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Time Keeps on Slipping

"Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn."

--C.S. Lewis

Last week, I was driving home from Smoothie King. I had just finished a 10-mile ride on my bike and decided to have a deliciously satisfying fruit concoction. Heading home, I pulled onto Trenton Street, and soon afterwards the speed limit slowed to a blistering 25 miles per hour. As I slowed, I noticed this dear old man, dressed to a tee, cane in hand, walking on the shoulder of the road at the base of the grassy river levee. Driving slowly I was able to take in his appearance. A flat, derby style hat sat on top of his head that had long since let go of its hair. Oversized metallic spectacles rested heavily on his nose that was a little too big for his aged face. Below the nose and above the top lip was a thick mustache that time had transformed from what I imagined as a dark brown to its present state of dull white. Even in the May heat, he bore a muted gray button down cardigan that rested snugly on his feeble frame that I estimated had seen seventy plus years of sunrises and sets. Khakis and penny loafers finished out the attire, accompanied by a stylish but functional gentleman’s cane. As I passed, I lifted my free hand that was already cupping the warm air outside the window of the car to wave at the senior. He slowly raised his free hand too as his other steadfastly held his proud 165 pound body up and waved back with this endearing smile that will always stay with me.

I can’t put my finger on what strikes me about the man. Nichole would probably say it was his outfit. She is always telling me, and anyone who will listen, that I dress like an old man, but in her defense there is truth in her claims. I lived with my grandparents from my mid teens till I moved away when I turned twenty. Throughout high school I would scavenge through my grandfather’s closet for old shirts and pants. People paid top dollar for the “distressed” look. Vintage clothing was in style then, and I had the Mecca of old worn out clothes at my disposal. I still like the old hats and cardigans. I even walk at a snail’s pace; truth is I always have.

Honestly, I believe what struck me the most was the fact that he was walking alone. Since passing him on the road that day and lifting my hand and making eye contact with him, affirming that at that moment someone knew he was still here, still putting one foot in front of the other, still on his journey, I’ve wondered if he had to hold the hand of his high school sweetheart as she let go of this life and embarked on her new journey to the hereafter. I find myself still wondering if he has kids, and if so, I’ve wondered if they live nearby. I wonder if his grandchildren miss bouncing on his lap, giggling as the summer breeze kisses their skin and fills their senses with jasmine and comfort. I wonder if he still makes coffee for two or finds himself reaching over in the dead of a cold February night, hoping to warm his love with his closeness, only to find himself alone in a bed that two shared for longer than he cares to remember.

I can’t stop thinking about the brevity of this life. I’m terrified of the thought that soon the days I’ve lived will outnumber the days I have left; that is if the day hasn’t already come and gone. The old saying that we “wish our life away” is all too true. We spend so much time planning our lives that we forget to live them. The truth is that every day matters. Once this day is gone, we’ll never get it back, although I’m sure there will come a time we’ll wish we could.

We don’t realize how relational life is. We forget how important it is to connect to people. Take some time today and call you parents. Talk to them, but more importantly listen; better yet, call your grandparents. Men don’t grow to reach an old age by chance. There are life lessons in their stories. Listen. Let their words paint pictures for you. Realize they’ve got more things figured out than you. Compared to their wisdom, we are all fools. We are all just masquerading around, portraying this air of invisibility when in reality we are all broken; we all are lost just trying to figure out how to make it through life.

In their song “Burn out Brighter (Northern Lights),” Anberlin’s lead singer and songwriter Stephen Christian sings lyrics about living a life that matters. The song is based around the event that happened to their drummer during the recording on their latest album. The drummer was flying to the studio, and the plane he was on malfunctioned and began to plummet back to earth until the pilot finally gained control of the aircraft. Passengers and crew alike believed they had only moments to live. The verses of the song loosely chronicle the experience. The chorus goes on to say what was going through his mind about how he would live his life differently if he had the chance. It says this: “Live. I want to live inspired. Die. I want to die for something higher than myself. Live and die for anything else. The more I live I see this life’s not about me.”

Live today in the realization that it matters. Know that we don’t walk through our day-to-day life for practice. Live a life that shines like stars in the middle of a summer’s night. Connect with people. Learn from someone. Give yourself to others. Don’t count on money or things to make you happy. Love. And please, please, please don’t wait to do it, because in the words of The Steve Miller Band, “Time keeps on slippin’ slippin’ slippin’ into the future.”

“Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.” James 4:14 KJV

Why Can't We Be Friends?

“Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is moderately important.” —C.S. Lewis.

