. Four years after graduating I remember only three of these theories: Cooley’s Looking-glass Theory, Sutherland’s Theory of Differential Association, and Marx’s Theory of Alienation

I remember the first one because Dr. Goss made us recite it verbatim for my Soc 100 final. I memorized the second one because just using the words “differential” and “association” in the same sentence makes any person sound smart, so I always keep that in my back pocket, just in case my high school kids are questioning my intelligence. And I didn’t even know that I remembered the third theory until one day a few months ago when I was pondering how it was possible I could derive so much joy from my job with Dry Creek Coffee.

Maybe it’s the way my car smells after carting 30 lbs of ground Nicaraguan into Rapid? Or the solitude (and bonus view of Harney Peak) my roasting shed provides in the midst of an otherwise chaotic schedule? Perhaps it’s the rich culture surrounding the whole coffee industry? Those are all gratifying, but they didn’t seem to account for all of said joy.

Then I had this vague recollection of learning something…in some class…once…about the proletariat being incurably miserable because they are so disconnected from the finished product of their over-specialized labor. Merely cogs in a machine. Pieces of a system. Oh yes…alienated. That’s it! Dry Creek is the anti-alienation.

Note exhibit A:

A farmer in, let’s say Guatemala, plants, harvests, and dries his coffee beans. He then ships them to a charming little company in Minneapolis called Café Imports. I call Café Imports (where I get to actually speak to one of the handful of employees whose bios are posted on the company website) and order my beans. UPS drops the beans off at my roasting shed three days later. I roast the beans, bag them and deliver them to the customer, who then calls me the following morning to report that they just had what was possibly the best cup of coffee they’ve ever had the pleasure of drinking. (That’s how it works…every time…more or less. Ha ha.)

Voila! Joy accounted for. Karl wasn’t all wrong. There is something intensely satisfying about being involved in nearly the entire process of providing a commodity, even if it is something as (I hate to even say it) trivial as coffee, especially when you receive direct positive feedback from the consumer.

So there you have it. Applied social theory. Applied undergrad degree…ha ha. Dr. Goss would be proud.

P.S. The following is a recipe for chocolate chip cookies, because, well, I love chocolate chip cookies. In full disclosure, I have never used the following recipe...I flat out stole it from bettycrocker.com, so I can't speak to the quality of resulting cookies. However, if anyone wanted to make the cookies, I would be plenty willing to participate in quality control taste-tests. Enjoy.

3/4	cup granulated sugar
3/4	cup packed brown sugar
1	cup butter or margarine, softened
1	egg
2 1/4	cups Gold Medal® all-purpose flour
1	teaspoon baking soda
1/2	teaspoon salt
1	cup coarsely chopped nuts
1	package (12 ounces) semisweet chocolatechips (2 cups)

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1. Heat oven to 375ºF.
2. Mix sugars, butter and egg in large bowl. Stir in flour, baking soda and salt (dough will be stiff). Stir in nuts and chocolate chips.
3. Drop dough by rounded tablespoonfuls about 2 inches apart onto ungreased cookie sheet.
4. Bake 8 to 10 minutes or until light brown (centers will be soft). Cool slightly; remove from cookie sheet. Cool on wire rack.

Livin' It Up, Choppin' It Down, Keepin' It Real...

Last Sunday I returned from three weeks at Young Life camp. Ahhh...long live the lore of summer camp. As a kid, the camps I attended (choir camp, church camp, horse camp) held their own special sort of...nostalgia. A certain charm of place. And I remember that when the week ended and it was time to pack my bags and head home, it was always kind of a bittersweet situation. Now that I'm an adult...well...not that much has changed.

My job puts me in the small percentage of lucky grown-ups who still get to go to camp every year. Even luckier (read blessed) is the fact that it's not just any camp I get to go to, it's Young Life camp, which is pretty much one of the best ideas any one ever had.

So every year - for the last nine summers - I get to take a crowd of my high school kids to a fantastic property for the best week of their life, where they will laugh hard and play hard and meet Jesus. It's not a bad gig, really. In addition, since coming on YL staff, I occasionally get to spend a month or so working at one of those properties. This year God and the Midwest Division powers-that-be ordained that I would be on the program team (in non-YL terms that pretty much translates directly to "fun squad") at Timber Wolf Lake, a YL camp in northern Michigan. It was a crazy, hilarious and sacred three weeks. We saw more than 1,200 middleschoolers and their leaders come through the camp, exploded eighteen 2-liter bottles of Sprite on stage, and snapped some 2,500 glow sticks. We also saw God plant countless seeds of love and change...which volunteer leaders will get to help nurture in their kids back home. Like I said...not a bad gig.

