You Shall Not Pass

A few coworkers around the office have given me the nickname Gandalf - the great wizard from JRR Tolkien's Lord of the Rings books and The Hobbit. They have not given me that name because I am a wizened old man gifting sage advice and calling in giant Eagles to save the day; while I enjoy providing guidance, my eagle-calling skills leave something to be desired. Not because I have a long flowing beard; I generally will not allow my stubble to grow for more than a week. Not because I wear a pointed floppy wizards hat; if there is anything covering my head, it will likely have a Seahawks or Mariners logo on it. And it is not because I dress in threadbare grey robes; although, grey is my favorite color.

They have christened me with the Gandalf moniker because of what I do. If they forget their passwords, I am the person that fixes it for them. As soon as they see me, their first thought is "You shall not password." They have even said that out loud the second I walked in the room. It is tempting to tell them "It's a dangerous business, going out your door."

I have become the Gandalf of our corner of the corporate world. But I will not complain. While I hope to live another 40 years before my appearance begins to resemble Tolkien's good wizard, I do not mind being compared to him now in my relative youth, especially when the line of dialogue that prompts such association is one from a moment of Gandalf’s greatest sacrifice.

Gandalf and the fellowship fled through the mines of Moria to escape the wrath of an ancient and dangerous balrog. Realizing the plight of his friends, Gandalf stopped while crossing the Bridge of Khazad-dû and turned to face the beast. He took a stand so that everyone else would be able to escape safely and continue their journey.

image courtesy of New Line Cinema/Warner Bros.

He told the balrog, "You cannot pass. I am a servant of the Secret Fire, a wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the shadow! You cannot pass." After that, Gandalf used his staff to crumble the stone bridge and sent the balrog plummeting into the abyss below, unfortunately plunging himself to the same fate as his foe wrapped its whip around Gandalf's legs. With moments remaining before falling, Gandalf looked to the friends he saved and told them to go, "Fly you fools."

Then he was gone. For the fellowship, this was heartbreak. Their leader and protector was gone and presumed dead.

Gandalf was the fictional embodiment of words once spoken by Jesus, "Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends." Gandalf gave up his life in order for his friends to keep theirs.

This is why we love characters like Gandalf. They represent the better natures of humanity, those that set aside our selfishness and hold the lives of others as greater than our own. We see this quality in Narnia's Aslan, in The Matrix's Neo, in Harry Potter, and (surprisingly) RoboCop. There is something powerful and alluring about those characters who willingly face death for the benefit of others. This is the same intent that drove Christ to the cross.

Today is Good Friday, the day when Christians around the world celebrate Christ's sacrifice, as he was crucified so we might live. Today we honor his selfless act. And hopefully we are compelled to respond through the way we live our lives. If Christ died so that I may live, then I should live as if his efforts were not wasted.

In this, I am reminded of Paul's instruction to the church in Philippi: "Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves; do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others. Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, who, although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. Being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross."

In the letter to the church in Ephesus, Paul said "Be imitators of God, as beloved children; and walk in love, just as Christ also loved you and gave Himself up for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God."

As a Christian, it should be my goal to model my life after the life of Jesus. To be best of my ability to live like him. While I frequently fail that pursuit, I still aim high. Someday, it may require me to humble myself in obedience to the point of death, to give myself as an offering and sacrifice to God. And maybe not. But if I am to love, I should be willing to lay my life down for those whom I love. To be honest, I am not sure if I am capable of such selflessness.

When I look into the world of Middle Earth, Gandalf was (as far as can be achieved in fiction) an imitator of Christ. He loved his friends and died so they may live.

If I am to be compared to any of Tolkien's characters, then I welcome the name Gandalf. If only I could live my life so humbly.

Grace Like a Child

After an early Saturday matinee movie, the kids were restless and need to expend their extra energy. I took them to a park and set them free upon the playground. I sat on a bench along the perimeter of the wood chip covered play area and watched as my munchkins gravitated toward the swings and slides and monkey bars.

From my comfortable seat, I was able to watch each of the kids as they found something they loved. My oldest found a new friend who had an extra toy lightsaber; they spent the next half hour role playing adventures of Jedi knights. JJ climbed every climbable surface and told me he was pretending to be Indiana Jones. Zu alternated between her two favorite playground activities (the monkey bars and the swing set) before settling into a game of tag with other kids whose parents had motivations similar to mine: let the kids play hard before going home for dinner and bedtime.

