Fullness

We give thanks. We give thanks for our friends, for our families, for our homes, health, jobs, for the food on the table. We stop, and give pause to think about all that we have.

All that I have. Is it enough? A lot? A little? Do I have enough friends? Wish I was closer to some, distanced from others? Am I grateful, truly thankful for the guitar that sits against the wall gathering dust? Or for the college education I finished a few years ago (If my parents ever read this I am thankful to be debt free!)?

Maybe I have too much to even be thankful for it all. It gets lost in the mix, pushed to the wayside when I start dreaming about what is next. And there is always a next.

My stuff, and the quantity of that stuff is constantly in tension. I drive down roads with multi-million dollar homes, and I have walked the streets of developing countries where a roof is all you get.

And these groups they are thankful. Right? If I have everything I want, I will be thankful. And if I live in a world where I have to walk 2 miles to get fresh water, I can be thankful.

It begs the question in my heart. How? How can these 2 worlds coexist. Do worlds of have and those of have not both produce thankfulness? How can I constantly want more, believe that with more I will be more thankful, more blessed, more happy.

When the thankful spirit exists in a world of have not.

I've come to believe that when you live in a world of have not, what you do have, what you get to be thankful for, is the only thing you are granted, and even this can still be taken away.

Life.

Life touches all of us. No matter where you live, or what you have, or how much, we all depend on life...to live, to experience, to grow, and taste the very things that exist around us.

I want to be thankful for this life. For the life of my beautiful wife. My courageous mother. My caring father. For my friends, and for the Life that started it all.

Life is full, and I'm thankful.

benjamin

Before the Devil Knows You're Dead

Allow us to introduce you to our first guest blogger. Collins is a good friend of ours who lives in Columbia, South Carolina. He's in law school, and, like a true South Carolinian, doesn't own one single pair of jeans. Here's what's on Collins's mind:

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My mom has a prim and proper evangelical friend who went to see some suspenseful movie in the theater. It was a popular movie, and the theater was packed. At the climax of the movie, the main character is betrayed and killed by his best friend. Without realizing what she was doing, my mom’s friend jumped out of her seat and shouted at the screen, “YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

I am just like my mom’s friend. When I watch a good movie, I become the protagonist. In my mind, I am dodging bullets or plotting revenge or coping with a broken heart. One of the best things about story is that we learn truth and wisdom about life without having to actually go through the circumstances that lead to such a revelation. But it’s also one of the hardest things for me about watching some movies. You know the ones I’m talking about: the ones where the protagonist is in trouble and keeps making things worse and worse until he is stripped of any redeemable quality. It normally starts out small. He owes his bookie some money, or he gets a drink with his cute co-worker while his wife is at home with two screaming kids. Then he decides to join a buddy in a “can’t-miss” robbery to score the cash, or he lets the girl talk him into a couple more drinks upstairs at her place. All of a sudden, things are out of control, and life as he knew it is over. And he doesn’t live in a vacuum; he’s like a tornado ripping up the lives of those people unfortunate enough to care for him. Because he couldn’t control himself in minor things, his vices take over his whole being.

Here’s why those movies are hard to watch: I am so, so capable of that. I am so capable of it. I am so capable of letting little vices start to take who I am. And I could do it without anyone knowing. I’m pretty good at hiding that stuff—most of us are. We’re slippery, furtive creatures that can quickly become more animal than man. Think of Gollum in Lord of the Rings or Joseph Conrad’s The Heart of Darkness. That is who we are. That lives inside of us.

Sufjan Stevens has a song called “John Wayne Gacy, Jr.” about a real-life serial killer who dressed as a clown and raped and murdered over thirty men and boys. That’s about as messed up as it comes. The song eerily describes Gacy’s method, but the end of the song gives me the chills:

And in my best behavior

I am really just like him

Look beneath the floorboards

For the secrets I have hid

Am I any different than John Wayne Gacy, Jr.? Sure, I haven’t actually killed anyone, but didn’t Jesus say that if I look at a person with anger, it is the same as murdering him? Don’t our hearts make us as guilty as Gacy? Aren’t we on an even playing field?

But at the same time, we are capable of great things. Beauty and grace and compassion live in our hearts alongside all that ugly stuff. We can seamlessly slip back and forth between these two states like an experienced skier effortlessly navigates moguls. These moments—these “slippery slope” points in time—are the ones that matter. And like in Woody Allen’s movie, Match Point, these moments can come down the flip of a coin, like when a tennis ball hits the top of the net and could come down on either side. These moments define us.

But here’s the thing: these moments occur every day. C.S. Lewis writes in his essay, “The Weight of Glory,” that we “live in a society of possible gods and goddesses” and that “the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare.” And all the time we are either becoming one thing or the other. We’re either moving toward goodness, truth, humility, beauty and mercy, or we’re giving way to selfishness, greed, lust and depravity. Both live in us. Both are fighting a war for our souls.