Three weeks is a while to be away from home and a job and my family and my bed and my own YL kids, so when the session was over I was mostly ready to get on back to the good old SD. But like I said, it's always a little bittersweet. Life at YL camp is, in many ways, a good snapshot of what I believe God intended life and his kingdom and his church to look like. So this week I've spent my coffee-roasting time thinking a bit about why that is, and how to recreate that environment, in part, at home. (Roasting coffee is perhaps one of the best spiritual disciplines I have encountered in this life. More on that some other time.) Below is a very short list of some of the key principles I feel I should carry over from camp to "real life" (I hesitate to use the term "real life" in this context because ultimately, God's Kingdom is more real than the broken world we live in on a daily basis...but for all intensive purposes...):

1. Every task, whether it be scrubbing a toilet, or doing the "Go Bananas" dance, or verbally proclaiming the gospel, can have something to do with glorifying God and advancing his Kingdom.
2. Living in community is a good thing.
3. Servant-hood is the most effective kind of economy.
   
4. Praying daily with other people who have a common purpose and heart and passion is another good thing.
5. Facebook, cell-phones and email are non-essentials and are no substitute for face-to-face conversation.
   
6. Shoes are optional.

A short list, but a good place to start, no? Next blog entry...principles you simply cannot or should not carry over from camp to real life. Ha ha. :)

The "F" Word

A few months ago Sarah Palin called herself a feminist. This, of course, launched some heated discussion among Palin fans and feminists (well, mostly just feminists), the question at hand being, "Is it really possible to care about women and still be pro-life?" Could there actually be such a thing as a conservative feminist? NPR's "Talk of the Nation" was discussing Palin's controversial use of the f-word and solicited callers with opinions on the topic. I couldn't dial the 800 number fast enough. Literally. I was too late and just got a busy signal. But I definitely have an opinion on the topic, and for the first time in all my year of listening to "Talk of the Nation" felt that mine was one that might be worth airing.

My point here isn't to discuss this particular issue (Palin's claim) at length because the internet is already polluted enough with a full spectrum of related thoughts (seriously...just google "sarah palin feminist") but suffice it to say that I consider myself a pro-life feminist. (Interestingly, not a single one of the callers that DID make it on the air actually put themselves in this category. Disappointing, since the existence of such a person was really the debatable issue.) What I DO want to address is the issue of perceived conflict where there actually is none.

The reason Mrs. Palin's comment garnered so much controversy is because most people view these two topics (feminism and the pro-life movement) as inherently oppositional. I beg to differ. Both movements are, essentially, issues of the value of life. Of giving voice to a population that has historically gone unheard. Of advocacy. And I'd also challenge the belief that these issues are, at their core, political issues. Rather, for Christians, they are primarily biblical. I dare say, Jesus was a pro-life feminist...and teaches us to be the same. He teaches us to love one another. And care for the poor. And the widowed. And the orphans. And the "aliens in foreign lands". And...everyone. Curiously, these are the words Jesus used. Not political words. Not religious words. Not agenda words. Just real, practical, action words about love and compassion and advocacy. So in that context - the one that focuses on Christ's teaching - things like "feminist" and "pro-life" are two branches of the same tree.

When I was in high school, at that age when most people really start toying with independent thought, the fact that many of my beliefs on human rights and equality didn't line up with my conservative republican upbringing was a source of constant internal conflict and confusion for me. My Christianity and my "flaming liberal" stance (as my family so deemed it - though true flaming liberals probably wouldn't claim me) seemed to constantly butt heads. I would listen to Ani DiFranco sing about social justice (granted, she sang about a few things that were slightly more controversial, as well) and then read in the gospels where Jesus spoke about social justice, and then go to youth group where we didn't talk much about social justice. More often, we talked about making sure we were listening to good, clean, Christian music (Ani definitely didn't fit into that category). The more I encountered this incongruity, the more confused I became (I liked to use the term "tortured soul" back then...it sounded deep and mysterious...but I digress) until finally I decided that it wasn't my job to reconcile the two parties (or Miss DiFranco and Baptists, for that matter) and that I'd be better off spending my time figuring out who this guy Jesus was, how he lived, and try my best to follow suit.

