Voices From The Outfield

Yanks-Twins game 1, post 9

2009-10-07T18:12:00.000-07:00

Top 8:

Funny how much less dangerous Mauer seems in this spot aa opposed to last inning: leading off with no one on base and a five-run lead. Let him swing away. See, in this spot, that hit is no big deal.

Good to see Joba getting loose. Let him throw the 9th, get his bullpen feet back under him. (Unrelated note: don't they issue new hats for the postseason? Seriously, Joba? Your lid looks like it's mid-August and you're still working the one you got in spring training.)

Hughes could use a double play here. Although that strikeout was pretty nice, too. Good work, kid.

Good to see Tex brought his leather to work. A one pitch night for Coker...give way to Joba! Two pitches and he's out of the 8th!

Yanks-Twins game 1, post 8

2009-10-07T18:02:00.000-07:00

Bottom 7:

A-Rod drives in another run! Could it be that the demons are really behind him?

Between Jeet and A-Rod, this offense is rolling! And that doesn't even factor in Swisher and Matsui. If Tex gets going, too, this is going to be special!

Yanks-Twins game 1, post 7

2009-10-07T17:29:00.000-07:00

Top 7:

CC. So good. I've read some who suggest the Yanks have pitching issues, but when this guy can throw multiple starts in any series this fall, I'd say they're in good shape.

I'd love to see Girardi let him finish this inning, but there's no reason to let it get hairy, either. Cannot let the tying run come to the plate.

Posada's work behind the plate tonight has been an adventure. Good block, but then...what happened?

Nice throw from Swisher on Span's fly ball. Even nicer cheer from the Bronx faithful as CC leaves the game.

Here comes Hughesy.

I like Hughesy's approach to OC: climb the ladder, go 95 in his eyes, but he's gotta drop the hammer. (Phil Coke warming...Nick Turturro is dying right now.) Full count...CAN'T let Mauer come to the plate here. C'mon Phil! TAKE THAT! Done.

Yanks-Twins game 1, post 6

2009-10-07T17:19:00.001-07:00

Middle 6:

This is what CC cashes the big checks for, folks. 19 wins were nice, but this is the Yankees and everything's a prelude to this month. And this is what October used to feel like. It's good to be back to normal.

Yanks-Twins game 1, post 5

2009-10-07T17:04:00.000-07:00

Bottom 5:

A-Rod gets off the o-fer! Nicely done. I think I'm even happier than Kate Hudson.

And Matsui! Wow! Crushed!

Yanks-Twins game 1, post 4

2009-10-07T16:56:00.001-07:00

Middle five:

Looks like it.

Yanks-Twins game 1, post 3

2009-10-07T16:44:00.001-07:00

After five:

This is why the Yankees lineup is so tough. The number 8 hitter is just as likely to get a clutch hit as anyone else. Nick Swisher. Yes, please.

Let's see if CC rebounds now and gets some momentum here.

Yanks-Twins game 1, post 2

2009-10-07T16:07:00.000-07:00

Bottom three:

So, the top of the third sucked. A squeezed strike zone leads to a couple of hits which lead to a run. A passed ball leads to another run?! CC's thrown a lot of pitches already, but I expect he's ready toss 110 or so, if needed.

Joe Mauer is really good at this.

But, so is Derek Jeter. Bomb! This is how they do it in the NYC. There's a real possibility they could pile on here and put this thing away early, allowing CC to settle down a bit.

Or not. Tie game.

Yanks-Twins game 1, post 1

2009-10-07T15:45:00.000-07:00

Bottom two:

So far, the Yanks look good. Good to see CC work out of the first inning trouble. As long as they can neutralize Mauer, the Twins lineup doesn't strike much fear. It would be great if he could go 7, then Joe can go to Hughes and Rivera.

Love that Jeet smoked the first pitch for a hit. As an overall strategy, however, I think they need to work deep counts. The Twins just played 12 innings last night, after all. Would've been nice if A-Rod had cashed in Jeet in the first, but it was encouraging that he hit the ball well.

Craig Sager is a badly dressed idiot.

Hair wars...

2009-01-21T13:20:00.001-08:00

Folks want to talk about the Steelers defense running headlong into the Cardinals offense. Kurt Warner trying to encourage one more big victory out of his 37 year-old body. Big Ben winning a second championship since taking the reins in Steel City. But, those aren't the stories. No, the real story of the Super Bowl match up is which hair style will triumph, thereby setting an irreversible follicle course for a whole generation of young, impressionable kids. Make no mistake, the winner of the Troy Polamalu v. Larry Fitzgerald hair derby will have ripple effects throughout the culture sure to be felt from Bangor to Bakersfield. So, let's break it down.

The Combatant: Troy Polamalu
The Style: The Lion's Mane
Popular With: 80's rockers, science nerds, utter geniuses, and kings of the jungle

The Combatant: Larry Fitzgerald
The Style: The Viper Locks
Popular With: Reggae megastars, nursery playthings, fictional Greek villains and dust-eating creatures

The Showdown, Round 1: In the opening round of the popularity playoffs, the 80's rockers knock off the reggae megastars when the latter are too, um, "mellow" to fight back while the guitarist from Slayer bashes them repeatedly with his Flying-V axe. In a mild upset, the nursery playthings overpower the science nerds by distracting them with an Erector set. While the nerds fiddle away, the nursery playthings gang up in a "Child's Play" sort of way. The fictional Greek villains score a victory for the Viper Locks by freezing the utter geniuses in place. The resulting statue looks great on an executive's desk, but does little for the battle at hand. In the final first-round face off, the kings of the jungle easily overpower the dust-eating creatures by simply tearing them into little pieces and subsequently distributing the pieces for the whole family to dine on. After one round, the Lion's Mane and the Viper Locks are dead even.

The Showdown, Round 2: The 80's rockers, fresh off of their convincing pummeling of the reggae megastars, meet some unexpected resistance from the nursery playthings. It seems that most rockers are simply trying to get in touch with their inner child and at the sight of the mementos of days gone by, the rockers break into uncontrollable weeping. Score an unexpected victory for the Viper Locks. In the other second-round battle, the fictional Greek villains square off with the kings of the jungle. When the fictional Greek villains attempt to use their signature hypnotic attack against the mighty beasts, they are shocked to find that their powers do not work on members of the panthera genus. In the brief battle that ensues, the fictional Greek villains are torn into little pieces which are subsequently distributed for the whole panthera family to dine on. On to the final round and an epic battle for the ages: nursery playthings v. kings of the jungle, with the future of hair culture on the line.

The Showdown: Final Round: The kings of the jungle come out wary, not sure what to expect from the upstart nursery playthings. The kings of the jungle resort to such intimidation tactics as circling, pawing and roaring. The nursery playthings seem undaunted, never flinching once in the face of such a display of brute power. The nursery playthings approach appears to be the classic "play dead and maybe they'll leave us alone." Instead, the kings of the jungle tire of the posturing and pounce. It's all over in a blur of stuffing and fabric. The kings of the jungle prevail and the nursery playthings tactic of playing dead no longer seems so playful. The kings of the jungle have struck a decisive victory in the fashion war and the Lion's Mane style remains the undisputed champion of gridiron hairdos. Children everywhere will now begin growing out their hair as large as it can go. Congratulations, Troy, I hope you're proud of yourself.

(The preceding was brought to you by Aqua Net.)

Florida, Florida, Florida...

2009-01-17T20:34:00.000-08:00

Raise your metaphorical cyber-hand if you've grown tired of the University of Florida. I know my buddy Scott won't raise his, but mine is firmly thrust into the air.

I mean, really, Florida? Two national titles in football in three years? Knocking UCLA out of the men's basketball tourney two years in a row (and once on my birthday)? We've all grown tired of the dominance.

Whatever happened to parity? Whatever happened to the little guy having a chance? Whatever happened to the sudden rise of the unknown amateur athlete? All gone in a blue and orange swirl of "chomping" arms, overaggressive recruiting and shameless cashing in on the previous run of success.

I will not root for Florida. They simply win too often. They have simply grown too good. I represent the majority of right thinking people.

(See how crazy your argument sounds when it's about a team other than the Yankees?)

Baseball's Red Scare...

2007-12-16T14:18:00.000-08:00

A senator with a firm belief that something is not quite right in America. A list of suspects based on information gathered from insiders. A public spectacle that forever ruins reputations. Alleged perpetrators with no method of clearing their name. Welcome to baseball’s version of McCarthyism.

We awoke on Thursday morning to a world in which our baseball heroes no longer walked as tall. For some, such as Roger Clemens, the damage done by Senator George Mitchell may never fully be understood until the last Hall of Fame ballot is cast. Many observers, including baseball’s commissioner, are hailing the Mitchell Report as a triumph of good over evil. Yet, just as in the quest to unearth the “Reds” in the ‘50s, unearthing the “’Roids” often creates fuzzy distinctions between good and evil, let alone justice and injustice.

The flaws with the Mitchell investigation are myriad. First, the insiders questioned by the Senator and his crew of federal investigators were two former clubhouse workers for the New York Mets and New York Yankees, a notably limited pool of information. Aside from these two, the only other player names in the report came from the much-publicized BALCO investigation. The Senator would have you believe that this report is a decisive and thorough blow in baseball’s battle against performance-enhancing drugs. He would have you believe this in spite of the fact that, in essence, what the Senator “collected” was names from the CNN crawl about 20 months ago and the testimonies of two former employees, whose allegations might be suspect, given their status as former employees. Senator Mitchell has assured the American public that those involved in the investigations knew of the serious consequences awaiting those who did not tell the truth. Yet, nothing in the Mitchell Report can be proven—or disproven—by positive tests. Therefore, the same veil of secrecy that protects any real users also protects fact-creating “whistleblowers” with a bone to pick.

The damage done by these “informants” is similar to the effect of having one’s name “blacklisted” during the Red Scare. Today, players such as Clemens, Miguel Tejada and Andy Pettite are instantly cast as the bad guys because someone else said so. Publicly vilified and with no recourse to clear their names—after all, it’s difficult to clear your name from using a substance for which you never tested positive because your employer chose not to test you—these players have already faced conviction in the ever-swift court of public opinion. Pettite’s confession of guilt yesterday does nothing to change the injustice of making such allegations based on limited evidence. Instead, it reinforces the seemingly convincing aspersions cast by Mitchell, which remain built on shaky foundations. As more players come forward—which may be unlikely—it will simply cement the guilt of others in the minds of the public, whether their guilt can ever be proven or not.

The media, which ought to display at least a little hesitancy over jumping on Mitchell’s bandwagon given journalistic patriarch Edward R. Murrow’s brave stand against McCarthy’s methods and “conclusions in the 1950s, has instead pounced not just on the story but on the opportunity to play judge and jury as well. Newspaper headlines forsake all objectivity when they scream “Cheaters Revealed,” “Outed,” and “Ballplayers Busted.” Not surprisingly, many players have quickly and publicly denied their involvement in the scandal, as well they should, given the impossibility of proving either side of the allegations. Much as McCarthy banged on the drum of national pride while tapping on the cymbals of fear, Mitchell is simply using nostalgia for baseball “the way it used to be” to create an outcry from a public that still isn’t sure if it liked seeing records fall to men they’re not sure they like to see breaking records.

Another serious flaw in these proceedings relates to Senator Mitchell’s relationship to Major League Baseball. As a member of the Board of Trustees for the Boston Red Sox, a serious conflict of interest exists for the Senator. Perhaps not surprisingly given this relationship and the fact that the two insiders worked for other organizations, the list of almost 80 players named in the Report reveals few with ties to the Boston organization. Those who do have some tie to Fenway either played for the team in the distant past (like Clemens) or were spectacular flameouts not really considered one of the Sox (like Eric Gagne). In any other sphere, such a conflict of interest would preclude Senator Mitchell’s leadership in this type of project. But not under the twisted and often indefensible logic of Major League Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig. In Selig’s world, this arrangement makes sense. This is because, in Selig’s world, objectivity and true progress matter much less than the appearance of objectivity and true progress.

Selig represents a baseball ownership group that willingly turned its collective head during the so-called “Steroid Era.” These owners found a simple string of mathematical logic that helped them to do so. The equation reads: These suddenly enormous players = More home runs. More home runs = More people in the stands. More people in the stands = More money in our pockets. In response, these owners concluded—as the mathematically savvy are likely to conclude—that the suddenly enormous slugger was good for business. So as long as the home runs flew, the pockets grew, and everyone went home happy.

Where, in those days of record-setting performance and attendance, was the righteous indignation and clamor for change in the game that has accompanied much of the reaction to Mitchell’s report? In the owner’s box, lighting cigars with chemically-enhanced money. A strict and effective steroid testing policy at that time would have cramped everyone’s style. The outrage of the baseball owners who refused to insist on testing when it would have been unpopular instead rings of hypocrisy. Any ownership appeals for sanctions now are not unlike a parent taking the driver’s license of a teen for wrapping the family Mercury around a tree while driving to work to support the family finances. The damage is already done, the hypocrisy is obvious, and sanctions will do no good in changing the past.

The limited pool of informants, the blatant conflict of interest faced by Senator Mitchell, and the “too-little-too-late” false outrage of the owners driving this effort combine to form a significantly flawed product, one that leaves regular fans with a difficult choice. Fans can either turn their head and be thought ignorant rubes or they can join with the torch-wielding mob on a quest to punish the cheaters.

Did players use steroids throughout much of the 1980s and 90s? They certainly did. Did all of them named in the Mitchell report do so? We have no way to know for sure. And this is where this ugly episode leaves us: stuck in the 1950s, pondering whether the names we’ve heard are really guilty of the things we’ve heard. As Senator Mitchell should know from his Senatorial predecessor, this is a tricky road to travel down. Hopefully, the advantage of temporal perspective has created a public unwilling to blindly march behind a Senator with a mission of outing the subversives. If not, then the age of Mitchellism has just begun.

Rocket launch...

2007-05-07T15:05:00.001-07:00

Back in March I called the Rocket a Band-Aid. Little did I know at that time how bad the pitching staff would be bleeding.

Let’s review:

Wang: Strained hamstring.
Mussina: Strained hamstring.
Igawa: Can’t get people out in America.
Pavano: Pain threshold of a field mouse.
Rasner: Broken leg.
Hughes: Strained hamstring.

Pettite has been the only reliable starter and he’s no sure bet to make it through the season without an injury. In short, if the Yankees hope to make the postseason for the 13th straight season, the Rocket will play a huge role.

Despite appearances, he had every reason to sign with New York. First, he gets to indulge his savior complex (which every professional athlete has, not just Clemens). By joining this squad, he sets himself up to receive copious amounts of credit if they do turn things around and make the postseason. This same situation simply doesn’t exist in Boston. The Sox have the best record in the game and a stacked pitching staff. In Boston, Rocket would have to settle for “contributor.” Add to that the fact that Boston is the only town that he didn’t leave by his own choice, and it everything makes sense. Sure, on May 7, Boston seems to give him the best chance for another ring, but how much sweeter if he’s the catalyst? And Houston? Not happening. Record-wise, they’re in a similar situation to the Yanks, but without the proven track record of willingness to do whatever is necessary to turn things around.

Second, he’s got friends and fellow competitors in New York. When Pettite left to go to Houston, Roger followed. When Andy came back to the Bronx, it makes sense that Roger followed. But Andy’s not all. If you listened at all yesterday, you know how much he admires Jeet and Mo, too. Basically, this is a team full of guys he feels comfortable going to work with for the next 5+ months. He believes in these guys and sees in them the fire he thinks necessary to make a run at October. Maybe that type of thing is present in Boston or Houston, but judging by the things he said yesterday, New York has a unique collection of such individuals.

Third, there’s the money issue. Yeah, the Yanks will pay him a ridiculous amount of money over the next few months, but if you’ve got it, why not use it? Boston likely could have come close, but why would they? Their pitching staff looks set, so why shell out that kind of money? The only logical reason to do so would be if they could keep him away from the Yankees, but even spite only goes so far when it comes to shelling out that kind of money for a player they don’t really need. And Houston…yeah, right.

Overall, it seems surprising that any mystery surrounded this situation. The Yanks offer the right combination of situation, potential, familiarity and money. In the end, the Rocket was bound to touch down in the Bronx. Let’s see if he turns into the tourniquet that the Yanks so badly need.

Hearing voices again…

2007-04-11T15:54:00.000-07:00

The voices went silent for a while. The institution of higher learning bears full responsibility for the electronic laryngitis. But the voices have returned with plenty to say.

On the sportscape lately:

So, the five-part series didn’t really come to fruition. Since the only things left anyway were previews of the bullpen and the overall team, I’ll summarize.

Bullpen:
Who needs one when you’ve got A-Rod? In fact, right now, he could probably serve as the set-up man, too.

Overall:
A-Rod will win the AL MVP after amassing 58 home runs, 137 RBI, a .346 average, 8 errors, and plenty of “I’ve always been an A-Rod guy” fans. Riding his coattails, the team will win 105 games, sweep the Indians in the Division Series, win the ALCS in five over the Angels, and then beat the Mets in the World Series in six. In the postseason, A-Rod will hit .483, with 7 home runs and 15 RBI and win MVP of all three series. Fans will adore him like never before. He’ll appear on Letterman and SNL. He won’t opt out of his contract, instead choosing to donate 75% of his annual earnings to Habitat for Humanity, saying, “The love of the Yankee fans is payment enough.” The Canyon of Heroes will be re-named the Canyon of Those Who Pale in Comparison to A-Rod. All will be well. Oh, and around May 1, Roger Clemens will sign with the Yanks, too. He’ll request to have the name on the back of his uniform read “A-Rod’s Friend,” before being reminded that Yankees uniforms don’t have names on the back. He’ll settle for picking up an old piece of A-Rod’s gum and putting it on his mantle next to all the Cy Youngs.

Really, though, A-Rod is on fire at the moment and the best way to tell is that his swing looks easy again. He rarely looks like he’s forcing anything at the plate and he seems to drive even bad pitches. All good signs.

My better half and I made a quick jaunt to Houston over the weekend. Took in a game at the Juice Box. Fun times. Although we would have preferred to see the visiting Redbirds prevail over the hometowners, the chance to see a Roy Oswalt complete game made up for the undesirable final score. That dude can throw. Add in home runs by El Caballo and Lance Berkman, and a foot-long chili-cheese dog, well, let’s just say the evening provided treats for many of the senses.

I REALLY hate the Florida Gators. Oddly enough, Scott—the only friend I made in college—loves the Gators. Not me. I hope that they all enjoy cashing in on their Tournament success with huge NBA contracts that will allow them a lifetime of luxury and excess. I hope they really enjoy that. Because, secretly, nobody likes them. Except Scott.

UCLA, meanwhile, has broken my heart yet again. Maybe next year? Is there any way that Afflalo stays in school? He got himself on the “graduate in three years” plan, which, by the way, I don’t recommend to anyone. In fact, schools offering a “graduate with your 120 unit degree in three years” plan should simply strike it from the catalog. No right thinking person would ever conceive of it themselves, and only because it’s mentioned in the catalog do A-type personality people attempt it. It’s crazy. Really. To fulfill the requirement, a student has to keep a stupid pace; writing papers, doing research, rarely sleeping. Our academic institutions are systematically assaulting a whole generation of students. So, come on Dallas Seminary! Get with it! I blame you, and, somehow, UCLA.

That’s good for now.

Oh, and Pavano’s still a bum. Maybe he should try to get a locker closer to A-Rod’s.

Succumbing to the Madness...

2007-03-15T14:52:00.000-07:00

We interrupt our regularly scheduled baseball discussions to give some attention to the Dance. Granted, the tastes of Voices run decidedly National Pastime, but I won’t ignore the NCAA Tournament.

Bracket fever has swept the nation in recent days. It seems that everyone is filling out brackets. Everyone has a method. Mascots. Team colors. RPI. Of course, some people take this far more seriously than others. For them, I offer the following guide to a successful trip through the four regions.

Following this formula will not only assure you of March success, but may even improve your tax return. So, here it is.

Point values are assigned based upon stringently researched and scientifically verifiable factors. Each round has different formulas, of course, since each round is a unique entity unto itself. Simply calculate the points for each team in any given game. The team with the higher point value moves on.

Without further ado, I present The Voices from the Outfield Guide to the NCAA Tournament:

1st round:
If a team has a directional marker in its name = 5 points.
If a team has a color in the name of its mascot = 11 points.
If a team is playing in the region geographically closest to its campus = 37 points.
If a team was assigned a seed between 1 and 3 = 91 points.
If a school’s name rhymes with “Doral Groberts” = 112 points.
If a team’s coach has previously won a national title = 261 points.
If a team’s alumni include Bill Walton and/or Kareem Abdul-Jabbar = 512 points.
If a team’s coach previously coached at Pitt = 5,006 points.

2nd round:
If a school’s name is one word or less = 93 points.
If a school’s name is between two and three words long = 101 points.
If a school’s name is more than three words long = 551 points.
If that school’s name happens to be Texas A&M Corpus Christi = -549 points.
If school is commonly referred to by way of an acronym = 2,967 points.
If the last three letters of that acronym are CLA = 8,496 points.

Sweet Sixteen:
If a team’s uniforms prominently feature numbers on the back = 1 point.
If a team’s uniforms prominently feature the color red = 12 points.
If a team’s uniforms prominently feature the color orange = 22 points.
If a team’s uniforms prominently feature the color green = 65 points.
If a team’s uniforms prominently feature the color baby blue = 4,621 points.
If a team’s uniforms prominently feature player names such as Aboya, Collison, Mbah-Moute and/or Shipp = 9,238 points.

