Update and Some Genesis Thoughts

I've kinda hated the story told in Genesis 22.

For starters, it's one of those dark stories of the Old Testament that has the power to scare people who don't know God away, it can easily be interpreted in very unhelpful ways, and it somehow got elevated to the top tier of flannel graphs in order to traumatize the kiddos, too. This isn't to say it doesn't have anything to teach us or that it isn't useful, but it does mean that this passage comes with a lot of baggage for me and a lot of other Christians. But before I delve into some thoughts on the scripture, I want to make a brief update on what's been going on in my life.

As I have mentioned before, I'm now employed at Connecting Caring Communities. In the six months I have spent at CCC, I have been blessed to visit many different churches from many different neighborhoods. I've experienced and joined in worship with sisters and brothers in Christ who have very different ways of approaching the throne of God than the ones to which I have become accustomed. Though a wonderful few months, this season of frequent visitation is drawing to a close, though I still plan to make monthly visits to congregations around Abilene.

Amanda and I need a church to call home. A place to be ministered to as well as a place to use our gifts for the sake of the world. After prayer and consideration, we ended up at Highland Church of Christ. (I know! Another Church of Christ!) The focus of the church on issues like eliminating homelessness in Abilene along with embracing women in leadership roles in worship were big factors in leading us to Highland, as was their partnering in two neighborhoods I deeply care about: Butternut/Chestnut, which is a neighborhood I'm focusing on through CCC, and College Heights, the neighborhood I felt called to move into in order to work for community development with the St. Ann Community.

Yesterday morning, Amanda and I attended Highland. While Amanda was at a grad school meeting that evening, I joined worship at Grace, the offshoot of Highland in my neighborhood. Jonathan Storment is the Preaching Minister at Highland, and delivers the same sermon at both services. I'm not typically the kind of person that relishes digesting the same lesson twice in a row, but I really like his content and style of presenting. Also, it's given me a chance to listen and think critically more than when I only hear a message once. And so, as I was listening to the sermon about Genesis 22 for the second time in about six hours, some interesting things seeped into my mind that I thought were worth considering.

Firstly, Jonathan said a lot of great things that I won't get into, because he said them really well and there isn't a lot of need to rehash it. If you're interested, check out his blog over at http://jonathanstorment.com/. I do want to pick out one of the points he made that stood out to me and expound on how it has played out in my own life.

Jonathan noted that asking Abraham to sacrifice his son was asking him to sacrifice the promise that God had made to him. Abe had been told by a messenger of God, "You and Sarah are going to have a son, and God will make the world a better place through him." That's a pretty dang sweet promise, especially when you were measured as a person based on your family back in the day. And so it happens, they have a son, and name him Isaac. But a few years later, God says to Abe, "Yeah, about that... Go kill Isaac on a mountain for me."

God promised Abraham something great. Something wonderful. Something life changing. And then God switched things up on Abraham, leaving old Abe a choice: do I cling to the promise that God made to me, or do I cling to the God who made the promise. Abraham chooses God over the promise, and is rewarded by God keeping the promise, too.

This makes me think of four years ago, when some college kids were gathered by God in a neighborhood. We didn't know what we were doing, we were just following where God was leading us. In some small ways and some huge ways, God showed us a glimpse of God's vision for the neighborhood. Somewhere in those crazy first few months, we could discern a promise from God, that we would be able to join in with what God was already doing in College Heights.

But the avalanche of activity slowed to a crawl after a while. Though there were certainly milestones along the way, perhaps most notably our group relocating into the neighborhood and setting down roots, I felt like we weren't fulfilling what we had been promised yet. It wasn't until yesterday that I realized that in some ways, I had replaced God with God's promise. It was a subtle shift, but those can be the most insidious. I had made an idol out of a promise.

I don't have a well-thought out plan for returning things to how they should be, but I think it starts by acknowledging that the promise isn't God. God is much bigger than the promise made to a few believers, no matter how good that promise is. With some positive progress on the dream in the last few months, I think it was crucial to be reminded to focus on God, not the promise.

Another thought brought on by listening to lots of Genesis 22 was that Sarah really got the raw end of the deal in the story-telling process. God chats it up with Abraham, let's him know about the whole "sacrifice your only son" thing, but it makes no mention of Isaac's mom. the entire section is called "Abraham Tested" or "Abraham and Isaac." Later in the New Testament it seems like every writer wants to get in on crediting Abraham as righteous because of this whole turn of events. My question is, what about Sarah?

I would like to think that Abraham would talk to Sarah about it before he left the next day, though he doesn't have the best track record of telling the whole truth. If he did tell her, I bet it was not a fun conversation. "Hey babe, what a day... Three sheep wandered into the canyon, that lion was prowling around again, and *begins trailing off* God told me to kill our son tomorrow... How was your day?"

(Discussing this with Amanda, she posited that Abraham probably didn't tell Sarah. That would make sense in a highly patriarchal society.)

If Abraham told his wife, she would also have to have incredible faith to allow her husband to take away her only son. In fact, I would argue it's even harder for someone in her position to have faith. If God tells me something directly, I'm doing it. But if God tells someone else to do something that will affect me, things get dicey. If God clearly tells me to move to the Antarctic, I'm heading there. I'm probably going to complain a heckuva lot, because I'm morally against weather below 60 degrees, but I'm going. If God tells Amanda that we're supposed to move to the Antarctic? I'm going to be much more diligent about looking for alternative interpretations of what she was told. (Maybe there's a neighborhood here in Abilene that is nicknamed "the Antarctic"?)

Here's what I'm driving at: there and tons of people who hear God calling them to a place, to a ministry, to wherever. Props to those who are called and answer, for sure, I believe God blesses that. But I think too often we forget the people who love the called who sacrifice along with them. It's one thing to trust God calling you somewhere. It's an entirely different thing have faith that God is calling someone else, and to follow them on that journey. Sarah could be a great example of that, if we knew her part of the story better. But she is by no means the only person caught up in such a story.

I've heard tons about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. lately, what with the fiftieth anniversary of the March on Washington. But I rarely, if ever, hear the story of his wife. Certainly, Dr. King sacrificed immensely to follow the dreams God put on his heart. But his wife walked with him through so much of it, and had to endure God knows what, up to and including Dr. King's assassination. And yet I don't know anything about her. I don't even know her name.

How many missionaries have heard the call to go overseas, and have brought their spouse along for the ride? Certainly, some of those couples both felt the call equally, but I'm sure there have been many couples in which one says, "God is calling me to mission," and the spouse says, "I'm called to be with you, wherever that might be."

I think about my own wife. I heard the call to ministry and community development, and I knew God wanted me in this neighborhood. Amanda didn't hear that, but had enough faith in God to go along with me. Things looked really bad for a while, especially when we were renting a house I was certain we were supposed to buy, but the buying process was falling apart while renting was eroding our finances. My certainty came easily, because I felt like God told me to do it. Amanda hadn't received any clear signs that everything would work out, but she had faith anyway anyway. In my mind, her faith without seeing was a much bigger deal than me trusting enough to do what I was told.

I'd caught a glimpse of what what coming, and I trusted that God could and would make it happen. Without seeing it, Amanda had faith that God would make good come out of the situation.

What I want to challenge us to do is to look for and listen to the kinds of faith stories that aren't as flashy. The stories that get lost in the shuffle. The stories of people who quietly live out their faith, especially when those stories don't have a remarkable moment of clarity of vision. It's easy to make the mistake of overvaluing certainty and undervaluing stepping out in faith without assurance. I think we will be blessed when we look for and listen to those stories of faith.

