Into the Wild

Well, this might be a first! A double header of sorts! I know, I know. I just posted yesterday, but Rach and I just got back from seeing the movie Into the Wild and I wanted to say something about it. First, I think it's a great movie to see. I read the book about 9 years ago and it was influential for me then. For those of you who don't know the story, it's about a man named Chris, who, after graduating from Emory, gives away his savings for graduate school, drops off the face of the earth, and travels the American West. He meets lots of different characters along the way and makes a few really great friendships. But in the end he makes a miscalculation while living in the Alaskan wilderness and, instead of making it home to tell the tale, he dies of starvation. His story is pieced together in a remarkable way by the author Jon Krakauer.

I think being able to reflect on the story again, these several years later, is telling. All of it touched me in different ways. Watching Chris' story, I thought of different moments in my own life this time around because different things have happened these last 9 years. I've met wonderful new friends, loved them, and had to say goodbye to them, and gone on to meet more. I've married and my parents have divorced and married again. I've become a father (and will again soon enough here).

What really got me at the end of the movie was this feeling that all I needed, I already had, if I would just be content to take it. This world has it's very real issues, and it will all come crashing down some day, making way for the new, but until then I've still got every resource I need to really be happy in the way God intended for me to be. Although I constantly chase after other things, walking out of the theater and through the Eden Prairie Mall, even though I was bombarded by most of those things I chase, I was for a moment content. Content to shuffle along as slowly as my wife would allow and soak it all in, content to give thanks for her and for a moment to hold her hand. Although she's not the totality of it, she is earning the lion's share of my attention and love, and she reminds me of those others, those friends and family, those sisters and brothers and fathers and mothers whom I have loved and whose love I have so profoundly received. So thanks friends, and thanks Movie Man. I need those moments in my life and you gave it to me tonight.

If none of this makes sense to you, check out the movie (or better yet the book) and give me a call. We probably need to catch up anyway.

Counting (er.. Burying) your blessings (er.. talents)

So I haven't posted in quite some time. Not because I haven't thought of a few things here and there to say but, quite frankly, I haven't taken the time. Tonight I was reading out of a book called "White Like Me". It's been a great book for me to read and I highly recommend it. One sentence really struck me, and I happened to be right next to the computer, so I have no excuse right? I'll quote the whole paragraph for a bit of added context. Basically, the author, a white man, is sharing a point raised by a woman of color during a Q & A session following one of his lectures. Her point is about how rare it is for people, even once they see the problem of racist, or classist, or whatever kind of privilege, to give it up. Here's the quote:

The point she was trying to make was simple enough: people with an advantage are typically reluctant to give it up, irrespective of their goodness, because in a society rooted in cut-throat competition, if you aren't the one with the edge you tend to fear that someone else will get the edge over you, and you'll be the one to go without. There's a reason parents used to tell their kids things like, "Eat all your food, there are children starving in China" rather than, "Stop eating so much. We need to box up some of this food and send it to the kids who are starving in China." Likewise, when we're told to "count our blessings" we are rarely then admonished to give them away.

That last sentence simply struck me. God help me live differently in this world. God help me raise my kids to be dreamers of a different dream and to be doers of a different thing. This is everywhere, within and without. This is Adam's sin and it is our own. This is the spirit of the anti-christ. This is horrible.

Small rewards

So, many of you know that I commute to work on my bicycle. I have been for years. It's something I learned at college and happily continue for a number of reasons. Now, my commute isn't all that long (about 10 miles round trip) and although I feel it is a significant thing to do for our world, most days I'm just excited to stretch my legs, burn a few calories, and enjoy some time to think. But yesterday, as I was riding to work, there was a strong smell of fuel as I passed an intersection, like someone had spilled a bunch of gas on the ground. While I was thinking about where the smell could be coming from, a diesel pickup truck passed me and I sucked in a lung-full of its exhaust. Then one clear thought struck me - it certainly didn't come from me! Now I know that bikes aren't totally pollution-free. Everything about a bicycle involves petroleum, whether you're talking about the tires or the lube which are made from petroleum, or the manufacturing or distribution of the metal components, which involves fuel consumption. But all that said, it was a good feeling to know without a doubt, I wasn't putting any strange odors in the air that day (well, unless you count the locker room...)