Then something peculiar happened. Actually, I shouldn't say peculiar; it was something rather ordinary for my kids. I watched my daughter stroll from one side of the playground to the other so she could swing on the swings. She sat in one of the seats and started to pump her legs when she noticed a little girl struggling to get into the other swing. This other child was too short to climb into a standard swing without assistance and her parents were nowhere in sight. Zu jumped out of her seat and picked the girl up, helped her get situated comfortably, made sure she had a good grip on the chains, then gave her a few good pushes to get a pendulum like momentum going.

Zu did not get back into her own swing until she knew the other girl was moving and having fun. My daughter sacrificed her own pursuit of happiness to contribute to the happiness of a stranger.

My kids know the rules. They know that they need to be gentler when there are smaller kids on the playground. I have done my best to instill in them a sense of kindness and positivity in all their interpersonal interactions. At the same time, I know they're kids. I expect some level of juvenile narcissism. Yet my kids continually surprise me with acts of grace they show above and beyond the attitudes and behavior of typical children.

I have lost count of how many times my kids have stopped doing what they were doing when a preschool aged kid shows up. They go out of their way to help smaller children ascend the different levels of playground platforms, hold their hands as they cross bouncy bridges, and guide them safely down slides. They make extra efforts to teach younger kids how to climb a rope or use the monkey bars. They turn into little cheerleaders encouraging other kids to try and accomplish new things. Many new parents have thanked my kids for including their kids in playtime, then had them thank me for my kids gift of a short respite from parenting duties.

My kids did not get this trait from me. Truth be told, I am not overly fond of children. I love my kids more than I knew I was ever capable. But other people's kids? Well, I prefer the company of adults and grownup conversation.

With that in mind, it is a little awkward when I study the life of Jesus. In reading the Gospels, we find a Jesus who loved interacting with kids. And he made grand statements about children. First, he said that we must become like a child if we want to enter heaven. Then he said that the worst punishments were reserved for those who caused a child to sin. Finally he said heaven belonged to people like our youth.

Then you have people like me. I react to babies in diapers like they are alien creatures born of another world. I shy away from any kid that drools or still drinks from a bottle. I am ill equipped for conversations about Minecraft and Pokemon (even though my kids love both of those intellectual properties). My inner child would rather watch episodes of the X-Files after his parents thought he went to bed. Yes, you have a cute kid but do not ask me to play with them until they're old enough for scary campfire stories.

Yet we have the words of Jesus: "I tell you the truth, you must change and become like little children. Otherwise, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."

Most people interpret this passage of scripture with the familiar phrase "having faith like a child." But the original Greek text did not use the word faith. In fact, it did not specify what aspect of kidhood we should adopt. The passage from Matthew 18:3 used the words στραφῆτε καὶ γένησθε. Straphēte and genēsthe.

The Greek word στραφῆτε (straphēte) is a verb meaning to be converted, transformed, or changed. γένησθε (genēsthe) is the Greek verb to become something else or to prove yourself as something. Both of these words together, στραφῆτε and γένησθε, transforming and becoming, imply a new state of being. A childlike state of being.

What aspect of being a kid did Jesus recognize as being so valuable? Is it the childlike faith, willingness to believe without question? Maybe. But I think it is something more profound.

As I watched my daughter help a younger girl up and into the swings, I thought about this passage from the gospel of Matthew and another word came to mind. Grace.

We do not need the faith of a child as much as we need the grace of a child.

Sure, they may be at the stage where they're growing and nothing more than bumbly awkward; far from graceful in their movements. They are the age where they are discovering autonomy and trying to define their identity as an individual separate from their parental units. Yet the way they interact with their peers show greater grace than many grownup conversations. The comment threads under YouTube videos seem primitive and barbaric in comparison. Children treat each other with mutual admiration and cooperation that is completely absent in American politics.

In seeing my kids give up their selves to benefit strangers, I noticed something. The age, gender, religious, and ethnic differences between my kids and the other kids they play with at the park are completely irrelevant. They approach their companionships with a perspective that says "I'm a kid, you're a kid, we're the same. Let’s be friends!"