Religion is a beautiful thing. Humanity, in general, finds solace in the belief that there is something out there bigger than we are, bigger than our menial existence, drudging in the mundane, overplayed routine we grow accustomed to calling our life. There are some “intellectuals” that earnestly believe there isn’t a higher power out in the cosmos. That is fine; even still they find something to believe in, some sort of philosophy they put their stock in, something that gives their life purpose.

I believe in God. This isn’t about believing in God as opposed to Allah; it isn’t about the Koran versus the Bible. It is about, in my opinion, how “denominations” get in the way of our religion. If you do not agree with my opinion, kudos to you for having your on beliefs.

I work the late shift. Most nights after about eight o’clock, things really start to slow down. The section I work in is blocked off, away from most of the other employees, so there are only two or three people and me there late at night. I often find myself in a state of comatose-like haze staring at the computer screen. The clock mercifully tics away slowly, counting down to sweet freedom. During this time of night, my fellow coworkers and I strike up random conversations to stay awake and pass the time. Last week the conversion of church came up. It was all inclusive, the conversation branching off to things such as different world religions and different denominations of the Christian church. From the beginning I stayed out of the conversation. I was really curious to hear what my two fellow coworkers’ views were on the subject since one is a practicing Jewish man and the other a Christian.

I was put off by what I heard.

The Jewish man, in a somewhat playful banter, asked the Christian why Christians always try to “convert” him. The Christian rebutted with “because you need it,” a comment that was in a jovial tone, as well. However, it didn’t take long for the conversation to turn dark. They began bashing various denominations. “Baptists,” they said, “I can’t believe how people stay awake in their services; they are so boring.” They went on an on in this fashion. “Catholics,” one exclaimed, “they don’t really believe in anything; they just drink wine in mass and say Hail Mary’s.” The other one provided his agreement saying, “Yeah, but they have beautiful churches.” They named off a few more denominations, and then they came to Pentecostals. They were both unscrupulous with their attack on “brain washed Pentecostals.” One stated, “All that speaking in tongues is fake. It is just simple-minded people giving into emotionalism.” The other chimed in saying, “They are some mean, holier-than-thou people. If you don’t believe what they believe, they love to condemn you straight to Hell.” This went back and forth, both of them fueling the other with their jaded remarks, pessimistically bashing other denominations’ creeds.

I was heartbroken. Dolefully, I sat there in silence, processing what I had heard.

Since then I’ve come to the belief that denominations are one of the most, if not the most, counterproductive parts of Christianity. They are known more for what they disagree on than what they have in common: Jesus. I can see why a non-believer can be so skeptical of this modern day church culture. Who wants to be apart of a religion where the believers aren’t even on the same team? I’d dare to say that deep down, tucked away in a dark place of some people’s soul, they would rather see someone who doesn’t share their beliefs die and go to Hell to fulfill their own self-validation. That “ah hah” moment when you can look down your nose at someone and say “See? I was right all along.” I can’t help but think that that wasn’t what the apostles had in mind; it seems to me that they had it right when they described the church as “in one mind and one accord.” Somehow I don’t believe the whole mindset of drawing lines in the sand and saying that if you believe this then you are Baptist and if you believe this you’re Methodist is what Jesus had in mind for us, either, when he said, “For God so loved the world…”

I wonder sometimes if we have taken some of God’s love from our message and substituted our own standards and rules in its place. I’ve been asking myself if we spend more time drawing lines and not enough time loving people and loving God. Isn’t that what this is all about, loving God and each other?

People go to this church because they can slow dance with their girlfriend at prom without having to answer to some elder pointing their finger and condemning them to Hell. Some people go to another church because they like the music or the lights. What if people didn’t decide on churches and denominations on the principle of what they are or aren’t allowed to do but because they truly feel a love from God and his people? That is the movement I want to be a part of.

I was skimming through different social networking sites yesterday and came across a friend’s Facebook. Under the “info” section is a spot to tell all 3,542½ of you dearest and closest friends what your religious views are. It even has a nifty preset that auto-populates denominations for your convenience. This person had bypassed the pre-chosen list of denominations and typed in his own that reads, “Can’t we all just get along?” I loved it!

Why don’t we erase some of these lines and replace them with an open mind and love for one another? God’s message would be so much clearer if we would eradicate the mindset that our church is better than your church and realize that we are all in this together.