Here is where we normally insert that Jesus has come to redeem us from this brokenness. And I believe he has. But it’s a work in progress. Moreover, I think Jesus has equipped us with a tool to combat the chaos within us: friends. Real friends are willing to take a flashlight and nose around beneath the musty, cobwebbed floorboards of our attic-like hearts. They pry around; they want to know what’s under the canvas tarp even when we’re trying to divert their attention to the vintage stereo that might look good in the living room. And in spite of all our shortcomings, they continue to love us, not because their attics are tidy but because they are loved themselves. It starts by letting someone in, by giving someone the key to the attic. Friendship, obviously, requires effort on the part of more than one person, but I know that too often I wait for someone to come knocking instead of inviting someone over to have a look around. I am finding that when I let people into the dark, dark places of my heart, those places suddenly aren’t so scary. I don’t feel as threatened by them. And I know that if I act on those feelings, someone will know about it. It’s amazing how merely voicing the rumblings of the heart is like diffusing a bomb. All of the punch dissipates, and I realize that maybe I’m not such a weirdo after all.

I’ll close with a poem from one of my favorite writers that, I believe, applies to friendship as well as our spiritual life (maybe substitute the word “Lord” for “friend”):

Come to me, Lord, I will speculate not how,

Nor think at which door I would have thee appear,

Nor put off calling to my floors be swept,

But cry, “Come, Lord, come any way, come now.”

Doors, windows I throw wide, my head I bow,

And sit like one who so long has slept

That he knows nothing ‘til his life draws near

Places: Part II

Places grab onto our minds and don't let go. They stamp themselves into our memories, along with everything that happened there and everyone we were with. Yesterday morning I was enjoying a cup of coffee in the living room, and for some reason this very vivid memory popped into my head. It was from a trip that I took with my dad and brother a few years ago. We did and saw a lot of amazing things on that trip, but this memory was not one of those things. It was just a random moment - something forgettable. But there it was, for one reason or another.

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I remember waking up in the middle of the night. I had to go to the bathroom. We were in the middle of the French Alps. I unzipped the small door of the tent and stretched myself out of a cocoon of body heat and into the darkness. I was there. It was freezing cold. And windy. And I was there in the take-your-breath-away cold with these take-your-breath-away stars above me. We were all there, my brother, my dad, and I. My brother was awake, because it's hard to sleep when someone's rustling around next to you in a tent. Dad was asleep, probably snoring in the other tent not too far away. And we were there, the tall, sharp mountains lifting us into the night sky. Chris, giggling, snapped a picture of me standing there in my thermal shirt and underwear, freezing cold, teeth chattering. I quickly nestled back into my sleeping bag, zipped up the tent door, and fell asleep.

We were there.

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Our brains can remember a billion different things, but for some reason these "waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom" moments are often the things that we remember more clearly than any of the others. Maybe they are less ordinary than we think. Maybe there is something more to them. Maybe they are reminders that we are alive, all the time, and that our lives are happening. I'm reminded again of Frederick Beuchner's thought on moments like these in his memoir "The Sacred Journey":

At the very least, they mean this: mean listen. Listen. Your life is happening. You are happening... The music of your life is subtle and elusive and like no other--not a song with words, but a song without words, a singing, clattering music to gladden the heart or turn the heart to stone, to haunt you perhaps with echoes of a vaster, farther music of which it is part.

--dave

Fine Dining

There are certain things that have been debated since the beginning of time. Which fast food joint has the best dollar burger is not one of those things. But, it is something that my roommates and I have been debating about for months, if not years. Burger King? Wendy's? McDonald's? Lately, the conversation has boiled over into full-on arguments with accusations and yelling abound.

We decided to put the issue to rest once and for all, knowing full well that you can never "once and for all" something like this. Nonetheless, on Wednesday night we found ourselves sitting around the kitchen table with 30 patties of processed beef.

The general consensus was that this would be a two horse race between McDonald's and Burger King. Wendy's was included simply because they have a dollar menu. To be more accurate, Wendy's has a 99 cent menu.

So which of the Big Three was on its way to fast food glory? I decided to keep a running diary of the evening.

7:27pm - We just returned from "Fast Food Row" on Main St. There are a Burger King, a McDonald's, and a Wendy's literally within a quarter mile of one another, all on the same street. It's pretty amazing, really.

To expedite the process, Matt dropped each us off at a different location and then came back to pick us up. That way we could ensure that the burgers were equally fresh (when I say "fresh", I mean "comparably warm"). I went to McDonald's, Scott to BK, and Adam and Matt to Wendy's.