In a kid's world, if two of them both like playing tag, they are going to play a game of tag. In the real world of corporate structure and grownup responsibilities, two people with similar interests would sooner condemn each other to hell for disagreeing on finer details of partisan beliefs than spend five minutes of conversation over drinks.

Even as children begin to notice differences, those divisions do not matter. Unless we - the adults in their lives teach it to them. Until they are taught otherwise, kids naturally give each other grace in abundant measure.

They live an existence where no one has told them that girls are better or boys are better. They have never seen one skin color as superior to another. They have never been encouraged to criticize someone for their religious or political beliefs. They have never viewed someone's physical disability or lack of financial privilege as making them less important.

Racism. Sexism. Bigotry. These are learned behaviors. Kids do not instinctually hate anyone. Discrimination is something kids learn from grownups.

When Jesus said that we should be changed and transformed to become this new childlike creation, perhaps this innocence free from the bonds of hatred is what he had in mind. Maybe Jesus wants us to approach our fellow residents of planet earth from the perspective of a level playing field. That none of us are better than any other. We are unique, yet equal. Each of us possess worth. Each of us deserves respect.

If I am to become like a child, then I pray God gives me grace.

Taking a Mulligan

My brother loves golf. As far as I am aware, he is not a particularly adept golfer but he enjoys playing the game. Even with his amateur skills, he considers golf to be a calming experience. More of a leisurely pursuit than a sport.

When the two of us get together, we will often chat about different places to golf. I tell him about local courses he would enjoy if he was ever in the Coeur d'Alene area for more than an overnight stay. He will tell me about his favorite (and sometimes disastrous) rounds. I am not a golfer but I know enough to hold my own in a conversation about fairways, drivers, wedges, and getting stuck in the rough. However, with my knowledge of the game comes the assumption that I actually want to play.

Please do not misunderstand me. I am not opposed to playing golf. If someone is willing to cover my green fees and allow me to borrow a set of clubs, I will go. But if you ask me how I would prefer to spend a free day, there are greater activities I could choose to occupy my time. I would rather spend my money on something other than balls and clubs and those fancy covers for the clubs. I do not hate golfing, but rather just indifferent.

Yet with my brother, I will play along. It is of interest to him so I have no reservations indulging him. He frequently mentions how he wants to take me out for a round of golf during one of my future visits to Cheyenne. As long I can use someone else's clubs, I might take him up on the offer.

Despite my reticence to play golf, there is a concept about the sport I do appreciate: the mulligan. In golf, if you make an unnaturally atrocious shot, you can (depending on who you play with) declare a mulligan and retry it. If you have a sloppy swing which results in a wild hook or slices into the trees, it is OK. Ask for a mulligan and you can pretend it never happened. No penalty. No impact against your score. No shame on your golfing reputation.

In the few times when I have participated in a round of golf, I made one thing abundantly clear. I am a player in desperate need of liberal mulligan usage. I once tried to explain my golfing handicap to my brother; the conversation was not as simple as I had anticipated. It went something like this:

Me: “When I go golfing, whatever is par, I will quadruple it.”
Aaron: “I did that once. By the time I reached the green, the best I could do was a bogey. But I had a bad approach so I knew it would take me at least two putts to sink it. However, I overshot the second putt and cruised past the hole. Then I was looking at a triple bogey. That putt fell a little short and I had to tap it in for a quadruple bogey.”
Me: “No, Aaron. I am worse than that. Not par plus four. More like par times four.”
Aaron: (dumbfounded) “Oh.”

My brother might not be a good golfer, but I am terrible. Thankfully, there are mulligans.

I love the concept of a mulligan. Sometimes, we need a second chance. Sometimes, we need a do over. And if that maxim is valid on the links, it is even truer in life.

Unfortunately, reality can be a bit crueler than a day of golf. Life does not often reward us with a chance to do it all again. Usually, what is done is done and we must suffer the consequence of every decision we make. Good or bad, we know we are stuck with the results. We have to play it as it lies. Yet there are moments of grace; times in our lives where we get a do over even if undeserved. To be honest, this is how I would describe my year so far.

I ended 2015 on a high note: surrounded by my kids and some of the best friends I have ever known. The holiday season was wonderful and better than any I have had in recent memory. Things were looking up. Between church, kids, and work, my calendar was filled. From my professional routines to my writing projects at home, it seemed like everything was going my way.