“I began to doubt the infallibility of this religion and to examine it. My first cause of doubt was that I began to notice that the priests of this religion were not all in accord among themselves. Some said: We are the best and most useful teachers; we teach what is needed, but the others teach wrongly. Others said: No! We are the real teachers, and you teach wrongly. And they disputed, quarreled, abused, cheated, and tricked one another. There were also many among us who did not care who was right and who was wrong, but were simply bent on attaining their covetous aims by means of this activity of ours. All this obliged me to doubt the validity of our creed.” —Tolstoy, A Confession

The play list this was written to consisted of "No One's Gonna Love You" by Band of Horses, "re: Stacks" by Bon Iver, "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley, "Big Casino" by Jimmy Eat World, "Cure for Pain" by Jon Foreman, and "Unthought Known" by Pearl Jam.

"All is vanity": Selling Your Soul for a Lexus

“The tragedy is that society (your school, your boss, your government, your family) keeps drumming the genius part out. The problem is that our culture has engaged in a Faustian bargain, in which we trade our genius and artistry for apparent stability.” – Seth Godin

Nichole and I agree that our favorite movie is Into the Wild. It is a story about a twenty-three year old college graduate named Christopher McCandless. Christopher comes from a wealthy family who is driven by money, belongings, and community status. This isn’t the life he wants for himself. After graduating college, he gives his life’s savings away to charity and strikes out on what he calls his “great adventure.” He spends two years traveling the country, backpacking his way to his final destination, Alaska. I was turned on to Henry David Thoreau when Christopher cited a line from one of his books during a scene in the movie: “Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.” I was taken aback by the simplicity of the statement.

Later we picked up the book Walden, which is considered Thoreau’s best work. We both recently started reading it and are really enjoying it. He may be the single most quotable author I’ve read to date. From what I can gather so far from the book, it is about living a simpler life. The book is an autobiographical account of the two years he spent in a log cabin he built with his own hands outside of a town in New England in the woods overlooking Walden Pond. Also, I have recently stumbled across a few blogs that specifically speak about minimalism. Over the last few weeks, my eyes have been opened to a whole new way of thinking.

To be completely candid with you, some months go by when we have only a few dollars left after paying our bills. We get depressed and ask ourselves why God would let us stay in such a financial struggle. How selfish are we? The truth is, the only reason we are short on money is because we, like most people, have fallen into the trap of our commercialized society, a society that promotes you to live well above your means. We are told we won’t be happy unless our car is as nice as the neighbor’s or if our house isn’t over so many square feet. We buy and buy, and for what? Vanity. Nichole and I feel like we are scraping the bottom of the barrel financially, but it is because we have nice things. We bought into the idea that we have to have this or that to be happy to the point that we have accrued so much debt that we are merely slaves to our possessions.

In his book Guerrilla Lovers, author Vince Antonucci has a chapter called Anti-Terror Resources. In this chapter he gives cold, hard truths about the excess we as Americans live in. He begins by reminding us of the story in the Bible about the person described as “a rich man.” He seems to be a well-to-do farmer whose only problem is that his barns aren’t big enough to hold the excess crops he has harvested. He tears down his old barns to build even bigger ones that will hold the excess he is reaping from his field. The day he finishes the new supersized barn, he dies. Then we read Jesus calling this man a fool. The author goes on to point out that the man was rich. But if you were to ask the man if he was rich, he would tell you no. There would have been others he could have named that had more than he did. But the fact is that he had an excess; this makes him rich. The same logic applies to us: If you were to ask me a month ago if I was rich, I would have told you that you were a lunatic for even bringing up such an absurd question. But the truth is I live in excess. Compared to the world, I am rich.

The chapter goes on to state that 1.2 billion people do not have access to clean water. One billion people live in extreme poverty. Eighty percent of the world lives in substandard housing. Seventy percent of the world is illiterate. Only one percent of the world has a college education, and only eight percent of the world has a vehicle. The statics are humbling. We are so self-centered, worrying about buying the next big thing, or even worse, paying off the debt from buying the next big thing, that these injustices are given a blind eye.

Nichole and I have decided that we are tired of living above our means. We’re tired of listening to the lie that your possessions make you happy. God made a great, big world: oceans, rivers, mountains, and deserts; but we are more interested in what is on television tonight. How many sunsets have we missed because we were on the couch watching some mindless sitcom? I think we are going to turn our cable off. We are going to try to simplify our lives and try to live below our means so that we can help others. We are going to try to start fasting a meal a week together. The money we save from fasting the meal, we are going to give to a charity. It is time we start living for others. It’s time I start living for others.

If you have any creative ideas on how to give back to the less fortunate, I’d love to hear your feedback.