Elite Eight:
If a team’s mascot has ever appeared on “The Crocodile Hunter” = 39 points.
If a team’s mascot has ever appeared on the endangered species list = 54 points.
If a team’s mascot rhymes with “Bay Pox,” “Faders,” “Gong Corns,” “Duck Ties,” “Toyas” or “Bar Reels” = 61 points.
If a team’s mascot is an inanimate object = 87 points.
If a team’s mascot is from the bear family = 1,267 points.
If a team’s mascot rhymes with “Ruins” = 6,343 points.

Final Four:
If a team’s home games are played in a “Fieldhouse” = 8 points.
If a team’s home games are played in a Dome = 13 points.
If a team’s home games are played in the state of California = 952 points.
If that team is USC = -9,821 points
If a team’s home games are played in a Pavilion = 2,348 points.

Championship Game:
If a team features a player with a criminal record in Kazakhstan = -426 points.
If a team features a player named Greg Oden = 986 points.
If a team features a player named Kevin Durant = 1,002 points.
If a team features a player named Aaron Afflalo = 4,090 points.
If a school has previously won 11 national championships = 9,585 points.
If a school formerly had John Wooden as its coach = 11,764 points.

As you can likely tell, this highly scientific method took years of trial-and-error research. Although it has had a few problems with the last few national champions, it has successfully predicted the last five Iowa gubernatorial races and the winner of the 2006 World’s Strongest Man competition.

After running all 64 candidates through the formula, UCLA emerges as a somewhat surprise victor. With a whopping 67,868 points, the Bruins project to win this year’s tourney, and, from the looks of things, the formula’s pretty convinced.

So, get on the Bruin bandwagon now. There’s still room, but only until Saturday. After that, you’ll have to cast your lot with Creighton. And the formula doesn’t especially like them.

Movin' out...

2007-03-10T08:21:00.000-08:00

Someone recently told me to stop writing so much sports stuff on my blog because, “It’s so boring and nobody reads it.”

I have considered this idea. I have pondered it. I have even mulled it over.

I have acquiesced. Sort of.

It’s moving day here at “Voices.” From now on, this site will be devoted specifically to sports. All the time. Like about 1/3 of my brain. Yet, I’m not abandoning the other stuff that often gets thrown around here, I’m just relocating it.

Beginning today, all non-sports stuff can be found here.

That’s the place to go for mostly true stories about school, substitute teaching and my wife. You’ll also find the random stuff that litters my brain well-represented. And occasionally, if you’re nice about it, I might even throw in something serious and theological. But, only if you’re nice about it.

See you on the Left Coast.

The starting five...

2007-03-10T07:28:00.000-08:00

Part three of a five-part preview of the upcoming Yankees season. Today, we take a look at the starting rotation.

Now that the Big Back Spasm has moved back the desert with the rest of the senior citizens, we can talk about those who remain.

At this point only three spots are nailed down: Wang, Pettitte, Mussina. While even those three come with issues—Can Pettitte and Mussina hold up? Can Wang ever strike anyone out?—for the purposes of this discussion, we’ll consider those spots resolved. Then there’s the mystery participant with the first name sure to be mispronounced by nearly every fan until at least the All-Star Break, Kei (as in the scorebook notation for “strikeout”) Igawa. Nobody knows, Yankee management included, what they have in this guy. Best case scenario, he’s Nomo at his pinnacle. Worst case is “Fat Toad” Irabu. We just don’t know. The early word out of Spring Training is that he’ll be solid, but this is Spring Training, after all, and his first start was less than brilliant. Yet, he’s only 27 and, even with a necessary adjustment to the Majors, should be good for at least 10–12 wins in the fifth spot in the rotation. (As an aside, is it significant that the best Japanese baseball imports have been position players? Ichiro Suzuki, Hideki Matsui, Tadahito Iguchi have all produced while pitchers have generally floundered. And so, what do both the Yanks and Red Sox do this offseason? Throw crazy money at Japanese starting pitchers, of course. Just thought it was worth pointing out. Maybe in August it will matter and you will think of me.)

And then, there is the walking Darwin Award, Carl “Porcelain” Pavano. Every major discussion of the Yanks that has been written this off-season—and especially once the Johnson rumors began springing up—slotted Pavano into the rotation. This should concern Yankees fans, and, preferably, someone in the organization. Pavano has a career record of 61–64. When the Yanks exorbitantly overpaid for him a couple of winters ago, he had a sub-.500 record. Nothing has changed. In 2005, he was only 4–6 before getting hurt. He “held” opponents to a .315 batting average. The numbers suggest that Pavano is just not good. He wasn’t when the Yankees signed him and there’s no reason to believe that he will be in 2007. And, that’s just the ugly math part of the equation. Let’s take a look at the biology.

Pavano cannot stay healthy. Whenever your Yankees.com player bio page includes “highlights” such as “Made his final start of the season on 6/27 at Baltimore,” “Also made rehab start for Single-A Tampa (FSL) on 8/3 vs. Vero Beach, allowing 6 H and 3 ER in 6 IP to record the loss,” and “Was transferred to the 60-day disabled list on 8/30,” something’s not quite right. He made zero—as in just less than one—major league starts last year because of injuries. On top of the fact that he was getting hurt, he was also lying about it. If there was a pool for “Day on Which Carl Pavano Sustains a Significant Self-Inflicted Injury in a Dinner Table Accident,” I’d take April 10. And this man is supposed to fill the fourth spot?

Granted, there’s been talk of Clemens. While that would be nice, that’s a Band-Aid, not stitches. Why not bump Igawa to fourth, and open up competition to the youngsters like Sanchez, Karstens, Rasner, and especially Hughes, and let them battle for the fifth spot? This is the long-term solution.

The Yankees have spent all winter stockpiling young talent while simultaneously dumping huge contracts attached to the 1998 All-Star team, which is a great tactic. Brian Cashman has been able to Jedi mind-trick other GMs into giving up young, inexpensive, close-to-major-league-ready talent in exchange for old, expensive, close-to-retirement-ready tealent. So, why not see what the kids can do? Whatever the result, it couldn’t be worse than Pavano, it’s a mathematical impossibility. The way I understand it, one start for cheap is always better than none for expensive. Bring on the kids!

Hughes already has Tampa abuzz, and will likely be in the Bronx well before the Red Sox annual late-August fade. So why not let him start the season in the rotation? Why not simply cut your losses with Pavano, admit he’s a bum and move on? Let Pavano be a long reliever. Sure, that’s a lot to pay for a long reliever, but is it worse to pay that much for no starts? Maybe Pavano will surprise everyone, stay healthy and put up 12–15 wins. But, is this really the guy you want blocking Phil Hughes and the start of his near-certain All-Star caliber career? I say no. Stick Pavano in the ‘pen, Hughes on the bump. Besides, any competition that prepares the youngsters will naturally serve the team well if and when one of the starters goes down with an injury. My money is on Pavano.

I can see the headline now: “Yankees starter injured while combing his hair, out 6–8 weeks.” Let’s avoid this now so we can begin reading headlines like, “Hughes dominant as Yanks open 5 game lead in division.”

Things I've Learned in the Last Ten Days...

2007-02-24T07:14:00.000-08:00

It’s never a good idea to forsake assigned seating in 1st grade and allow them to choose their own seats.

1st graders have no qualms about poking an adult in the stomach with their finger and saying, “Your stomach is really squishy.”

California is the greatest place on earth.

There are few better ways to spend a weekend than sitting in 75 degree weather watching four college baseball games in four days.

There are few harder ways to spend a weekend than watching your preferred college baseball team lose four games in four days.

A trip home isn’t complete until you’ve been to In-N-Out.

Sleepwalking is even worse when you’re in a hotel room with family members.

Salmonella laced peanut butter will make you feel uncomfortable.

Apparently, you’re never too old to roll off the bed in the middle of the night. Seriously. Even 28 isn’t too old. Apparently.

Never, and I really mean ever, post a blog poll if there’s the slightest chance that you might lose convincingly to your spouse.

Going Around the Horn...

2007-02-24T06:58:00.000-08:00

Part two of a five-part preview of the upcoming Yankees season. Today, we take a look at the infield.

On paper, this infield is legit. A perennial MVP candidate at the Hot Corner, Mr. Clutch at shortstop, a future batting champ at second base and a platoon at first. That’s the paper version. But things don’t always go paper.

In real life, the Yankee infield is an interesting mix of outrageous talent and fragile mindset. Apparently, A-Rod is deeply concerned that everybody love him. Not a bad desire in and of itself, but does someone who averages 41 jacks and 110 RBI in the most numbers conscious game there is still need outside validation? Every time A-Rod feels the need to play Dr. Phil and try to break down his own emotional state and the state of the team, it just doesn’t come out quite right. His recent flare-up dragged Captain in, too. On top of all that, the potential contract opt-out could easily become a distraction this season. All that said, I love A-Rod and don’t understand the widespread dissatisfaction with him. Few people in the game have better numbers. He returns daily to a media circus intent on shredding and analyzing his every move. In such conditions, few of us would perform as well. The postseason criticism is unfairly myopic. The team failures of the last three Octobers have been exactly that; team failures. A-Rod will be fine, let’s allow the man some room to breathe.

Just to A-Rod’s left, Jeter has been able to find all his validation in his on field accomplishments. That’s why he plays the secure older brother role to A-Rod’s adolescent routine. Obviously it’s easier to do that when you have World Series titles under you belt and aren’t saddled with the most excessive contract in human history. Yet, there’s more to Jeet than just being the Anti-Alex. On the field, he’s as productive as ever, demonstrating that any alpha dog situation that may develop on the left side will be quickly resolved. His hitting in key spots is as clutch as ever. His defense is Gold Glove caliber. His leadership of the clubhouse is unquestioned. Yes, it’s still Jeet’s world and we’re just livin’ in it.

At second, Cano is not only a future batting champ but flashes nice leather as well. It didn’t take him long to cement his place in the Yankee hierarchy. In fact, when he missed time with a hamstring injury last year, the Yanks felt it just as much as the absence of Matsui or Sheffield. He has tremendous work ethic and a desire to improve his game that leads to multiple daily infield sessions as well as additional batting practice. The Yanks’ second base job is set for years to come.

I’m not a big fan of platoons, especially in baseball, where the symptoms of a slump or signs of breaking out of one are rarely clear. Baseball takes feel. Feel takes at bats. Any time at bats get limited for reasons other than injury, the delicate psychology of the baseball player is in jeopardy. The proposed platoon at first base worries me. True, I like Mientkiewicz’s glove, and anyone with the chutzpah to try to steal the Red Sox ball and go home gets high marks. Yet, I think that the wise move, long-term, is to give the job to Andy Phillips or Josh Phelps. Let one of the youngsters play, every day or close to it. Sure, their defense may not be near Mientkiewicz’s, but their bats can be significantly better, if they are allowed to swing it. With Giambi’s spot at DH confirmed, why create another platoon when it isn’t necessary? Give the job to one of the kids and let him play.

Posada is certainly still up to the task of holding things down behind the plate. The Yanks would be wise to have a solid backup plan, though. Perhaps not surprisingly, I’d prefer that the backup catcher job go to the young Wil Nieves instead of the 40-year-old Todd Pratt. Granted, lack of experience can hurt even more behind the dish than anywhere else on the diamond, but we’re talking about the backup job. Likely 10 to 15 starts this year. If Posada gets injured, of course, we’ve got a totally different situation on our hands. As it is, though, the Yanks are better off thinking of the long-term payoff of having a catcher ready to take Posada’s spot in a year. Which betrays my prejudice of what to do in response to Posada’s impending free agency. I love Jorge. He has done a great job and played hard for over a decade. But the shelf-life on catchers, like running backs, is not great. They all seem to reach a certain age where their productivity quickly declines and they are better suited for a different position on the field (see Piazza, Mike). Nobody wants to see Jorge become the guy at the party that didn’t know it was time to leave. Even worse, I don’t want the Yanks to become the party hosts afraid to kick the last guy out. But, those are next winter’s concerns.

On the whole, the Yankee infield has the potential to send three starters to San Francisco. As with any team, avoiding injuries will be critical. But, the outlook is good. With Jeet, A-Rod, Cano, Jorge, and a youngster at first base, the Yanks infield is as good as any in the division. Let’s just hope that they can all have one big group hug in October.

Speaking of my sweet wife...

2007-02-14T08:42:00.000-08:00

The story on her blog at the moment, is, shall we say, slanted?

Here’s what really happened:

I got up to use the restroom in the middle of the night like the old man that I am. As I was crawling back in bed, she said something I couldn’t understand. So, I said, “What?” Again, she mumbled. I kind of laughed and then said, “What honey?” One more time, she responded with unintelligible mumbles. I smiled and went to sleep, knowing that I’d been waiting six years for the following morning.

The next morning, I said, “Hey, guess what? You were talking in your sleep last night.” She said, “Whatever! You were totally sleepwalking.” “I was not,” I answered. “I just went to the bathroom and then you mumbled at me.” She didn’t believe me then, and she still doesn’t. But really, what DTS student would lie? On the internet? For everyone to see?

So, then, really? Who do you believe? Let us know in the poll to the right.

P.S. Greta wrote me an incredible poem for Valentine’s Day. She’s so great to me. Every day—sometimes in little ways, sometimes in huge ways—she reminds me of her love. It’s always humbling, always reassuring. She is home to me. I am blessed by her. Even when she publishes fictional propaganda about me on her blog.

All eyes on the Yankee outfield...

2007-02-14T08:20:00.000-08:00

Part one of a five-part preview of the upcoming Yankees season. Today, we take a look at the outfield.

A sober mood has hung over the Bruneel home this week. Earlier in the week, the Yankees announced that they were only going to offer a minor-league contract and spring training invitation to Bernie Williams instead of a major-league deal with a guaranteed roster spot. The Yanks were forced to make the move because of roster-size limits, a platoon at first base that eliminates DH flexibility, and a pitching staff of 12. Williams reportedly responded by rejecting the offer, saying that he prefers to stay home, stay in shape and wait to see if the big club changes its mind about the roster spot.

This news has caused no shortage of consternation for my sweet wife, who really should be free from such worries around Valentine’s Day. Bernie Williams is Greta’s favorite player. Hands down. Not even close. Understandably, she’s a little upset about seeing her favorite player walk away from her favorite team. Yet, I have a suggestion.

Bernie needs to come to spring training. Granted, the outfield appears set with Johnny Damon, Hideki Matsui, Bobby Abreu, and Melky Cabrera as the fourth. It will be good to have Matsui back for a whole season after he missed so much time last year with a broken wrist. Undoubtedly, Cabrera represents the future in the outfield and he acquitted himself quite nicely in extended fill-in duty last season. Damon’s presence in center and at the top of the order is wonderful. Abreu’s ability to work deep into counts and get on base makes him a fixture. So, then, it would seem as though there is little room left for Bernie. Ah, but did it not look that way last spring?

Last spring, the Yanks rolled into spring training with Matsui poised to put up MVP numbers, the freshly-inked Damon poised to rejuvenate the top of the line-up, and Gary Sheffield poised to mash 40+ home runs. Poised. The reality was that Matsui broke his wrist in May and didn’t return until September, Sheffield messed up his wrist and knee in April and was never quite right again after he returned in September—as evidenced by his painful attempt to play first base and his 1 for 12 performance at the plate during the playoffs—and, next thing you know, Bernie and Melky are getting significant time. In fact, until the trade for Abreu at the deadline, the outfield was a MASH unit and there was room for all comers.

How can anyone expect Damon to play 162 games this summer? He routinely crashes into walls—a style of play that endears him to fans but scares the junk out of management. Then there’s Godzilla. Although his track record of durability is unquestioned, management has to wonder if his surgically-repaired wrist will really allow him to be available every day. The point is this: things change quickly during the course of the season, sometimes during the course of spring training (see, Griffey Jr, Ken). Bernie needs to come to spring training. Play the exhibition season. Stay in shape. Stay in contact with the Yankees brass. Allow them to see that he can still swing it, even at age 37. When the inevitable injury—or, God forbid, two—happens, he’ll be more ready and likely to fill in immediately.

What Bernie shouldn’t do is hang it up. Not yet. He showed last year that he can still play the pastime and that he doesn’t really want to retire. Although I love his music and, once he does retire, his second career will undoubtedly flourish, now’s not that time.

Bernie also shouldn’t sign with another team. That would be wrong. Signing with another team, after 16 years with the Yankees, would be similar to seeing Namath play for the 49ers. Besides, who wants to get used to a new routine, new clubhouse, new city, new franchise after 16 years? No, Bernie needs to be in Yankee pinstripes.

So, consider this an open letter. A plea to Bernie Williams. Accept the spring training invite. Come to Legends Field. Put on the pinstripes. Bide your time. For Yankee fans across the world. For my wife. After all, that’s all that she really wants for Valentine’s Day.

Hello, again...

2007-02-08T15:32:00.000-08:00

Both my writing mentor and an international phone call have now chastised me for not updating this blog. In response, I have characteristically buckled under peer pressure and dusted off my typing fingers. (Ironically, I had lots of trouble typing the previous sentence.)

For your sake, o loyal reader (if any such people still exist), I will fight the urge to update everything that has happened since I last posted. After all, 4 months have lapsed since then and you likely have access to ESPN.com and, therefore, all the news you need about the last four months.

Instead, I’ll reveal why this blog has lain undisturbed for so long. Frankly, I feel like I’ve run out of words. I know that those of you that know me quite well cannot believe that could possibly ever happen, but allow me to explain.

Late last semester, I re-learned a lesson that I learned in high school. Procrastination = bad.

I had signed up for a four-unit independent study at school. At the time of registration, I had every intention of spacing out the 80 hours of reading and 10,000 words of writing over the course of the fifteen week semester. Instead, I waited. What for is not exactly clear, but I waited anyway. I suppose I thought that late work would not present a real problem. About eight days before the end of the semester, that train of thought jumped the track.

That day my friend, Tim, called. He, like me, also enrolled in this independent study. He, unlike me, had actually gone to speak to our supervising professor about due dates. Our phone call went something like this:

Me: “Yo.”
Him: “Hey. Have you talked to Dr. Kreider about the independent study?”
Me: “No. Why?”
Him: “Well, we’re screwed.”

Turns out, late work actually would present a real problem. As a result, I now knew that I had to submit this project to my professor in eight days. At the end of the semester. When work always comes due. Like it says in the student handbook. Yes, I freely admit that I am an idiot sometimes.

I filled those eight days with the reading of five books and the writing of 9,991 words on the emergent church and far too little interaction with the outside world. (Especially with my sainted wife who endured the whole thing with grace, love, and patience. And, she still acts like she likes being married to me.)

After that exercise in drinking from a fire hose, I then took two winter term classes. Funny thing about that procrastination lesson…

The first week of winter term, I took Christian Camping. A great class that gave an excellent overview of planning and implementing effective church camps, retreats, and events. As a bonus, it didn’t give much homework. I considered the ability to go home each night and not have anything to do as a gift from God for the hard work I had put in at the end of the previous semester. Instead, I would later see it in its true light: as a test from God to see how well I had learned the hard lesson from the end of the previous semester.

Although no homework each night of Christian Camping gave me a nice break, Eschatology lurked just beyond the horizon. Eschatology had a similar reading and writing load to that of Christian Camping except for the part where the syllabus talked about lots and lots to do. Loads of reading, plenty of writing. No problem for the diligent student who planned ahead and used his free evenings the week of Christian Camping to get some reading done ahead of time. If only I were such a student.

During the week of Eschatology—and the two weeks that followed during which students could submit work—I, yet again, reaped the rewards of my incredible foresight. I already faced the daunting task of figuring out how to complete all this Eschatology work while starting the spring semester. Imagine my great pleasure to hear two of my spring professors say, “I put most of your reading for the semester in the next couple of weeks in order to lay a foundation.”

On top of that, the entire first draft of my thesis (Jan 30) and the first leg of a major Hebrew project (Feb 6) both came due. Life went from, “Ah, crap. I’m an idiot,” to “Somebody please shoot the idiot.” So, I read. And I wrote. Next, I read. Then I wrote some more. After that, I read. I finished it all up with a little writing. My eyes and my fingers constantly battled for the coveted “most exhausted part of Benji’s body” award. Somehow, it all got done. Most of it on time.

As a result, I feel like I’ve done nothing but read and write since forever ago. Therefore, I have given my blog no attention, because I’m out of words (as you can undoubtedly tell).

But, through it all, I learned two critical things. First, marry well. I did so almost six years ago and I never have regretted it. Marriage to a beautiful, kind, patient, gracious, servant-hearted woman makes every mistake I make tolerable and gets me through the toughest seasons of my own stupidity. Second, I learned a valuable lesson about procrastination that I will tell you some other time.

Goin’ Old School…

2006-10-22T13:52:00.000-07:00

Last night Greta and I joined our friends Chase and Shalaun for an evening of old school, throwback entertainment. We didn’t play truth or dare and it wasn’t even a random outbreak of hide and go seek. We did, however, go to a drive-in movie.

Here’s how it went down.

We met Chase and Shalaun around 6ish and headed to Ennis. Ennis, for those of you who don’t frequent one stoplight towns, is a one stoplight town well south of civilization. We had been told by our source that this theatre was only an hour away. Funny thing is, when you already live a good 45 minutes north of Dallas and Ennis is another 33 miles south of Big D, the math is difficult to work out. Turns out our source probably never learned how to tell time. We might as well have been driving to Houston.

We arrived in Ennis about 15 minutes before the scheduled showtime. We exited the freeway right by the marquee with the various burned-out lightbulbs and pulled into the drive-in. Apparently there isn’t much to do in Ennis because all 97 people who live there were at the movies with us.