And in the person of Jesus Christ is where I found the reconciliation I had been looking for in the first place. In Him I find the voice of justice...for unborn children and their mothers alike. I find a redeeming love that puts us all on level ground - regardless of our gender or ethnicity or political standings. I find a love that constrains me to love all within my reach and to put into action Christ's teaching on these topics. (This is stated beautifully and concisely by the fine folks at Imago Dei: "Compelled by love to live out and proclaim the gospel of Jesus, the church conspires to engage culture with hope on all fronts, to advocate for the defenseless, to seek justice for the downtrodden, to lift up the downcast, to embody the fearless love of the risen Christ.")

With Jesus as the epicenter of my ever-evolving world view, these issues (abortion, social justice, feminism, etc.) are a little easier to sort out than when building an ideology on an pre-fab belief system, or subscribing to an off-the-shelf party or denomination where all the pieces don't necessarily fit together. Be warned, however, that if you do this (strive to be Biblical ahead of sliding comfortably into a socially-approved sect) you will often find yourself awkwardly straddling the waves, with your feet in multiple boats. Lucky for us, it's not about the boats.

So...in closing, we no longer need to debate whether it is possible to be pro-life and a feminist. Now we can move on to bigger issues...like "Can you really be a Christian and listen to NPR?"


A Few Related Scriptures (because you shouldn't take my word for it...seriously...):

• Micah 6:8
• Luke 10:30-37
• Jeremiah 22:3
• Romans 12:15-18
• Jeremiah 1:5
• Psalm 139
• Luke 1:44
• Exodus 21:22-25
  

Same old song and dance...

I clicked on a link to my old high school/college blog yesterday and found it missing. Five years worth of writing...gone. Of course I didn't have any of this saved anywhere...the only place it existed is the geocities server...because I'm just that responsible. So I freaked out a little bit and did some investigating (more than I really had time for) and eventually ended up in a dark and dusty HTML index loaded with the rough versions of all my entries, and an announcement in teeny, tiny little letters that read, "All Geocities websites will be disabled and deleted as of October 26, 2009. Your web site will no longer be accessible after this date." ??? Thanks for the MEMO! Anyhow, I copied and pasted it in 8 point font to 144 pages of word document. Dodge impending disaster...check.

All that to say...that while copying and pasting all those entries, I got a little caught up in reading more than a few of them. And discovered that, if I were to categorize my entries, the largest topic would be "Materialism: in my life and otherwise". I've written on it more than I realized. And think about it exponentially more than I write about it. It's a recurring theme in my life...wondering how Jesus feels about my finances and my use of them.

I recently returned from a trip to Swaziland, where 69% of the rural population lives below the poverty line of E57 (Emalangeni - the national currency) a month. That translates to $7.12. A month.

Needless to say...I could write a little more on the topic of the epidemic of materialism following that trip.

So I guess what I'm wondering now...is that if this is a constant issue on my mind...something the Lord keeps laying on my heart...over and over and over again...what am I supposed to do about it?

Maybe I'm missing the ball...

Sociology Rant #3,767...

I went and saw "Confessions of a Shopaholic" this weekend. As romantic comedies go, it was a cute little feel-good film. Comical and clean with a quirky-but-lovable heroine and a beautiful, flawless (in terms of both character and physique) boy for her to fall for. The dialogue is cliche but not sickeningly so, and all the loose ends are neatly tied by the end of the movie. There are even a few morsels of truth scattered throughout the script, so I really don't have any reason to complain.

But I'm going to anyway.

Not about the movie, actually. It was a decent movie. It's what the movie reveals about our culture that I'm taking issue with.

Let's just take for instance, the title. "Confessions of a Shopaholic."; obviously, it's a story about people who are addicted to shopping. Addicted to shopping. Yes.

I know that this is a legitimate addiction. I mean, I don't think it's been classified in the DSM-IV yet, but I know that it is something that people really struggle with. I can relate to that feeling that somehow, when you are blue, all you need is a little iTunes spree, or a new pair of shoes (the shoes get me almost every time) or even just a new piece of...tupperware...and somehow you will forget your troubles - because you have something - anything - new and shiny and in colorful packaging to take home. (Of course, it's never as attractive once in my cluttered cupboard or closet as it was on that neatly stacked store shelf.)

Whether or not you would consider yourself a full-fledged shopaholic, or just occasionally guilty of consumption-for-the-sake-of-a-seratonin-boost, most of us Americans have an issue - to some degree - with unneccesary spending.

It's humorous when you are watching the movie (which I paid nearly $10 to see, I might add) and not-so-humorous if you are one of the average American households with over $9,800 in credit card debt. But its simply absurd when you take a step back and view it from a global perspective.