(Side Note -- A quick run-down of the clientele at each establishment: McDonald's - Mostly hipsters. One of them had saran wrap creeping up out of his v-neck t-shirt to protect a new tattoo covering his chest. BK - A large population of homeless folks. According to Scott, "if you've only got a dollar to spend, you're going to want to stretch it". More on that later. Wendy's - empty.)

7:31pm - There are 15 cheeseburgers on the kitchen table. Scott and Matt are determining the order of consumption by drawing squares of paper out of a bag. Here's the order - Wendy's, BK, Mickey D's. The atmosphere is electric. Seriously.

7:32pm - First up: The Wendy's Doublestack. Matt H. can't contain his excitement anymore and blurts out: "We're really doing this!" Yeah. We are.

One of the unique things about the Doublestack is that it has round onions. Wendy's almost convinced us that because the onions are sliced into rings as opposed to chopped (a la McDonald's), they are fresh. Almost.

Scott: "I would never complain about having to eat that. It's the best burger I've eaten so far."

7:34pm - Matt F. informs us that we just ate the healthiest burger on the menu. Its all down hill from here. Or up hill, depending on how you look at it.

7:35pm - On to the Burger King Double Cheeseburger: Remember Scott's theory of why there were so many homeless people inside the BK? This is by far the thickest burger. Big, thick patties and two slices of cheese. It dwarfs the others.

Adam: "Totally, totally different taste."

The BK Double is grilled, so it's not quite as greasy. It's a little slim on the condiments, and tastes a little bit dry. Much, much more meat, though. And two slices of cheese.

Matt F. throws in another nutrition stat: "We're gonna have about 60-70 grams of protein tonight."

7:38pm - I'm wondering if McDonald's slot as the final pick is going to hurt it in the long run. We're all pretty full. This isn't college anymore.

7:40pm - We all agree that Burger King's dollar burger is better than Wendy's's (can I do that? a double apostrophe "s"?).

7:41pm - Conflict! Matt H. objects to Scott "bringing in outside details" when Scott touts Burger King's dollar menu because it features onion rings. Apparently, Matt thinks this detail could sway some voters.

7:42pm - Wow. The McDonald's McDouble. It truly melts in your mouth.

7:43pm - We begin discussion by comparing the chopped onions of McD's and the sliced onions of Wendy's. McDonald's provides consistency. You don't have to worry about whether or not you're getting the same amount with each sandwich. They are EXACTLY the same. Matt H. observes: "Every bite tastes the same, from here to China".

7:45pm - It is finished. "I feel sick". "Yeah, me too." "All the fat we need for the rest of the week".

7:46 - Sitting. Digesting. Feeling disgusting.

7:46 - McDonald's pepper-seasoned-patty flavor is still lingering in my mouth. Amazing.

7:47 - We discuss how to better hold the competition next time. One bite from each? I think we all secretly hope that there won't be a "next time".

7:47 - Final thoughts. Matt F. - Over-all: Burger King. Taste alone: Wendy's, McD's, BK.

- (Gasps!) Wendy's?! Shocking. Absolutely shocking.

7:48 - Discussion on how all three tasted completely different. All good, but totally different products.

7:49 - Adam's turn to weigh in: Taste, Mickey D's. Value, BK. On Wendy's: "I was surprised how good it was, but i would choose it zero of the time.

7:50 - Dave: "I definitely had a bias towards McDonald's going into this competition, but I still think it's the best. It was just that good. BK definitely has the size factor, but the McDonald's flavor is just overwhelming."

7:52 - Scott: "We talked last night about how 'would you go to Burger King and order two burgers, given that they're so big?'. The answer is 'no'. I wouldn't. I couldn't! BK, and then whatever I'm in the mood for."

7:54 - Matt H.: "Burger King is my favorite burger. It tastes like you could have grilled it in your backyard. Wendy's is interchangeable with a lot of other places. McDonald's is just so good, though. It reminds me of being a kid. Over all: BK. But when I want childhood, I'm going to McDonald's."

7:55 - What?

7:56 - Completely satisfied (and stuffed to the gills) we decide that we're the real winners here. Three excellent burgers from three excellent dining establishments. Thank you, fast food.

A lethal dose

Cancer is a scary thing. I was talking to a friend today about the cruelty of this offender, with it's blind eye seemingly turned toward whomever and whatever it chooses to destroy.

I've wrote about my mom before. She just left the hospital. Ten days early. She's still fighting, but it looks like the future (whatever that time period may be) is bright.

I don't know how many of you have dealt with cancer, or know how we fight it, but here is the run down.

My mom just had a stem cell transplant.