Connecting Caring Communities

It took eight years to finally get a degree in something I cared about. Last May, I was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed ACU graduate, happy to be holding a diploma that indicated that I was trained in Sociology and Christian Ministry. It was good times to be sure, and even in a struggling economy, I believed that my degree, combined with my skill set and experience, would help me land the job of my dreams.

Unfortunately, I didn't actually know what that job was yet.

After my final summer at Camp of the Hills, I was no closer to finding a full-time ministry or nonprofit job. Things were not quite as rosy as they were in May. I set out to find a job to pay the bills while my sweet wife went back to school. As we tried to not only make ends meet, but begin working towards buying a house, I knew that I had to find a full-time job, even if it wasn't what I wanted to do long term. Delivery Driver for Office depot fit the part.

Truth be told, I did not enjoy my job at the Depot. Being a people person, I was not well suited to driving around alone all day. As someone much more attuned to relationships than details, I wasn't very effective in certain aspects of the job. If it weren't for kind supervisors and fellow employees, I would not have lasted. I will forever be grateful to them for believing in me and giving me chance after chance.

As the calendar flipped to 2013, I was faced with a dilemma: I desperately wanted a job that maximized my gifts/minimized my weaknesses, but could not afford to lose my job at Office Depot that was enabling our family to stay afloat. Thankfully, I had stayed in contact with Lori Thornton at Connecting Caring Communities since my final semester at ACU. Though she did not have any openings in the spring of 2012, she encouraged me to keep in touch with her and to apply when/if a position opened up.

I can earnestly say that I have never been more excited to interview for a position than I was in February as I sought the Community Coordinator job. Lori called me at the end of a ten hour day of deliveries as I was unloading extremely heavy office furniture. After hearing that I had the job and accepting it, I felt like I had the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders. And the weight of the world is even harder to carry in bulky boxes of copy paper.

For the past two months, I have done my best to learn the ropes around CCC, and I have to say, it is a joy. Though I will describe my job in more detail in later posts, let it suffice to say that when people ask me what I do for a living, my simple response is, "I get to know people."

Life is good, friends. Life is good.

The Greatest Stories

“You read and write and sing and experience, thinking that one day these things will build the character you admire to live as. You love and lose and bleed best you can, to the extreme, hoping that one day the world will read you like the poem you want to be.” Charlotte Eriksson

I think I value stories more than other people. I do have a blog called "Stories," after all. Nobody else I know of has a list of there favorite stories saved, on the off chance someone might want to pick one, sit back, and listen.

With that in mind, I'd like to ask for some input. I tried to narrow my ever-growing list of stories into the very best of them. But more than just my personal favorite stories or the ones I most enjoy telling, I want to know which my friends and family like most.

With that said, here's your task, should you so choose it. Below is a list of most of my stories, organized by broad categories. (A few have been strategically omitted for various reasons. Some tales need to be told only at the right time.) I would love for you let me know which of them you like best. If you haven't heard/read any of these stories, or if there are a few unknowns that pique your interest, feel free to mention them as well. My desire is to hone my story-telling, both oral and written, and I want to practice by telling the most compelling and memorable. (For those of you who were forced to listen to my stories during Wednesday night devos the last two years at Camp of the Hills, those are italicized! You're welcome!)

Personal Injury:

Rock to the Head, Snake in the Canoe, The Rope-Swing Incident, The Bike Ramp, The Shopping Cart, Spinal Meningitis, Chain-Link Fence, Downhill Cliff Paddle-Boating, The 4-Wheeler, Christian Zone Roof, Street Luge, B.B. Gun Rambo, Why I Shouldn't Dance, Peanut Butter Skit, NFL Defensive End and the Burnet Emergency Room, Shovel to the Face, Week 3, 2009, Joey New, Kirby Punch Hug,

Girl Stories:

The Proposal, Wedding First Dance, Thai Food Dance, The Hand-Hold, The Cardboard Cut-Out, I Wanna Be, Homecoming 2003, Prom 2002, Prom 2003, Prom-blems (Prom 2004)

the Summer 2006 Camper Letters, the 10 Hour Drive, Painting the House, "Allergies Be Darned!" Crushed Up Crystals, The Accidental Note, Summer 2009 Narrative, Snaturday, First Time Ros and I met Shannon

Faith:

Cambodia 2009, How We Became a Part of St. Ann's, Killagarden, Blake Box,

Gerald’s Mustang,

Miscellaneous Stories:

The Rattle Snake, "I'm Afraid of Bugs!", Drew's First Day at Camp of the Hills, The Ninja Escapades, Week 7 2004, Week 7 2005 Wednesday, Turtle Watch 2004, The Liaison Days, Chiang Mai Night Market, 648, The Pillow Fights of 07, Cave Writings in the Tomb, the Flood of 2007, The Freshman Year Debauchal, Final Day of Camp 2005, The Quandre Experience, Dead Man in a Culligan Truck, The Princess (Skit) Diaries, Halloween Costumes (Aggie Dad, Braveheart, and Leonidas) Waterfall Losses, The Wolf Den Prank War, The Epic Bonfire, Last Day at JM, Wipin' Butt and Gettin' Beaten, Summer 2007 Crucifixions, Why I Hate Hay, The Story of the Vince Dive, Lesser Known Camp Fire, Nalgene Bottle and Explosives, Harlem Shake-Off, Giant Hamster/Pancake Narrative, The Beast, B1/B2 Celtic Games, Cherokee Indian Basketball, Astros Rally Underwear, Bungee Jumping, Obstacle Course, Pocket of Sushi,  I'm a Seoul Man, GATA Formal '09, Journey Air Band, Natural Disasters and Ambulances (Week 1, 2009), Memorial Day Kayaking (The Best Day Ever), CotHiosis Epidemic, Dining Hall Fire, Mono, Kayaking with Rosten and the Kirbys, “Chris fell in the poo,” Tug of War 2012, Winter Wonderland Prank, Toad in the Sidewalk Crack, Pneumonia! You’re my Kryptonite!, Office Depot: Delivering Disaster,

Oh, SNAP! Day 3

Do you ever do things that you immediately regret? Sometimes, I do. For instance, a few days ago I told my friends Keith and Durran that I was going to jump over a metal gate that was about chest high, and ended up landing rear-first on the cold, hard ground. Why did I mention anything out loud? Because I knew my sense of pride would make me go through with it once I had said it. By verbalizing my ridiculous stunt, I eliminated my choice of not performing what I had decided to do, if at some point in the future I thought better of it.

That logic heavily informed my reasoning behind choosing to broadcast the Bowen family trying to eat for a month on the budget of a family on SNAP benefits (previously known as Food Stamps). As soon as Amanda signed on, with gusto I might add, I typed up the previous blog post. I'm not sure how many people read these musings, but those who do are typically people I greatly respect. You are the sort of people who would either call me out directly to ensure I was keeping up with commitments, or at least would casually ask how the project was going. The embarrassment of having to explain that I had backed out served as a good deterrent when I later faced the inconvenient realities of the coming weeks.

With all that said, Amanda and I have gotten started well. I'll have some thoughts on how it's going later in the process, but for now, I want to better explain some of the details. We're facing the task as if Amanda and I both lost our jobs, and immediately went out and got SNAP benefits. We'll be trying to stretch the funds (about $4 per person per day) over the course of the next four weeks, through the first Saturday in February. We would have started at the beginning of January with David Smith, but our trip to Abu Dhabi made that difficult. By the time we got back to the states, it was mid-week, and we were both up to our eyeballs in work and school, so we decided to start Sunday the 13th and go for four weeks.