Globally, we live in a world where nearly 30,000 children die daily from malnutrition. The poorest 10% of the worlds population account for just 0.5% and the wealthiest 10% account for 59% of all consumption. (www.globalissues.org)

However, nationally, we live in a world where, for many of us, our biggest issues stem from spending more than we have to buy things we don't need. We've even labeled our compulsive tendencies to acquire piles of crap with victim-mentality terminology and formed support groups to talk us through our addiction and walk us through the purging of those piles of crap.

Economically, this living-above-our-means has finally sent us into a national financial tailspin. The solution? Let's spend more money we don't have to create jobs producing more things we don't need so we can make more money and start all over consuming these things...and on and on and on.

It's embarrassing.

It's not just our issue of obscene spending habits that is disconcerting. As a nation, we are depressed and lonely and empty. Our young men are killing themselves (The Rosebud Indian Reservation has the highest per-capita suicide rate in the world). Our young women are starving themselves (75% of American women have eating issues of some kind). And our socially approved genocide wipes out over 1.6 million unborn babies, by choice of their mothers, annually.

Meanwhile, in the Middle East, young men are ordered - by their own governments - to kill their friends and brothers. In Mauritania, young girls worry about having enough to eat, not about eating too much. And in Sierra Leone, 26% of children do not live past their fifth birthday.

Like I said, from that perspective, things get kind of embarrassing.

Please don't misunderstand me. I am not trying to make light of our country's social problems. They are very real and very devastating. I am also not trying to induce hopelessness or anti-patriotism. I just want us (me) to have a better perspective. I want to better understand that the answers to our problems and emptiness (whether they are impulsive purchases, or distorted body images, or making next months car payment - all things I worry about) are not going to come from a new president, a new bail out plan, a new diet, or a new set of tupperware. Nor will these things save children's lives in Sierra Leone.

The only thing that will solve any of these issues is recognizing the redeeming love and sufficiency of Our Maker for all of humanity, and consequently turning our gaze outside of ourselves to relieve, if even in the tiniest way, the suffering of those whose problems we can with the resources we have.

The First Amendment, Null & Void...Because Mom Says So

As you may have noticed, it's the end of the year. And everyone who's anyone who writes for a blog or a webzine or a newspaper is busy making lists of the "Best Of" and the "Worst Of" and the Most Outrageous Of" for 2008. I normally shy away from jumping on the bandwagon, but I love lists. So I decided to make my own. It's not a "best of" or "worst of". No, I decided the greatest way to wrap up another year was simply to make a list of...

"Topics Banned From the Eben Family's 2008 Christmas Dinner Table"

I should explain that this list is one that is made by my mother, and is formed comprehensively. As the meal, and lively conversation, takes place, my mother continues to add to the list as necessary, and as she sees fit. Basically any subjects that would incite any kind of conflict whatsoever are added to the list. There were only four forbidden topics this year, which either indicates that my siblings and I have become more civil, less intelligent, abnormally non-confrontational, or altogether nonverbal. I'm hoping it's the first. Anyway, here's the list:

#1) Jesus (specifically, how to best share his love with rock climbers)
#2) Politics (specifically, the impending Obama presidency)
#3) Music (specifically, Sufjan Stevens and his musical genius or lack-there-of)
and...
#4) High Fructose Corn Syrup (I'm not kidding)

There you have it. I, of course, will probably find it necessary to write more about the beginning of the new year, because I'm sentimental like that, and because I've taken a few days off and have a little more time than normal to write. So, stay tuned.

Sheep Poop and Sinners

I love NPR. I've been an avid listener since high school. By "love", I don't simply mean that it is my primary news source. I mean "love" as in I actually look forward to Science Friday, and Talk of the Nation, and I feel like Terry Gross and I are (or at least could be) good friends. I adore her. Weird. I know. But it's like a work of art to me: form and function all rolled into one little radio station.

Anyhow, while trying to counter the influence of high school drama on my life (it is embarrassingly easy to get sucked into when you are around teenagers all the time - like a cultural vacuum) I was reading up on a few news stories on www.npr.org this morning. I ran across this feature article: Selling the Bawdy Side of Christmas. It's a fairly average little commentary about the ever-increasing secularization of Christmas. Nothing, really, that I didn't already know. What I did really enjoy, however were the following included quotes (italics added by me) by Amy Laura Hall, a professor of theological ethics at Duke University (regarding the holiday juxtaposition of sacred and secular that has so many religious folk in a tizzy these days) :

"Christmas was, from the beginning, both holy and horrible, sacred and scary. There isn't an easy way to make it all hygienic, because the incarnation mixes God up with sheep poop and sinners." In the end, she says, it's somewhat fitting that Christmas has become an admixture of naughtiness and niceness. The contemplation of the humanity of the holiday — as well as the holiness — may make it more real than ever. As Hall puts it, "We doubt, with Thomas the disciple, that a Jesus all spiffed up and safe is real."

