Places

The Basilica di Sant'Ambrogio was originally built in the year 379 under the leadership St. Ambrose, Arch Bishop of Milan, Italy. In the 1100's it was rebuilt. During WWII it took on some serious damage from Allied bombings but has since been restored. So, if it feels like you're going back in time when you walk under those Roman arches and into the courtyard, it's because you are.

A few years ago I spent a semester living in Milan, and I discovered the Basilica just down the street from my school. Almost every day after class I would wander over to the old church that had been there for longer than I could imagine. I would walk through the courtyard, imagining myself in the same place many years ago, walking on the same timeless stones as so many others.

And then I would enter the church. There is something very powerful and surreal about entering into an old church. It feels old. The steps leading to the door are concave and smooth because of the countless feet that they have supported. The doors are heavy and creaky, and the handles have the same smooth characteristics as the stairs. The place is a little bit chilly and drafty because 900 years ago they didn't put insulation in giant stone buildings. Ancient frescoes, sculptures, and relics fill the walls and nooks and hallways throughout the building. And there's the silence. The cavernous atrium hears every footstep and every cough and every shuffle and every silent prayer and echoes them into eternity.

I grew to love my afternoon visits to the Basilica. There was this small chapel on the south side of the church that was reserved for silent reflection and prayer. It became my spot. Almost every day I would walk in and sit down in the pew and just breath. Sometimes I'd listen to music. Sometimes not. Sometimes I'd journal. Sometimes not. The point was that in the big, loud, polluted, bustling Italian city that was Milan, I had found a place where I didn't have to be big, loud, polluted, bustling...or Italian.

I need a place in my life. I need my Kansas City version of the Basilica di Sant'Ambrogio - A place where I can just be, where I can journal or not journal, listen to music or not listen to music. A place that exists to center me, silence me, allow me to listen to my heart and soul.

There's a little chapel that I've found right down the road from my house. It doesn't have almost 1,700 years of stories and people under its belt like my place in Milan did, but it does have some history. It was built in 1942 as a church for the hearing impaired. It looks more American than Roman, with rafters and floors made out of wood instead of stone. Its not as drafty and not as elaborate as the old Basilica, either.

But I still felt that shock of silence when I walked through the doors this morning. More than anything, it was quiet. And the walls were listening for footsteps and coughs and shuffles and prayers to echo into eternity.

dave

Shuffle vs. Control

Right before I went for my run tonight I added a new song to my little IPOD shuffle. I do the same run, or a variation of it, almost every time I go out (twice a month). It's great. I head down hill, hit the park, circle a beautiful fountain, and climb back to my house. I love the run. And I was so excited about this new song.

A perfect night. A perfect run. And a new song. This is going to be incredible.

And then it happened. As I was walking down the stairs, I was cycling through the songs on my IPOD to hear the song, and I did it.

Shuffle.

For those of you who don't know, shuffle is the option that creates a random play list, the machine takes control, you get what you get.

As soon as I hit play I was anxious. I mean, what if I don't get my song?

This got me thinking. I was driving in a car last week with a friend. I was spilling my guts about how my mom has Lymphoma. She's battled it once before. And she beat the hell out of it.

But then it came back.

And this time it's getting a little scary. I was telling my friend how I want my mom to be better. I want her to smile. to laugh. to be beautiful. Because she is.

And I asked the Lord to do that.

To heal her.

And then I told my friend about how I sat at my kitchen table the other night and wept. I wept because I didn't think the Lord was at the table with me. I mean, I was there. All of me. My tears, my frustration, my desires, my frustration. But I didn't know if he was there, and if he was, I didn't know if he really wanted to know what I wanted.

I told my friend I didn't know how I was supposed to relate to this man anymore. Can I ask for things? Can I tell him my heart? Does he want us to ask for healing, for change, hope, love? I told my friend I was confused. Why did Jesus speak with such provocative language?

Ask. Seek. Knock.

If he doesn't show up when we are the most raw?

My friend looked at me. He was at a loss for words. But then he said this before we sat in silence.

What you really want...is control.

I did/do want control. I want this life, and the people's lives around me to play out as I see appropriate, fair, and life giving. I want the things that cause me pain, that cause my family pain, my friends pain...to go away. Is this so much to ask?

Which takes me back to the IPOD. I begin the run. I hit play and my favorite song on the list comes on, it wasn't the new song.

And this shuffle, it just kept playing the music that spoke to my heart. I ran through the park tonight. And i wept. It was beautiful. My heart was singing.