“He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver; nor he that loveth abundance with increase: this is also vanity.” (Eccles. 5:10)

Don't Complain. Change.

"However mean your life is, meet it and live it: do not shun it and call it hard names." -Thoreau

I tend to see life through the eyes of a cynic. We are, as a whole, a cynical generation. I remember getting bikes throughout my childhood. I was a Huffy man. I remember looking at my new bikes with my slanted Asian eyes, eyes that to this day that raise questions of my nationality, and I knew that before long this bike would look just like the old one I had, the one that in just a few days would be put out to pasture along with random washer and dryer combos and an old 1972 Chevy, the same Chevy that just the summer before I had used as target practice with my BB gun, sharpening my ever evolving sniper skills. It was like I couldn’t enjoy it. I knew that eventually the elements would get to it. The chrome would lose its shine and become rusted. The chain would begin to slip. You get the idea.

We grow up conditioned to the idea that something negative is around the corner. We call it being a “realist.” We all, from time to time, find ourselves as George from the sitcom Seinfeld, always looking at the negative things that exist within the positive things happening in our lives, scheming and worrying ourselves to death or in some cases, as in the case of George Costanza, bald.

I’m not saying that bad things aren’t out there because they are. Over the past few months, I have had three jobs opportunities fall through, one of which I have been paying my dues volunteering for almost five years. My wife was told her job was in jeopardy due to state budget cuts yet again. Our home was robbed. The list goes on and on. Life has no qualms with kicking you while you are down. It isn’t hard to find something to complain about, but that isn’t how I want to live.

It is easy to say that everything happens for a reason as long as what is happening is a good thing. We find it much harder to apply the same reason of thinking when your house is robbed or when Nick Jonas doesn’t respond to your @ reply.

I believe that people who complain all the time have stunted their character growth. I’m not talking about the occasional rant; I’m talking about the person who would rather gripe about their problems than get off their butt and do something about them. If you can’t afford your house, then sell it. If you are tired of not being able to bend over and tie your shoes without getting lightheaded, then get off the couch, put down the Oreos, and get active. If you are in a dead-end job, quit and find another one. If you get turned down at the first interview, line up another one. If your friends are dragging you down, drop them. If your dog has gas, stop feeding it so much cheese and left over Hormel chili.

It is easy just to let life happen to you and grow old and cynical. Taking action, on the other hand, is much harder. I’m going to take a step back and look at my life. I am going to assess the things I don’t like about myself, and I’m going to do my best to change. Furthermore, I am going to be proactive about changing situations that drag me down. Hopefully, if you’re reading this, you will do it with me.

"Do not be critics, you people, I beg you. I was a critic and I wish I could take it all back because it came from a smelly and ignorant place in me, and spoke with a voice that was all rage and envy. Do not dismiss a book until you have written one, and do not dismiss a movie until you have made one, and do not dismiss a person until you have met them."-- David Eggers

The play list this was written to consisted of “Dismantle. Repair” by Anberlin, “Something Good Comes This Way” by Jakob Dylan, “Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want” by The Smiths, “re: Stacks” by Bon Iver, and “Float On” by Modest Mouse.

God's Will and David Hasselhoff

My wife and I had a chance to go back to my hometown this weekend for my younger sister’s twenty first birthday. I try to go back and visit as much as possible, as my father, sister, and grandparents still live there. Still it doesn’t feel as if I visit enough.

I especially feel that way about my sister. It seems we were closer when we were young. I spent summers babysitting her, or so I thought. Looking back and realizing that my grandparents lived only fifty feet away, I see that I wasn’t the caretaker I thought I was. I enjoyed the big brother role. I made sure she finished her chores. Dog days of summer found us in the pool every day. I was always the designated lifeguard, or at least in my mind I was. My grandmother would always come out and sit under the oversized umbrella on the swimming pool’s deck my dad had made and sip her iced lemonade, but I knew that when someone needed help I would come to the rescue. I would be the embodiment of David Hasselhoff, saving the day before my grandmother could even enter the water and do her signature doggy paddle, barely treading water and keeping afloat.

Over a decade later I’ve never had to “rescue” her. She and I are different in a lot of ways, but we both share a strong independence. I’m proud of my little sister. I feel she has grown up to be a beautiful person. I regret not seeing her as much as I would have liked since I’ve moved and started my own life.

While celebrating this weekend, I couldn’t help but think of the person I was four years ago when I was twenty-one. I feel like the person I was then, in a lot of ways, isn’t the person I am now. That isn’t a bad thing; we all evolve and change as people. I feel like the person I was at twenty-one would enjoy a conversation about life over coffee with the person I am today.