Kudos to Miss Hall. This is the most spiritually true and profound thing I have heard all week.

Today I moved into my new office. My first ever office. Prior to this week, I have used my home (no internet), various coffee shops (great, but not a single decent one open year round in the towns I live or work in most often), my car (no room for a file cabinet...also no mailing address) and various hiking trails throughout the Black Hills (tough to explain to the boss) as office space. So, though it scares me a bit to have a single, designated location at which I am expected to be much of the time, (I had a job like that once before - I'm so over it) it will probably be good for me. It will hopefully help me structure my time a bit more. And, save me about $30/week in coffee money.

After we got all my stuff moved in - which is not much, at this point - I sat down (in a wooden, kitchen table-type chair, because I don't have a desk chair yet) and...wondered, "What do I do next?" Since I'm not really sure what people with my job actually DO with their offices most of the time, I decided to start with the obvious. Decorate.

And then I remembered that I don't really have a budget for decorating an office right before Christmas. So I just sat there for a bit and looked out the window - which happens to look right out on the Mickelson trail - and realized that I might need to board up the window...or I'll just end up back on the trail, calling it my office again...

I know the sun's still shining when I close my eyes...

Yesterday, in an effort to cure my cabin fever, I decided to run around in the snowy woods with an old friend and a new friend all afternoon. So I was in a cave...literally, in a cave...when my grandmother had a heart attack, and I missed multiple phone calls of varying urgency from family members. When I came back into town and they were finally able to reach me, I met my parents and my sister and brother in the hospital cardiac cath lab waiting room.

After they moved my grandma out of recovery and into a room in the ICU, I stood by her bed, making dumb jokes about the terrible decor and watched while they hooked and unhooked wires and tubes and pumps and electro-sticky-tabs from her tired, slight body. Then I had to leave her there, because they had to remove a pressure device from her artery, and I would have been in the way.

So I went to the store to buy eggs. On the way there, I was rear-ended. The lady that hit me said she was very sorry. I got her phone number, but I don't think I will ever call her. It's barely a scratch. I bought my eggs and went home and watched my friend make brownies in my kitchen, since I don't really like to make brownies. And I drank coffee while another friend tuned my guitar, since I'm not very good at tuning my guitar. And when it was tuned, I hummed harmonies while my friends played my bongos (I'm not so hot at the bongos, either) and my guitar and my tambourine and it made beautiful tribal-sounding worship music.

After they left, a different friend called to tell me a funny story about his blind date and an almost funny joke that I can't remember at all. And my mom called to tell me that my Grandma was already looking better than she had looked when I saw her. Then I crawled in bed under my down comforter (God bless the man that invented down comforters) lined my face up just right with the slanty slice of moonlight pouring across my pillows and prayed for my Grandma. I prayed that she would heal up fast and not have any complications, but mostly I prayed that she would know how valuable she is, and how loved she is, and how much grace is still to be had in life, just when it seems we must have used it all up.

Red Beans & Rice...

I am sitting on the kitchen counter next to my stove. In my sweats. Reading Anne Lamott and listening to Flogging Molly, and stirring my red beans and rice every once in a while so it doesn’t stick to the pot while it simmers. It is the day following a snow day. I hate the day following a snow day. It’s like the day following a sick day from work, when you wake up and realize that your throat still hurts, but not as much as it did, and you still have a headache, but it is not quite a legitimate one to justify another day off. So it is with the day following a snow day. You can’t, with a clear conscience, curl up in the papasan and watch 6 more episodes of The Office on DVD. If you want to at least be up to par with the rest of productive humanity in your area, you need to go dig your car out of its snowy cocoon and get with the program. Which doesn’t really explain why I’m still in my sweats at two in the afternoon…

My two-cents about todays election...

I am far more disturbed by the way I see the Church in our country handling this election (and most elections, for that matter), than by the thought of any one candidate taking over the presidency.


“How we need to be freed from the illusion that we’re doing anything kingdom by voting a certain way every couple years! How we need to wake up to the truth that we vote for or against the Kingdom every day of our life. We vote by how we spend our money and time. We vote by where we live, who we hang out with, the kind of car we drive and the kind of clothes we wear. In the Kingdom, we vote with our lives, not in a booth expressing our opinion about what Caesar should do.” - Dr. Gregory Boyd

"The Truth is Out There...