Then life fell apart. The first weekend of the new year brought crisis. By the time January was over, I was ready to write the month off as a practice round. And by the end of February, I needed a mulligan.

While I had an awful start to the year, it was not all bad. I discovered a lot about grace. I learned how and when to ask for help. I was humbled. I risked a few brave choices. I took a break from blogging. I put in a lot of exercise. When I asked, “Who is on my team,” I received an answer. I am thankful for a rough couple months, yet those are two months I do not wish to relive.

As for the mulligan? I got one. January was a sand trap. February was a water hazard. All things considered, I am calling March my first month of 2016. I may be two and a months late in saying this, but happy New Year. Welcome to my mulligan.

How does it taste?

There are flavor profiles which (when blended) complement each other with delicious results. Consider the classics: peanut butter and strawberry jam or chili and cornbread. But there are others more unique and pleasantly surprising. White chocolate and crème de menthe. Mesquite seasoning and citrus oranges. Cilantro and lime. Cumin and cinnamon. Coconut milk and rice. Bacon and asparagus.

Now I'm hungry.

It is not only food though. Some activities feel as if they were intended for specific elements. Telling ghost stories around a campfire, walking barefoot along a sandy stretch of beach, kissing someone you love as the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve, cosplaying at a comic book convention, or listening to DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince's Summertime at full volume while driving around town with your windows down on the first sunny and warm day of summer.

In life, we know some things belong together. It is like getting a box full of pieces of wood and a few screws from Ikea. You follow the diagrams, stick the widgets in the whatsits, and an hour later you have a stylish lounge chair. If you did everything correctly, there will not be any extra parts. Every bit had its place exactly where it was supposed to be.

Yet in life, we also see combinations that should never exist outside of the Mad Hatter's darkest nightmares. Haphazard amalgamations. Kitchen experiments that would send Gordon Ramsay into a profanity laden tirade. Flap A does not fit in slot 2B.

Given a choice between the natural blends and unholy unions, the latter is how I see the relationship between Donald Trump and Evangelical Christianity. These are two disparate entities that have no business promoting each other. Seeing the way some Evangelicals have gleefully embraced the potential of a President Trump disturbs me. It proves to me that the Religious Right has lost the plot. Evangelical fandom for Trump is like eating an ice cream cone after it dropped to the ground at the State Fair.

Pictured: How I think it feels to vote for Trump

Many other people have presented their evidence that Trump is dangerous, unethical, dishonest, maniacal. All of them smarter and more eloquent than I. Psychologists, a Republican Congressman, pundits, fact-checkers, media figures, conservative authors, church leaders, and students of theology. All of them agreed that we should not vote for Trump. They have already pleaded their cases that Trump embodies the traits of a narcissist, a sociopath, a habitual liar, and a hedonist.

There are enough convincing memes that tell us other nations on planet earth view our upcoming election as an IQ test that we are failing; demonstrate the hypocrisy of Trump's talking points; dredge up his numerous divorces, lawsuits, and bankruptcies; reveale his admiration of inhuman dictators from China, North Korea, and Russia; or display his offensive mockery of veterans, women, disabled people, and a multitude of religious and racial minorities.

I could even point to a recent Trump gathering where Donald asked everyone in attendance to raise their right hand in a salute to pledge their allegiance to him in a scene that I am unable to adequately describe without invoking Godwin's Law.

It breaks my heart to see notable religious political personalities surround Trump and lay their hands on him to bless him as the inevitable GOP nominee. It boggles my mind how anyone could scream out "I love Jesus" then "Go Trump Go" in the very next breath.

Anything I could contribute to this discussion would do little more than add to the noise. Instead, I only ask for someone to explain it to me in light of scripture. As far as I have ever understood, Evangelical Christians have one purpose, to evangelize. To share the Good News, the Gospel of Christ to those who need God. To follow the great command to preach hope and reconciliation to the ends of the earth. Does ardent support of Trump improve your efforts to share God's love for all people? (Including Mexican immigrants, "the blacks," and Syrian refugees?)

Better yet, read through Galatians chapter 5. Verses 19-21 list off the traits of mortal flesh: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and more attributes than Paul's letter actually lists because these traits should be obvious. It would be easy to reference a multitude news stories to show how Donald Trump's words and actions fit this biblical description of a person who Paul said "Will not inherit the kingdom of God."