I read an article not too long ago that spoke to me. The author took a point of view about perceiving God’s will that I share. He made the argument that we spend so much time worrying about if God wants us to be a nurse, or a mechanic, or if he wants us to be married at twenty one or twenty eight, or if he wants us to have three children or four that we forget how short life is. I don’t believe that God cares as much what we aspire to be in ten years as he cares about what we’re doing right now. God cares just as much about the little decisions we make every day as the life goals we set for ourselves because the little decisions determine how our lives will play out. This week I’m going to try to stop worrying about the big stuff and start enjoying the small stuff more. I know if need be, God will go all “David Hasselhoff” and rescue us. Life is beautiful, but sometimes we spend too much time planning it instead of living it.

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”- Annie Dillard

The play list this was written to consisted of “Twenty Two Fourteen” by the Album leaf, “Find Love” by Clem Snide, “All of My Days” by Alexi Murdoch, and “Sleep.
When We Die” by Anchor and Braille.

Indecision: My Specialty

I do not dream at night. I’ve heard it said by smug psychology professors in their brown corduroy jackets with leather elbow patches that we all dream. Supposedly it is an every night occurrence. I’ve heard it said that it isn’t a question of whether we dream or not, but rather, if we actually remember them the next day. My wife is always telling me about her dreams. Crazy dreams. Dreams consisting of our 60-pound basset hound mutating into a pre-pubescent Hawaiian child whom she drives across the continental U.S. They make random stops so she can enter him into hot dog eating contests, which he of course destroys the would-be competition. Always the well-mannered sportsman, he promptly hoists up his gold plated hot dog trophy and sings an impromptu victory song, consisting of lyrics pointing out minute character flaws in the other contestants, aiding to their deep seeded complexes about their freckles and acne.

These dreams are fun. You can’t wait till your spouse wakes up so you can tell them of your adventures. You rehearse your story in the shower, careful not to forget one farfetched detail till you see someone to share your tall tales to. As mentioned before, these dreams are fun, but that is all they are: fun. They aren’t real.

Our real dreams are altogether a different story. They aren’t always “fun” because real dreams and ambitions will always cost us something, our safety net. Don’t get me wrong. If your dream is to grow up and be an accountant, you aren’t really looking at a high-risk situation, unless you’re terrible at math. I’m not talking about these people. I’m talking about the artist, the writer, and the person who doesn’t fit into the nine to five, suit-and-tie society. For these people the risk doesn’t always outweigh the reward, but isn’t that what makes life interesting? There is no formula to living life; that would be too easy. Sadly, it is much easier to sell your soul to a mindless job for 30 years than it is to quit and set out on the path that leads to your dream. Why is this? If dreams didn’t cost us something, if they didn’t come with risk, then our eulogies would be terribly boring. A life without risk is a life not lived.

“The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes nothing. He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn and feel and change and grow and love and live.” —Leo F. Buscaglia.

The play list this was written to consisted of “Newborn History” by the Damnwells, “Dream” by Priscilla Ahn, “Guaranteed” by Eddie Vedder, and “Imagine” by John Lennon

Let's All Pop Our Collars

I have been thinking a lot recently about the power of influence. The followers, the leaders, the non-conformist, we all fall into some sort of category. My wife always points out that I usually do things to be different. She is usually right. Even in trying to be different, I am in some way being influenced by others. I hate trends. I loathe shallowness as a whole. We are a society of "bandwagon jumpers" looking to fit in. You may not realize it, but someone else has influenced everything about us in one way or another. We take fashion cues from other people all the time. If you don't believe me, go back to 2002 and ask yourself why you thought it was cool to only tuck the front of your shirt in. It isn't just fashion though, it controls every aspect of our lives. Take music for instance; if I tell you Jeff Buckley’s live performance of the song “Halleluiah” is the best version ever recorded you are going to get on youtube and listen. You are going to base your opinion on the song off of my bias towards Buckley’s rendition. We have a strong desire to fit, to connect with other people. We all say that we try to be ourselves, and that is true, but don’t forget the influence others have on what makes us “us”. We have influence over those around us, even if we do not realize it. We are either going to influence people in a positive way or in a negative way. Lets step back and examine effects our actions have on other people. Lets spread love.

The playlist this was written to consisted of "I don't feel it anymore", "passion play" and "After all" by William Fitzsimmons, and "Latter days" by Over The Rhine