...I'd go looking for it if I wasn't so busy looking for my car keys."

I have written and deleted no less than six essays on the topic of the circus that is the 2008 presidential election. At this point, I am not sorry to say that I am still undecided on my vote. I've been holding out on account of lack of good information and lack of any idea as to where to get good information. As I'm sure you are all aware, educating yourself on "the issues" is easily a full-time job, and and even as a relatively well-read and educated citizen, wading through the BS is overwhelming and disheartening. However, I recently stumbled across www.2008election.procon.org. As far as I can tell, it is relatively naked facts about the candidates and their stances on various issues. I'm sure there is a slant hidden in there somewhere, but I haven't found it yet. If any of you are feeling as bewildered as I have been about the situation, I encourage you to check it out.

Materialism and The Epic Monopoly Battle

It's a classic tale of the glorious rise and subsequent fall of someone to and from economic power. A tale of scandal and corruption and greed. A tale I like to call, "The Epic Monopoly Battle." It all started on a snowy afternoon in Bozeman, Montana. One Starbucks employee, one Young Life staffer, and several high schoolers. None of us what you might call "exceedingly wealthy." But over the course of ten hours, (that's right - ten hours) we went from rags to riches and...back to rags again. Except for Sharon, who won the game and conquered the world with some $30 billion racked up on her Monopoly Visa. (If you are not familiar with the new electronic variety of the classic board game, you might want to check it out...unless you are a purist and have an affinity for pastel paper money.) I came in second place with...zero dollars. I fought to the death, but just like in real life, I had about a trillion dollars and a hotel on Broadway at lunch time and by 3:oopm I was living in a cardboard box under a bridge and fending off evil rent collectors (i.e. Sharon) with Snickers Bars. Such is life.

I struggle constantly with having a Godly view of finances. I can be very judgmental of affluent people and often have guilt for having nice things or spending money on things that aren't necessities. Something deep inside of me longs to purge my life of all my possessions and the way they almost own me rather than me owning them. I think: I could give it all away and be much more contented. On the other hand, I want stuff. I want and want and want. I want expensive Patagonia baselayers and paintings by local artists (particularly the orange and red one of leaves that is hanging by the door at Common Grounds in Spearfish) to put in my living room and a car I can talk off-roading and a kayak and a tent and a plane ticket so I can spend a week floating on my back in the Mediterranean Sea. And shoes; oh, how I want shoes! I also want to eat at Q-Doba every day, and believe me, that adds up pretty fast.

Biblically, Jesus talks about the perks of poverty - it seems he feels that generally speaking, people who are just getting by are more apt to have correct world views, a greater dependency on him, and increased love and compassion for others. On the other hand, in the old testament, God was often blessing the good guys with riches. So it's obviously not the being rich that is the problem.

I suppose it boils down to healthy balance - constantly remembering that what I have is not mine...but that it is entrusted to me to manage with wisdom and generosity.

Hmmm. Any thoughts from the rest of you?

Bridesmaid Dresses, Baby Birds, and a Broken Heart

...plus bluegrass, bicycles, and being home.

Part III

I promised I'd finish out this polytopical (I think I just made that word up) post sooner or later...and I'm following through. Even if it takes me all summer.

On the subject of bluegrass music:

#1) I really, really, really like it.
#2) Unfortunately, the only bluegrass I've really gotten to listen to this summer was half of the gospel show on the tail end of the Black Hills Bluegrass Festival the morning after returning from Young Life camp.
#3) Jalan Crossland will be in Hill City a month from today! Oh, be still my beating heart!!! (There's nothing quite like a banjo and a man who can play it...)

If this is my biggest concern, I have nothing to worry about...

I decided after three years of not wearing my retainers and increasingly crooked teeth and an ever growing sense of guilt over the thousands of dollars my parents invested in braces while I was in high school...to start wearing my retainers again. Now I have a perpetual tooth ache, and a still imperfect smile. Humph.

Bridesmaid Dresses, Baby Birds, and a Broken Heart

..also bluegrass, bicycles, and being home.

Part 2

I suffer from apathy. This is a pretty huge problem on many levels...but especially critical when your job is based on feeling passionate about a need in the lives of other people. And it's not necessarily that I don't care at all. But I definitely don't care enough. I mean, there are lots of things we say we care about. I care about the environment. I care about political activism. I care about homelessness. I care about nuclear warfare. I care about being healthy and buying locally and getting out of debt. But we all have priorities...and things we really, really care about. Things that affect the way we live and the decisions we make.