The next couple of verses list the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, forbearance (restraint and tolerance), kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. This is why I cannot fathom how any Evangelical can support Donald Trump. I have not seen anything from Trump that exhibit any of these Godly fruits. He is a greedy, hateful, ego-driven, quarrelsome man who stands opposed in every aspect to the type of person God wants us to be.

If you are an Evangelical Trumpeter please explain to me how, in the name of all that is good and holy, how do you reconcile claiming this man as ordained by God to be the next ruler of our already great America? Can you (with a straight face) call Donald Trump loving, joyful, peaceful, kind, faithful, gentle, or self-controlled? What kind of fruit does he show?

Nervous Energy

Do you know the energetic nervousness you feel when you are about to take a step into something unknown, thrilling, and potentially fabulous? Not quite anxious but you are still nearly paralyzed with anticipation. You feel as if the air you breathe is filled with danger yet it makes you powerful like you could conquer the world. You posses the intimidating knowledge that the next moment of your life will change everything and all you have to do is move. It is an emotion of trepidation tempered with awe.

I am familiar with those butterflies fluttering around my belly, forcing their way into my chest with the intention to make my heart stop. There were days in my life when I could sense every muscle in my body taut and ready to react as soon as my brain gave the command. Good memories.

Like the night of a final performance at the Everett Performing Arts Center. I was dressed in costume and makeup was applied. I huddled behind the curtain waiting for my turn to walk out on to stage to follow the choreography and deliver my scripted line of dialog. It was only a bit part but still a fun experience. Closing night was even more nauseating than opening night because it was a sold out audience and I knew most of my friends and family were in attendance.

Or the day my buddies took me cliff diving. Clothes left behind at the car, we walked barefoot to the river wearing nothing but our swim trunks. Steve and Nate were the first into the water. I found myself alone at the edge of the rocks looking 20 feet down into a section of river where the current was slower and the water was deeper than other parts both upstream and downstream. A long breath, a small leap, and a descent that lasted no more than two seconds but felt like eternity.

There was the snowy morning I dressed up in a rented tux and stood in a hall outside the sanctuary, awaiting the moment to stand before everyone I knew to say "I do" to the girl with whom I had fallen in love.

And the time I spent in a small office with the people who would decide if I was qualified to accept a promotion that would have doubled my income. I did my best to answer their questions and paint myself as the ideal candidate. Not to mention the following days not knowing new whether I would be offered the position or if they chose to go with someone else.

Again recently. A first draft, re-write, proofreading, and editing. Save it, title it, attach it to an email. Those few seconds with my mouse cursor hovered over the send button to submit my first freelancing opportunity.

These are little glimmers of reality that shape who we were, who we are, and who we will become.

You know these feelings. Of stage dives and mosh pits. Of first dates and first kisses. Of waves crashing into the beach's shore. Of roasting marshmallows over a campfire and watching a meteor shower. Of singing songs with a bunch of friends and an acoustic guitar. Of merging onto the freeway at the beginning of a road trip. Of the roar from a waterfall and the soft chirping of crickets. Of city lights and sunsets. Of trying a new restaurant that quickly becomes your favorite place to eat. Of dancing in the rain. Of taking a stand for justice. Of checking an item off your bucket list.

That sensation is back but I cannot explain why. It is like I am dancing on a live wire. I have had that feeling gripping my nerves all day today, as if I am about to do something bold and reckless and amazing. Problem is, I do not know what that thing is.

But the vibe is there. Pure unbridled excitement on the verge of ... of ... well?

I have felt like that all day and the reason is beyond what I am able to explain. Yet I wouldn't trade for anything. This. The butterflies, the giddiness, the awkward wondering of what is about to happen. This reminds me that I am alive.

The Bible Verse I Wish was Never Written

Divorce was not on my to-do list. It was never something I planned or wanted to happen. Growing up in a conservative Christian church I was always taught divorce was sinful, on par with murder, robbery, and speaking profanities. It was something that happened to other people, not us good Christians.

The biblical text is clear about how God views divorce. Matthew chapter 5 tells us divorce for any reason other than infidelity makes the divorced party an adulterer. In chapter 19 Jesus says that a man and woman are united by God in marriage and no one should ever separate them. When asked why the Law of Moses allowed divorce, Jesus answered, "Because of your hardness of heart."