1. Take stem cells out of body.

2. Kill everything in your body, also known as "A lethal dose of chemotherapy" as the doctor described it.

Everything. You kill the good with the bad, all of it. She will be lining up with the 3 and 4 year olds to get vaccinations all over again, because her immune system just pressed reset.

3. After everything is dead, they put the stem cells back into your body. If they do what they are supposed to they will help red and white blood cells regenerate and begin the process of making her body new.

That's a powerful image to me. Reset. What if I could press reset? Would I?

Would I go back and take back those words?

Would I have taken that road?

Would I have said hi to her?

Would I have hidden the secrets from my parents?

Here is the interesting thing. For my mom, and maybe for all of us, when she pressed reset, there was a new life being created in her. And I think we all experience this.

My reset was not in going back and righting my wrongs. It was being released from those actions. Those emotions. That Pain.

It was a release from shame. A release from carrying the burden alone.

My reset was pressed. And now life moves. And it's bright.

benjamin

Out With the Old...

There is a lot to learn from reading back through old journals. Reading page after page of high school writing is pretty taxing, and I find my year 2009 self having to hold back from wanting to violently shake the naivete, insecurity, and general high school-ness right out of my year 2001 self. I often have to remind myself that I was only a 15 year-old boy.

But it's great. There are all of these "Aha!" moments and all of these good, though misguided, intentions, and all of these dreams and struggles. And, really, things aren't that much different. I'm convinced that the things we struggle with and dream about now are the things we will still struggle with and still dream about 30 years from now. It will just look a little bit different or be a little bit more developed or subdued.

For the most part, I plod along through these journals, writing about experiences and conversations and moments and a whole slew of other things that probably only mean something to me. Then, the other day, I arrived at February 2005. It was the second semester of my sophomore year of college, and I was engaged in an all-out battle. I had been trying to sort something out. Here's what I wrote:

"I feel like I've given up on the old Jesus and the new Jesus has yet to come to take his place."

At the time, this was written with a good measure of cynicism and doubt and, probably, yes, fear. I was disillusioned with most things, especially church. But the other day when I read that statement that I wrote almost five years ago, it stirred something in my heart. It hit me with a little less cynicism and negativity but just as much truth. Something different had taken the place of those feelings. It was hope.

I tend to think of life as a journey with no final destination, at least not this side of life. We never get "there"; we never "arrive" (after all, the feeling that we have "arrived" at God is probably a good indication that whatever it is we are arriving at is most certainly NOT God). We are always searching. And the search is the good part. Frederick Buechner says this about the search in his book The Sacred Journey:

One way or another the journey through time starts for us all, and for all of us, too, that journey is in at least one sense the same journey because what it is primarily, I think, is a journey in search. Each must say for himself what he searches for, and there will be as many answers as there are searchers, but perhaps there are certain general answers that will do for us all. We search for a self to be. We search for other selves to love. We search for work to do. And since even when to one degree or another we find these things, we find also that there is still something crucial missing which we have not found, we search for that unfound thing too, even though we do not know its name or where it is to be found or even if it is to be found at all.

I hope that I have a curiosity about life, that the "unfound thing" draws me in. I hope that I never lose my willingness to let go of the old in order to grab onto the new, even if the new is not yet in reach, even if I can only barely see it approaching on the horizon. I hope I'm willing to wait in that uncomfortable space between. I hope that I have enough faith, even when I'm 80 years old, to let go of the "old Jesus" and let the "new Jesus" come to take his place.

dave

Garage Band

One of my favorite things in the world is to scour the internet for live footage of some of my favorite musical artists. I especially love the videos that are filmed "in studio" or some obscure location like an apartment or a tiny little nook in an Irish pub or just on the street (or the back of a cab?!). I think it's how music is meant to be experienced. There's just something special and raw about watching someone play music in an intimate place.

You can imagine my excitement when my friend Steve told me that he and Brandon were hosting a house show in Brandon's garage. A friend of theirs is on tour, and instead of playing larger venues they decided to do a series of house shows, hosted by friends all over the country. With a house show, the band have less constrictions on what they can do and how much time they have. They also wanted an opportunity to share their experiences with adoption and justice with a small group of people.

Scott and I pulled up to Brandon's house and walked around back to the garage. It was a chilly, rainy night -- perfect for coffee and hot chocolate. After some time just hanging about and talking, Autumn in Repair (Steve and Brandon) played a few songs, and then Aaron Ivey and his crew took over.

The whole show was amazing. It was a beautiful atmosphere, with a projector flashing picture and video, candles, and great sound for such an odd place. What's more, the personal stories of love and faith and justice that the band told were inspiring and without pretense. They really live it...humbly.


And it truly felt like I was in one of the YouTube videos that I love so much.

I have some very talented, very caring friends.

dave