Some friends have already been asking how group meals work. For instance, the Kaczmareks wanted to have us over for a meal to catch up, but didn't want to impede in our month of meals. We assured them that we can be guests for meals just as real families on SNAP benefits can enjoy meals at the homes of their friends and family. In fact, leaning on their communities is an important part of life for many living in poverty. And though our budget won't allow us to bring expensive food to the proverbial/real table, we are excited to help by bringing something affordable to the meal, even if it's simply some rice or beans.

Additionally, we're working under the assumption that all the food in our pantry is available for us. Leftovers and such are fair game, too. We felt like this would be the case for two people who just lost their jobs. We did not, however, stock up on food beforehand. We felt like that would be cheating, since I doubt most people know the day they're getting laid off.

So, we're three days into our month of SNAP benefits. I'm excited to share more about what I'm learning later in the month!

Setting Down Roots

In case you were anxiously anticipating big family news from the Bowens, I'd like to make an announcement. After years of praying about where and to what God was calling us, after months of intense negotiations, near misses, and heartbreaks, and after we had given up hope as to how we would be able to make it happen without an intervening miracle from God, it happened.

Less than an hour ago, Amanda and I closed on a house in the College Heights neighborhood of Abilene, Texas.

After struggling with the idea of setting down roots in Abilene for a long time, God made the path clear for us to become a part of a long-term ministry with and among our new neighbors. We haven't gotten everything figured out yet. We're not sure exactly what the ministry will look like in the coming years. But we are at peace knowing that our passion for this community is one shared with God.

We look forward to sharing more on this big news in the future, but for now, we look to celebrate what God is doing in this city, in this neighborhood, and in our hearts!

Oh SNAP! (31 Days of Eating on Food Stamps) - Prologue

David Smith is a good man. In addition to being a much more regular blogger over at preachersmith.com than I am here, David also presided over the wedding of Amanda and myself. (The wedding probably deserves some retelling here on the blog, so maybe around our anniversary I'll retell some of the best stories from the experience.)

So when David Smith messaged me a link to his recent blog post, I immediately decided that it was a terrible/wonderful idea. As with almost all ideas that fit into that category, I ran it past Amanda before officially signing up. Thankfully for my hopes of joining in this grand social experiment, my wife shares my love of people in poverty and enthusiastically agreed to join.

As someone who professes to care about the poor, I'm looking forward to experiencing a little sliver of what it's like to try to plan a month of meals as if we only had SNAP (aka food stamps) benefits. I'm going to miss those Taco Bell Cantina Burritos something fierce, that's for sure. As a person called to love the people Jesus calls "the least of these," I hope this experience helps me grow in empathy for those living in poverty.

We're still working out a few of the nuances. For example, we won't be doing it for just January, since we'll be visiting family in Abu Dhabi for the first few days of the year, so we'll spill over into a bit of February. I'm already excited about this adventure, and the new perspective it will bring. I'll be doing my best to chronicle my thoughts and experiences here, so get excited about reading along, and feel free to try it out! I'd love to hear from more people

Additionally, be on the lookout for some exciting news next week! We're still waiting for final confirmation, but it looks like Amanda and I will have something really cool to share with y'all Monday. (Note: Before people start jumping to conclusions, no, this is not a kids type of news item. Seriously, people.)

Bowen News Update

The hiatus is over, at least for now.

A little more than a month ago, Amanda and I walked into the Office Depot on the south side of Abilene. She had been given a bunch of looseleaf papers for her job at the Alliance for Women and Children, (She works with one of their after-school care programs) and want to get the papers bound into a spiral. As soon as we stepped through the sliding front doors, we were greeted by a friendly gentleman in his fifties wearing a bright red shirt and a name tag indicating his name was Steve.

"Well hello there, folks, how can I help you?"

We told him about our quest for binding, and he pointed us in the direction of the printing center. But as my wife stepped towards her goal, I tarried behind. I caught Steve's eye and asked, "Y'all wouldn't happen to be hiring, would you?"

His eyes lit up. He informed me that indeed they were short on staff at the moment. He wasn't sure if he could swing a full-time position, but since I was already considering doubling up on part-time work, I went for it. I applied that night from the Kirby's house, and anxiously awaited an answer. Within a few days, I had an interview.

I met back with Steve for the interview, and apparently he liked me, because a few days later I was called in by the big boss, Jake. After a few quick minutes of talking, he offered me the position of delivery driver, and I most graciously accepted.

That was just about a month ago. Since then I've been working 40-50 hours per week, delivering office supplies to Abilene and the surrounding towns. Sometimes my day is simple, mostly in-town deliveries. Other days I spent most of my day traversing the long and semi-scenic roads of West Texas. Either way, I'm employed full-time now, which is a blessing.

I have plenty more updates to come, and I can write them for the blog now that we've got internet at our  house. For now, know that God has been good to our little family, and that we're excited about a new phase of our lives!

Media Monday - "The Line" Trailer

Each Monday, this blog will feature a song, video, piece of art, or other type of media that tells part of a story. Sometimes the message will be light and funny, other times it will be deeper and more somber. I may not even fully agree with what is posted. My aim is to present narratives that are worth experiencing, knowing, and discussing.

This week's media comes in the form of a trailer for a documentary on poverty. I'm hoping that once it premiers in October, I will be able to be a part of a public screening. From what I have heard about the film and from the trailer, I get the idea that it will illuminate a lot of truth that gets distorted about poverty and those living below the line.

Linking for Thinking - 9/9/12

Every Sunday, I'll be whittling my reading list down to a few links that I found particularly interesting from the past week. Some may be profound/deep thinking articles or news stories, others may be things that fascinate me or made me laugh. Some will be on issues I already agree with, others will be those that have challenged me to think in new ways. If there's anything you think I'd be interested in, or something you think might be worth sharing in this space, feel free to leave it in the comments section, email me at coth.guy@gmail.com, or hit me up on facebook.

Lifehack of the Week
If you have a tiny bathroom with little storage space and need somewhere to keep a few towels and washcloths handy consider buying an inexpensive nesting basket set from a discount housewares store and mounting the baskets to your wall to provide an easy and inexpensive way to keep bathroom linens handy.

A Community Called Forgiveness (by Dr. Richard Beck)
Because isn't the problem with Christianity that we want God to forgive us but we don't care about being reconciled to others? Isn't it much easier to pray to God for forgiveness than to put in all the time and relational work to live at peace with others?

Simply Seeing
I simply saw her as a mom who cares deeply for her children, just as I am a dad who cares deeply for mine. I simply saw her as a parent who trusts me to be a teacher for her child and for her.

Is Americanism the Fourth Biblical World Religion? (Via David Smith)
But Leithart’s message is not about people who explicitly affirm that their religion is America; it’s about how America has come to regard itself as “God’s New Israel.”

The Amazing Speeches of Women in the Conventions makes the Silence of Women in the Church that much more Deafening
Not having the voices of women in the Church is not just sad for women but even worse, it’s sad and a deep loss for the Church. We’re missing out on the stories, convictions, and challenges from the Ann Romneys, Condi Rices, and Michelle Obamas within our churches. 

Draft Day with Royce White (Warning: Slight language at the end of the video)
For us, Royce (a 6-foot-8 forward from Iowa State) was the most suspenseful and important story in the draft — someone blessed with an extraordinary combination of skills and size, and also with a refreshing openness about his mental condition. His doctors call it "generalized anxiety disorder," a condition defined as "constant worry."