After paying, we pulled into what is, in essence, an open field, and parked the car. We purchased copious amounts of “health food” at the snack bar, which, incidentally is immediately adjacent to the restrooms. Hmm, that might give someone pause. We returned to the car and got our lawn chairs and blankets out and set up behind the GMC Jimmy (which Chase will not allow you to confuse with a Blazer) and got ready for the other real throwback part of the night: a double-feature. Yeah, you read that right. We paid $6 per person and they were going to show us two movies! You can’t beat that deal with a stick!

It’s worth mentioning at this point that the temperature last night was hovering around a muggy 48 degrees. In other words, not exactly ideal weather for two California kids to be sitting outside. The sitting outside lasted for all of one movie. For the second, Greta and I stationed ourselves in the back of the Jimmy, still wrapped in blankets. The sound came from the speaker thingy, but also on a designated radio station, so even sitting in the car, we got the full auditory experience.

We watched Man of the Year (pretty good flick, and not the comedy farce it seems from the previews) and The Guardian (kinda like the Coast Guard version of Top Gun and which I read a pretty funny “review” of here). Good times, really. The first movie didn’t start right on time, which means that, by the time we watched two movies with a 15 minute intermission and then made the trek home, Greta and I climbed into bed at 2:30 this morning.

All in all, a great night. Greta had never been to a drive-in and I hadn’t been to one for I don’t know how long. The last movie I remember seeing from the car was Clash of the Titans (one of my older sister’s favorite memories), and possibly E.T. The whole thing felt very nostalgic, even down to the cheesy cartoon “commercials” between the two shows that basically begged you to buy more candy and soda so that the theatre in the field with the snack bar/restroom combo could continue to operate. Personally, I’d love to go again, although, preferably when the weather is north of freezing.

How about you? What’s one thing you did as a kid that you’d love to be able to do again?

My swell job...

2006-10-06T17:06:00.000-07:00

Contrary to what you may have heard—probably from me—I have a job. Now, my job is very different than many other people’s jobs. My job requires me to travel. In fact, I rarely work in the same place twice. My job never makes me work weekends. Can’t work if the office isn’t open. My job requires first-hand knowledge of a plethora of information. The Bill of Rights, Civil Rights, left vs. right. Beginning French, intermediate Spanish, advanced physics. Covered it all. What is this wonderful job, you ask? The glamour career that is substitute teacher.

The best part, by far, of substitute teaching has to be quotes. Kids, and sometimes teenagers, really do say the darndest things. Luckily for the blogosphere, I’ve kept track this year. Here are some of my favorites.

From a day when I was teaching in a middle school class and the students had to work with partners to fill in a blank map of the United States:

A kid pointing to the general Ohio area: “No, that’s not Ohio. Ohio is somewhere over here by California. I know because I saw it on a TV show.”

Beefy kid: “That one’s Kentucky. I know because on the Kentucky Fried Chicken commercials they show the outline of the state.”

A girl pointing to Alaska responding to me telling her that she had incorrectly labeled the state as Mexico: “How is that not Mexico?”

Elementary school consistently provides the good quotes. Por ejemplo:

1st grader: “Do you have a daughter?”
Me: “No.”
1st grader: “I do.”

Me: “What’s in that Ziploc bag?”
4th grader: “Dead bugs. They’re my pets. You don’t have any dead bugs in here, do you?”
Me: “Not that I’ve seen.”

3rd grader talking about someone who isn’t in our class and I’ve never met: “Connor thinks he’s all that. But he’s not. He’s fast, but Sonic the Hedgehog is faster.”

3rd grader asking me a nearly impossible question to answer: “Are you a teacher or are you a substitute?”

Finally, from the “you know it’s going to be a long day” file:

2nd grader the moment she walked in the door in the morning:
Her: “Where’s my teacher?”
Me: “She’s not here today.”
Her: “Well, I don’t want you to be here. You tell her I miss her!”

Yes, this is the life!

Seeing through Asaph's eyes...

2006-09-30T09:18:00.000-07:00

I sat in utter surprise yesterday morning.

I tend to read in a very cerebral manner. Maybe that’s a direct result of seminary. Generally, I don’t get too emotionally connected to the words on the page in front of me. Admittedly, sometimes a book just grabs hold and won’t let go until I admit that I have emotions, too. But that’s not the usual course of things. As a result, yesterday morning’s Bible reading time caught me by surprise.

I’ve dedicated part of each Bible reading time to reading through one Psalm and simply meditating on it. Usually “meditating” devolves into something more like, “pondering the Ancient Near Eastern context,” “imagining the plight of David/Asaph/the psalmist,” or “trying to identify disjunctive clauses.” Not proud of that, but that’s truth. Yesterday morning, however, the Psalm shook me like a mom shakes her oversleeping high schooler on SAT day.

Sitting in a quiet high school classroom before any of the students arrived, I opened my Bible to Psalm 73. I have no systematic plan to read through the Psalms, but rather just open to whichever number pops into my head. I know that sounds really sketchy, but my confidence in the Spirit inside of me extends all the way to selecting my Psalm reading. Since there are 150 Psalms, I can see this plan working for a while.

As I sat reading Psalm 73, the phrases and descriptions began to jump off the page and slap me in the face. This Psalm of Asaph concerns his enemies, his God, and his struggles. As I read it, I realized that I came down on both sides of this Psalm. I could be described as wearing pride as my necklace (v. 6). I can also identify with Asaph’s cry that since the wicked prosper (v. 2–12), what good is righteousness (v. 13–14). The turning point for Asaph, however, was his vision in the sanctuary of God (v. 15).

Here comes the inspiration part. After finishing the Psalm, I had an overwhelming urge to write a poem describing my own journey through Asaph’s thoughts. I grabbed a pencil, smiled the whole way and scratched out a poem. When I finished, it seemed to have nothing to do with Psalm 73 and everything to do with Psalm 73 all at the same time. God’s good like that. Here’s to my surprising morning with the Psalms.

Psalm 73
Your glory breaks the horizon,
Casting healing light.
You invite the weary to rest,
The failing to comfort.
Yet I have chosen darkness;
Ebony haze accompanies me.
I tread upon the path to an end I cannot see,
But I will know it.
You pursue me, yet I see you ahead of me.
Left or right, I cannot flee you.
Your face glows, not with rage,
But with concern.
Your breath falls heavy on my forehead,
A medley of wildflowers.
Your arms envelop my withered form,
Rods of iron.
My eyes see, as never before,
The trails of your goodness.
I weep into your shoulder.
I have come home.

Oreos, Palmolive and the Kingdom of God...

2006-09-08T11:16:00.000-07:00

The other night, we hosted an Open House. More accurately, Greta hosted an Open House. She opened up our home to the 500 students that live in our building. This involved lots of preparation—most notably, 8 batches of Homemade Oreo cookies. I spent part of that day at home since I could only manage to get a half-day substitute teaching job.

While sitting at home that morning, I looked up and thought, “The dishes really need to be done before tonight.” So I did them. Not much forethought or schedule clearing. Simply saw something that needed to get done, something I could do, and did it. The point of telling this story is not to toot my own horn, but rather to share an interesting conviction I had about the whole episode.

While washing the dishes, listening to Coldplay, I had a very real sense that I was serving my wife. I knew that the dishes had to get done and that Greta sure didn’t have time to do them, but I did. This felt like service. I also had a very real sense that I don’t live the rest of my life this way.

Before I “serve” God—whether through the local church or anywhere else—I often feel I need to check my schedule, insure that the opportunity fits my “gifts,” and, even then, that I won’t be too committed. Why doesn’t my service to God feel as natural, spontaneous and automatic as my response to a sinkful of dirty dishes?

Perhaps, somewhere inside, I misunderstand service. As I do the dishes, I imagine and look forward to Greta coming home, her eyes lighting up and her giving me kisses and telling me how thankful she is that I took the time to do the dishes. As I serve God, I imagine the time I could be spending at home, watching television, studying or doing whatever “I want to do.” Therein lies the problem. My heart is not well tuned to the rhythms of true service.

Such instances tell me that poor motivations inspire me (the praise of others, immediate gratification) and that ultimate motivations (the praise of heaven, lasting joy) seem somehow hollow and unfulfilling. I have a hunch that if I simply threw myself into serving God more often without checking my list to make sure that I’m “available,” my motivations would begin to change. Maybe there really is some truth behind the idea of giving your life away in order to find it.

I know as well as anyone that many ministry opportunities can quickly turn into taxing, soul-sucking endeavors that take and take while giving little, if anything, in return. Thing is, that doesn’t mean that these things don’t need to be done anyway. Believe me, I’m no advocate of simply slaving away for some worthless cause, but we serve a Benevolent Master here. And yet, I continually approach His job openings like a junior high boy approaches a shower.

It is my hope that I will begin to think of serving God the same way I think of doing the dishes. See something that needs to be done and do it, with little thought of motivations and rewards. I have an inkling that such a lifestyle may prove to be its own reward.

The weekend that Benji realized he's useless, much like the Red Sox bullpen...

2006-08-23T14:12:00.000-07:00

Recently, my wife has been occupied. This time of year is busier for a hall director than any other time of year. She’s been in hall director training, training her new staff, preparing for opening the hall, and attending welcome week events. Basically, everything was crazy leading up to last Sunday when 400 students moved in to our hall. Since Sunday, she’s had events each night that were mandatory for her to attend. So, basically, I’ve spent the last few weeks as a housing orphan. And, during that time I’ve realized a few things.

First, I hate when my wife is gone. I have never really enjoyed “alone time,” so these weeks always try my limits. While spending so much time alone has allowed me to get plenty of homework and advance work done, it has also made me ready for this whole thing to be over soon. Thankfully, the Yanks and Sux played a five game series over the weekend. Four of the games were on the telly box, so I got close to my fill. If not for that, I would have left the house five times a day to check the mail just so I could be around people.

Second, when Greta’s really gone—like she was for an overnight retreat a couple of weeks ago—I don’t even know how to function. For example, I don’t know what to eat. If she doesn’t leave leftovers in the fridge, clearly labeled and in microwave-ready containers, I’m lost. Similarly, I don’t know when to go to bed. She leaves for a night and I usually end up watching replays of old sporting events—like the 1991 World Series or something else completely random—on ESPN until 2am or something.

Third, when she’s busy, we run out of groceries. How that situation—which I’m told happens on a near monthly basis—gets rectified is somewhat unclear to me. I do know that we don’t own any farm animals that can help us in such situations, but beyond that I’m lost.

Ultimately, this has made me realize two things: that I am useless without my wife and that I really like it this way.

Speaking of the Yankees, the weekend was one big five-game sweep of a joyfest. Even when they made me stay up until 12:30 one night, they rewarded my steadfastness with an extra-innings win. This is why my devotion continues. They always reward it. This team looks good, and at the right time, too. The playoffs aren’t far off and the Yanks look built for October success. Who couldn’t make room for a 27th World Series trophy?

If you're hungry for more Yankees talk (and who wouldn't be?), cruise over to this website I recently discovered. It’s called Bleeding Pinstripes and pretty much could have been written by my twin separated at birth, if, of course, that twin grew up in NYC and loves the Yankees which really would be the only logical outcome if there was, indeed, a twin separated at birth thing.

New friends and an update...

2006-08-16T18:36:00.000-07:00

I’m happy to welcome two new friends to the inner blog circle.

Both of them, Tim and Jay, are friends from the theological institution that consistently takes our money.

Tim’s blog is a fun assortment of thoughts on theology, life and things he’s going through/ contemplating. His current post is fantastic and well worth interacting with.

Jay’s blog is entirely theological. He posts many of his seminary papers and invites feedback and comments.

You’ll find both of these homies represented in the links section.

As for me, summer school is almost over. I have enjoyed the lighter load now that Hebrew is over (although I loved Hebrew), and only have one class left to focus on. It ends by Tuesday (since it’s my online class, I’m hoping to finish over the next couple of days). Tomorrow I start substitute teaching again, so that should produce some fun stories before long.

I can’t believe I’ve gone most of the summer without any kind of in-depth discussion of my beloved Yankees. That will change soon. Maybe Scott’s example inspired me. Maybe I’m just high on the intoxicating elixir that is a 3 game lead in mid-August. Either way, the discussion is coming soon.

Books are good for the soul...

2006-08-09T11:16:00.000-07:00

So, I got double-tagged by this blog chain letter type thing (Greta and Jacob). Fun times, I say. But, then I started thinking about the experience of being double-tagged. Does this mean that the second tag negates the first? I know that you can’t triple-stamp a double-stamp, but I’m not sure if you can double-tag a single-tag. Then, I thought, “What if rather than negating the first tag, a second tag actually reinforces it? Does this mean I have to type in bold?” (I actually thought about this for a while.) I concluded that a second tag does, indeed, reinforce, not negate. So, here’s my book blog, the reinforced edition.

1. One book that changed your life: Writing the Natural Way by Gabrielle Lusser Rico. The book itself was pretty good, but the situation in which I read and interacted with it—my Creative Writing class at DTS—has been one of the more life changing things I’ve ever done. I took the class in order to do something I thought I might enjoy. Turns out I found something I was meant to do.

2. One book that you’ve read more than once: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire/Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling. Love the little wizard!

3. One book you’d want on a desert island: The Baseball Encyclopedia. Who could ever get tired of reading that?

4. One book that made you laugh: Notes from a Big Country by Bill Bryson. Funny dude! Not only made me laugh, it also made me want to move to the woods in the northeast. Weird, I know.

5. One book that made you cry: I honestly can’t think of any that fit this one. It’s either because I’m reading the wrong kinds of books or because I’m a shell of a man completely devoid of compassion and sensitivity. Probably the latter.

6. One book that you wish had been written: Making Texas More Like California in Six Easy Steps

7. One book that you wish had never been written: Now I Can Die in Peace by Bill Simmons or Faithful by Stephen King or anything else on the topic of the event that must not be named.

8. One book you’re currently reading: None, really. But I recently finished Psychology, Theology and Spirituality by Mark McMinn, The Search for Significance by Robert McGee, From Exegesis to Exposition by Robert Chisholm, Introducing Biblical Hebrew by Allen Ross and The Summer That Seminary Killed My Husband by Greta Bruneel.

9. One book you’ve been meaning to read: Religious Affections by Jonathan Edwards. I’m not a huge fan of Edwards the linguist (too wordy) but I love Edwards the theologian and figure I should at least read the magnum opus.

10. Now tag five people: How about three? R. Jeff, Bittner, and Leani. I was going to put Derek Jeter in my list of three, but since he won't respond to my e-mails and repeated phone calls anymore, I figured I should let it go.

It’s a tough time to be a man…

2006-07-19T16:07:00.000-07:00

While walking through the library at The Dallas Theological Seminary, I stopped cold in my tracks. There, winking up at me from the section devoted to periodicals and journals, was one of my worst fears confirmed.

The cover story of New Man magazine—which claims to be “America’s #1 Christian Men’s Magazine”—was about something called “Edge-tosterone.” A brief glance at the table of contents revealed that the main article dealt with why men were created to take risks and why it’s Scriptural for them to do so. Seriously, I hate this kind of crap.

I blame almost all of this on John Eldredge. Now, I know that there are those who have benefited from his books The Sacred Romance, Wild at Heart and Captivating (which he co-wrote with his wife, Staci). And that’s great that God has used those books to minister to so many people. But that doesn’t mean we should just accept the whole message uncritically.

The gist of my issue with Mr. Eldredge and the article in New Man is this: what they’re peddling is not really true. Nothing too major, just, you know, truth. Each of these works calls men to be “what God intended” and then uses sketchy methods of interpreting the Bible to show what that looks like.

To wit, in Wild at Heart, Eldredge claims that the first man was born in the wilderness and, as a result, all men long to be back where things are wild. That cannot be shown from Scripture. Also, all men want a woman to rescue, a mission to complete and a pint of Guinness to finish off the day. (Alright, that last one I made up, but it’s pretty much the message.) They look for these things in life and when they don’t find them, they substitute other things and become miserable shells of their ideal selves. Disturbingly, Eldredge seems to find far more inspiration from Hollywood than Jerusalem and models his “ideal man” less after the Suffering Servant Messiah and more after the blood-spilling William Wallace and Maximus Decimus Meridius (Commander of the armies of the north, general of the Felix legion, and loyal servant of the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Yeah, I saw it.)

New Man seems to buy into the same concept, talking about the feminization of the church (the feminized church, apparently, is notable for its long messages, singing and emotional aspects), the need for churches to play up Jesus’ angry side as much as His loving side and man’s inherent need for risk. The article places the blame for risk-adverse men squarely on the church and calls men to rise above and become tough and rugged. Like Eldredge, New Man seems to be drawing a picture of manhood that is firmly rooted in the world around us and less in the Word before us. To top off the frustration, New Man shows the promised Scriptural support of its “risk-taking man” paradigm with exactly zero quotations from Scripture. Yeah, less than one. I looked closely.

The reason this makes me so angry is because it’s so wrong. I’m not at all against men finding God’s plan for their life, but I am against reading it into a script we wished we’d starred in. I prefer to read it in the pages of Scripture. The pages that call me to be conformed to the image of Christ (Romans 8:29). The pages that call me to consider the example of Jesus, not only when He drove out the money changers in zeal for the house of the Lord, but also when He “took the form of a servant” and “humbled Himself” to the point of death (Philippians 2:5-11). Perhaps those who want to re-write the paradigm of manhood have yet to learn to be content with servanthood.

This was one of Paul’s points for Christian marriage—another arena in which the He-Man Christianity Club wants to beat us into submission—in Ephesians 5. Husbands are called to “love their wives as Christ loved the church” (Ephesians 5:25, emphasis mine). Paul goes on to point out that Christ showed His love for the church by giving Himself up for her. Perhaps that’s what a man was “meant to be”: one who willingly lays down his life for others. Not in some super-heroic, Hollywood ideal, “I’ll dive and take a bullet for you” type of way, but in the simple, daily living out of life. Open her car door. Turn off SportsCenter and talk to her about her day. Take her by the hand and go for a walk. Do the dishes before she can. Then ask her what kind of a spiritual leader you’re being.

I looked everywhere for the verse that said, “By this all men will know you are my disciples: If you have a hunger for risk and a desire to piss off cliffs.” I also didn’t find “self-fulfilling adventure” in the list of the Fruit of the Spirit. The truth is we are called to be many things, kind as well as bold, servants as well as leaders. We ought to be searching for a wholistic approach to being God’s image bearers, not an unnecessarily and dangerously one-sided approach. Unfortunately, our so-called experts aren’t helping.

Let’s call men to follow the Savior’s plan for their life, not Hollywood’s. Whether that takes them into the wilderness or daily to their knees is not mine to say.

As for me, I would be better off with a stronger desire to serve others and a more humble estimation of myself. As it is, I’m already too fixated on my being supreme. When I struggle with that most, it’s not helpful for me to picture myself as some great face-painted, blood-soaked warrior. Jesus is the one returning to conquer, not me. Instead, I need to fall to my knees and ask God to conform me into the image of His Son, stripping away the impurities and making me into a vessel fit for His use. After all, I am nothing but a jar of clay and God is free to shape me into whatever form He finds most useful. And I simply pray He is pleased with me even if I never carry a sword or climb the face of Everest.

My summer of shalom...

2006-07-05T16:59:00.000-07:00

It’s an interesting thing, my life. That sounds a bit hubristic, I know, but hang in there.

When I started on this magical mystery tour of the wide world of theology back in fall 2004, I had no idea what I didn’t know or how I was going to ever know it. Now, almost two full years later I have the peaceful, easy feeling that comes from knowing how much I don’t know and not feeling compelled to have to know it. There is a sense of peace that comes with some self-awareness. And I am feeling peace this summer like rarely, if ever, before.

I’m currently taking Hebrew (a beautiful language that should be required learning for anyone with any wild idea of understanding the clean pages of their Bible), Gospels and next Monday I start Biblical Counseling. Two years ago, or even one year ago, that sentence would have given me a slight twitching above my right ear. But not this summer. Perhaps it’s a product of growing maturity, although anyone who knows me well could attest that that’s not it. I actually think it has to do with grace.

This summer, in the midst of all that is required of me by the Institution, Greta and I took a three-week vacation (although that was prior to class), we traveled to Liberal, Kansas to spend a fun weekend with my brother who’s playing baseball up there for the summer, I’ve gotten ahead on all my homework, I’ve read a non-seminary book (sensitive types shouldn’t click that link). Other than some nights of not getting enough sleep—which was due to staying up late and reading the Book-That-Must-Not-Be-Named—this summer has been quite an experience of shalom (which I now know how to write). This all points inarguably to God’s grace. God has seen fit to give me peace in the midst of productivity this summer, and I am deeply thankful.

Last summer, after my first full year at school, I was dry. I felt like I had just run a marathon, only to arrive at the finish line and have someone say, “Great job! You’re a third of the way!” My first year was tough. Then the second year came and was better, but still taxing, which led me to conclude that my kamikaze summer might just end me. But God has seen fit not to crush my dry bones but to set them dancing instead. This summer has been a gift of pure grace.

Again, allow me reiterate: this has little, if anything, to do with me and some swell time management skills I’ve developed. It has everything to do with God just giving me a sense of contentment with where life is and with what I’ve got going on.

I have no great way to end this, but I just thought I’d throw out some praise.

With all that said, my peace apparently doesn’t extend to nighttime. My dear wife says I’ve been sleepwalking more than ever. I can’t usually remember, so for me the peace rolls on. For her on the other hand…

Father figures...

2006-06-18T06:38:00.000-07:00

Happy Father’s Day!

Today I want to celebrate the three fathers who have helped to mold me.

My father is an example I would love to live up to. The man who taught me how to throw a baseball also taught me about the necessity of hard work. The man who showed me how to read a box score also showed me how to love a woman with everything you have. The man who insisted that we balance my checkbook also insisted that the first check be written to the church. The man who disciplined me with a heavy hand also loved me through his unending quest to provide. The man who finds joy in giving his free time to other people’s 10 to 12-year olds also showed me how to find joy in laying down my life in service to others. My father makes me proud to be his son.