And then I turned home, up the big hill, past Broadway Coffee, and around the Catholic church. And I began to notice my song hadn't come on yet. I had worked pretty hard to get this song on the list, why hadn't it turned up?

I thought: Be patient. This shuffle has been incredible.

But I wanted to hear the song. So I did it.

I hit next. And then again. And again. And i took control.

As I was cycling through the songs, I passed over a number of tunes that seemed to fit the evening perfectly, but I was on a mission to get what i wanted. Finally after every song had cycled through, it began.

And it wasn't what I was hoping for. It just wasn't the song that I needed this night.

It just made me wonder - What if I let the shuffle play out? What if I gave up control? What if my picture of what I need, what my mom needs is too small?

What if the Lord was helping me understand how much I love my mom, and what if he was really helping me understand how much his heart is in this thing?

I haven't figured this one out...but I'm willing to let go. I think. As long as You take me.

benjamin

Why I Love Kansas City: Expensive Art & Cheap Beer

Last year, Ben and I went to The Plaza Art Fair late on Sunday afternoon, hoping just to catch the tail end of the event and enjoy the day. Instead, we discovered a gold mine.

Besides the amazing artwork and gobs of people filling the area, almost all of the restaurants on the Plaza set up booths and serve food right there on the street, so it's also a great opportunity to try some really good food.

It wasn't at all surprising that we found ourselves eyeing the food just as much as the beautiful photography. An already great experience became the stuff of legends when we realized that these restaurants didn't want to haul all of the left over food and beer back to their buildings at the end of the day. So what did they do? They started selling it at HALF-PRICE. We're both pretty big suckers for anything that's on discount, especially when it's food and drink.

The real fun started when we began doing price comparisons and trying to haggle. "Oh, what's that, UNO Pizza? Two bucks for a 20oz Boulevard? The same Boulevard that we just had at the PF Chang's booth for a buck seventy-five? How about I give you a dollar fifty?"

My suggestion for Sunday? Catch the Chiefs game, as bad as they may be, take a quick Sunday afternoon nap, and then head to the Plaza for a beautiful day and some cheap food and beer.

Dave

Why I Love Kansas City: Oversized Toys

“I can’t believe they are building a parking garage next to the Nelson” I remember thinking this, and thinking how the project was taking a loooooonnnnngggg time. I love the huge shuttlecocks that dotted the yard, as if this were the back yard of a family of GIANTS, and the Nelson was just an obstacle to get over. But what terrible judgment on the curators part.

Sadly, I admit that my parking garage is another example of my inability to recognize beauty at first glance. And I soon uncovered that my parking garage was the Bloch addition to the Nelson, you know the building that was declared the #1 archtiectural marvel in 2007.

If you haven’t seen it you need to, if you have, go back. This building, and the artwork that surround it are enchanting. The building elegantly weaves through the sloping grounds next to the original museum. Walking through the sculptures, and shade trees on a Sunday afternoon is incredible. I’m fairly certain the lawn in front of the Nelson is perfect. You can lay on it, play football, do odd karate moves, or just sit and take in the day, and it’s wonderful.

And once you have experienced all that. Night falls.

I love this place.

ben

I'll Tumble For You

Yesterday, I fell down the stairs.

We were at a friends house painting the hallway and the stairwell, and I was wearing my socks. I took off down the stairs to get a paper towel, hit the landing, and started the slide. There's always that moment when you're falling when you think that you can catch yourself and keep your balance. But no. I didn't catch myself, and my tailbone hit the hardwood floor.

It was so funny.

Watching someone fall always makes me laugh. In fact, I often say that one of my favorite things in the whole world is watching people fall. I love the guy at the baseball game that eats it going up the stairs while carrying two full cardboard drink holders with nachos stacked on top of the cups and a bag of peanuts under his chin. And I love the "walking down a slippery hill when it's raining" fall that I fell victim to last year. The skateboard fall is always a classic, especially when the spectator is partially to blame. The more stuff that spills, the harder the fall, and the more serious the person tries to be in recovery, the better.

Now, you may be thinking to yourself: "Who is this guy? What a jerk, laughing at someone else's misfortune!" But I'm convinced that watching people fall is one of your favorite past times, too. Why else has America's Funniest Home Videos been on television for 20 years now? It sure wasn't Bob Saget's cunning jokes that kept it running. It's funny things happening to ordinary people. There's something so simple about falling, especially for an adult. I've spent the better part of my 25 years walking around on two legs, but every once in a while, I find myself on the ground.