Is the Death Penalty Racist?
Five Connecticut death row inmates are suing the state to get their sentences overturned because they argue race and geographic bias played a part in their prosecution.

Playing in NFL Triples Risk of Alzheimers and Parkinsons Diseases
NFL players are three times as likely as the general population to die from a neurodegenerative disease such as Alzheimer's disease or Parkinson's disease, according to a new Centers for Disease Control study of retired NFL players.

Super Mario Summary
Check out this online game that summarizes the original Super Mario Brothers game. It brought back some fond memories!

Reflections on Football in the South by A&M Coach Kevin Sumlin's Father
William Sumlin is hesitant to get into it. He doesn't want to go all PBS documentary on his son Kevin as he prepares for his first game as head coach at Texas A&M on Saturday. But as a high school coach in the segregated South a half-century ago, William Sumlin will allow that he never, ever thought the day would come when his son would be a head coach in the Southeastern Conference.

God and our Political Platforms (by Rachel Held Evans)
But this is the danger of civic religion: it convinces us that God’s name is the same as God’s presence; it convinces us that we’ve “won” when we hear the right words, regardless of whether we’ve seen the  right fruit. 

NFL Defensive End and the Burnet Emergency Room

My final night as a counselor at Camp of the Hills was a doozy. I had been working at camp all summer, every summer from 2002 through 2008, and I knew that I didn't have it in me to be in the cabins for another year. I didn't know what the future would hold, though I imagined I'd be doing some sort of behind-the-scenes work at CotH the next summer. In my mind, I needed to go out with a bang.

Each week on our final night of camp, we held a massive camper appreciation banquet, followed by the award ceremony. Each camper earns two awards, and are called forward to receive them and hug all their counselors. They are split into cabins, so the announcers read off the cabin number before going into the awards, giving each cabins' group of counselors the chance to celebrate before their campers' names are called.

First half we were a little short on counselors, so often it was just me and my friend Daniel Tomkins holding down the fort in Cabin B1. Our weekly celebratory move was a flying chest-bump whenever the emcee called out B1. Daniel was smaller than me, so we never really went all out on the chest-bump, for fear of him getting knocked into oblivion. Four weeks of celebrations, and no injuries for either of us.

Second half saw camp gain several new counselors, including Brandon Green. How can I describe him? How about by pointing you to his wikipedia page? Yeah, he definitely used to be an NFL Defensive End. He's a big dude. And he was in B1 with me and another new guy named Travis.

I informed Brandon of how our B1 celebrations went down each week, and he hesitantly agreed to try the chest-bump out with me. When B1 (also known as B-uno) was called on Friday night of Week 5, we ran towards each other, and collided. Much to my surprise and to the enjoyment of the kids watching, I bounced off of his barrel chest like a rag doll. I hit the ground, rolled a little, then jumped up and continued cheering for our cabin.

Week 6 was the same story, only a new chapter. In a kind attempt to repair my broken pride, Brandon offered to chest-bump me again, but this time he would ensure that he was the one who ended up on the ground. He pulled it off with the acting prowess of a champ, and for a brief moment, I stood over a man who had once sacked the quarterback on Monday Night Football.

The chest-bump was put in storage for Week 7, because it was the first and only time I had ever been asked to be the emcee for the awards ceremony. But in the back of my mind, I knew I had one more week to go all out.

I started convincing Brandon early, since I knew it would be a hard sell. "Dude, we should run full speed for our final chest-bump! It'd be awesome!" He was certainly hesitant, most likely because he didn't want to seriously injure me. But by the end of the week, he had reluctantly agreed to the proposition.

The emcees were finishing reading off the girls of G1 when I locked eyes with Brandon, and walked to the other side of the line. One foot on the ground, one on the wall, both hands behind me and ready to push off for maximum velocity. The emcee started to announce our cabin, but looked at Brandon and me ready to sprint, and took a few exaggerated steps out of the way. He spoke into the mic. "Give it up for B1!"

I shoved off the wall and dug in as best I could, scrambling for any extra momentum I could gain in the 25 or so feet before we would collide. Brandon had exploded off the wall, and the terror I felt made me thankful that I never played quarterback. In a matter of seconds, we were both airborne.

It's imperative that for chest-bumps, both parties arch their backs, thus presenting their chests forward for said bumping. As chest-bump experts, both Brandon and I were well aware of this need. We executed this maneuver perfectly, with one slight miscalculation.

When my 180 pound frame came into contact with him, my entire body whiplashed forward. My legs went flailing, the rest of my body flew forward, and my head snapped towards him. The head snapping forward was the bad part. Thankfully, neither of us were concussed when my chin collided with his right cheek, but something definitely gave way.

We were both knocked backward and onto the floor from the collision. We rolled around, a bit then rejoined the hug line, where we were greeted with wide-eyed counselors. Andrew Carman, a former camper of mine and good friend, was standing next to me. I was holding my chin, since it hurt so bad, but he told me to move my hands. He looked at it for a moment and said, "Drew, I can see your chin bone." By this time, I had started to bleed, so I ran to the bathroom to grab some paper towels. There I met Brandon again, who was nursing a large cut on his cheek. I hurriedly apologized, applied damp paper towels to my chin, then ran back to hug our kids.

It was apparent that the wound was not going to close on its own. After my kids had gone through the hug line, I booked it to the nurse's station, where Brandon was already being patched up. By my boss, Derick. And his boss, Mel. And one of Mel's bosses, a board member. Oops.

They chose kindness in that moment, and didn't lecture me on stupidity, though I felt like that would have been well within their rights. Instead they told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was going to the E.R. I protested, because I wanted to enjoy the last night with the kids, but they won out. Brandon and I hopped in his truck, and rolled out to the Burnet County Emergency Room.

It was a surprisingly fun trip. Brandon is a very chill person, and didn't seem that upset with me. Several times we would just look at each other and bust out laughing. Over the next five hours, I would be admitted and receive three stitches, and Brandon would be fixed up with that new-fangled cut-healing glue. We got back to camp long after movie night was over.

That chest-bump was not one of the smarter decisions I've ever been a part of, but to this day I still brag about putting an NFL player in the hospital with one hit.

Media Monday - A Sunday on La Grande Jatte

Each Monday, this blog will feature a song, video, piece of art, or other type of media that tells part of a story. Sometimes the message will be light and funny, other times it will be deeper and more somber. I may not even fully agree with what is posted. My aim is to present narratives that are worth experiencing, knowing, and discussing.

For today, our media is a little less intense, since last week we got all heavy and deep with thoughts on war and violence. The painting below is "A Sunday on La Grande Jatte" by Georges Seurat in 1884. It's one of my favorite paintings, not because I'm such a connoisseur of art, but because it helps flesh out one of my favorite stories ever put to film. 

If you haven't seen Ferris Bueller's Day Off, I'm deeply disappointed in your life choices to this point. This clip won't spoil the movie for you, but do yourself a favor and check it out soon. If you are familiar with the film, you'll probably remember this scene, where our three heroes take in the sights at the Art Institute of Chicago. Cameron Fry, the tall one sporting the Red Wings jersey, becomes entranced by a girl in the painting.



Maybe it's because Cameron is such a conflicted character, often lonely and unloved. Maybe it's because I wish I stood and drank in good things more often like these three do. Maybe it's just because this scene precedes a great impromptu song and dance number. For whatever reason, this painting and this part of the movie always struck me, and I can't help but feel emotions when I remember either.