My father-in-law is an example I would love to live up to. The man who goes to baseball games simply because I like them has shown me much about valuing others. The man who gives me books I need (and tries to give me plenty that I don’t) has shown me much about unbridled generosity. The man who adores his daughters like none other has taught me much about the pricelessness of the woman who married me. The man who immediately called me “son” has taught me much about acceptance. The man who maintains his practical faith has shown me much about what it means to seek after Christ. My father-in-law makes me proud to be his son.

I am blessed by these two men. They have taught me innumerable other things as well; the list above is simply a sampling. I am privileged to be their son. But my third Father has taught me just as much, if not more.

My heavenly Father is an example I would love to live up to. The Father who has allowed me to live despite my consistent failings has taught me much about patience. The Father who corrects my mistakes through loving and gentle rebuke has taught me much about the nature of discipline. The Father who has forgotten my sins has taught me much about mercy. The Father who has made me a co-heir in the family has taught me much about my value. The Father who alone is worthy of all glory has taught me much about humility. The Father who clothed me with the righteousness of Christ has taught me much about providing for needs. The Father who has given His Spirit to indwell me has taught me much about guidance. The Father who gave His Son for me has taught me much about real love.

I know that for some of you, today may not bring up too many memories worth celebrating, and I hurt for you. I am willing to share my third Father with you. He will parent you as no fallen, broken man can. He will show you unending, unswerving and unfailing love. He will give you everything you need so that you may bring Him glory. He will guide you into all righteousness for His name’s sake. He will make you into the person you were intended to be. My Father in heaven wants to parent you, too.

“How great is the love the Father has lavished on us that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” 1 John 3:1a

Travelogue...

2006-06-04T14:53:00.000-07:00

On May 17, we set out for a seventeen day vacation that would take us to California via the Grand Canyon. Here are some reflections, thoughts and random memories:

-I don’t usually use this space as an advice column, but indulge me for a moment. If you leave Denton, TX, driving a car that gets roughly 32 mpg and are headed to Amarillo, TX, you had best leave with a FULL tank of gas. If you have a “nearly” full tank, or even an “almost” full tank, you’re in for a very nervous 20 minutes just south of Amarillo. After the “low gas” indicator chimes for the second time — yeah, who knew it could even chime twice — your wife will notice that you’re staring intently at the horizon, gripping the steering wheel tightly, and alternating phrases under your breath like, “@#!%,” and “Maybe the people who abandoned that farm left some gas in that rusted tractor.” Ultimately, you will end up taking the first southern exit in Amarillo and groveling in the gravel at the most well-placed Texaco in North Texas, swearing that you will never again let the tank get below half-full, or even three-quarters full. She may forgive you before Albuquerque, but why chance it?

-We stopped by the Grand Canyon on our way west. Great fun. We rode a shuttle bus out to a place on the South Rim called Hermit’s Rest and then hiked the Rim Trail back 8.5 miles. Neither of us had ever been there and thoroughly enjoyed it. I’d love to go back someday. For someone who isn’t fond of dirt and bugs, that’s saying something.

-In Kingman, AZ, we stopped at a gas station. That in and of itself is nothing spectacular, but at that gas station I saw a very interesting man. He was standing outside of the convenience store, next to the ice machine. He had a suitcase at his feet and wore a shirt that said, “Cleveland.” I realize that it was an Indians baseball shirt, but it looked more like he was a hitchhiker with a permanent destination emblazoned on his chest. On our return trip through Kingman, he was gone from the gas station. I could just imagine him waiting there, disappointment mounting, as myriad travelers speed by. Then, one blessed day, a truck driver saunters over and says the magic phrase, “I’m goin’ to Cleveland.” Delighted, our weary traveler grabs his suitcase and begins dreaming of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, seeing a Browns game in person and maybe, just maybe, meeting Drew Carey at a deli.

-Speaking of hitchhikers, I saw more hitchhikers in Arizona than anywhere else I’ve ever been. I have a theory about why: it’s hotter than hell in Arizona. (I realize I can’t empirically prove the preceding statement, but you’ll have to take my word for it.) I’m sure that most people in Arizona—even in the beautiful mountainous area near Flagstaff—spend most of their days planning an escape. My brother lives in Arizona, which is hard for me to imagine. What isn’t hard for me to imagine is him showing up at my parents’ doorstep someday soon and turning to wave goodbye to the family of seven in the station wagon that happened to be goin’ his way.

-California is, without any doubt, the greatest state in the country. Even the desert on the western side of the California-Arizona border is better than that on the eastern side. While in the Golden State, we saw desert, beach, and mountains. It was like our own personal “best of” tour. We also had a bit of a baby tour. Lots of our friends have new or recent babies, so we got to see them all. We also got to meet our new nephew, Seth, who is tons of fun. He’s only two months old, so we had only seen pictures. He likes Greta and me; we make him laugh and smile. I’ve also been told that Seth has my ears, which simply means that mine now, at 28 years old, are exactly the same size as his at 2 months.

-Biggest city we passed through: Los Angeles, CA (population: 3,694,820). Smallest town we passed through: Estelline, TX (population: 168). The second category was close. We also drove through Lemon Cove, CA which boasts a population of 198.

-Interstates, freeways and state routes: I 35 (TX), 380 (TX), 278 (TX), I 40 (TX, NM, AZ, CA), 58 (CA), 14 (CA), I 5 (CA), 126 (CA), 101 (CA), 99 (CA), 180 (CA), 198 (CA). When you get on I 40 east in Barstow, California, there is a sign there that says “Wilmington, NC 2,554 miles.” I imagine that this sign is put there to give hope to anyone who finds themselves in Barstow. I also imagine that there is no sign in Wilmington that says “Barstow, CA 2,554 miles.” Otherwise, people would be getting off the freeway in droves.

-We left Stockton, CA on Friday, June 2. A mere 26 hours later we pulled in to the University of North Texas. It was good to go home, but it’s also good to be home.

The Voices have been silent...

2006-05-23T09:40:00.000-07:00

We’re currently enjoying a much-needed vacation in California. We’ve done all kinds of eating, sleeping, eating, playing with infants, and eating. I’ve got plenty of stories about the Grand Canyon, the Petrified Forest and driving across Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California, but they’ll have to await our return. Just typing this much has made me ready for a nap by the beach.

Big news...

2006-05-10T14:44:00.000-07:00

I’m happy to report that everyone’s favorite minor league catcher, Wally Rosa, has earned hisself a promotion! (See “A Weekend in ‘Bama” below) That’s right, only in the wacky world of minor league baseball can a man be rewarded for hitting .111 in 18 at bats at AA. The reward? A trip to AAA Charlotte. Someone was making Knight moves and Wally was the happy beneficiary. Wally has greeted his good fortune by picking up right where he left off, but not quite. He’s gone a cool 0 for 10 in five games for the Knights, with one strikeout, no walks, and one very mysterious stolen base. (In my baseball career, I found it very difficult to steal bases if you’re never on base, which I never was. I also found it very difficult to steal bases because I wasn’t fast. I once misread a sign, thought the coach was giving me the steal sign, and got thrown out by 8 to 10 feet. Turns out he was giving me the “For the love of God, you’ve never been on base, don't get such a large lead, you’re going to get picked off, put your left foot on the bag and hopefully this guy hits a homerun and doesn’t lap you on his homerun trot” sign. I think I got mixed up when he went ear-belt-hat.) So, keep up the good work faithful citizens of blogdom. Your goodwill got Wally a promotion—honestly, looking at his stats, what else could explain it—so why stop now? Let’s get this man in Chicago by the end of the season!

P.S. Happy Bono's birthday! Celebrate appropriately, with a pint of Guinness and a donation to DATA.

A random return...

2006-05-08T16:28:00.000-07:00

I’m happy to be back. This semester has been, shall we say, demanding. Now, I’m glad to report, it’s over. Pretty much. One easy final and a little bit of reading to go. The big thing is that my beast of a paper is finished. I spent a stunning number of hours researching and writing for my 19 page single-spaced, 105 footnote opus. I feel lighter now. I’m not, actually any lighter because I’ve been planted on my butt writing a paper for the last week, but I feel lighter. So, that’s a pleasant deception.

Recently, while reading through Writer’s Digest, I saw a poll. Apparently, some number cruncher guy measured “The Most Literate Cities in America.” He took into account number of booksellers, level of educational attainment, Internet resources, library resources, newspaper circulation and periodical publications for each of the 69 largest cities in the country. Here’s the fascinating part: the bottom city on the list? Stockton, California, or a place I affectionately refer to as “home.” Yup, my hometown. So, basically, the fact that I can write any entries at all in this space, and that anyone I knew before the age of 22 can read them, is pretty much miraculous. Maybe this helps explain why the comments from the Stockton contingent are sparse.

Also, in other news, my wife is stellar. She has been reaping the rewards of her dedication lately. For example, she was honored by the RAs at University of North Texas as the Most Supportive Hall Director, followed closely by her bosses voting her the Most Outstanding Hall Director. She's a star.

She’s also wicked funny. Check out this bathtub brainstorm on her blog. Contribute if you can. Laugh as much as you like. But, by all means, vote for your favorite. We will have no more of the voyeurs!

That’s all for today. I have to ease my way back in. Can’t rush these things.

But, before I go, it’s the return of Word of the Day!

Word of the Day:

bloviate (blow-vee-ate), verb, to speak or write in a boastful manner

How ironic that the word actually sounds like that which it defines! Stunning! Bonus that it sounds vaguely like some sort of gastrinal issue that effects millions of elderly white males during their golf games in Florida. Also, it sounds like a really run together description of what someone drinking carrot juice does when they hear a funny joke. As you can see, the word has unlimited potential.

Yes, folks, it’s good to be back.

A weekend in Bama...

2006-04-19T14:35:00.000-07:00

We spent the weekend in Alabama. We had decided to use our Easter break to visit Greta’s sister, Nancy, who lives in Birmingham. Here are some highlights and some lowlights of our trip to Alabama and all places in between.

-For my birthday, a few weeks ago, Nancy sent me a t-shirt that simply says “Alabama” across the chest. This is the “officially licensed apparel” of the University of Alabama. I was stoked. I even saved it so that the first wearing of the shirt would take place while we were in ‘Bama. Alabama is football crazy and a pretty divided state. Alabama and Auburn are each in the state and the allegiances people have to one or the other run deep and often back through a number of generations. The Alabama Crimson Tide and the Auburn Tigers do not play well together. This is all back story so that you can properly understand what follows.

While spending a gorgeous Saturday afternoon in the Birmingham Zoo, Greta, Nancy and I were enjoying the animals. I was proudly sporting my Alabama t-shirt. We had just left the alligator swamp and were bound for the primates when this old man—probably in his 70’s—walked by. As he passed us he looked at me and yelled, “Roll Tide!” This was the single greatest moment of my time at the zoo. This old man, otherwise calm and cool, just couldn’t resist the opportunity to commiserate with a fellow ‘Bama Backer. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’m a UCLA fan from California. He’s better off not knowing.

-We attended a Southern Baptist Easter service. Another new experience for me. The music was great and the message was well crafted. Overall, it was a very enjoyable experience, but I was disappointed that there was only one altar call and no potluck.

-We got to visit Nancy at work. She works at the American Village, just outside of Birmingham. She serves as a historic interpreter and the queen of all stitching for this endeavor in which 18th century Boston has been recreated. School children from all over the greater Birmingham area come to learn about the causes of the Revolutionary War and the characteristics of the colonists who dared to separate from the Crown. We had a great time sitting in a recreation of the Old North Church as Nancy delivered a secret spy message. I thought about turning her in to General Gage, but then realized that such an act might lead to the spread of cricket in the States. Out of a deep love for my fellow Americans, I sat still.

-We attended a Birmingham Barons baseball game on Sunday night. If you’ve never gone to a minor league baseball game, you’re missing out. We sat on the lower level for $8 a piece and have fun trying to catch t-shirts, Frisbees and other such objects that were tossed into the crowd between innings. The players all play hard, knowing that their ticket to AAA depends on it. I even adopted a player into my heart—Wally Rosa, catcher for the Barons, who, as best I can tell, still doesn’t have a hit this season. This must change! If you think about it, send Wally some good mental vibes. His season depends on you!

-On the drive home, we decided that we were going to eat at a Hardee’s or Carl’s Jr. This proved problematic as there are, and we can firmly attest to this, no Hardee’s or Carl’s Jr. restaurants anywhere along I-20 through Mississippi or Louisiana. We saw myriad Wendy’s and McDonald’s, but when you’ve got your heart set on Carl’s, how can you settle? Settle we did not. And a mere five hours after first mentioning our hunger and our desire for Famous Stars, we pulled in to Carl’s Jr. in Van, Texas. Good things do indeed come to those who wait. Like indigestion from eating a Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger, onion rings, criss-cut fries and two root beers.

-Alabama is a very pretty state. The green hills and plentiful countryside remind me of a painting I saw in Los Angeles once. Louisiana and Mississippi, however, not pretty. And since they rudely stand in the way of anyone wanting to travel from Texas to Alabama, we were forced to endure them. These two states are tied in the “Most Disgusting Bathrooms in the Known World” contest that I initiated while on this trip. Who would have thought that filthy, disgusting and smoke-filled gas stations would have filthy, disgusting and smoke-filled bathrooms. Probably not coincidentally, my wife is sick today.

Crunch time...

2006-04-07T19:31:00.000-07:00

This part of the semester always kills me. At this time last year I was uttering curse words about Greek (Seriously, you can ask my friend Tim). We have entered crunch time.

Crunch time comes with its own set of rules. To wit:

-During crunch time, professors who you previously considered normal will suddenly increase the amount of reading expected for a typical week. You must face this trial with silence. So much as a whimper and the load will increase.

-During crunch time, you may forget to take part in valuable activities such as bathing. Make sure that you surround yourself with people who have strong stomachs and won’t hesitate to point out your stench.

-During crunch time, all of the books you need will be checked out of the library. If you are lucky, you might be able to locate the gaps in the system where the books you need typically reside. At this point a whimper is acceptable, but you must whimper quietly. You are, after all, in the library.

-During crunch time, you will learn to survive on 2 hours of sleep, feel “somewhat awake” with 3, write a paper on 4, and feel “positively chipper” with 5.

-During crunch time, the people in your classes just aren’t that funny anymore. (Unless I’m in your class, then I’m still funny. Right? Anyone?)

-During crunch time, you will consistently struggle through the following train of thought: “Before I forget, I really need to…um…curse word! What did I need to do?”

-During crunch time, eating becomes a timed event. You must not dally long at the table. Remember, each bite of sandwich = one less quarter-page of a paper you could be finishing.

-During crunch time, instead of having time to read, write and study, you will find your weekends unexpectedly filled with things like changing bike tires, chopping down redwoods and brokering peace between Yankees and Red Sox fans. Granted, these things may never happen during the rest of the year, but we’re dealing with crunch time here.

I hope that you all may negotiate the tricky waters of crunch time with grace and peace. Rest assured, this too shall pass…just in time for summer school.

My sports odyssey...

2006-04-04T05:24:00.000-07:00

Since Saturday, I've embarked upon a bit of a sports odyssey. The journey has been marked by joy, pride, frustration and some deep sadness. I want you to journey with me.

Saturday:
Euphoria.

Sunday:
Never been prouder.

Monday:
Lots of fun, a little suburned and disappointed with the results.
Sad. Deeply sad.
Excitement. (What a way to start things off!)

Tuesday:
Hopeful. (On the Nor-Cal side, of course.)

Thanks for journeying with me. Looking back, it's been a good run. It also may explain why I have so much homework that must get finished TODAY.

There's no crying in basketball...

2006-03-24T16:03:00.000-08:00

***This post is sports-centric, I know, but read through because I want your feedback.***

A wise person once said, “Tears are a sign of life.” If that’s true, then Adam Morrison is really alive.

Nobody east of the Rockies was more excited about UCLA’s victory last night than I was. (Nobody was more angry, either, when the realization washed over them that the Texas Longhorns game would be on the television instead of the Bruins.) I was able to follow the game on the computer, living and, mostly, dying with each Gonzaga basket. And there were plenty of them. In fact, halfway through the game I got a voice mail from my brother who called the Bruins’ effort a “travesty” but encouraged me to stay the course. It was that bad. And I felt bad. But, then…

UCLA made it a game in the second half, cutting into the lead early and then hanging around. In the final three minutes, things just got ridiculous. Seemingly out of nowhere, the Bruins began forcing turnovers and hitting shots that just refused to fall in the first half. Which led us to this sequence: Morrison received an inbounds pass with nineteen seconds left, was effectively covered and threw a pass across the court to teammate J.P. Batista. UCLA succeeded in stealing the ball and hitting a layup to take the lead. That was at eight seconds. Gonzaga inbounded the ball, but had it stripped again and UCLA fell on it with two seconds left. The Bruins had been down by as many as 17 and were trailing by 9 with three minutes left, but now found themselves in the lead, 72-71. And that’s when Adam Morrison proved his heart was beating.

You may know Morrison as the man with the ugliest mustache in college sports. Perhaps it’s the silly late-70s socks that catch your attention. What I noticed at that moment, with two seconds left, was that he was crying. Yes, tears. Crying before the game was even over. It only precipitated (no pun intended) the flood that would come after the game went final and Morrison collapsed at center court with his jersey pulled over his head. His shoulders were heaving and I couldn’t help but feel a little badly for him. Here was the nation’s leading scorer reduced to a puddle. His team lost, and he was overcome.

So, here’s the thing: A friend told me that today on the sports radio Morrison was raked over the coals for crying before the game was over. And for crying after the game was over. Apparently, there’s no crying in basketball. When I pseudo-defended Morrison—I said I had no problem with the post-game “our season is over” tears, but was not really down with the in-game, “we’re now down by one point with two seconds left” tears—my friend even hated on the post-game flow.

So, I put it to you: What do you do with an athlete that cries after or during a loss? Do you prefer your stars to be emotionless? Is it only okay to cry after a win? Why do we need our stars to play dry?

If you need to see it for yourself before you weigh in, go to CBS Sportsline and click on UCLA: Unbelievable!

Fire away. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

The return to Guam...

2006-03-21T14:58:00.000-08:00

Although it may appear otherwise, I haven’t actually forgotten that I claimed this part of the internet for myself. Rather, like most Americans and Guam, I just haven’t paid much attention to it lately. Then this morning it came up to me with a sad look and said, “I’d love to spend some time with you again.” I was hooked.

Since I posted last…

School has been slightly crazy. The defining adjective of the semester would have to be “constant.” After a “new,” a “tiresome” and an “invigorating,” I guess it was time for a “constant.” I’m happy to report, though, that I am still on track to graduate in May ’07, have my thesis topic all picked out and some preliminary research underway and am pretty excited about my fall schedule. Also great news: 7 weeks until summer.

The United States of America lost in the World Baseball Classic. In fact, they didn’t even make it to the finals, in which Japan beat Cuba. Not sure how to evaluate this yet. In a way it may be good for the long-term outlook of the WBC that someone other than the US won. I was kind of worried that other countries would just write it off completely if it turned into a US-fest. Now, in three years, everyone will be gunning for Japan. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.) On the other hand, this is our game! Who invited these guys?

Went to St. Louis over spring break for an amazing mission trip working with World Impact. I was so thoroughly impressed with the organization, the people and their heart for the poor. Our team did really well, too, so that was a huge relief for Greta and I. Co-leading a trip was really good for us.

The beloved UCLA Bruins are in the Sweet 16. I really think they have a legitimate shot at beating the mustached-one and his minions. (I know, I think the Bruins have a legitimate shot at winning the title every year. But this year is different because I’m less delusional.)

My dear, committed wife has signed up for her first half-marathon. She’s been working really hard and is excited about seeing all her training pay off. I couldn’t be prouder and can’t wait to kiss her sweaty forehead after she crosses the finish line.

Oh, yeah, I may be getting something published…Stay tuned.

(P.S. If you’ve been checking this site regularly, you deserve some sort of award for faithfulness.)

(P.S.S. Today I was watching a spring training baseball game during my free period while I was subbing. One of the commentators said the following, “When you got a bunch of new guys, it takes time to get used to their different personalities, different styles, different aggressivenesses.” Uh huh, aggressivenesses. Good stuff you’d only hear on ESPN at 1 in the afternoon.)

News from Subland...

2006-02-21T15:05:00.000-08:00

Sorry it’s been a while since my last post. Things have been a bit crazy.

Today I subbed in a middle school math class. In lieu of a math assignment, the students had to write a three paragraph essay (if something of only three paragraphs can be called that) about a recent project they finished. Apparently, this project involved taking pictures. If I gathered the snippets of info correctly, I believe they were supposed to take pictures of basic geometric shapes around them and then create an album.

The teacher’s directions were really clear. First paragraph – Describe your project. Tell what you did. Use lots of details. Second paragraph – Describe making your project. Who helped you, what materials did you use, where did you get the materials, how long did it take? Third paragraph – Write three things you learned about yourself during this project.

Now, this doesn’t seem too tough. In fact, most students finished in about ten minutes and had thirty-five left to do something quiet at their desk. Then there were a handful of other students. For them, it wasn’t as easy. A couple students took almost the entire forty-five minutes to write their three paragraph opus. I worked really hard to keep the students who had finished quiet so that the others, who were clearly struggling, could finish.

I noticed one boy in particular. He had come in quietly, sat right down and worked the entire class. I was feeling badly for him that the other students, who had finished far more quickly, were talking and making it tough for him to finish. I was pretty hard on the talkers. I was this boy’s personal academic savior.