So when it comes to the kids that I work with, I frequently feel convicted that I don't care as much as Jesus wants me to. I love them, but I know I am usually complacent with my love for them. Complacent with their hearts. And when I really think about it, complacency is not okay.

I don't think Christ is complacent in his love for me. I don't think he's okay with me being where I'm at. I know that he loves me...right where I am...no small print, no strings attached, no prerequisites. But that love -true love- is only love if it desires more for me. A parent loves their child immensely, just how they are in the present, but still desires change and growth and victory over struggles. Therefore, I'm thinking that's how he wants me to love other people. A love that is not content with the current state of affairs.

This is a love that is a bit foreign to our human way of thinking.

So, in the last year, I've found myself praying over and over and over again for God to help me not be complacent. To see people the way he sees people. To love people the way he loves people. To break my heart for the things his heart breaks for.

Just a little tip...don't pray for something like a broken heart without first considering the consequences. That is what I did. Because to be honest, when I prayed for those things...the seeing people and loving people and broken heart stuff...all stuff that sounds quite noble, I prayed for those things for that reason: because they sounded noble. I didn't give any serious thought to what the ramifications of such a request might be. I also didn't take God very seriously...I think I was thinking he wasn't going to deliver.

I was wrong.

Sometimes I imagine what God might be saying when he's working in my life...and this time it went something like this: "Oh, so you want to know what it feels like to love people? What it feels like to really love people who are hurting and broken and running from their only source of hope and freedom and light? Okay. Fine. I'll give you just a teeny, tiny glimpse...because that's all you can handle."

So just for the record...broken hearts hurt. They suck. For the first time in my life, over the last few weeks, I have felt a sincere, urgent sympathy and compassion and broken-ness and love for some of the kids I work with. I have wept and lost sleep and been discontented with their current state of affairs. With their need for Christ. And it has been a very good thing.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not cured of apathy. And I'm not claiming to suddenly have this superhuman ability to love people just like Jesus loves them. Like I said earlier, I think it's just this little sliver of what Christ's love is like. But if this is just a sliver, can you imagine the immensity of his love for us?

"This is but the fringes..." Shane & Shane

Bridesmaid Dresses, Baby Birds, and a Broken Heart

also...bluegrass, bicycles and being home.

Part 1
One of my favorite features of my little house in the woods is the wrap-around porch. From the wicker chairs on the south-facing side of the house, you look across the horse pasture at a grove of aspens, behind which are ponderosa pines and blue spruce covering a hill that rises to where the ridge meets the blue sky. It's pure Black Hills beauty at it's best. When I first moved into the house, I couldn't wait to sit on the porch in the mornings - drinking coffee, smelling the pines, watching the ridge change color with the rising sun, and listening to the birds...oh! It would be divine!

However, I quickly discovered that, though the porch is attached to my house, it is not mine. Nope. It belongs exclusively to a small black and white swallow who set up camp in the birdhouse directly above the wicker chairs. And she is violently opposed to my watching the ridge change color with the sunrise while sitting anywhere near her home. I tried on several occasions to be diplomatic about the situation...explained to her (while she repeatedly dive-bombed my head) that I meant no harm, that it was a big porch, that we could peacefully co-habitate the space. But she would have none of it. So I gave in and settled for the east-facing side of the porch. Fine. She can have the view of the pasture. I'll take the view of the...shed.

Well, after spending most of the month of June away from home, I thought maybe I would try again. With the exception of coming and going, I had not spent any time on my porch in several weeks and thought maybe that was adequate time for little Miss Birdie to reconsider her hostilities. So this morning I grabbed my cup of coffee and ever-so-stealthily slipped out the screen door and into the wicker chair. I maybe had three minutes of peace and quiet and the aroma of pines when all of a sudden, from across the pasture, came the angry bird...chirping and swooping for me to leave. Then I heard it: the tiniest little baby chirps coming from inside the birdhouse. Aha. She was not just an angry bird. She was an angry momma bird...just doing her job. Mmmm. Warm fuzzies. As I was getting up to vacate the premises, I spotted a little ball of gray fluff on the deck below the bird house. It was one of the baby birds who had fallen from the nest, and not survived.

Now, I know that in the grand scheme of things, this is only a minor tragedy, if that. But I felt this strange pang of sorrow over the situation. I suddenly felt like I was six years old...that I should scoop up the baby bird and go running to my mom. And then I felt annoyed. At God. In Matthew 10:29, Jesus said that not even a sparrow falls to the ground apart from the knowledge of the Father. So, my question is, why do they fall in the first place? If he knows all about it, then why can't he keep them from falling? Maybe it shouldn't matter to me so much, but it obviously matters to the momma bird, who was violently, instinctively protective of her babies.