The Debate, and How I Got There

Ethics was an interesting class.

I'd only had Randy Harris one other time, and that was for my wide-eyed, "I thought I knew a lot about the Bible because I did well in Bible Bowl but now you're blowing my mind with new ideas!" phase. By the time the fall of 2011 had rolled around, I was still having my mind rocked by new ideas, but a lot of the earth-shattering new beliefs were in the rear-view mirror, even if that meant that I had invited them to pile into the backseat for my journey.

Randy presented us with an outline of the different things we'd be working through in class: the first half of the semester would be examining different ethical models to better understand from which we operated, while the second half was more built around learning by debating about different issues of the day. Randy would present both sides of an issue to the best of his ability for a class period, then had two groups debate it back and forth the next class period. He would moderate those debates, sometimes soothing tempers if things got too testy, sometimes ripping into a group who were winning too easily to keep us on our toes. (He's quite talented at that.)

I had my preferences for what I really wanted to argue for when the topics were named, and I had some topics that I wanted to avoid like the plague. For instance, I was watering at the mouth to debate on the side of Affirmative Action, but would have been crestfallen to be on the opposite side. With the decision not up to the students, however, I could only hope that I would be debating on the side of something I believed in strongly.

Flash back to 2004 for a moment. I had recently turned 18, and I had a deep sense that it was my duty to vote in the presidential election. (Part of me still wrestles with why I'm so willing to vote for someone to work in Washington, D.C., but so often I'm apathetic towards local elections. I'm working on it, though...) Being young, I wasn't very well practiced at parsing the nuances of issues or candidates, so it all came down to two factors when I went to the polling place: I thought that George W. Bush was more likely to do a good job of taking care of Texas than John Kerry, since Bush was from Texas, and I thought that the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan could end up being a positive if once they were won, Christian missionaries would have more ability to evangelize there.

Looking back, I'm pretty ashamed of my reasons for that vote. Sure, there were legitimate reasons to vote for Bush and for Kerry, but I didn't search very deep for those reasons, I just went with the easiest answer. That frustrates me, especially that I so easily justified war in my mind.

Within the space of a few years, I watched several friends go to war. I feel eternally blessed that most of them have returned alive so far, but through my conversations with them, I have begun to realize what a heavy burden war is to so many. In my heart, I began to believe that the reasons I held in 2004 were not justification enough for the horrors of war.

I have continued to look at my own justifications of war and those of others. Though it was a long and slow journey, the list of reasons I could accept as reasonable shrank considerably as the years progressed.

Suddenly, Randy Harris called my name. I was a part of the group advocating for peace without the use of violence.

SCORE!

I feel like every group project in school has either that one person who goes all out, the person who doesn't contribute anything or both. Confession time: I was the non-contributor at times during my extended college career. But not this time.

We were required to debate as if we held the views for which we were advocating, so we divvied up the different topics for our paper. As the resident Ministry/Sociology major of our group, I was assigned writing up the Biblical and social aspects of our "Pro-Peace" debate. (If you're just a glutton for punishment, feel free to read the paper here. The parts I wrote are the introduction and page 3 and 4.)

One of the most persuasive arguments against our side had already been laid out in three simple words: "What about Hitler?" We knew, without a doubt, that our classmates would be tossing that question at us, hoping that we would be unable to squirm around the uncomfortable truth that if a raving lunatic or truly evil person gains power, something must be done. Their position was that just war was not only allowable, it was necessary at times. How do you argue against fighting Hitler?

We had arrived at our answer to that question well in advance, since we knew it was coming, but I happened to be strolling around the Bible building an hour before our debate, when I ran into Dr. Chris Flanders. He's a professor in the Graduate School of Theology, a friend, and something of a mentor to me, or at least someone who cares about me. I casually mentioned the debate, and he said, "You got a minute? I've got something you might find helpful." I quickly agreed, and he led me to the campus bookstore. There he pulled a book from the shelf and handed it to me as my eyes got wide. He smiled as I hurriedly thanked him and purchased it immediately.

I found the rest of my group preparing for the debate, and beamed as I lay the book down on the table. It was entitled "What about Hitler?"

We flipped to one of the last chapters, because authors rarely just get right to the very best part, and found our position articulated beautifully, much more eloquently than we could have pulled off on the spot.

"At this juncture it is time for me to respond to the Hitler question: how should Christians respond to the kind of evil Hitler represents if just war theory and supreme emergencies are precluded, and if we live with a different measure of success?

We must live faithfully; we must be humble in our faith and truthful in what we say and do; we must repay evil with good; and we must be peacemakers. This may also mean as a result that the evildoers will kill us. Then, we shall also die.

That's it. There is nothing else-- or rather, anything else is only a footnote to this. We are called to live the kingdom as he proclaimed it and be his disciples, come what may. We are, in his words, flowers flourishing and growing wild today, and tomorrow destined for the furnace. We are God's people, living by faith.

The gospel is clear and simple, and I know what my response to the Hitler question must be. And I desperately want to avoid this conclusion. When my time comes, I may well trot out every nuanced argument I can develop, or seek a way out in St. Thomas Aquinas or Paul Ramsey. This would serve me and my fear, my hypocrisy, and my faithlessness very well. But I would not be telling the truth or living as I ought and as I am called to live.

I've had a hard time justifying killing under any circumstance for a while now, but my problem with that has been the lingering question of, "If not violence, then what?" While war feels wrong to me, I don't feel right about standing against something without offering a viable alternative solution. Yet that alternative had been taught to me my whole life without me realizing it.

Jesus was innocent, and had every right to use violence, but chose a different path. He did not hurt those who we would call his enemies, but he also stood up peacefully against them. He found a third way to deal with those who used violence and intimidation to hurt others, like when he disarmed the crowd who sought to stone the woman caught in adultery. He did not run from the soldiers who came to arrest him, neither did he allow his disciples to fight them. His words, "Put your sword away, for he who lives by the sword dies by the sword!" ring in my ears when I try to rationalize the losses of war as necessary. Jesus affirmed the humanity of Peter and Malchus in the garden.

So, as a Christian who has long struggled with violence and what could be an appropriate alternative, I would like to submit Jesus' example to those who might be feeling the same as I have, and even to those who have no problem with waging a "just war." Below is a potential way that non-violence could be used to mitigate between two warring sides, whether both are aggressors, or one side is attacking a peaceful group.

Imagine Canada suddenly broke out into a civil war. Eastern provinces vs. Western provinces. Instead of choosing a side that seems most right and fighting with them or staying out of the entire mess, imagine ten thousand Christians standing between the two groups. No weapons, just people. The Christians send word to both sides with a simple message:

"We believe that you are worthwhile, because you are a human, and thus we cannot suffer the thought of you dying or being ravaged by war in your body, mind, or heart. In the same way, we believe that our brothers and sisters with whom you are at war are just as worthwhile. We will not stop you from fighting, but you will have to fight through us. We are willing to die on this ground, but we are not willing to allow violence towards any human. If you choose to fight those you call your enemies, do so knowing that to kill them, you must kill us first."

It's certainly not a popular vision of how to mediate conflict. I'm sure that there are some glaring issues that would have to be worked out (Like how to stand between factions in a time of guided missiles, where are you going to find that many people willing to die for the sake of others, etc.). This vision is not easy, by any means. It's so radical that it seems impossible. But we have glimpses of those who lived in such a way, like Jesus, Gandhi, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. It's a standard I don't know if I can live up to.