Only three minutes before the day was over, he handed in his essay. Yes! I had done it! I had vanquished the forces of noisiness and rescued this poor academic peasant from their clutches just in time to save his precious essay.

As he laid it on the desk, I smiled at him. Then I glanced down to see the marvel that had so consumed him. As follows, with all spelling, punctuation and paragraph divisions intact:

“I made a crapy project. Mine was messed up. My project has a green cover.

I did my project on the last day. I took all the pictures on the last day. I used my cousins construction paper.

I learned nothing. I hated the project. I have a A.D.D. so I can’t listen.”

This is the child I defended. This is the future of America.

I feel defeated.

Celebrating the holy day...

2006-02-04T15:08:00.000-08:00

As we wait on the brink of America’s most revered holiday, I would like to take this opportunity to express my thankfulness to the Football Fairy.

Perhaps you’ve never heard of the Football Fairy. That’s perfectly reasonable as you probably have yet to become a true convert. For those who follow football religiously (as if there was any other way to do so), the Football Fairy is a benevolent, if slightly overweight, fellow.

He is the subject of much myth and lore, any number of songs and even a misty-eyed poem or two. Some tell of his leaving footballs, chips and queso to followers on Super Bowl Day.

The Football Fairy is such a profound part of everything that makes tomorrow great, that it is difficult to believe when people say, “I don’t believe in the Football Fairy.” Apologetics is for another time, for today’s message is not polemic, but celebratory in nature.

In honor of the world’s greatest legendary figure, I would like to share with you a little piece I have created entitled “The Night Before 40.”

T’was the night before 40, and all through Detroit,
Coaches were scheming for holes to exploit.
The logos were painted in the end zones with care,
And the smell of Budweiser hung thick in the air.
Most players were nestled, in their king-size beds,
While visions of touchdown dances played in their heads.
But Big Ben, watching film of the Seahawks once more,
Was taking good notes on Seattle’s front four,
When out on Ford Field there arose such a clatter,
He jumped from his chair to see what was the matter.
Away down the tunnel he flew like a flash,
As if he was running the 40-yard dash.
The light on the chalk of the fifty-yard line,
Foreshadowed the coming of someone divine.
When what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But an overweight man, in each hand a cold beer.
With a look on his face that was joyful and merry,
Ben knew in a moment, “It’s the Football Fairy!”
The Fairy, surrounded by men of great fame,
Whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Elway, now, Namath, Montana and Starr,
Now, Staubach, now, Brady, like the MVPs that you are.
To the top of the aisle, up to row double-Z,
Run like you’re chased by a hungry DE.”
Like Mike Vick in the face of an oncoming rush,
They blew past Big Ben, with a still-focused hush.
To the top row of the venue, the QBs they flew,
Leaving just the Fairy, with his job to do.
Then from the rafters, Ben heard a song start,
And though cheesy, they sang it with all of their heart.
With “Are You Ready for Some Football” filling the dome,
The Fairy walked the sidelines, both visitor and home.
He was dressed in a jersey — Payton’s 32 —
No cap, but a fedora, a fan through and through.
With a huge bag of pork rinds tucked under his arm,
He looked like a vender, but with plenty more charm.
His eyes they were shifting, like he’d picked up a blitz,
His cheeks they were bulging from too many Ritz,
His mouth had been frozen in a strange Hines Ward smile,
And it looked like he sure hadn't shaved in some while.
'Round his neck hung a whistle, from his days as a ref,
Too much time in the Black Hole had left him part deaf.
He had a broad face and a brat-enhanced belly
Big Ben had a feeling this Fairy was smelly.
The picture of fandom, except for two things,
From his back portruded a pair of huge wings.
A wink of an eye, a hand signal or two,
He was changing the play, this much Big Ben knew.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Sprinkling dust with a satisfied smirk.
When his job was all through, and both sidelines blessed,
He gave a signal to the still-singing rest.
They gathered around him, crowding close in a huddle,
Then out of the building they shot like a shuttle.
Big Ben heard him exclaim, as skyward they hurled,
“Enjoy the game; I’m going to Disney World!”

I hope that this season finds you well as you celebrate the magical gifts that the Football Fairy bestows upon those who love him. May your day tomorrow be filled with wonder, much scoring and plenty of funny commercials.

Sub trauma...

2006-01-24T18:41:00.000-08:00

If my socks look red, it’s because I spent the day with the ankle biters. I subbed at an elementary school. An entire elementary school. The teachers had meetings all day, but in shifts, so I subbed to cover their shifts. By the end of the day I had spent time in 5th, 4th, 3rd, 2nd, and 1st grades, Kindergarten and as a lunch room monitor/meanie. Pretty much, not fun. However, luckily my ears and eyes were open to catch some of the following nuggets of greatness:

Completely unsolicited comment from a 3rd grade student: “Today in my lunch I have fruit. An orange and apple. And for drink I have juice. Mostly fruit. No sandwich.”
Me: “Uh, cool.”

Another 3rd grader was supposed to be working on her Thomas Edison crossword puzzle, but instead was speaking to another student in Spanish, hoping to get away with not working. This led to the following exchange:
Me: “Melanie, por que estas hablando? No necesitas hablar ahora, necesitas trabajar. Tienes mucha para hacer. Pero siempre habla, habla, habla. No mas hablando!”
Her: “You talk Spanish?”

Today was “Career Dress-Up Day,” complete with a parade of occupations through the hallways at the end of the day. At this point I was in the kindergarten class. When it came time for all the dressed-up children to go prepare for the parade, one plain-clothes child got in line. I asked what she was doing, and she said, “I’m a teacher.” I let her go.

Another one of those kindergarteners was impeccably dressed in a suit, shirt and tie. I noticed early in class that he continually bossed the other children around. Later, I was told that he had dressed as the President of the United States. Classic.

The moment I walked into the kindergarten class, this happened:
Boy: “Do you know my name?”
Me: “No.”
Boy: “It starts with an ‘n.’”
Me: “Still don’t know it.”
At this point he ran over and got a box of his work with NATHAN printed on it and said, “Can you read this?”
Me: “Yeah, it says Nathan.”
Immediately every other child started yelling: “Do you know my name?”
Me: “Listen! I don’t know any of your names!”
I didn't attempt to learn them either.

While we waited in the hallway, just before going into the cafeteria, one 2nd grader repeatedly asked me, “Do you have a burr?” I kept asking him what he meant and he kept saying, “In your hair. Do you have a burr?” Eventually, the kid next to him said, “You don’t make sense.” And that was that.

After lunch:
2nd grade boy: “Katie called me a maniac.”
Me: “I’m sorry.”
Him: “Katie called me a maniac.”
Me: “Yeah, I heard you. I said I was sorry.”
Apparently he was looking for something else from me, because he looked pretty dejected when he got back in line.

At least 5 times today: “Hey! You cutted me!” Good times with bad English.

A day like this is priceless. At least that’s what the district must think because the price they put on it was far too low.

Deeply committed...

2006-01-16T08:28:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning thankful to have slept in. Today is a day off, for my wife and me both. We needed it after working the Dallas Bridal Show all weekend. But today’s day off isn’t just another holiday, as far as I am concerned. Today is different.

A few years ago, my wife and I went on a vacation that deeply impacted me; we went to the South. This vacation left big imprints on me like no other trip really has. We started in Atlanta. While there we did some of the regular ol’ tourist stuff like took in a Braves game (where we saw Greg Maddux pitch) and toured the Margaret Mitchell house (where she wrote Gone With the Wind). But the unplanned part of our trip was to swing by Sweet Auburn. This is the name of the historically black section of town. This part of our trip was unplanned because we didn’t even know it existed until we got there. But are we ever glad we got there.

Sweet Auburn is where Martin Luther King Jr. grew up. It’s where Ebenezer Baptist Church, the church where Dr. King and his father, Daddy King, did their preaching, still stands. It’s where the Center for Nonviolent Social Change, established by Coretta Scott King, operates. This trip through Sweet Auburn showed us the lasting legacy of one of the neighborhood’s finest sons. It confronted us California kids with the ugly truth of rampant racism in a way that we had never seen. It showed us the beauty of diversity. Sweet Auburn was indeed sweet for us. But our vacation wasn’t over.

In Birmingham, we visited the Civil Rights Institute and were confronted by more of the same. On display in this museum were images of senseless brutality, ugly bigotry and a history of which none should be proud. I can honestly say that during that trip I was deeply ashamed to be white. Birmingham and Sweet Auburn produced in me a deep affection for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

I know the man wasn’t perfect. None is. But he was a man of courage, conviction, and, perhaps most admirable, commitment. While reading the instructions to nonviolent protesters that Dr. King had drafted, I knew I couldn’t have followed them. Things such as, “Speak quietly and respectfully to any who persecute you,” or “If struck, spit on, or assaulted, do not retaliate,” seem nearly impossible, and yet the world saw them work in the 60’s. Why such tension? How can such a high calling that it almost seems impossible to carry out such instructions and yet such a noble response that it almost seems impossible for it not to work be one and the same? Because Dr. King drew them from the highest of all sources: Christ Himself.

Dr. King consistently applied the teachings of Christ as found in the Sermon on the Mount when directing the nonviolent social change movement. He took seriously teachings such as, “love your enemies and pray for those that persecute you,” and “Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.” Also what the Apostle Paul wrote seems to have affected his methodology: “Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.”

So, what happens when someone lives life with a radical commitment to truth, justice and loving one’s enemies? Evil is exposed, righteousness is celebrated and, ultimately, societies are changed. I pray that I may be a man of such dedication to truth and to righteousness that I won’t rest until justice flows down like mighty waters.

Today, take the time to celebrate the life of a man who was not only courageous and convinced, but also committed. Talk to your children about what happens when you live life with a deep commitment to righteous convictions. Point to Dr. King’s example. And, of course, take time to celebrate the Source of Dr. King’s courage, conviction and commitment. I think Dr. King would want it that way.

Kids these days...

2006-01-11T13:52:00.000-08:00

I just returned from substitute teaching. Today was elementary school P.E. And I’m concerned. The day went fine, but, when combined with my previous experience teaching this same subject for this same grade level, I have observed some things that concern me. Here they are in no particular order. (Warning: Some generalizations ahead. These may not all apply in every given case, but they ring true in many cases.)

Kids are fat. I realize there is a difference between baby fat and being truly fat. I get that. What I don’t get is how parents can let their children become enormous by the age of 9. Who is overseeing their eating habits? Roseanne? This does not bode well for the future. In an already over-medicated society we are raising up a generation who may be at more risk for health problems than any in the past.

Kids cheat. This you may greet with a bit of a chuckle, but I’m serious. I know that some form of cheating has existed forever. But this feels and looks different to me. This is unlike the innocent, “I’ll only try this because I know my friends will call me out on it” kind of stuff that my friends and I used to pull. This is more ingrained. They cheat when they feel like they can’t win by the rules. And, from what I can gather, they don’t seem to think twice about it. This does not bode well for their future, in any arena of life. What will they become? Prisoners? Professional wrestlers? Home run hitters?

Kids don’t play. I’m relatively sure that most children have an after-school itinerary that contains significantly more time playing video games than actual games. Now, I’m not a video game hater; in fact, I wish I had more time to play mine. But there have to be limits. Remember the movie The Sandlot, where the group of neighborhood kids played baseball in the empty lot everyday during the summer? That would never happen anymore. Kids would rather sit staring at a television screen, exercising only their thumbs, than get out, see some scenery and use major muscle groups. Parents, kick your kids outside for an occasional afternoon of real-life activity. It really won’t kill them.

Kids don’t try. I can’t even recall the number of times that I heard a child say today, “I can’t do this.” And usually that proclamation came flying out of their mouths before they had even attempted anything. Granted, today’s tumbling stuff might not be for everyone, but they never even gave it a shot before concluding that it was impossible. I think we need to do some serious methodology review and see how we can convince them that trying is worth just as much as succeeding. (I’m not advocating taking away things like dodgeball where you are “singled-out” as a failure if you don’t perform. In fact, I believe I’m advocating the opposite and mandating that people at least attempt to perform before they single themselves out as failures.)

Kids make excuses. Today this was illustrated to me by way of contrast. In one class, one girl swore she couldn’t participate in the exercises because she wasn’t “feeling well.” In fact, this girl was crying because the other teacher had told her she had to participate. For those of you that may be thinking, “She may have really been sick,” just consider that she wasn’t too sick to do the cartwheels, only the somersaults, the crab walks and the handstands. In the same exact class as this young complaining girl was another young girl who apparently had been born without a right hand. Yet, she did everything we asked, and seemed to have lots of fun doing it. Talk about someone who could legitimately ask to be excused from handstands! But she didn’t ask to be excused from anything, and made it a point to give her best. No more excuses. If you’ve got all of your limbs, were able to get out of bed and haven’t recently seen a doctor, get in there and play.

I thought I’d share these things with the blog community. I'm not trying to indict all parents. I'm just pointing out some of what I saw. Frankly, I don’t know the answer to all of these ills, but I do know one thing. If these things don’t get fixed soon, we’re getting the crap kicked out of us in the 2016 Olympics.

After the holidaze...

2006-01-05T18:51:00.000-08:00

It's been quite some time since my last post. In fact, it was Christmas Day, which seems like a distant memory. The primary reason that I haven't posted has to do with an intricate conspiracy among two women in my life. Those two women are my mother and my mother-in-law.

They each decided that it would be okay to feed me unnecessarily large portions of food over the holidays. At every meal. This meant that by the time New Year's Eve rolled around my fingers were so fat that I could only type in four letter blocks like thyg or mknj. Now that I have escaped from the clutches of these two women bent on ruining my typing ability, I can blog again.

Some random thoughts and then a little something I wrote over the break before the food conspiracy had its way with my digits:

Rose Bowl thoughts: Last night's Rose Bowl was amazing. Not sure that I'm ready to call it the best game of all time like some people I heard on TV and radio today, but it was great watching. Now, I'm not particularly a fan of that large university in Austin, but I'd rather swallow razor blades than root for SC, so I was quite satisfied with the results. Vince Young is ridiculous. Can't say much more than that.

College Bowl thoughts: Didn't do so well on my college bowl picks for my mother-in-law this year. Finished 13-15. Not pretty. I guess next year I'll have to spend a little more time studying the passing efficiency ratings of the guys in the MPC Computers Bowl.

Traveling thoughts: Parents, please. The rest of us are begging. Never let your 8 to 10-year old children fly alone. Even if it is just from Houston to Dallas. The cuteness factor quickly wears off and the bags of candy that they've been consuming since they got through the metal detector don't. I just kept looking around hoping someone would bring the child some turkey and red wine. So, please don't do that to us. Related to that...please don't ever change your child's diaper in the seat. It's really gross. And if you must, do it discreetly. Nothing is worse than drawing attention to the already completely unnecessary act. And whatever happens, under no circumstances should your ever look at your bare-bottomed child and, loudly enough so that ground control can hear you, say to your child, "Your poop smells just like your daddy's!"

That's about all for now. But I'll leave you with a short theological thought. The following was composed pre-eating crisis, on 12-23. Hope you enjoy.

The Greatest Test of Love...
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” -Matthew 5:44

I once read that this particular teaching of Christ stands out among non-believers as the most distinctive tenet of the Christian faith. I have read this portion of the Sermon on the Mount numerous times. I have heard sermons on it in “big church.” I’ve even taught on it in youth group before. So, I got this down, right? Know this one inside and out? One would think.

Wednesday morning my faith in action was put to the test like never before. Here's what happened:

The Yankees signed Johnny Damon.

Some of you may be laughing at this point, but my initial reaction was something other than laughter. In fact, when I heard it from Regis (yes, Regis broke the news to me), I was not happy. At all. In fact, I raged out loud.

I have spent the last three years convinced that Johnny Damon is an idiot, and not in the “we’re members of the Red Sox and so we do crazy things” kind of way. But like a real, low-IQ kind of way. I had made up songs about him that shouldn’t be reproduced in cyberspace. I had yelled, “I hate Johnny Damon” every time that they had showed his disgustingly hairy, unshaven self on the television. Johnny Damon joining the Yankees is similar to Sherman deciding that he would like to help Atlanta rebuild. This man met every definition of enemy. And now he wore pinstripes?!

Then I got in the shower and started to think. The following things popped into my mind: Johnny Damon is fast, hits leadoff and fills a big void in centerfield. (Now Jeter can hit in the 2-hole again, a much better fit, I say.) His signing will anger Red Sox Nation like nothing in recent memory which is always a bonus. He’ll have to get a haircut in order to meet the Yankees dress code, and in a sweeping gesture of kindness that naturally accompanies anyone associated with the Yankees, will probably donate his shorn locks to children undergoing cancer treatment.

Pretty much, I think I love this guy! Wow, that was easier than I thought!

Merry Christmas and such...

2005-12-25T12:47:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, y'all. We're in NorCal enjoying the holidays with our families. Hope you're getting an opportunity to spend time with people you love and celebrate Christmas. Also, Hanukkah begins this evening. Light a candle and remember God's preservation of His people and the re-dedication of the Temple after the Abomination of Desolation. His preservation of His people then should give us hope for our preservation and deliverance in the future, too.

Happy holiday.

The Week from Sheol...

2005-12-16T17:58:00.000-08:00

Rarely have I had a week such as this. Usually my week and I work together in order to accomplish a maximum amount while still retaining my sanity. However, working alongside your week in such a manner can prove hazardous. Weeks, as they are still largely untamed beasts, can behave unpredictably. Occasionally, if you don’t conduct yourself with the utmost care, a week may even turn on you and attack. Such is the story of this week.

This week had been set aside for the final week of school. Nothing too threatening, just lots to do. This negotiation had been clearly laid out months ago. However, last Saturday morning as I sat studying at the kitchen table so that I could get ahead of the week, suddenly my eyes enlarged to roughly the size of grapefruits. The deadline to pay tuition for next semester was yesterday. Stream of unrepeatable words. I quickly logged on to the website of the school that I attend, which shall remain nameless and for the sake of storytelling convention I will call DTS*. The website has a handy online tuition payment option for situations such as these. Or not quite.

The handy online tuition payment option quickly became a less-than-handy online payment-refusal non-option. Apparently once the deadline passes, they further punish the poor soul who only could have forgotten to pay tuition due to the ridiculous amount of work expected at the end of the semester by taking away the online payment option. Inconvenient. I wondered how much trouble this would cause as I had heard that if one failed to pay tuition on time, the school would drop your classes. Owing to the fact that I’ve pretty much scheduled all of my schooling down to most restroom breaks for the next year-and-a-half (and not a minute more, thank you) this was problematic. So, I quickly went to my spring class schedule online. Ahh, good my classes are still there. I’ll work this out first thing on Monday morning when the business office opens again.

Just for the security of my increasingly tortured soul, I continued to check the website all weekend. All weekend, there my classes sat. Breathing easier. Monday morning I called DTS* and spoke to a delightful lady in the financial office who managed to pull off the difficult task of sounding completely gracious as she informed me that she would, indeed, be ripping out my soul by dropping my classes. I asked if there was any way to pay for them now, because according to the website they still hadn’t been dropped. She said, “No.” Then she added the incredibly helpful, “Those are the rules.” As if I needed to be reminded of the rules. Gracias por nada. I decided that this would not do, and that as soon as I was back on campus on Tuesday I would straighten this thing out.

Tuesday morning, 8:30am in the financial office went as follows:

Lady: “Good morning. Can I help you?”
Me: “Yes, I need to pay for my classes for spring.”
Lady: “Oh, I’m sorry you can’t. It’s past the deadline and your classes will be dropped.”
Me: “I’d heard that, but my classes still haven’t been dropped so I’d like to pay for them.”
Lady: “Sorry, you can’t pay for your classes. It’s past the deadline and we’re going to drop your classes.”
Me: “I understand that, but my classes haven’t been dropped yet, so how about I pay right now and save you the trouble?”
Lady: “Sorry, you can’t pay right now. It’s past the deadline. Your classes will be dropped.”
Me: “But they haven’t been dropped. How about I pay and then you don’t drop them?”
Lady: “Well, you can’t pay because it’s past the deadline and so we will be dropping your classes.”
Me: “Are you telling me that nobody will take my $3,000?”
Lady: “Yes, because it’s past the deadline.”

After this fun with circular reasoning, I was rather upset. I was told I could re-register on Thursday. Fast forward to Thursday morning, 8:00am at the registrar’s office:

Lady: “Good morning. May I help you?”
Me: “Yes, I need to re-register for my classes.”
Lady: “Okay.” Expecting her to turn to the fancy piece of machinery on her left referred to in the common parlance as a computer, I was surprised when she pushed a stack of papers toward me. “You need to fill out one of these.” These being a carbon-copy sheet of paper that amounts to a DTS* course wish list. Carbon-copy. Like in 1983.
Me: (as I am slowly recovering from the time-warp sickness) “Okay. So I just list my classes here?”
Lady: “Yes, and then we’ll put them in sometime this week.”
Me: “Sometime this week? Okay, but, one of the courses that I was ‘in’ and now am not ‘in,’ although as of this morning my schedule on the website still showed me ‘in,’ this course now has a waiting list for me to get back ‘in’ even though technically I’m still ‘in.’ If I can’t get back ‘in,’ I need to take another course. How will I know if I’m ‘in?’”
Lady: “You can just keep checking the website and see if it’s listed under your schedule.”
Me: “Like it is right now?”
Lady: “Yes, but we’ll be dropping those classes because it’s past the deadline.”

I filled out the carbon-copy form, tucked my Rubik’s cube back into the pocket of my parachute pants, popped my Duran Duran cassette tape into my yellow Sony Walkman and left. On the way out I worried that I hadn’t used a Dixon-Ticonderoga #2 pencil to fill out the form but figured it should be okay. When I got to library after this little interaction I checked my e-mail and, what do you know, as of that morning my classes had been dropped. Efficient.