And if he cares about baby birds, then what about Luke and Mary's baby Josh? If God sees baby birds fall, then I know that he sees the mysterious anemia that continues to plague Josh's little body. I know that he hears the fervent prayers of Luke and Mary, of myself, of friends and family across the country. I know he hears. But I don't know why he doesn't heal him.

I know he sees Riss and Jade...two little girls that he knit tightly into my heart. I know he sees them and their precarious circumstances...being tossed about like little leaves in the wind...never knowing where they will land next. I know he sees them. But I don't know why he doesn't rescue them.

I know some things, but there are many more I don't understand.

I apologize to the momma swallow for being a perceived threat to her precious babies. I apologize for the loss of her little one. And I take my coffee to the east porch.

I almost met my match.

"When in doubt, call a man." - My Mom.

This is her philosophy when it comes to lifting heavy objects, smelling rotten food, and fixing all things mechanical. Don't get me wrong. She is a very intelligent, capable woman. She, like many women, has just happened to choose a few (or a slew of) tasks which she detests and/or feels men are more...accustomed to.

I beg to differ, and have thus rebelled on this subject for many years now. My mantra has, since high school, been "Never, ever call a man." This motto has led to me changing my own tires in the dark on the side of the interstate (note to my high school and middle school girls: I do not endorse this kind of dangerous, irresponsible, high-risk behavior), threaten my college roommate with physical violence when she suggested we not fix our own broken toilet, and devising some very creative ways of moving large pieces of furniture.

But, to all who feel that this "fierce independence" is a negative trait, I want to you all to know that, just the other night, I found myself in a situation that, well, necessitated...um...

...calling a man.

That's right. I said it. I did it. I telephoned my father for assistance.

You see, it was really a dire situation. I want to be sure to clarify that it did not involve car trouble, heavy objects, leaky faucets or pickle jars with impossibly tight lids. Nope. Much, MUCH worse than that. A dead mouse.

I was just going about my business the other evening, chatting on the phone with Em about natural child birth and cloth versus disposable diapers (I'm getting old, aren't I?), fixing up some late-night mac'n'cheese, when I noticed a slightly mysterious odor emanating from one of my kitchen cupboards. I dismissed the smell, because my house is old, and has a lot of mysterious odors. Opening a drawer to look for a wooden spoon released a more pungent frangrance. The kind that should not be ignored. Hrmmm. With fear and trepidation I decided to investigate further. I quick peek into the cupboard under the sink revealed a completely rancid smell and the source of the funk. Poor little Mickey. He had not gone quietly. Evidence suggests he fought to the death. But when your little head is tightly clamped in a spring-loaded device of torture, and you don't have opposable thumbs, and there is no one around to hear your cries for help, your don't really stand much of a chance.

I would like to take just a moment at this point in the story to state that I do not have a weak stomach. I worked for a podiatrist for five years and saw lot's and lot's of repulsive things...fully avulsed toenails, gangrenous infections, amputations...that sort of thing. But nothing makes me weak in the knees like a dead animal...especially one that is mangled...and reeks...and is in my kitchen...lying in a puddle of blood...and has apparently been so for more than a few days.

So, when I gained my composure and bid farewell to Emily, I sucked up my pride and did what any self-respecting feminist does in this situation. I called my dad who lives 25 minutes away and asked him to come handle the situation. Let me point out here, too, that my dad is the first person to encourage me to call if I ever need anything (for some reason he's not a big fan of me changing my own tires on the side of the road in the dark...?). So I was merely complying with his wishes and giving him opportunity to be needed, come to the rescue of his little girl and exercise his masculinity. And outrage of all outrages...

HE WOULDN'T COME!!! He told me to call, so I called, and HE WOULDN'T COME!!! Something about it being midnight, and raining, and the mouse being dead and harmelss. He told me to take care of it myself. He even offered me a few suggestions. Paper towels. Plastic bags. Rubber gloves. But he WOULDN'T COME!

You see? You see why I don't call men? Because they WANT to be needed by women, but when we are truly in a desperate circumstance, they want you to deal with your OWN dead mouse. Figures....ha ha.

So, in closing, I want you all to know that I did take care of my own dead mouse. With a stick. Holding my breath. And trying not to look. It was quite traumatic. But, now that I've faced that fear, I'm pretty much sure that there isn't anything left that I can't handle...