But it also helps my faith to see an alternative to war. I have a hard time believing that God desires war. Certainly there are passages in the Old Testament that point to a bloodthirsty God, but in Jesus, we see God's best representation on Earth of what God desires for a human to be like. In Jesus, we see someone who is radically peaceful.

I do not want to belittle or invalidate Christians who feel called to join the military. My voice is just one of many in a chorus of believers who are trying to figure out how best to follow Jesus. And while the conclusions I have drawn are right for me, I do not pretend to speak for the entire spectrum of Christianity, nor can I with any certainty say that I've figured out what God wants. I can only express what I have learned and believed based on my own experiences and studies.

This isn't the last time the blog will feature this topic. Next time it comes up, I'm looking forward to sharing some ideas about how this ideal could be lived out daily. Shane Claiborne has some good stories that speak to that, so be looking for it in the future. Until then, feel free to discuss your own thoughts in the comments section.

Media Monday - One Day

Each Monday, this blog will feature a song, video, piece of art, or other type of media that tells part of a story. Sometimes the message will be light and funny, other times it will be deeper and more somber. I may not even fully agree with what is posted. My aim is to present narratives that are worth experiencing, knowing, and discussing.

For today, our media is one of my favorite songs of all-time. It's by Matisyahu, called "One Day," and because I think I finally figured out how to embed youtube videos directly into my posts, all you have to do to watch it is click below...




If you clicked on the links from Sunday, you might notice a continuation of the same theme from Dr. Beck's post. Matisyahu sings about a future without war, free from violence and hate. As you might realize if you've met me, these posts aren't popping up on the blog for no reason. They are a big part of who I am and who I hope to be.

Before someone attempts to gently burst my overly-optimistic bubble, I don't think the "one day" he sings about is coming anytime soon. Though I would love to live in a world without war, I hold no grand illusions of seeing such a place. But as a Christian, I feel like I am called to not only hope for a better world, but work for a better world.

For a better explanation of the story behind some of my thoughts on war, check back Wednesday, when I'll be writing about an interesting debate I was assigned to in an Ethics class, and some of the precursors to that debate. I'm certain that many won't agree with the conclusions I have reached, but I've found that I can respect those I disagree with more easily once I better know the road they traveled to come to their conclusions. Whether you agree with where I stand, think I'm a fool, or something else, as of Wednesday at least you'll know how I got here.

A Rocker, Cornrows, and a Change of Perspective

Teen Week was always hit or miss for me. I seem to get the best of the best or the worst of the worst. More often I got the problematic kids in the past, but that changed for me Week 6. Five campers came through my cabin that week, and forever changed me.

When they began calling out who was in my cabin, I was nervous. I’d been given the oldest kids. They looked pretty hardened. Tattoos and corn rows. My five were very different. Three from inner city Houston, one who called Oklahoma City home, and one hailing from Waco.

I’m always wary when there’s one kid who doesn’t seem to fit in, and this week that appeared to be J.B. He was the only white kid, and had some pretty severe mental handicaps. He wasn’t able to speak much at all. He was the one from Waco, brought by the Church Under the Bridge, which works heavily with homeless people and the down-and-out.

Then again, James didn’t seem to fit the mold of the prototypical camper either. He was a self-proclaimed “Rocker,” wearing skull and crossbones belt and suspenders, tight jeans, and a black sleeve on his left arm. I could tell this week was going to be interesting, to say the least.

But lo and behold, within the first day or two, James tells us either during or right after a Bible study that while he believes in God and Jesus, he doesn’t really know much about them. That’s why he came to camp, apparently, for the sole purpose of learning more about God.

This is the kind of camper counselors have dreamed about. I felt like I had waited for seven summers to finally be ready for this one week, this one camper. During our chilling in the cabin time, I lent him my Bible, and started him out in Matthew. This kid reads twelve chapters in one sitting, pausing only when he got confused by some of Jesus’ deeper teaching to ask me what it meant.

Interestingly enough, everything he was asking about boiled down to one major point, a point I’m sure Jesus wanted to make clear back then, but also wanted me to share this summer. Questions about getting angry and calling someone bad names, looking at a woman lustfully being as bad as adultery, and most of his other queries boiled down to Jesus wanting more than obedient actions. He wants our hearts to be in the right place. If we have that, obedience and love in action will surely follow.

With J.B., things were more difficult. It took a lot to understand what he was trying to communicate, and he was frustrating at times. But my co-counselors and I were able to work with him, and he had a great heart. What I was most impressed with was how respectful and understanding the four other campers were. Even though he could be embarrassing and immature, they always treated him not only well, but as a friend. It was amazing to watch.

I talked to the two guys who really seemed to look out for him the most (Who happened to be the toughest looking ones in the entire Camp.), Darieon and Ray Ray. I let them know how much we appreciated them looking out for J.B., and both just sorta shrugged their shoulders at me. To them, it wasn’t a big deal to treat someone different kindly. Ray Ray even mentioned that there were similar problems in his family, and went on to talk about how that shaped the way he looked at people.

I was touched.

By the end of the week, I knew something special had happened. I don’t know where those guys are right now, or what they’re doing. But each of them left knowing more about God’s love than they did at the beginning of the summer. And so did I.

Council in Jerusalem

There's a professor at ACU named Randy Harris. I was blessed to have him for a class my first semester studying in Abilene for Acts-Revelation and later in my next-to-last semester for Ethics. In my first day in his class, I was fresh from the mission field in Thailand, ready to sink my teeth into some Biblical knowledge that I hoped would help guide me as I sought to be a minister in the future. My enthusiasm bled into my notes, which I saved onto my computer for later perusing. Rereading it years later, I still remember how excited I was to be learning from Randy, especially when I read through my notes, a piece of which I've copied for you to check out below.

Acts 15 Council at Jerusalem Crucial Moment

What must a Gentile do to become a Christian?

Accept circumcision? Nope. Don't hafta be a Jew to be a Christian.

Accept Christ. Boo-yeah.

Food laws? What the what?

TABLE FELLOWSHIP! OH SNAP!

One table, not two!

THIS IS DANG IMPORTANT!

Looking back, I get the feeling that my note taking style isn't especially helpful for most people, especially those who weren't in the class to hear the points that my notes reflect. Which is why I decided to decipher my scribblings. For starters, here's a link to Acts 15, in case you need a refresher. (I sure did!)

One of the things that jumps out to me in this passage is that the council decides not to put the yoke of extra rules on the Gentiles, and decides that only the most important rules will be passed on. This seems like a good idea for a group of relatively new believers. The idea of not burdening them with the cumbersome laws from the Jewish culture is astonishing, especially since the Jews placed such a value on their culture. This is not without good reason, either. Though many Jewish customs had been added to and amended over the years, their culture was still a product of God's choosing them. Jesus, Savior of the World, came from within this culture, and though he challenged many pieces of the culture that were not of God, Jesus was most certainly a Jew.

With that in mind, when these Jewish leaders of the early church were faced with wrestling about how to integrate Gentiles into an overwhelmingly Jewish faith, they opted to leave out as much of the cultural trappings of Judaism as they could. Anything they didn't believe was essential was left out of the equation, and the Gentiles were given a short list of what they needed to do. (This was obviously on top of the message that was preached to them by Paul, Barnabas, or other missionaries.)

And what were these stipulations? Avoid sexual immorality and don't eat some stuff. Don't worry about circumcision, you're fine without it.