By Thursday evening, the classes I had written on the carbon-copy paper had been magically transferred to my schedule on the website. Even the one with the waitlist, upon which I am #4 of 4. Great. So, I went to my night class contented.

I got home last night and thought, Now that I’m registered for classes, I should check my student account bill. So, I hopped on the handy website and checked my bill only to find that my $1,000 scholarship was now gone. I imagined someone in the business office snickering with glee as they thought about all the carbon-copy paper they could buy with an extra $1,000. I did this right before bed. Due to the fact that I sleepwalk when I’m stressed, I spent plenty of time on my feet in the middle of the night.

All of this took place in my final week of school. As you can imagine, it’s been interesting. Where it all stands today: I’ve gotten back into most of my classes (waitlist one the notable exception), and I spoke to someone today who assured me that once I’m officially registered for 12 units, which would qualify me as a “full-time student,” my scholarship money will reappear.

Through this experience, I have learned that missing a deadline is far more hassle than any paper I could be asked to write, that some things in life just don’t make sense and that anytime you decide to write about an institution in which you are currently enrolled (at least according to the shifty website) and publish these writings in a location that anyone with internet access can see, it is always best to be safe and refer to that institution in tricky terms. Here’s to you, DTS*.

Something once in a lifetime...

2005-12-08T14:12:00.000-08:00

I wrote this part this morning, at about 8:30am:

Yesterday all the correct weather factors came together at the same time. About mid-morning, white stuff started falling from the sky. Being from the Central Valley of California, I had heard about this elusive phenomenon but rarely experienced it. The snow fell lightly throughout the afternoon, and it got really cold outside. This meant icy roads and dangerous driving conditions (which already exist anywhere Texas drivers congregate, anyway). So, this California boy was about to switch from rare experience to “that’s never happened to me before.” Here it is:

Today school is closed. Because of snow.

Just re-read that. If you live where I grew up you understand how significant this is. This doesn’t happen. School occasionally gets closed on account of an earthquake or mudslide or something, but snow? Nuh-uh.

Now I’m sitting in my pajamas, drinking coffee with hazelnut creamer and reveling in a day off at quite possibly the most critical possible juncture in the semester. Seriously, I couldn’t have chosen a better day not to have school even if I was the one in charge of snowflake distribution. Yet another reason to thank God for being so amazing.

So, I’m off to get a load of homework done and enjoy this free day.

I wrote this part around 4:30pm, as a bit of a summary:

So, of course, I planned to do disgusting amounts of homework today. That was the plan. As I sat in IHOP with some friends, I thought about the plan. Then I shoveled more eggs into my mouth and tried to put the plan out of my mind.

After IHOP I did, in fact, attend to the plan. Got a little homework done, but then I decided that it was time to do something even less appealing than the plan. It’s not that I hate taking showers (no matter what Greta says), but on days when I have nothing to do and nowhere to be, there’s something somewhat magical about just sitting around in my own filth. But, I caved and decided to take a shower. Let me reiterate that it is cold outside. This means that the pipes are cold. This means that everybody takes really hot showers in the dorm building. And most of them do so before 2:00pm. That means that when Benji decides to climb into the shower, the water is going to be cold. Real cold.

Have you ever been so cold in the shower that you use the blow dryer to warm up afterwards? Me neither. Till today. Remember, this whole snow day thing is new to me.

So, here’s the summary: It snowed, school got cancelled, I developed a plan, I ignored the plan and went to IHOP, I got some homework done, I took a shower and nearly froze, I got warm, got some homework done and even got some hot chocolate out of the deal.

Overall, I’d say this was an ideal way to spend a snow day. Compared to the none that I’ve had before, of course. Hope you enjoyed your snow day, too.

The return of randomness...

2005-11-29T09:32:00.000-08:00

So, it's been a while since my last post. Reasons: School, holidays (turkey hangover makes it really tough to string together coherent sentences), internet failure for a couple days. So, there you have it. But, I'm here again with all kinds of random stuff to share.

I sat in traffic this morning for an incredibly long amount of time. I left my house at 6am for my usual 45 minute drive to school. I arrived at school at 9:40am. The math tells me that something wasn't right. Apparently there was a fuel spill on the freeway, as I found out later.

During the traffic stop (not even a jam, as much as a stop), I looked over and noticed a guy smoking. Wierd thing is I was jealous. Not because I want to form an addiction to nicotine, but because at least he had something to do while he waited. Although, in hindsight, smoking while waiting for HazMat to clear a fuel spill probably isn't the best way to spend time.

During the stop, I popped in the new David Crowder Band CD. Good stuff. A touch strange in places, but great music that runs the gamut. I kind of dig the eclectic mixture of sounds, and throw in the undeniable fact that David Crowder looks exactly like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, and what's not to love?

One of the worst parts about being stuck in a traffic stop is that rarely do you know ahead of time that such a stop is coming. Most people would like to know ahead of time so that they could call people and let them know they're going to be late, etc. I would have liked to know so that I wouldn't have drinken both travel mugs of coffee. Let's just say, I was really glad to get to DTS for a number of reasons. (That number being 1.)

My sister-in-law came to visit us for Thanksgiving. We had so much fun. We helped her shop for a digital camera that is her Christmas gift from her parents. As we looked around Costco, I found myself wanting a new digital camera, too. Now, granted, ours isn't the best, but it's not like I have to duck my head under a black hood or anything. Greed is funny like that.

Over the Thanksgiving break, dedicated student that I am, I read the new Harry Potter book. I had waited patiently for a time when I could put off doing my homework and not feel too badly about it, because, after all, I've got two weeks off! Let me just say that this latest book made me so anxious to read the next one that I'm seriously frustrated about waiting. How can she do this to me? Write, woman, write!

On a similar note: We recently undertook the mighty endeavor of watching the show Alias. We had never watched so much as one episode before, so we were starting from the very beginning (which is a very fine place to start). We got hooked, quickly. We finished 4 seasons worth of Alias in a little under 2 months. That's a lot of calling Blockbuster/Hollywood Video and asking if the disk that was already somewhere in the mail from Netflix was in stock on their shelves because, who can wait? Now, we're finished. Problem: Season 5 is currently on TV. Not on DVD. This means we have to wait. (Again, not my favorite thing.) And there was a HUGE cliffhanger at the end of season 4. I think the entertainment industry is conspiring against me.

Speaking of the entertainment industry: Go see Rent. Today if you can. If not today, then tomorrow. (But then, there really is no day but today.) You may not like all of the characters and their actions, but the message is pretty compelling. Really live today, embrace community, and be real. Funny these messages aren't coming from the church.

That's all for now. Except for:

Word of the day: commodious, adj, comfortably or conveniently spacious, roomy

Try it on your friends like this:
You: "Wow, those pants seem commodious."
Them: "What?! I just washed them?! Are you serious?! Do you think that girl at the bank noticed?"
or
You: "Your living room is so commodious!"
Them: "Uh, the commode is down the hall if you have needs."

New blog...

2005-11-21T19:00:00.000-08:00

In a recent post I added a bunch of links and introduced each new friend that had been invited to the storytime rug. At the end I mentioned that there was another blog that I was really excited about adding but had been told it wasn't "ready." Apparently, it's ready now.

Ladies and gentlemen, internet junkies of all ages, allow me to introduce...my wife.

Her blog is pretty much just like mine except for the fact that hers features well-written posts on stuff that really matters while mine typically majors in drivel. Also, she can be trusted to tell stories about us from a completely different perspective...one that's correct. One other small difference is that she is chock full of ideas, meaning her blog should remain relatively fresh and updated. I on the other hand usually stare blankly until inspiration hits me and I begin typing another almost-new post about the Yankees. Other than those things, though, they're pretty much identical.

So, cruise on over. You can use the new link at the top of the links section, or you can just click here. I really don't care how you get there. Just get there.

Soon.

Like now.

Seriously, there's nothing left here to read.

Why are you lingering?

You're starting to creep me out.

Behavioral issues...

2005-11-17T19:30:00.000-08:00

Recently, I subbed in a class for children with significant behavioral issues. These children do not function well in a traditional classroom.

I worked with possibly the most patient woman I’ve ever seen in action (besides my wife, of course, who is sainted simply for putting up with me). This lady sat and took verbal abuse from these children who were not shy about calling her names. She sat and took professional abuse as these children openly messed around while she attempted to teach them. She read and did nothing but try to help them while they acted as if they couldn’t care less. But, she pressed on and never once raised her voice. She was stern when necessary, constantly reminding them that their choices would dictate her response, but she never yelled or appeared angry. In the middle of the day, I had a thought.

This must be a little glimpse at what it’s like for God to watch the church sometimes. He waits patiently as we openly disobey, abuse His name through our lifestyles and don’t listen to the things that are intended to do us good. He reminds us that our choices have consequences, as we laugh and make jokes about grace. Simply put, the church has significant behavioral issues.

I was terribly convicted in that classroom. I thought that the teacher showed way more patience than necessary, staying calm during times when I would have blown up. Then I thought how glad I am that God does the same as her. He stays patient with us when He would be more than justified to respond in anger.

I’ve been reading through the Old Testament lately and have been impressed with God’s patience, mercy and grace. His people were disobedient and He chose not to destroy them. He is the same way with the church. When we are disobedient, He extends grace and mercy. I know that I give Him plenty of opportunity to extend such grace and mercy and am thankful every day that I serve a patient God.

Making the grade...

2005-11-10T00:00:00.000-08:00

The following story is true. The dialogue has been reconstructed from the best of my recollection. Welcome to my world.

I had finally given in to the inevitability of my fate and extracted my Greek homework from its Timbuk2 cocoon, when the door handle sounded.

She's home.

"Hi, Gretters."

"Hi." She said it with her turned-up nose and raspy voice, almost a hiss, that usually means I've done something kinda wrong (not really wrong which merits far different non-verbals).

Couldn't be my fault, I've just been here doing my homework.

"What's up? How was class?"

"I'm so frustrated!"

This can't be good, and yet it's kinda funny.

"Why are you frustrated?"

"I got a B on my paper. An 89. Seriously, how could that not just be a 90?"

"Honey, there's nothing wrong with a B."

"I wanted an A."

"I know, but it's not like you've got nothing else going on in life."

She turned the tables. "Wouldn't you be frustrated if you got a B?"

"Probably."

Her eyes sparkled. "What about the paper lying on the desk? You got a B on that. Doesn't that bother you?"

She'd seen that? I generally hide all evidences of my shame in the file cabinet lest anyone see behind the curtain.

"Actually, yeah, it does. But, I don't have a full-time job. There's no reason for me to be getting a B on anything."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. You shouldn't be getting Bs."

I love being married to a smart, funny woman.

Ruminations on art...

2005-11-04T16:20:00.000-08:00

I've now been to the Dallas Museum of Art twice in the last week. I know that sounds real Vanderbiltian of me, but it was free both times. Well within my price range. On Tuesday, I went for my Creative Writing class (more on that below). Last night, I went with my Christian View of Art Class. Both were great trips. Each was unique. On Tuesday, I found a couple of pieces that I appreciated. For whatever reason, I liked them. On Thursday night, I walked around mostly with my professor and heard what I'd missed on Tuesday. Good stuff. If you live in the 'Plex and haven't been to the DMA, you need to go. It's fun, free on the first Tuesday of the month and every Thursday after 5pm, and features some great art. By people you've heard of. But whose work you've never seen. Until now.

Speaking of art, I just finished reading Modern Art and the Death of a Culture, by Hans Rookmaaker. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Rookmaaker traces the development of art in its historic contexts and shows how what we seen in modern art is really a logical consequence of modernism and the Enlightenment. Great argument. Being a Christ-follower, he also discusses what Christians' responses should be to art. Surprisingly, I don't think he'd like what he sees at Mardel.

I mentioned my creative writing trip to the DMA. We had to pick a piece of art and write about it, and make sure that we could bring a postcard or something that had the image to class. I selected a very tall European painting of a man, dressed in red and holding a battle axe. In the absence of any postcard, I selected a different image, but one that had still struck me. I wrote about Peaceable Kingdom, (above) painted by Edward Hicks. Apparently, Hicks was fascinated by this theme and produced some form of this painting over 100 times. My piece on this piece follows:

Peace came to Pennsylvania; predator rested with prey. With olive branch in hand, the child led nature’s cease-fire. William Penn, treaties and co-existence. Isaiah foresaw it all. With contented sighs the animals jostled, frolicked, nudged, played. Breathing in the honey air, who would want to leave? But this peace could not last. Man works like that. Peace came to Pennsylvania. Did you miss it?

Peace came to Palestine; the predator had his prey. With nails in hand, the child led judgment’s cease-fire. Pilate, beatings, agonizing existence. Isaiah foresaw it all. With horrified shrieks the women doubted, questioned, sobbed, prayed. Screaming in the blackened air, “Father, why did you leave?” But this death would not last. God works like that. Peace came to Palestine. Did you miss it?

New links...

2005-10-30T20:00:00.000-08:00

I've updated my links list with some new blogs that I've grown to enjoy. Most of these people are affiliated with my creative writing class in some way. That means that that list on the right is like the on-ramp to the creative superhighway you've been hearing so much about. (Okay, so maybe you haven't heard, but if not, then it's your fault for running with the wrong crowds.)

First is my creative writing professor's. I've referenced her work many times and thought to myself, "Self, why not just put her blog in the link list? That's a splendid idea, self. Wait, we can't both be self, that's confusing! Well, I was self first, so you can just leave!" I can't remember much else after that but now I've got a crazy headache and a hankerin' for some pintos and rice.

Next comes Toph. In creative writing, his work is always fun to read and pretty novel stuff. Not like an actual novel, because we're limited to one page. Although I'm sure he could write a novel. I'm sure he could do just about anything if he'd only apply himself. (How many times did he hear that from teachers growing up? Wait, that was me.)

Leani is an excellent writer from South Africa and always has a fresh perspective on America, Texas, Dallas. Can you believe that not everything we do here is normal? I know, that may take a while to soak in.

Jacob is just flat out funny. He makes our entire class laugh out loud numerous times each day. Which is really great because I know a guy in the Hebrew class that meets next door. Apparently, while they're slaving away trying to read and reproduce chicken scratch, we're howling like a bunch of banshees. Kind of fun knowing we're frustrating the scholars.

Then comes Jacob (see above, if you haven't, but if you haven't ask yourself what kind of a person doesn't read a blog in order) and Ben (which is not me because my name is Benji, and we're different people). Their blog is good times, too. Not good x 2, which is different and stunningly difficult to solve.

So, there they are. There is another blog that I'm anxiously awaiting adding to the links list, but have been informed "it's not ready." When it is, expect fun times.

The lesson I learned today...

2005-10-26T15:35:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you how God is good.

I worked in a 4th grade class today. After spending the weekend writing my paper (which I finished in a succinct 33 pages, thank you), I had much to do at school yesterday to catch up in Greek and last night to catch up with my online lectures. Then, of course, Game 3 went extra innings and even though I didn’t see the whole thing, I still hit the pillow well after midnight. Frankly, when all was said and done, I was whipped. I had zero desire to work in a 4th grade class.

I really don’t enjoy teaching elementary school. I prefer high school and middle school. They function, they cope. Elementary school kids cling and need. Not my idea of good times after the past couple of days. I wanted ease. High school = ease. I even prayed that God would get me an easy high school job. I’m not above admitting my selfish prayers. But no such job came. I kept checking the website, calling the sub lady at the district, nothing. No high school. 4th grade it is. I changed my prayer and asked God to make me a good sub in this less than ideal situation.

The morning got off to a rocky start. I got up early, but still left the house in a rush. The guy in front of me at Starbucks took a long time to examine his coffee beans, then paid via credit card. Nothing rapid about this man. It didn’t help when I realized that I’d left my substitute ID at home and had to ask Greta to bring it to me.

When I got to school, I was a little frazzled, but here’s where things got better. The real teacher was there for a minute before she left for her meeting, and assured me she had a good class. She then told me that it should be an easy day; small class (only 19), well-behaved kids, art for 45 minutes first thing in the morning, a visit from the counselor for 45 minutes later in the morning, half-hour lunch, half-hour at the library after lunch, a 40 minute video followed by a half-hour recess to close the day. Simply, the ease I was looking for. Humbling.

I had painted “ease” into a corner. I asked God for exactly what I thought would bring me ease. He showed me that He’s greater than my plans. Even when He chooses to bless me, which He doesn’t have to do, He can bring me what I ask for in ways I can’t imagine. He reasserts His sovereignty in little and big ways. God is good to me even when I’m difficult, demanding and needy. In other words, when I’m acting like the elementary school student.

I’m so thankful that He didn’t beg out of my day.

How I spent my Saturday...

2005-10-22T19:15:00.000-07:00

So, I thought I'd give y'all a little glimpse at how I spent my Saturday.

I had a little something called an argument paper that needed my attention. Those are the resources I used. I spent roughly 7 hours on it. Still not done. Ugh. At least I've got until Tuesday at midnight.

Right now, though, the World Series is on, and I'm watching. Books put away, crtl-s for the paper until tomorrow, baseball on the telly box. Things are good. Besides that, I've missed the Series. They didn't have it last year, right? I don't recall seeing one.

Random seminary thoughts...

2005-10-20T13:02:00.000-07:00

Today, while walking toward the library, I saw a black dog running free on campus. Just cruising along checking out the plants and the people, he seemed rather content. Here in seminary, contentment may not be in short supply, but it's dwindling like Sly Stallone's believability in Rocky VI. I smiled as I watched the dog, not knowing how soon my smile would erupt into something louder. The dog meandered this way, then that way, until he found some bushes. Then, he squatted and delivered. Yeah, what can brown do for you? I started laughing so hard. Something about seeing an animal so completely free of pretension that he was willing to drop a load in the bushes at THE Dallas Theological Seminary that produced sheer laughter and a little envy. Not envy for what you're thinking, potty head. Envy because I never feel that free and comfortable in my own skin on campus. Envy because I constantly obsess over what I wear, how I look, sound and smell that I bother myself. Leave it to an animal to teach me something about contentment. Speaking of the animals...

I've been reading Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek for my creative writing class. If you've never read her, you should. You'll either find that you love her, or that it's a great exercise in following through on what you've started no matter the cost. In PaTC, she won the Pulitzer for basically talking about nature for 200+ pages. Now, I'm not a particularly huge fan of "nature," per se, owing primarily to my aversion to sleeping in the dirt, but this book is interesting. If I can grant Dillard nothing else, I at least have to grant that she seems to know how to see in ways that I can't, or just choose not to. She spends pages relating the sheer morbid experience of mating praying mantises. She talks in depth about microscopic organisms that few others would bother more than a paragraph on. And it's all because she sees. She sees beauty and intricacy and value in unlikely places. She's got me wishing I could see.

My creative writing professor broke her collarbone in a freak accident on Tuesday night. You can read all about it on her blog. Please pray for her.

On Tuesday, my Old Testament History prof showed us a bunch of relics and such from Israel. Some of the stuff was dated to be about 3,000 years old. Yeah, from 1,000 bc. Pretty crazy. He had pottery, a couple small idols, a spear shaft and stuff like that. And then he passed around a bag with bones in it. Human bones. Like from some Israelite's hand. How incredibly creepy will it be when the resurrection comes and that dude needs that again?

That's all for now. I'm supposed to be writing a paper. A laptop with wireless internet just seems like it should be put to more fun uses than that.

Word of the day: revenant, n, "one who returns after death or a long absence"
Like the one-handed Israelite.

Sports-heavy randomness...

2005-10-18T08:30:00.000-07:00

I know I haven't posted anything in a while, so here goes. Another installation of the randomness rolling through my brain. It will be a little sports-heavy, but, Nicole and Greta, please keep reading.

I can't rationally discuss the Yankees. I tend to dissolve into an incoherent mess. I do know that they have major needs to address in the offseason, and no matter what the guy with the THICK New York accent wants you to think, trading A-Rod is not one of them. Without him, the Yanks don't make the playoffs. Let's not forget that. Related...it's rather frustrating to see three former Yankees starters mowing through folks in the postseason. Andy Pettite, Roger Clemens and Jose Contreras all look good. Would we like to have any of the three at the moment? Uh, yeah.

Patriots linebacker Tedy Bruschi is coming back to play just months after suffering a stroke. Yeah, a stroke! He's in his early 30's and in great shape and had some inexplicable stroke. Crazy. Originally he was going to sit out the entire season, but apparently doctors have cleared him. So, here's why this matters: It's clear that the starring role in the Tedy Bruschi Story ESPN movie will go to Mario Lopez. He's already played Greg Louganis and the immortal A.C. Slater. But, who gets cast around him? Ashton Kutcher as Tom Brady? The Unabomber as Bill Belichick? This is when the voyeurs need to rise up and comment. (I know you are out there, too. You just come for a peek, but never let anyone know you were here.) Now is the time for my sporting friends to band together, rise up and complete the casting call.

Albert Pujols is ridiculous. Even if you're an Astros fan, you had to feel that last night's monster-bomb was inevitable in that situation. What wasn't inevitable, however, was the 1,000 feet that ball would travel and the ensuing hole it punched in the ozone layer.

I HATE USC. You all just need to know that. (I realize hate is a strong word, but I only used it because I can't think of one stronger.) Their win in South Bend on Saturday was sickening. Mostly because they looked super-beatable, the Irish looked like they were just supposed to win, I was already jumping up and down thinking they had, and then Matt Leinart spun like a top, holding the ball in space and nobody stopped him, knocked the ball loose or punched him in the throat. Mostly because of that.