From this exchange between Jesus and the religious leaders, we get the inclination that the only reason divorce exists is because our hearts are hard.

Because we are stubborn.

Yet even in those passages, Jesus provides an acceptable reason for divorce: an unfaithful spouse. In Paul's letter to the Corinthians, he confirms Jesus' instruction to avoid divorce, but he provides an additional out: abandonment.

But to truly understand how God feels about divorce, you have to go back a little further in scripture. When addressing the topic of marriage and separation, the prophet Malachi used blunt language: "The LORD God of Israel says, 'I hate divorce.'"

God hates divorce. You cannot find any clearer expression of God's heart toward marital relationships. Keep it together because God hates divorce.

As a fairly recent divorcee, I sometimes wish that verse did not exist. I wish that God's desires were more nebulous, more open to interpretation.

Perhaps that is due to being raised with a harsh judgment toward divorce. Perhaps it is because I misinterpreted the scripture, falsely assuming that if God hates divorce then he must also hate divorcees.

When my wife left me, I had a trusted friend encouraging reconciliation. He challenged me to fix some things that I had done wrong and encouraged me to view the situation through my ex's eyes to the extent that I was capable. At the time, we were only legally separated. The decree for divorce had not yet been filed; as far as the courts were concerned, she and I were still married; reconciling was still an option.

During this time, my friend asked me a tough question: why does God hate divorce?. I cannot remember the exact answer that I provided, but I can guarantee I was incorrect. I said something about how marriage was supposed to be a reflection of God sacrificially loving the church and that divorce insulted the way God designed us to function. My answer was super spiritual and overly wordy. In response, he provided one word: interesting.

I was still wrestling with the idea that divorce was sin - something that would separate me from God.

Looking back now, I think I was misinformed.

After that conversation with my friend, I received the email from my wife notifying me that she was not interested in making it work. Since then, papers were filed, lawyers were hired. We have been through court appearances and mediation and I have watched the toll it has taken on our kids. I have endured harassment from her friends, rearranged my schedule to maximize the time I have with our kids, and waded through discouraging text message interactions that I wish never happened.

After these experiences I have two words to describe divorce. It sucks.

As a married man, I wrapped so much of my identity in being a husband that I have been forced to rediscover who I am. Since losing my marriage, I have been walking wounded. It has been a season of trials, growth, and healing.

I still believe God hates divorce, but not for the same reasons I once held. I now believe that God hates divorce because it sucks. I believe in a God whose plans for us are to prosper and not disaster, who provides for our needs, wants us to soar like eagles.

I believe that God wants what is best for us - that he has our best interests in mind. God hates divorce because it is devastating. The emotional turmoil, the financial stress, the strained relationships. If God wants the best for us, this is not it.

One other false belief I have abandoned: the notion that God would hate me if I got divorced. Instead, my new-found singleness has brought me closer to God. Even in the least ideal situations our God is still a God who works in everything for the good of those who love him.

Two Sides

It is an axiom that you have probably heard so many times it is almost meaningless. Which is unfortunate because we often overlook its truth.

Whether you're a witness to a violent crime or car accident. Whether you're an attorney prepared for a felony trial or arguing a contract dispute in mediation. Whether you are engaged in a physical altercation or a battle of wits. There are two sides to every story. His side and her side. Our side and their side. My side and your side.

A good investigator will recognize this truism and seek to find the elements of a story that matches up between opposing perspectives. However, when you're biased toward one party, it becomes a little more difficult to distinguish what really happened. When things fall apart our natural inclination is to reach a judgment as quickly as we possibly can. Truth be damned.

I am keenly aware of how separate versions of the same incident can vary so drastically - even to the point where it looks like two different tales are being told. This is a horror story but that is a comedy. Here we have historical drama, but there we have science fiction. One speaks in iambic pentameter and the other with a random stream of consciousness. And somehow both are describing the exact same course of events.

This is why I have been hesitant to share certain parts of my story. Because I know I'm biased. Because I know I would present it as if I were a documentary filmmaker and the other side was inventing mere fantasy. Because I know there is another side of the story that I am incapable of telling.

And the other side of my story has been told. Loudly and frequently. Unfortunately, most who have heard this alternate take are not interested in learning my perspective. They have accepted the other narrative as gospel and returned their verdict against me without any opportunity for defense or rebuttal. It's a kangaroo court of social interaction.