On the one hand, this short list doesn't seem like the biggest of deals to me. Jesus has already mentioned the sexual immorality thing. Unless the missionaries conveniently forgot to mention the, "Oh, by the way, before you sign on: God doesn't want us to be sexually immoral..." part of Jesus' life and teachings, I think the Gentile Christians are already down with that point. (I don't know Paul personally, but that doesn't seem like the kind of mistake he would make while ministering.)

And to be fair, I bet the Gentile Christians were pretty relieved about the whole circumcision thing. I don't know how much the co-pay was back then, but I'm always thrilled when I learn I don't have to have surgery, and I imagine them being pretty stoked to hear the news.

But I had always been confused by the food laws part of this. Sure, Leviticus and Deuteronomy seemed to be chockablock full of commands about what the Jews could or couldn't eat, but this is part of the new covenant! I thought food laws got thrown out when God said to Peter, "Take and eat," otherwise, I've got a lot of fried shrimp and bacon on my conscience. I guess where I ran into a snag wasn't an unwillingness to give up those foods, but a lingering question of, "Why are these food laws so dang important?"

As Randy explained it, these requirements were imperative for table fellowship. If Jews and Gentiles were going to be a family, they had to eat together. It was a must. Christianity meant shared meals. The Jews were not in a place, theologically, to be alright with those foods. If Gentile Christians brought them to the table, it would fracture their unity. Maybe it would have been easier to split the table, with Jews at one and Gentiles at another, but unity was far too important.

The Jewish Christians were alright with not burdening their Gentile brothers with unnecessary surgery, but they and the Holy Spirit agreed that unity was worth sacrificing for. It was inconvenient and troublesome on the Gentile Christians. It wasn't even something Jesus specified as part of his teaching. But the unity of believers was of such great importance that the sacrifice was made.

I often wonder which part of this story I am called to live on a given day. Will I have to sacrifice freedoms in order to preserve unity, like the Gentile Christians giving up foods? Will I have to sacrifice important parts of my culture in order to ensure that the yokes of my sisters and brothers in Christ are not overly heavy unnecessarily, like the Jewish Christians not demanding circumcision, even though it had long been an outward sign of being one of God's people. Will I need to be like Peter, Paul, and James, speaking on the behalf of others when biases and traditions stand opposed to God's work in the lives of people?

I became excited when I learned what was actually happening in Acts 15. Randy taught me that God's people were trying to find what was most central to the Gospel in this passage, and helped me learn to seek the same thing in my own life.

Turtle Watch 2004

This story is one of numerous swimming hole stories that we’ve amassed over the years, but it’s probably my favorite of them all.

First of all, we need to begin with Will Moore’s discovery. Whilst swimming around, my friend Will saw a tiny turtle coming up for air. Soon he had caught it and taken it ashore. No bigger than a fifty-cent piece, it was pretty darn cute. The pool was abuzz with the news of the turtle, and by the time we had our first Cabin Check, everybody was aware that there had been a turtle in the water.

Some speculation followed, and rumors of another turtle were whispered. Most of the counselors were convinced that this was naught but excitement over Willo’s turtle. But the rumors spread nonetheless, and soon even we were scouring the waters for the alleged turtle.

Soon thereafter, we heard a bunch of yelling on the far side of the pool. A counselor had seen a large, black turtle head pop out of the water, and upon being seen, had submerged back into the murky abyss. Now that we had a credible witness to the turtle’s existance, we were on full alert. All eyes scanned the water’s surface in hopes of finding the terrapin.

Every five to ten minutes, a shout would be heard, and a mad rush towards the spot the turtle was last seen would ensue, but each attempt was unsuccessful. Several times the turtle would swim into the foot or leg of a hapless swimmer, causing much flailing, screaming, and splashing, as well as causing the bolder of the counselors, such as Craig Maddux and myself, to dive beneath the brown waters and grope blindly for the turtle, but to no avail. Some of the unscrupulous counselors discovered that pinching a girl counselor’s feet while unseen underwater, would cause just as much panic as the actual reptilian they were mimicking.

Our tactics were not providing the results we wanted. We needed to step up our search. I believe it was Chris Field’s idea to lock our arms and comb the water from one side to the other with a huge, impenetrable line of people. Unfortunately, when the line formed and moved forward, the turtle chose to try to break through in the weakest place, much like a smart Red Rover player. It went straight into a group of linked girls, and the screaming and thrashing that ensued was a sight to behold.

Nobody that I’ve talked to remembers who told the kids to “Do the Turtle Call,” but it became one of the most amazing moments in Camp history. Almost as if they had all been taught that the Turtle Call just like a Cow Call would be “Moo,” or a Sheep Call would be “Baaaa,” all of the kids began to quietly say “Wooooooooooo,” as if imitating a timid and high-toned ghost. It baffled us to no end why they all thought that a Turtle would respond to that specific noise, but soon the counselors were joining in.

Swimtime was coming to an end. Clint Askins was life-guarding, and we were begging him for five more minutes to search out the turtle. Being the classy guy he is, Clint accepted, and granted us the time we so desperately wanted.

That’s when it happened. We saw Craig run and dive into the water. As he stood up, muddy water was running down his body, his arms were raised above his head, and a gleam of triumph was in his smile, for a large turtle was clutched in his hands. The kids rallied to and around him, as did the counselors. We circled the pool in a parade behind Craig and his catch, chanting in an Animal House way, “Turtle! Turtle! Turtle!”

We posed for pictures with it before heading back to the Cabins for showers, each of us knowing in our heart that the day would live on in Camp of the Hills lore, long after that summer had passed. To this day, I consider that to be the most fun swimming time we’ve ever had.

"...the hand of God was on the people to give them unity of mind..."

One of my favorite passages from the Bible is the story laid out in 2 Chronicles 30. Obscure? Yes, definitely, but relevant. Let me set the stage...

The king of Judah is a guy named Hezekiah. His father, Ahaz, was king before Hezekiah and did a pretty terrible job of it. Ahaz got his butt kicked by just about everyone and led the people away from God. I'm not sure how Hezekiah ended up so good when his dad was a super jerk, but it happened.

Chapter 30 joins Hezekiah as he's preparing for one of the biggest celebrations of the Jewish calendar, one that hadn't been properly observed in a long time. The Passover, a celebration of God delivering their people from Egypt, was a big deal. It was important to the young king for everything to go right.

But there was a problem: he had just finished a major renovation/rededication project to the temple in their capitol city, and there wasn't enough time to put everything together. The Passover was supposed to be held at a certain time of the year, and there was no way to make it happen on time.

Beyond that, Hezekiah had this crazy idea of not just inviting the people from his country of Judah, but extending the invitation to Israel to the north, along with Manasseh and Ephraim. If you're not super familiar with all the geo-political implications of this move, Judah had been a part of Israel back in the day, but they split into two separate factions after a big dispute about who was the rightful king. In fact, one of the countries that had been kicking Ahaz's butt was Israel. There was some bad blood going on between these two countries, for sure.

Instead of sending an army to try to avenge his father's losses, Hezekiah sends words of reconciliation to his neighbors. He ends his message to them with the following:

"If you return to the Lord, then your fellow Israelites and your children will be shown compassion by their captors and will return to this land, for the Lord your God is gracious and compassionate. He will not turn his face from you if you return to him."

Hezekiah, the priests, and "the whole assembly in Jerusalem" choose to break the rules about when the Passover is commanded to be celebrated. Maybe they broke it so they could keep moving forward with the momentum they gained from restoring the temple. Maybe it was so that the messengers could have extra time to invite Israel. Maybe it was a little of both.