Non-sports nugget: I love registering for new classes. I get to do so today, and it's one of the highlights of the semester for me. For some reason, I dig the idea that I'm in control for a while. The only downside is that every time I register for the next semester, without fail I'm ready for the current one to end. Problem. But worry not for me. I will carry on.

Word of the day: flaneur, n, one who strolls about aimlessly, a lounger, a loafer
Just say this word for a while. Fun for the whole tongue! The fact that it has legitimate conversational value is simply gravy.

Numbing the ache...

2005-10-11T08:33:00.000-07:00

We just returned from a wonderful weekend in Southern California. We spent the time eating, talking with friends, and just enjoying “home.” And as great as it was to be there, I feel like crap today. Not your typical post-vacation tired feeling (although there’s plenty of that going around, too), but something deeper and more powerful.

California is wonderful (no matter what the Texans say), but all is not right. I’m not talking government, politics, wildfires or value systems, I’m talking life. Even though I can’t possibly imagine a more beautiful and wonderful place than California, like every other temporary paradise, sometimes it stinks like hell.

This world cannot possibly be home for those of us who call ourselves Christ-followers. I think God wants me to constantly remember this fact. I can almost hear the Spirit whisper in my ear, “Don’t get too comfortable, because this isn’t it.” Peter called us “aliens and strangers in this world” and I’ve never felt that more tangibly than now.

Switchfoot says “I don’t belong here/It feels like I don’t belong here.” We don’t, in fact, belong here. We were created for something greater and more beautiful than this sin-stained and broken world. Every glimpse of anything beautiful is an undeserved reminder of the amazing grace of God.

Celebrate the moments where unexpected and undeserved beauty breaks through the clouds of this ugly and barren world. Thank God for grace and that He has prepared a place for us where He will finally wipe every tear from our eye. That, my friends, is what I hope for.

3 reasons I love October...

2005-10-06T08:45:00.000-07:00

1. Baseball's playoffs are, by far, the best in professional sports. Football only plays once a week, basketball takes 3 months and hockey, honestly, who cares? But baseball is a nightly event for three weeks in October. Great pitching matchups (like tonight, Clemens vs. Smoltz), big drama, fun storylines (like will defending champs Boston be swept by Chicago, will the upstarts in Houston win on pitching), baseball provides it all. Having the Yankees in the playoffs obviously helps (more on them later).

2. The weather is getting more reasonable all the time. Although in Texas, to get to reasonable there must be a 30 degree drop overnight with a chance of thunderstorms, but hey, at least it's not 98 anymore (at least until next week).

3. My Dad's birthday, on the 14th. (Had to include that one if I was going to retain any future hope of gifts on my birthday)

As promised...

The Yanks give me fits, but I'm excited about where they're at right now. Tied 1-1 with the Rally Monkeys of Northern Hemisphere, West Coast Of America, Southern California, Orange County, Los Angeles, But Not Really Cause We're Actually In Anaheim, going back to the Bronx with Unit on the hill. I'm liking it. Now, if the bats could wake up a little, especially near the top of the order, and if Ruben Sierra can continue to hold down his crucial spot at left bench, I like the looks of things. Also, I'm glad they're going back to the Bronx because, hopefully, this means the end of games that start at 9pm and end the next morning. (Should be an interesting night class tonight, thank God for caffeine.)

Word of the Day:
soporific, adj, "causing sleep, tending to cause sleep"

Although this word sounds like a measurement you'd use to determine the worthiness of a roll for Rudy's bar-be-cue, its real appeal lies in the fact that you could probably get away with using it on someone who bored you because they'll think you used some version of "terrific." Por ejemplo;

"So, Ted, what'd you think of my presentation to the board on how cutting back on the use of staples and using more paper clips would save the company money?"
"Well, Mike, I thought it was simply soporific."
"Gee, thanks!"
"Don't mention it."

Having trouble with my vision...

2005-10-02T09:00:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I am currently attending Dallas Theological Seminary, which I love most of the time. However, there are definitely times when I struggle feeling like the proverbial square peg. Allow me to explain.

Within our degree plan, we have ministry tracks, which are like mini-majors. For example, while getting a Master's in Theology degree, one could be on a Pastoral Ministries track, or a World Missions track or something of the like. I am on a Media Arts in Ministry track, which is very different than any of the others. It is different because it is broad. Now this broadness is both a good and a bad thing. It's good because it allows for us creative types to have some freedom and not be shoved into any box. It's bad because it allows for us creative types to have some freedom and not be shoved into any box. At times I think I would welcome a box.

It seems to me that most of the people walking around campus have their plans figured out. They know what they want to do, and when and where they want to do it. Although James warned against such presumption, it is also kind of a nice security. I, on the other hand, am like Linus without my blanket. I have no such plan.

The other day a dear friend of mine asked what I wanted to do when I left seminary. I refrained from saying, "Sit down with a beer," because I'm sure he was thinking long-term. I had to confess that I don't know. The problem is that I want to do too much. I want to impact our culture with Truth in so many different ways that most days they all just runtogetherinablur. So, I gave him a bunch of the ideas running through my head. Funny, he seemed fascinated and excited by what typiclly leaves me frustrated. His reaction was therapeutic for me.

The truth is, I don't have to have it all mapped out for me, although that would be nice. I do, however, have the responsibility to be faithful where God has brought me and be a good steward of the gifts He's seen fit to entrust into my care. So what if I don't know if I'll be a pastor, a teacher, a writer, or a whatever. (Even in writing that list, I see that it's not really as long as I tend to think.) God knows, and I guess that's good for me, for today.

He knows His plans. He knew when Joseph was in prison. He knew when Moses was in the desert. He knew when Job was in pain. He knew when Esther was in the king's harem. He knew when Israel was in exile. He knew when Judas was one of the 12. He knew when His Son sweated drops of blood and begged for the cup to be taken from Him. So, since I am surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, I guess I can comfortably conclude that He knows now, while Benji is in seminary.

Word of the Day:
encomium, n, high or glowing praise
Think how much fun you can have with a word that sounds like the name of an antacid, but actually means praise instead. "The lobster bisque was so great, I didn't have enough encomium to last through the meal."

P.S. Yes, Virginia, the Yankees did win the AL East yesterday. No, there was never any doubt on my part.

Playing the "judgment card"...

2005-09-23T18:30:00.000-07:00

I’ve been troubled by some of my brethren lately. It seems as though anytime a natural disaster strikes, many evangelicals are quick to play the “God’s judgment” card. This is a very disturbing trend. Before I go into why, allow me a disclaimer.

I believe in God’s judgment, both ultimate and temporal. I believe that God is well within His rights to judge anyone, anything and at any time, by any means He deems suitable. And, frankly, I don’t know if the recent hurricanes are messengers of His judgment. It’s completely possible that they are, but it’s at least as possible that they are not. I don’t know. And there’s the rub.

I get the sense that many believe that they do, in fact, know. They confidently stand behind an all-too-large pulpit, holding their all-too-large Bible, and proclaim in their all-too-loud voice, that God is indeed judging ___________________ (insert name of city, person or group here) through ___________________________ (insert name of natural disaster, disease or unforeseen circumstance here). But, how do they know that? I would venture to guess that they don’t, but, due to their place behind that pulpit, feel like they can’t just say “I don’t know.” So, they play the “God’s judgment” card, use some Bible references (probably out of context) and call it a day. But, the Bible can be tricky. I’ve read some, too.

Noah had to be told by God what was going to happen to the earth, not just so that Noah would survive, but also because God wanted it to be clear. When God wanted Jonah to go to Ninevah and preach against it, God had to tell Jonah what was going on. In Deuteronomy, God gave the Israelites descriptions of what would happen if they were disobedient to Torah, because, apparently, He didn’t trust their interpretive framework. We see in Luke 9:52-56 that Jesus rebukes the disciples for their misunderstanding of judgment. Again, in John 9:1-7, the disciples tried to play the “God's judgment" card and Jesus showed them how little they understood about the topic. There’s a theme here.

It’s God’s prerogative to let people know when He is judging mankind. And if He doesn't do so, I think any claims that we know what He's up to, and why, are tenuous, at best. Just like the Israelites, I don’t think we adequately possess the ability to interpret the movings and thoughts of an eternal, all-powerful God. And I think that’s the difference. Without an eternal, all-powerful perspective, how could we know what God is doing exactly, not to mention why He’s doing it? “‘For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord.” (Isaiah 55:8) “Who has understood the mind of the Lord, or instructed Him as His counselor?” (Isaiah 40:13)

I have a second problem with this line of thinking. It seems very much to fit into a particular, earthly, sinful, fallen agenda and viewpoint. We consult our own wisdom to ascertain why God has done what He’s done, and inevitably come up with answers that highlight the sin of others. Interestingly enough, we rarely, if ever, come up with answers that point to our own sin. Rarely are we left asking the next logical question, “If that’s judgment on them, then why haven’t I been through the same thing for the wickedness in me?”

I think it's because we like to categorize people’s sins. Sin “x” is worthy of judgment, while sin “y” isn’t. And when we’re finished with our little math experiment, we feel somewhat better about ourselves. Such a line of thinking shows not only a lack of familiarity with God’s mind, but a complete misunderstanding of His holiness.

Granted, all is not right in the world. I read that in Genesis 3. But, can we just be more honest? Let’s say “I don’t know why, but I do know that God is still good.” His love endures forever, we’ve been told. And yet, just when people need that message most, we seem to inevitably revert to judgment. Let’s give hope in the midst of a screwed-up world. Let’s preach grace, mercy, truth, beauty and love. Let’s be a people that point to a greater reality than this one that constantly lets us down. Perhaps through us, this hurting and broken world will see God. Not an angry, scowling deity waiting to make human life miserable, but the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob who so loves the world.

Reflections on David...

2005-09-22T15:15:00.000-07:00

I had to submit a paper today in my Old Testament History II class. I chose to write on David's charge to Solomon in 1 Kings 2:2-10. David spoke these words as Solomon's reign as the King of Israel was just about to begin. Interesting thing, this charge. Interesting man, this David.

First, David spends a considerable amount of time talking about how imperative it is for Solomon to keep his ways pure and live according to the Law. David references the promise Yahweh made to him in 2 Samuel 7:11-17 and seems to tell Solomon that the fulfillment of this prophecy is contingent upon his obedience to the Law. Good guy, right? Super concerned about the Law and walking in Yahweh's ways? One would think so if the story stopped here. But, it keeps going.

After expounding on the virtues of the Law and the need for Solomon to keep it, David then mandates the murders of two adversaries. Granted, he also calls for further mercy extended to the family of a former ally, but does that really wash away the other commands? In very strong language, David tells his son, "do not let these old men die in peace, but in blood" (Benji's paraphrase). Kind of wrecks the picture, right? Not for me, and I'll tell you why.

I like my Biblical figures like this. I don't mean bloodthirsty, Mafia-like dictators. I mean human. Give me some humans in all their gritty, unfinished and messed-up reality. David, even on his deathbed, was imperfect. And let's not forget Moses, Gideon, Samson, Abraham, Peter, and a whole host of others. These are dudes I can roll with.

David was called "a man after God's own heart." Yup, this David. In fact, Saul was rejected as King of Israel before him, because God wasn't pleased with him and He put David on the throne instead. Seriously. God chose David, the "soak them in blood" murderer-adulterer to be the leader of His people. And then called him a man after His own heart.

I'm encouraged by this. I see hope in David's story. If he could be so well regarded and spoken of so highly by the Almighty, maybe there's hope for me in all my stumbling attempts to follow in the ways of Christ. And even if it remains ugly and fallen until my last moments, at least I know I'm in good company.

Just a quick note...

2005-09-22T08:49:00.000-07:00

If any of you out there in cyber land happen to be reading this (which seems increasingly unlikely), please pray for my parents. They are driving out here to spend some time with us, right as the next regulary scheduled hurricane is on its way. They are coming from north, so shouldn't hit much weather while they're driving, but who knows the impact of Rita on the Metroplex?

Thanks, and I'll be back soon with some reflections on peeps in the Bible.

Random thoughts...

2005-09-18T22:30:00.000-07:00

First of all I'd like to say that I knew and predicted that UCLA would beat Oklahoma on Saturday. Something about my Bruins this year that has me cautiously excited.

The Yanks look good right now, despite their loss in Toronto today. The division isn't out of the question, especially since they end the year with 3 against the Sux. Again, cautiously excited...as much as you can be about a team that "technically" wouldn't make the playoffs if the season ended today.

Thirdly, fantasy football is genius. Right now I'm watching a game between a team I really can't stand (the Raiders) and one I am pretty apathetic about (the Chiefs). But, see, the thing is, my fantasy week rides on players in this game. So I'm watching attentively, cringing every time Priest Holmes touches the ball and making faces any time Kery Collins throws to someone other than Randy Moss.

We went and listened to Don Miller today. Dude is good. His message was so simple and yet profound. I guess that's what makes him a great writer and communicator. I seriously recommend hearing him or reading anything he's written.

Lastly, I've mentioned to some of you that I'm currently taking a creative writing class (which I hesitate to mention because it will inevitably change the way you read this blog..."That's not very creative"..."I could have written that"..."What a waste of seemingly infinite Internet space" and so on). I've decided that, on occasion, I'll post one of my "works" here so that y'all can see what I actually do in seminary. Also, because there are dedicated readers in California who wonder (Hi, Mom and Shannon!).

Here's a piece I wrote based on the painting American Gothic. You know, the one with the farmer and his wife. (It might be helpful for you to look at it for a while first)

We lived our American dream. We labored and sweated for years on end. See the home we built from the ground up? Simple, yet beautiful. A family sprung up, like crops we waited on each winter. They brought us joy and wonder. Now they’ve gone to build their own dreams and we sit alone again in a house that’s too large. The upper floor lies undisturbed, abandoned really.

We created a façade, like wax fruit placed on a table to appeal only to the eye. But our faces won’t hide the truth; happiness evades us. We stand here as a monument to pointlessness.

This dream has not been sweet, but repetitive and demanding. It might seem as though we’ve “arrived,” but, if so, then why can’t I put down my tools?

Contemplating poverty...

2005-09-12T23:30:00.000-07:00

Today I took a sub job that was simply described as "librarian." I thought this would be a rather simple assignment, involving lots of sitting, watching students pick out books and possibly explaining the Dewey decimal system when necessary. However, it turns out that in my half day, I hosted four different classes in the library, two without their teachers. For three of the groups, I read a story, talked about the theme of the story, and then helped them check out books. I found that children almost never know who wrote the books they want. "Mr. B.? Do you know where the Hank the Cowdog books are?" "Um, do you know who wrote it?" "No." "Then, no." "What about Captain Underpants, the Magic Treehouse or Junie B. Jones books?" "No."

The book I read to them was about a family that lived in an airport due to their poverty. Funny thing is, this children's book, coupled with a discussion I had with someone recently, really made me think about poverty. I get the impression that the political party with whom I have "registered" doesn't care much about the poor. This concerns me because this same political party also tends to trumpet itself as being on "God's side." This further concerns me because God tends to be on the side of the poor and the needy. It was, after all, the Almighty (speaking through James, the half-brother of Jesus) who said, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress." (James 1:27) Also, through the Apostle Paul, "All they asked was that we should continue to remember the poor, the very thing I was eager to do." (Galatians 2:9-10) Even in the Old Testament Law, "Do not go over your vineyard a second time or pick up the grapes that have fallen. Leave them for the poor and the alien." (Leviticus 19:10) It actually seems that God is quite concerned with the poor and needy and commands His people to be concerned as well.

This may be a very pertinent issue in the wake of Katrina. I believe that we are about to see the effects of poverty (and the even more dangerous effects of acting like it's no big deal) in very vivid detail. Louisiana may not recover for years. And the sad thing is that I don't think that the government will be the ones to do anything about it. No, even with all the drives, fundraisers and collections that have been organized and will continue to be so, I believe that this responsibility to take care of those who find themselves suddenly poor will fall to the people of God, the body of Christ. After all, we serve a God who cares for the poor, and are called to reflect His character. "'He defended the cause of the poor and needy, and so all went well. Is that not what it means to know me?' declares the LORD." (Jeremiah 22:16)

It is our role, our divine responsibility to stamp out poverty, Katrina-related, local and global. What should we be doing? What would make us the aroma of Christ in this world? Whatever, it is, let me drop one piece of advice: Be careful what you read in children's books. They may make you think.

Good to be back...

2005-09-08T15:58:00.000-07:00

So, life is somewhat crazy right now. Both of the occupants of our little apartment are now officially grad students. And what does that mean? Why, 5 hour study sessions on the weekends, of course. Seminary is actually quite good. I really enjoy my classes, and the work load isn't too great yet, but this year I'm balancing work as well, and it's tougher than I anticipated. Tougher is a good thing, though. I need some "tougher" in my often-too-comfortable life. Luckily for me, I have Greek, and, all signs there seem to point to "tougher."

The Yankees continue to baffle me. They are currently leading in the Wild Card race, which would put them in the playoffs if the season ended today. (Although, if the season ended today, there might be a serious investigation as to what happened to the final three weeks.) So, I should feel good about the Yanks right now, right? Um, not exactly. I'm not scared in any way, as I firmly believe they will make the playoffs, I'm just exasperated that they aren't leading the division. They're good enough to do so, so why isn't it happening? Should I just be happy they are where they are?

The NFL starts tonight, at least according to the league. As far as I'm concerned, the NFL doesn't start until baseball season is over (or, as it's more commonly known, after the Yankees win the World Series). I like the NFL, don't get me wrong. It's just that I like it for that void between the World Series and baseball's winter meetings. It's convenient on Thanksgiving, too.

One of my professors is a star. She's a published author and I'm loving her class immensely. Her blog is really interesting and thought provoking. aspire2.blogspot.com Check it out if you have time and are willing to be challenged in your thinking. Not to be read lightly, but rather with strong coffee in hand.

One of my wife's favorite authors, Donald Miller, is coming to the area next weekend. We're going to go hear him speak on Sunday morning. That should be great. He wrote Blue Like Jazz, Searching for God Knows What and Through Painted Deserts. When my wife says she likes an author, I pay attention. She's finished over 40 books since January. Her goal to read 50 books this year is going to be met easily. There's something about being married to a well-read woman that is incredibly exciting and frightening at the same time. She's always been smarter than me, that I'm used to. It's just that she can also quote and reference half of the library, and frankly, I'm overmatched.

A vicious affliction...

2005-08-31T10:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the first day of my second year of seminary. God willin’ and the creek don’t rise, I’ll be done in 3 years. So, with more than 40 units under my belt at this point, you’d think I was used to the way things went. But yesterday was a little different.

See, for the first time in my seminary education, I had the experience that most people associate with first year, first day. I’d heard it was a malady so vicious that it even breaks down the third floor library-dwellers, the ones whose eyes can’t decide if they should be reading right to left or left to right, who gesture during every conversation as though it was their senior sermon, who quote Calvin and Luther when asked about high-speed internet. I had the most dreaded of seminary experiences. I had syllabus shock. Looking at the syllabi I collected yesterday, with Greek being the most vile offender, I was convinced it wasn't possible. This is the very definition of syllabus shock.

It’s a very formidable opponent, one that some can never overcome. (We hear rumors of students “transferring,” a process somewhat like being deported, as I understand it.) It leaves you convinced that “these people [professors] have lost their minds,” “there isn’t enough time in the week,” “I guess I’ll have to give up showering and sleeping.” You become certain that every professor congregated for the faculty summit before the year began and the theme was “The Destruction of the Student: Developing a Plan.”

So, I got in the car after Greek yesterday, firmly convinced that I was destined to fail seminary, becoming one of the cautionary stories that first-year students hear at orientation. “This place isn’t for everyone. You’ve got to be ready to make sacrifices, and if you’re not, well, let me tell you a story…”

Funny thing, though. By the time I got home, and talked to my wife a bit (typically the best medicine), things didn’t look so bad anymore. I began to realize that I had gotten through a year already, and had begun to think I’d done it on my own. But, in truth, there’s no way I’d done it on my own. God’s grace was sufficient for last year, and it will be again for this year. I began to realize that through my eyes and on my own strength, yeah, those syllabi are outrageous, but I can’t look at them with my own eyes and wouldn’t dare rely on my own strength. His power is made perfect in my weakness, which is good because I’ve got plenty of weakness. I’ve decided that I will make it through this semester, and the next three, but only if I rely on His strength and power. As soon as I start relying on my own strength, the author of the cautionary tale can pick up his pen.

So, things look better today. I’m still not excited about Greek, but it’s not going to be my undoing, and that’s good enough to get me through today. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to do some homework. And, yes, I have already showered.

“But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” – 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Things you hear when substitute teaching...

2005-08-28T22:16:00.000-07:00

This week I substitute taught at 7 different schools in 5 days. Substitute teaching is rather entertaining, really. All kinds of crazy stuff happens when a stranger is in charge of the classroom. For example:

Here in Texas, each morning the students start off saying the Pledge of Allegiance, followed by the Pledge to the Texas flag. Seriously. There is a Pledge to the Texas flag. I'm not making this up. How could I? These people are a bit crazy.

One of the best parts of substitute teaching is the inevitable, "How old are you?" guessing game. When you're in your late 20's and still get stopped by high school teachers asking where your hall pass is (really happened this week), this game takes on a whole new dimension. In one class, one student insisted that I was 18, while another said, "No, stupid, he's in his late 30's." Sigh.

One of the best sub jobs to get is anything that says High School "PE/Health" because that probably means that the teacher is a coach. See, here in Texas, coaches are people of some significance and their schedules reflect that. For example, on Monday I subbed for a coach whose first block class was athletics (more commonly known as morning football practice). That was nice because he was there for that block and I got to read in the teacher's lounge. His second and third block classes were what is known as "Academic Support" but you and I might call "study hall." That involved sitting at a table, taking role and more reading. Then in fourth block, he had a free "planning" period, or a "Benji gets to go home early" period. You can see why this schedule is so desireable. I hear stories of bloodshed while potential subs fought over such jobs.