As a result, I am reticent to share certain details. As a storyteller, it is painful to bury these chapters, skipping over parts of the plot, only revealing carefully selected elements of my story that won't be disputed. In doing so, I avoid adversarial conflict.

Keep my head down. Silently bandage my wounds. Take every hit without returning fire. Suffer every false accusation in hopes that the truth will save me. Resign myself to the proposition that justice might never be served. Bite my lip. Say nothing.

Miraculously, through this experience, I have been healing. Somewhere between where I started and my life now, I have discovered something beautiful about brokenness. God's grace is most evident when we hurt; His power is displayed through our weaknesses. God uses our pain and our failures for His purposes. One person's scars can help mend another injured spirit. Your scars. My scars.

If words were weapons, my body would be marred.

I am getting better. My wounds are healing. Yet the remaining scars speak of a story that remains untold. It is there, eager to be freed. I want my failures and my road to recovery serve as a template for those who find themselves in a similar predicament. I want to stand shoulder to shoulder with other damaged heroes and give them a message of hope and solidarity.

In order to do so, I must start filling in the gaps. Fix the plot holes in the story of my life. It is time. It needs to happen. After all, there are two sides to every story.

The truth about a boring life

I had a boring childhood. At least that is what I tell people. My parents were simple folk who loved each other and have remained married for more than forty years. They created the typical church-going, conservative, two child, suburban household. My only brother was five and a half years older than me but we never developed the typical sibling rivalry. Instead, we had a great relationship that allowed us to share many mutual friends.

There was nothing special about our family. No excitement. No grand adventures. I tell people that I had a boring upbringing. But that is a lie. If I truly had a dull childhood, I would not be a writer today. If you want to hear a tale, I have an endless supply. In reality, my days of youth are a wellspring of tragic and comical anecdotes.

When I was four I pretended I was Superman. When I was fourteen I pretended to be a rock star. Then I joined the drama club and discovered myself while pretending to be someone else.

In theater, I learned sword fighting, stage craft, and how to apply makeup. I broke the Wells Fargo Wagon on the closing night of The Music Man and survived an earthquake during a performance of Neil Simon's Rumors. One sunny summer day, after performing improve sketches with a few friends, a little girl came up and asked for our autographs.

I have stood on mountain tops, climbed waterfalls, jumped off cliffs, bathed in the waters of glacial runoff, and danced with wild mountain goats along a snow covered ridge.*

*goat not pictured

I have sneaked into concerts and and paid to attend rock shows. I have had the privilege to hang out backstage and socialize people who play music for a living. I became friends with artists, authors, actors, and musicians.

I trespassed to visit an allegedly haunted graveyard in the middle of the night. I've been kicked out of the Arby's in Ellensburg Washington more times than I can count. And once a friend and I stole a five foot tall cardboard display of the Pillsbury Dough Boy from a Burger King; their security guard chased us into traffic as we drove away.

That was all before I reached the legal drinking age.

So why do I lie and say my wonder years were boring? It is because I compared my life to others and found them far more fascinating. I never went to Disneyland. I never broke any bones. I never won first place in anything. The kids that I grew up with were all from wealthier families and they were all better looking and more athletic than me.

How could I compare? Their stories were more interesting. In the false light of comparison, I felt like my life had no sparkle or shine, nothing special or of any significance.

But all stories have value. Yours. Mine. Their worth is found in one simple truth: we are unique. You did not experience the most exciting day of my life and I have not experienced yours. Even if our biggest adventure was a shared event, your perspective would be different from mine. The event would be the same but the resulting tales we tell would be wholly different.

So be brave. Tell your story. Even if you think it is wholly uninteresting. I assure you, it is not.

Blogfest 2016

This afternoon, the denizens of HBO gathered for the annual Blogfest event at Fort Ground Grill in CdA. Below are a few pictures of the crowd of strangers I've come to consider friends over the past decade.

I don't have much commentary to add other than my gratitude for the community that Dave Oliveria created and for Mayor Widmyer for hosting and feeding us.

Christian spent most of his time reading Harry Potter. Zu and JJ took turns swapping devices - either playing games or listening to music.

There were a lot of familiar faces this year, along with some new. Thank you to all that chatted with me. I look forward to another year with all y'all.