The invitation is laughed at by many, but chapter 30 also reveals that some of those who were far removed from Judah heard and accepted the offer. It ends with a huge party that the people just refuse to let end, so an extra week gets tacked onto the celebration. That text even mentions that foreigners living in Judah and Israel get in on the action! God's providence in the past is remembered with joy, and certainty of God's nearness in the present is proclaimed.

The reason I love this passage so much is that it gives me hope for reconciliation. As I wrote about on Monday, unity is a big deal for me. Hezekiah shows that not only is reconciliation worth working for, but it is also something that the people of God have bent/broken the rules for in the past. It was against what was written about how to observe the Passover, but it seemed right to the king and the people, so they did it. Instead of being struck down for their impudence, Hezekiah gets described as someone who "...did what was right in the eyes of the Lord..." in the previous chapter.

While I don't take this passage to be a blank check for breaking every rule God set forth as long as I can couch my reasoning in the name of unity, it encourages me that sometimes the people of God can love and invite others into community, even when doing so is against the letter of the law. I want to be the kind of person that looks for creative ways to show the world God's love, even if that means some laws aren't upheld for the sake of the unity God desires.

Crushed Crystals

(Note to readers: Wednesdays are going to be dedicated to telling stories. Sometimes my own, maybe sometimes other people's. To start, here's the earliest story I can remember from my childhood.)

First grade was a time of transition for me.

During Kindergarden I had learned an invaluable lesson about girls: no matter how strong your feelings were for a girl, you had to muster the confidence to actually do something constructive about your crush, otherwise you would get nowhere fast. I also learned that asking Mrs. Godfrey if I could move my nap mat nearer to Ashley Sweet's mat didn't count as "constructive." Ashley moved away over the summer before first grade, leaving my six year old heart reeling. I decided that I would not make the mistake of indecision the next time.

Next time was Stephanie Pitcock. I don't remember much about her, except that she was very nice and had dark hair, and her dad was friends with my dad through baseball or something. I do remember that she made me forget all about what's-her-name from Kindergarden.

My crush on Stephanie was a few months old before I was able to figure out how to approach her. Girls were still very scary, and I had no idea how to talk to her. But I was certain that if I could somehow convince her to be my girlfriend, that she'd fall in love with me, and we'd end up married. (If you stick around the blog long enough, you'll notice that this is a recurring theme.) The question in my mind was, "How do I get a girl to like me without talking to her?"

I was in a predicament, no doubt.

Luckily for me, television commercials had already taught me everything I needed to know. Jewelry commercials continually whispered into my ears that if you get a girl a pretty enough rock, she will love you forever. Each featured an overjoyed girl falling into the arms of the guy who brought her the pretty rock. I knew what I needed, but finding a rock pretty enough would be no small task.

I didn't get an allowance back then, and the change I found hidden in the couch cushions did not add up to enough to buy a diamond. This did not discourage me, though, because I knew lots about nature. Some combination of My Big Backyard and Ranger Rick magazines, the Discovery Channel, and a childhood of traipsing through the woods and creeks near my house had given me the confidence I needed to become an amateur geologist.

I told my mom that I was going out to play, but I was all business. I quickly set out for the areas near my house that had the most plentiful assortments of rocks to find what I needed to woo Stephanie. I soon had a decent-sized pile of rocks of every sort. None of them looked like much on the outside, but I knew better. Underneath the dull exterior, some of those stones concealed crystals of untold value.

I can't remember my mom's reaction when I popped my head back into the house to ask her for a hammer. I just remember that she allowed me to borrow it, which leads me to believe that such strange requests might have been commonplace in our house. By this age, I had already established an identity as a reptile catcher, yet hadn't fully learned not to bring them into the house, so maybe my mom was just relieved that I was taking things out of the house instead of bringing things in. Nevertheless, before long I was back at my rock pile, hammer in hand.

Any first grader could make the mistake of believing
this substance was worth as much as a new car, right?

My first few attempts proved fruitless. Apparently, dirt clods can be easily confused with rocks that might contain crystals, even by someone who regularly watched the Discovery Channel. Eventually, though, I found what I had sought. Looking back it was probably nothing more than the rose quartz that is so common in Texas, but to six year old me it was more precious than diamonds. I was certain that the crystals would win Stephanie's heart.

With this success under my belt, I was ready to really go to work. My arm became sore quickly, but I pressed on with optimism, imagining how she would react when I gave her this costly gift. Within a few minutes, I had pulverized several chucks of the rock into tiny, white crystals. I ran back to the house and grabbed some sort of cloth. Hopefully, I had enough sense not to borrow one of the good napkins, but I can't be sure that I didn't. Soon, the crushed up crystals were safely wrapped in the cloth. I stored my bundle in my backpack, and planned out my next move.

Despite having a fool-proof plan in the bag, as it were, there was still the looming problem of how to give it to Stephanie without having to use words. I pride myself in being resourceful, and first grade me was no exception. I asked my dad to drop me off at school a little earlier the next morning. Check and mate!

The hallways were dimly lit and quiet as I nervously walked towards our classroom. My confidence had left me overnight, and I was already shaking like a leaf. Terrible scenarios flashed through my head: What if the door is locked? What if someone sees me place it on her desk? What if she doesn't like to play with lizards and turtles? I reached the door about ten minutes before class started and I was freaking out. I reached up for the doorknob.

I didn't know much about miracles at age six, other than what I'd seen on various felt boards on Sunday mornings, but I was certain I was in the middle of one when the door was unlocked and the classroom was empty. With newfound confidence, I sauntered up to Stephanie's desk and neatly placed the cloth-wrapped crystals on her desk, then merrily plopped down into my seat a few rows behind her.

As I sat staring straight ahead in the empty classroom, the two flaws in my plan occurred to me: Either everyone would walk in and see me chilling at my seat and a super cool and fancy gift on Stephanie's seat, thus alerting the public to my very personal feelings, or people would come in a couple at a time, and she would have no way of knowing that the unmarked bag of crystals were from me.

Oops.

Some people have the ability to hold it together in stressful situations. I like to think that doing so is a strength of mine now. But, for the love, it was not a strength then! I don't remember the specifics, but it's safe to say that the next few minutes were full of uncomfortable squirming.

The rest of my class came in gradually, but I was too busy blushing face down into my desk to see when Stephanie arrived. It wasn't until a break between lessons for water that everything went down.

I was quietly sitting in at my desk, finishing up a worksheet, when I heard a voice say, "Hey, Drew?" I looked up, and there she was, walking toward me. I had nowhere to run. Not that my brain could have relayed a coherent message to my limbs at this point, but the feeling of being trapped added to the panic that was overtaking my heart, mind, body, and soul.

She held up the bundle with a puzzled look on her face and asked, "Are these from you?"

Suddenly, it was time for action. I gathered all the courage that I usually saved for catching snakes that I wasn't sure were venomous or not or for when commercials for "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" came on Nickelodeon, and decided to be a man. Through the blushing cheeks, sweaty palms, and knocking knees, I was able to talk to a girl.

"No, I don't know what you're talking about."

She raised one of her ridiculously cute eyebrows quizzically, but shrugged and walked away.

It was my first real failure in the girls department. I had caved in the critical moment. All the hard work and planning thrown out the window. I was a liar and a coward.

But I had talked to a girl!

And sitting in the back of that classroom, I thought to myself, "I can build on this..."