So, keep your eyes peeled. You never know when you might catch the funniest three seconds of your week.

Here's something to get you started:

dave

Why I Love Kansas City: My Morning Drive

Every weekday, I get in my car, back out of the driveway, head north on Walnut, take a left on 38th, and then turn right on Main. I'm trying to enjoy my last five minutes of freedom before work. On the radio, 90.9 is playing some relaxed americana/folk song I've never heard before, and unless it's terribly hot, terribly cold, or raining, my windows are open. That's especially nice this time of year. As I head north on Main Street, I watch the street signs tick off: 37th, 36th, 35th. I see the same people every day at the bus stop next to Burger King. They have names, but I don't know them. So there's "The Guy With the Skateboard, "The Guy With the Cane", and "The Lady With the Baby".

And then I get to the intersection of Main and Linwood, and I can smell it. It's the smell of Kansas City. It's Barbeque - Kansas City BBQ. Gates BBQ, to be exact. The sweet smoky smells pouring out of the building are unmistakable and mouth-watering, even at 9 in the morning.

Gates is just one of many fantastic BBQ joints in KC. There's Jack Stack, Smokehouse, Bryant's, Okie Joe's, and so many others that I haven't even tried yet. I like to think about how all over the city there are people who are driving past these BBQ restaurants, breathing deep, and thinking the same thing that I am: "mmmm...".

Gates isn't open for business at 9 in the morning, but if it were, you can bet that I'd leave for work a few minutes early. And you'd find me there, standing in line, listening for my "Hi May I Help You?!".

"One Beef Breakfast on Bun and a coffee, please!"

Dave

Whenever I See..

For a guy who doesn't have the greatest taste in music, and/or lacks the desire to put the time and effort into discoverying the next great thing, I hold on to one man, one shining star.


James Taylor.


I don't know how it happened, but he found his way into my cd player in high school. And he never left. His rythm is soothing, melodies grooving, and his words move the soul.


There was one song that grabbed me from first listen. Now I don't know how most people experience music, but for me, it transends my mind. By that I mean, I usually don't cognitively grasp most of the words of a song, but somewhere inside my soul I connect with what is being said, played, and experienced through the music. The song that entered me was Smiling Face.

Whenever I see your smiling face

I have to smile myself,

because I love you

It became the song I sang along to, the song I listened to when I was happy, and the song I wanted to listen to when I was down.


And then I started dating this girl. And she had the most amazing smile, and an even more joyful laugh. And the words of the song started to become clearer.


What James was singing about I was beginning to experience. And I entered into the song. I entered into the story we had been singing about for the past 7 years.


Whenever I saw her, I couldn't stop smiling.


Whenever I heard her laugh, I saw a joy eternal, and I tasted it.


To see my love smile, could only create joy in my soul.


The words become clearer as we enter into the story. The song is always inside. We move to the beat. We make up the words. We push repeat.


And then we sing. The song of Love is beautiful.


benjamin

There's No "I" in A-L-A-S-K-A

I read an article today. It was about the church's different views on the Trinity and how those views determine much of the leadership structure and relational dynamic of a church (think static/hierarchical/patriarchal vs. dynamic/egalitarian). A bit nerdy, I know, but I thought it was fascinating (you can read it here). Anyway, there was this quote that really struck me:

I think that we are witnessing a fundamental shift in what society values as ‘real’, with a heavy emphasis on relationality as the answer. The philosophers used to say that ‘the real is rational’. Now they say that ‘the real is relational’. In fact, Deleuze has pointed out that ‘even the rational is relational’. Modern science has shown us that particles exist not as absolute entities but as entities defined solely by their relationships to other particles. People deeply want genuine connection and relationship to ground them and to give them life.

We are defined by our relationships (or lack of them): relationships with one another, with the earth, with our culture and society, and (listen, fellow consumers!) with our possessions.

Have you ever seen the movie "Into the Wild"? It's this compelling story about a young man who tries and tries and tries to cut himself off from a society that he deems insufficient and superficial (and there is some nobility and truth to his quest). But what happens when he finally does create that separation through a VW Van in the Alaskan wilderness and a pile of books? Christopher McCandless writes these haunting words as he is dying. In an old van. In the middle of nowhere. Alone.

"Happiness is real when shared".

We can't escape each other, no matter how hard we might try. And really, I think, most of us don't want to. At least not in the same way that Chris McCandless did. But it is our choice which relationships we allow to define us.

OK, stepping off my soap-box now.