The other day I was in a high school physics class and a student asked if he could go to the restroom. According to policy, I asked where his agenda was, so I could initial it. He brought it to me, and I wrote my initials, "BB." Upon looking at my initials, this young scholar said, "That's pimpin'!" As I reflected on his comment, I tried to imagine either of the two letters I had just written strolling through urban sprawl wearing platform boots, gold chains and polyester pants. Suffice it to say that I had trouble conjuring the image. Now, two letter P's, that's a different story.

For my last sub story...I was in a freshman English class the other day. I was giving a 10 minute quiz, and told the students to be silent. As you can imagine, there was some significant struggle with this. After reiterating the need for silence, and writing down the offenders names like I was asked to do by the regular teacher, it got quiet for a moment. Until...One student said, "Hey, it's really quiet in here. Could you put on some music or something?" With a rather incredulous look on my face I said, "No." He said, "Well, then will you whistle or something?" Seriously. I was asked to whistle because it was too quiet during a quiz. Dude's on his way to a premium coach's schedule.

Unrelated: My wife's crazy funny. She just makes me laugh all the time. This is pertinent because she's back in my life after a crazy time of RLT. I love spending time with her. She's just so much fun! My favorite is when she acts angry, even though she's not, and then says the most ridiculous things in her angry voice. This is actually happening right now and the intermittent laughter is really affecting my ability to type. Even four years in, we goof around like dating teenagers. Good times. The best part of my week for sure.

Word of the day: trammel, n, "something impeding activity, progress or freedom" Try substituting this word for the more mundane "block." As in, "Man, I've got writer's trammel," "Could you pass me the sun trammel?" "That running back throws a heck of a trammel," or "There's a giant squirrel carcass trammeling the road ahead."

Back to work...

2005-08-25T16:25:00.000-07:00

Sorry the blog hasn't been updated lately; I've been hard at work as the best substitute teacher in North Texas. I'll update over the weekend though with stories and such.

Books and baseball...

2005-08-20T19:27:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago I started creating an inventory list of all of the books we own. Although this may sound completely anal, there was a really good reason for starting this project: I had purchased a book for school that I already owned but didn't realize it. Not fun to waste money when you're in seminary. This project got me thinking: Is there really a better gift than a good book? Seriously, most of these books that I'm cataloguing were gifts, and they've served me well. So, next time you're stuck for a gift for someone, head to Recycled Books. Too much good stuff not to have something you can use.

Another thing I noticed: If you want to publish a theology book, you’d better be pretty comfortable going by your initials.

Who knew that the Colorado installation of Shawn Chacon was like pre-spider-bite Peter Parker? All of a sudden, he puts on that Yankee uniform and turns into Nolan Ryan. We'll take it, thank you. And if anyone knows where that spider that bit him crawled to, there's a line of guys waiting to be bitten. Guys named Brown, Pavano, Wright, Embree...

The effects of seminary: I've got a break in my class schedule, and won't start until the 30th. So, what did I do? I checked out books at the library to fill the time! Really. And I plan to actually read them. My high school English teachers would be shocked.

The Yanks won today. The Royals won't. The Royals have lost 19 straight games. That's a lot. In fact, the record for most consecutive losses is 21, and they are putting that mark in some serious jeopardy. Not only are they playing the A's, who are winning a lot right now, but the Royals winning is exactly what the Yankees need to happen, so of course it won't.

I watched the Yankees-White Sox game today, some of the Little League World Series, and am currently watching the Rangers-Devil Rays. Some would say I have an addiction, but that's just not true. I can quit anytime I want, as long as it's between November and March.

An amazing baseball-related development: apparently there is a grassroots effort to bring back the San Francisco Giants mascot, the Crazy Crab. (Clink on the link that says "Scott on Sports and More" if you want to read more about this.) This got me thinking. How difficult would it be to start a grassroots campaign to send the Rangers' "Captain" mascot to the glue factory?

There was really no point to this post, which, if you're still reading you already figured out. So, congratulations. You've just invested irreplacable minutes of your life in the inconsequential minutia that rolls through my mind on a typical Saturday. (I actually opened the dictionary and looked up how to spell minutia, and then, in the height of irony, I had to log back in because I noticed I'd still spelled it wrong. Gotta love that Stan State education.)

Word of the day: dastard, n. coward, a person who acts treacherously. Call a friend that next time you're tempted to say "You're such a chicken." Not only will you sound more refined, but watching their head snap around because they think you just cursed at them is like double the fun.

The Gospel of Yankee...

2005-08-17T17:21:00.000-07:00

The picture is of the kingdom of heaven. Perhaps not what you'd been led to believe, but trust me, that's what it looks like.

Today a friend of mine called and made a confession. He said that over the course of the last year or so he'd realized that he's something of a Yankee fan. Not his primary allegiance, admittedly, but after his team of choice, it was the Bronx Bombers. This is something I wish for all people. That one day every person would wake to realize the beauty of loving the Yankees, and feel foolish for taking so long to see the truth. This is one of my missions in life, to bring the Gospel of Yankee to the masses.

Not sure what my seminary professors would think of that. Very sure I'll probably never get a job at a church in Boston after this post (not sure that I'd want one). Although, with God's sense of humor, it could be that the only church that wants me is in Beantown. Hmm...the cost of discipleship, I guess.

Still flying solo during RLT. Not too bad, though, I've had plenty to occupy my days this time around. I've been slogging my way through some course work I had to finish up for a class that I took a couple of weeks ago. I really enjoyed the class, Sanctification and Ecclesiology. The post-class reading has been much less engaging than the lectures, though.

One of the best parts about RLT, besides the free dinners the first weekend, is that you never know when the windows are going to be darkened and a crazy-fun game of flashlight tag is going to break out in the old Clarkville. Good times. During flashlight tag I always feel like some sort of spy or something, then I feel dumb for feeling that, then I feel like I don't care that I feel dumb, because I'm a spy and that's just the way it is, and if I can't accept that about myself then maybe I shouldn't be friends with me!

From chaos to quiet...

2005-08-13T14:10:00.000-07:00

On the left is my wife, the real star of the show, with my older sister in San Luis Obispo, CA.

So, my brother's gone now. My parents ate the Hotwire money because he needed to get home to Cali. I took him to the airport this morning, dropped him off around 5:15. In the course of his 5 days in Denton, he figured out the next two years of his life. He accepted an offer to Arizona State University. No money at the front end, but he has been assured some will be freed up by the time that the second semester, and baseball season, rolls around. It was great to have him here. I love spending time with my family.

My wife's gone now, too. Training her staff started today and lasts until next Sunday (21st). She's got plenty to do in the next 8 days; she'll be spending pretty much all day, every day with her staff until training ends and students move in. Last year, this was the worst part of the year for me. I really don't like being by myself, so it was tough to have her gone all day and to not know anyone else. This year should be better; I feel like I'm part of the family here in the hall. Her staff is great, which is a reflection of great leadership.

My wife is the best. She keeps me motivated, keeps me doing the things I need to do (like working out), keeps me thinking deeper than I would on my own. I do love my family, and my wife is the gem. When she's gone and working a crazy schedule like this one, I'm always reminded of just how irreplaceable she is in my life. Nothing else makes me as happy, as whole. It's good to be part of "us."

Swept up in the whirlwind...

2005-08-11T09:31:00.000-07:00

Since I posted last...

My brother's team lost their Monday morning game in Wichita, and they were done. That's fine, he felt ready to be home in Cali for a while. Oh, wait a minute on that. Apparently a Hotwire round-trip is more permanent than Polident. So, his flight that was scheduled to leave Wichita on the afternoon of Monday, the 15th, still leaves on the afternoon of Monday the 15th, no matter what. So, after a sterling 7 days in Wichita, (in which he pitched all of 1 inning, allowed no hits, no walks, and struck out 2) his options pretty much were spend a week in Wichita, waiting, or...

We got home to Denton about dinner time on Monday night. Since then, it's been nothing but a flurry of cell phone activity. He's trying to switch schools for the fall, so that he can play baseball at a NCAA Division I school instead of the NAIA school he signed with last fall. Pretty crazy, when baseball coaches from literally all over the country call your cell phone out of the blue. The clincher is the money (isn't it always?). He'd be giving up a pretty nice scholarship if he left the NAIA school, so the money has to be right from anyone else. So, far, the money's not right, but the offers seem to be getting a little better. Thing is that playing D-I ball is a great opportunity, and would set him up well when he starts coaching, which is his ultimate goal.

Yesterday, I took him to a school in the area where he walked in and introduced himself, laid his credentials out on the line and got a little tour of their facility, a phone number to call and made an impression. Must have, because he got a call from a coach last night with some questions. Today, he's throwing for another area school, who has already said that they're prepared to make a financial offer (rumor is they need pitching bad), but not the best place to be school and people-wise. So, we'll see how all that goes. Interesting thing is that most of these schools start classes in the next 2 or 3 weeks, so the time frame is tight, to say the least.

The short version? I've been swept up into the whirlwind of college sports recruiting, become the sounding board for ideas and suggestions, become the driver, become the voice of reason (I hope). We're just praying for clarity, patience, peace and doors that open REALLY wide.

Oh, yeah, I've still got papers to write and books to read in the next 8 days. Fun.

Wichita update...

2005-08-08T09:55:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of the mandatory post-game kneel in which coaches impart timeless wisdom after tough losses. I mean truly timeless stuff like, "Well, we came up a little short today, boys." Or, "This is a tough loss to swallow." Perhaps the empathetic, "This hurts me, too." Rarely have I experienced a post-game kneel which included something along the lines of, "Well, boys, to be honest, this is all my fault. I left Jenkins in there too long because I was scared to make a move that would make me look bad. How's that for irony? On top of that, in the second inning, I held up a runner at third even though the ball was rolling around the base of the outfield wall because for a moment I started thinking about where to get some bar-be-cue after the game and when I came to and realized I had no idea what was happening, I figured the smart thing to do was to play it safe. So, uh, sorry 'bout that."

Well, it's now day three of the Wichita experience and there are three things I know for sure. First, I'm getting old. The last two nights I've stayed up until 11:30 and midnight, respectively, having been at baseball games. This morning I'm so tired it's ridiculous. I've even had three cups of coffee (if the stuff they offer in lower-end hotel rooms can really bear that title), and I still feel like I should take a nap. Secondly, as much as I love baseball (I think it's pretty evident), going to games that end around midnight, watching a team on which you only really know one person, and that one person doesn't even play, is kind of a let down. I enjoyed watching the game full of non-descript college players, but it just wasn't a seminal experience. Thirdly, some people should never be allowed in public.

Yesterday, I heard a fan loudly berate the scoreboard operator in what, I'm sure, he thought was good fun. But to the rest of us he sounded like an overbearing idiot who just needed to go home. I also heard a father behind me constantly riding his 7ish year old daughter, saying, "Just sit still and watch the game." It was relatively evident that she had no intention of watching the game, but she gave it a good try. Any time anything happened that drew an audience response, she asked, very sweetly, "Daddy, what happened?" To which his typical response was something along the lines of, "Just be quiet. Stop talking and watch the game." Soon the whole family was in on it, saying things like, "I'd give her a hundred dollars if she'd shut up for just 20 minutes." Pretty rough. I was so irritated by the apparent lack of compassion that I had to say something, About the sixth inning, I turned around and said, "Sir, maybe if you just gave her some attention, kindly answered her questions and didn't respond to her request for an ice cream by telling her that you weren't buying anything else that night at the very same moment that you finished paying the beer man, she would sit still." It was a moment of rare boldness and straightforwardness that I really wished had come all the way out of my mouth instead of getting stuck on pause in my brain, which is what actually happened. Or perhaps it's better that way.

My brother's team lost last night. They play this morning at 10:30, and with another loss, they're eliminated. They play the aforementioned Alaska Goldpanners of Fairbanks and face a pitcher from Taiwan who held my brother's summer team in Alaska hitless through 8 innings. So, it should be interesting.

More to come, perhaps from at home in Denton.

Things you hear in Wichita...

2005-08-07T11:07:00.000-07:00

Here at the NBC World Series, I've heard all kinds of interesting tidbits and such that I'd love to pass along. Here are some highlights...

From generally oversized coaches who seem to have their positions due to some sort of nepotism:
Meaningless blabber. Stuff like: "Okay, now big spot here." Like the batter needs to be reminded of that. Or, another favorite comes when the count is 3 balls and 2 strikes on the hitter: "C'mon now, base hit or ball four." Since the only other option left to that batter is to make an out, that would seem to go without saying.

From the rather rotund man whose belly made it seem as though Jeff Gordon was driving a limo across his NASCAR shirt:
"Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon? Not me, I've only seen it on TV. It was built a long time ago." One of my favorites! This guy was good for a couple of quotes about Arizona; how he'd never been there, but seen it on TV (repeated at least twice), how he loved westerns, how Tombstone was set in Arizona, how Tombstone was about gun fighters who fought with guns. Good stuff.

From the mother who is far too interested in a free t-shirt to pay attention to trivialities like family harmony:
"Hey, quit complaining! Just go back to sleep and share the pillow with your sister!" As part of the tournament, they're doing a contest-type thing called "Baseball Around the Clock." As the title denotes, there is, literally, baseball all day and night. These people in the contest are trying to attend 17 straight games over the course of 56 hours. During each game a cuckoo-clock sound plays over the PA system, and the participants have something like 5 or 10 minutes to check in. Rumor has it that there's a t-shirt waiting for those who stay the course. 3 crazy things about this: first, at any given time, during any given game, there are people sprawled out sleeping throughout the stadium. On the bleachers, on blankets on the ground, wherever they can catch some shut eye and be within range of the cuckoo sound. Secondly, I'm thinking that if these people spent some of those 56 hours working instead of trapped at a minor-league baseball stadium, they could buy their own t-shirt. Thirdly, 56 hours of ballpark food. 'Nough said.

From the public adress announcer laboring on a hot Sunday morning in the Bible Belt:
"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. In just a few minutes the nondenominational church service will begin in the Budweiser Pavilion." Good times! The best part was crowd reaction, which ranged from, "Did he say church service was in the Budweiser Pavilion?" to "That's my kind of church!" While I admire their attempts to provide a legitimate worship-going experience for the Sunday morning contingent, it does raise some interesting questions about how they celebrate communion. Somehow, beer nuts and Bud Light don't seem to parallel the body and the blood.

I'm having a blast here. The games are being played at the Royals' AA minor-league team's field. My brother and I went to a game this morning. The game was scheduled to start at 8am, but when we arrived, we found out that the 3am game (literally, around the clock) hadn't started until 5:30am, so everything had been delayed. We watched the Alaska Goldpanners of Fairbanks, Alaska, 49th State of the Union, Land of the Midnight Sun soundly defeat the Las Vegas Desert Devils. (Okay, so their name is really only the Alaska Goldpanners of Fairbanks, but even that is a bit much.) My brother's team, the Havasu Heat, plays tonight at "7:30." We'll see about that.

That's all for now. He's taking a nap and I should be reading. Pictures from tonight's game should be here soon. Maybe post-game tonight or first thing tomorrow.

P.S. It's hot here.

2005-08-06T15:04:00.000-07:00

Aloha, from Wichita! This morning I left Denton and was in Wichita, KS in time to have lunch with my brother. We live in a very beautiful country, folks! Oklahoma, much to the chagrin of her rather uppity neighbors to the south among whom I live, is very beautiful. The hills and plains dotted with red dirt riverbeds are worth seeing. I just had to smile as I arrived in Kansas and could see, I'm pretty sure, to at least Minnesota from the state line. The purpose of this blog entry, however, is something else.

There is something seriously therapeutic about driving across 3 states in one morning. Yesterday morning I finished one of the best classes I've had in school and was feeling really good about life in general. Then, while driving home, I talked to my older sister and got some really troubling news about some common friends of ours. I was so distressed. In fact, I was completely angry, sad and mystified all at once.

I got home and wanted to pray for these friends but was just so frustrated that every time I started, I wasn't even sure what to say. All I know is that, for one of the very few times in my life, I was mourning with those who mourn, and it sucks. I didn't feel better afterwards, which, I suppose, is the point. I'm sure they don't feel so great right now either. To really feel the pain when someone is hurting is a biblical command, I know, but not one I'm particularly good at. I tend to gloss over pain, mine and others', and put on a false, heroic front. I was convicted in my soul this week at school, when my professor was talking about "mourn with those who mourn," and said, "When a part of the body hurts and we don't feel it, it's called leprosy, and it's really bad." I thought then, "I don't know that I really mourn with those who mourn." I can't really say that now, and I'm glad. As much as yesterday afternoon sucked, I have a faint and foggy idea of what my sin must put Christ through and I hate that I do that to Him.

So, I'll continue to try to stumble my way through something resembling prayer for my friends and hope that God is honored by it. Above all, though, I want to continue to feel for them, to feel deeply what they're going through. I want to be grieved in my spirit, and to remember the feeling for a very long time to come.

On a much happier note, I'm in Wichita for the weekend to watch the National Baseball Congress World Series. My brother is here playing for the Havasu (AZ) Heat. I hadn't seen him since Christmas, and any stretch of time that provides for 2 tattoos is too long not to have seen one another. Should be great to hang out with him, watch plenty of college-level baseball and be away on a bit of a retreat. I'll try to update each day with Wichita stories and hopefully some pictures, too.

Craving community...

2005-08-02T19:18:00.000-07:00

This last week I battled some serious blahs. I just didn't feel "right." Not sick, mind you, just not "right." Kind of down and sad. I wasn't sure why, per se, until Sunday night. While deep in conversation at Taco Bell (like you could have any other kind over a Soft Taco Supreme), my wife just nailed it. "Are you lonely?" Hmm, hadn't honestly thought of that, but, yeah, that sounds about right. I told her that I missed California, missed my seminary friends, missed my family, etc, etc. "I just think I'm craving community," I said.

Funny thing, community. I know there are people who can get drained by being around others for too long, I'm just not one of those people. I love being with other people. Having conversations that matter, being encouraged by them, empathizing with them, all of it is good, in my book.

God said that it wasn't good for the man to be alone. Funny thing is that most church folks I know would say that having a personal, intimate, one-on-one relationship with God is the height of spirituality. Apparently God disagreed. When the man had that in the garden, God said he was alone and it wasn't good. I feel that. I really hate being alone. I need others. Without other people around me I become a less-desirable version of myself. Others kick my butt when I need it (often), pick me up when I'm down (sometimes), and generally encourage me to be better than I am (always need that).

And you know who's best at this? My wife. She just knows. Doesn't take long for her to diagnose, either. Just knows. I like it that way. Saves me the trouble of putting up a false, heroic front. She knows I need her and she likes to be needed. I see a bit of what God had in mind when He said it wasn't good for the man to be alone. I see it everyday and I love it. So, since she's gone for the evening, this is an appropriate post for the blog. Tonight, this is my community. You'll have to forgive me tomorrow night, however, when I completely ignore this community and turn my attention back to her.

The dangers of blogging...

2005-07-31T10:31:00.000-07:00

Thoughts I'm thinking:

I hate that I'm so forgetful. Sometimes it seems as though there is some serious short-circuit in my grey matter. For example...

Yesterday I was so excited to sleep in, start this blog, etc. Having a leisurely Saturday morning and all. Until. Until my wife got out of bed and asked where the cinnamon rolls were. What cinnamon rolls, you ask? Funny enough, so did I. She somewhat frustratedly said, "The cinnamon rolls you promised you were going to make for breakfast." Seems that I had, indeed, promised to make cinnamon rolls. I had promised this just the night before. However, by the time that Saturday morning arrived, no recollection. She might as well have asked me how to write a geometry proof, it was gone. Forgotten...

Why do I do this? It bothers me, bothers others. How do I go about remembering? Short of wallpapering my home with Post-It notes, I'm at a loss. The really ironic thing is that I rarely forget stuff like what time the Yankees are playing and such. Hmm...what does this say about me?

Books I'm reading:

I recently finished "Seeing God" by Gerald McDermott and found it very fascinating. I don't usually underline much, but this book looks like it got into a serious highlighter duel. He discusses, based on Jonathan Edwards' "Religious Affections" true and false signs of faith. These ar not intended to be used on others, like some sort of religious radar, but rather on the individual. Great stuff and well worth the read for anyone sorting through the proliferation of "religiosity" in the world and wondering about the state of their own faith.

Saturday morning....

2005-07-30T07:53:00.000-07:00

Thoughts I'm thinking:

I love Saturdays in general. There's the regularly scheduled sleeping in, the mid-morning coffee, and perusing ESPN.com for the Yankees score (which I usually know before I go to bed on Friday anyway). But this Saturday is a little different...

We are less than 48 hours from the Major League Baseball trading deadline. This is exciting stuff. After Sunday at midnight, teams can't trade without going through a rather complex process. So, there's this real flurry of activity most years. One of the reasons this is so exciting is that it keeps things fresh and new.

I kind of wish that life had a trading deadline. You know, when things seem to get bogged down and repetitious, there would be one day on the calendar where mass change would come in a flurry. Think about the fun that would be...you go to bed on Friday reflecting upon your life as a data entry clerk in Topeka and find out on Saturday morning that you've been traded and now are a flight attendant stationed in Miami. That'd be cool, no?

Books I'm reading:

I just finished reading "Soul Survivor: How My Faith Survived the Church" by Philip Yancey, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was very affirming to see all the different people from many different faith traditions that had influenced Yancey's faith. It also served as a very strong reminder to continually separate Jesus from the church. I am, more often than not, a poor representative of Him, but that should always reflect poorly on me, not Him.