Information Age

Well, we certainly live in an information age. There are so many things that I can find out these days through google. And Wikipedia! Wow, what a blessing! Sometimes it scares me how good I am at finding out random stuff on the internet. Like the other day I found out the contact info for a gal that Mrs. B used to work for. She needed the info for her resume. I couldn't even remember the lady's name so I googled an activity that I remembered that she participated in and found her name and then googled her name and found her new married name and then googled that and found a reference about her new job and then found her contact info along with a picture to confirm that it was indeed the lady I was looking for! Pretty cool, huh? But tonight I found myself thinking of a friend that I hadn't heard from for some time. I've called her several times but have gotten no response. I hope she's well but I worry about her some. I was thinking that even though I live in this information age, I don't have a clue how my friend is. There is a lot that google just can't show me. But friend, if you're reading this, I'm praying for you. I love you. Give me a call.

Seeing things

My little girl looks a lot like me, especially when I was her age. I really like looking at her because there is something really neat about seeing the fun little kid in me personified in her smile. (There is some pain when I see the cranky, pouty kid in me personified in her as well, but let's stay on the positive for now!) And I've often thought about the parrallel between this joy and the joy God has seeing his good image in us. But the other night I found myself seeing something really new.

I was hanging out with Mini-B the other night and just telling here some secrets. Actually, they weren't really secrets, but sometimes I tell her things like they're secrets. The other night I was telling her how much I loved her mom. I was telling her how special her mom is to me and then telling her a number of reasons why. Then I began telling my daughter how much I loved her and several reasons why. One of the reasons was that I liked to see the little kid in me in her. And as I was talking I began to realize that I also saw a ton of my wife in my daughter. And I really liked that. That was the first time that I really saw her as being made in the image of not just myself but of my wife as well. And I had just as much (perhaps more) joy seeing the fun little kid in my wife living herself out all over again in my daughter. Maybe I'm the last on this planet to get this but I never thought about the way God the Father must love it when he sees his son expressed in us and the way that God the Son must love it when he sees in us the image of his father. I think there is more to think through on this but I wanted to share this. There i sthis whole other way that God loves us/enjoys us that I never saw before and there is this whole other element to our image bearing than I never saw before.

Bodyworlds... Is beauty only skin deep?

My friend Rachel put a post on her blog about the controversial Bodyworlds exhibit in Houston last month. Her friend Heather posted a comment that I've been thinking about for close to a month now. You can find the original post here.

Here is an excerpt from Heather's comments:

While we were there, walking around, looking at each body I was overcome with how fragile we are…how we all look the same with out our skin on…how things like looks and appearance really are such a shallow part of our nature…and how amazing it is that God can even make one of those bodies…much less all of them, with their detail…really, I was OVERCOME in that place with a sense of wonder at who our God is and that He makes something as complex and delicate as our bodies work so beautifully. I left that day telling God that He is awesome…and reminding my kids that we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

I just can't get past these observations. I've thought about them over and over, whenever I see a trendy outfit or a slick new gadget or an expensive home. I'm by no means ready to discard the value of exterior aesthetics, but I am becoming increasingly aware of how shallow it is. Our skin, clothes, hairstyle, and muscular tone make up such a small fraction of our wonderful bodies which in turn make up only a small part of who we are. I hope anyone reading this will appreciate these thoughts as much as I have.

America... My Pile of Dirt

I just realized that I really do love America. I love the place, the land, the people, even with all the drama, all the hype, all the hard stuff. What I don't love are the stories. The America that we talk about as being righteous, pure, somehow a god in its own right. I mean don't get me wrong, I think I live a privileged life here in many ways, but I love America because it's where I was planted, not because I conquered it. Its citizens are my people by birthright, not because they deserve to be. I love this dirt.