Mr. Jones (a death)

If you haven't done so already, please read the first part of this post HERE.

Our schedules revolved around movie night, poker night, and turning the store where we worked into our own version of Empire Records. But the most meaningful times were nights we would stay up talking for hours. Mr. Jones was the story of our lives. We helped each other believe in anything. We told each other fairy tales. We would look into the future. We knew that once everybody loved us, we would never be lonely. And we were going to be big stars.

Then there were days we would hang out at the mall. We would watch people and (just like the song) stare at all the beautiful women. We would exchange conversations lifted straight from the lyrics "She's looking at you. I don't think so, she's looking at me." I find it enlightening that the song starts off with such bravado, but revises the line toward the end to reveal a more insecure perspective: "She's perfect for you, man. There's got to be somebody for me." When we were having these conversations, we would brag and exaggerate, but if either of us were truly honest, we were nothing more than mumbling, bashful, and awkward when talking to any attractive girl.

Eventually, I moved away from Marysville. We maintained our friendship while living in different states. Five years later, he followed me eastward. Neither of us stayed there. I relocated to North Idaho and he moved back to Marysville. Due to tragic circumstances, we lost touch.

See, not every story has a happy ending. My Mr. Jones had a drinking problem. He hid it while we were younger, never imbibing while we were together. I knew that he would drink when I wasn't present, and was aware his dad was an alcoholic. I made it my mission to be around as much as possible in hopes to prevent him from following his father's path.

In the last year that we were friends, he no longer hid his drinking. By then, he was swimming the depths of alcoholism. Soon after, he also developed a narcotics problem and it didn't take long before he was mixing the two. He was dating a girl I had introduced to him, and at the end of that tumultuous relationship, he turned suicidal. He was drinking more and was increasingly angry.

In a phone conversation with his mom, she told me, "Do anything you can to save my baby boy."

I did. And it was the last we ever spoke. He was arrested on narcotics charges and spent a week in jail. He blamed me. His parents sent me death threats. Part of the terms of his bond was that he was to have (for my protection) no contact with me. That was the end of my friendship with Mr. Jones.

Years later, I got nosey. Googled his name. Looked him up on Facebook. I learned that he had moved back home with his folks. But other than location, not much had changed. He was still a metal-head, still loved Star Wars, still collected comic books, still struggled with depression.

Still an alcoholic.

In my last contact with him, he expressed a deep hatred for me. I didn't want to reopen old wounds, so I never made an attempt to reconnect online. My curiosity was sated. I moved on.

A couple years ago, I looked again. Instead of the typical "this is my life" posts that everyone shares on social media, I found messages from friends saying "We miss you." A Google search turned up an obituary. No cause of death was listed but knowing his lifestyle, his temperament, and his addictions, I could probably guess.

Why do I share this long and sad tale of an old friendship that has long gone cold? Well, the song has been on my mind a lot lately. We’re three weeks into the new year, and during this time (more often than not) I have had this Counting Crows tune playing in my head. In the shower. Along my commute to work. As I fill out reports. While I clean my apartment. When I try to fall asleep at night.

The words resonate with me. In quiet moments I can hear myself internally singing along, “She's suddenly beautiful. We all want something beautiful. I wish I was beautiful.” Then, “I want to be a lion. Everybody wants to pass as cats.” And later, “When I look at the television, I want to see me staring right back at me. We all want to be big stars, but we don't know why and we don't know how.”

This song has been stuck in my cranium for three weeks. With it come memories. As much as my Mr. Jones had his flaws and demons, he was a good friend. Probably the best friend I’ve ever had.

Why now? Why so long after everything fell apart? Honestly, I don’t know. However, I am not a man who believes in coincidence. I believe that everything happens for a purpose. Perhaps this song will remain lodged in my consciousness until I figure out the reason why it is there.

Mr. Jones (a life)

We met at the beginning of my eight grade year. Both of us were nerds. Outcasts. Our friendship seemed like the most natural of selections.

He was sitting alone in the Cedarcrest cafeteria at a table in the corner closest to the doors that exited to the courtyard. He was reading comic books but there was nowhere else for me to sit. So I sat. He said "hey" but didn't look up from his reading. At that moment, I felt like a loser, sitting at the table reserved for the rejects. What I didn't realize was the kid sitting across from me, dressed completely in black, and nose buried in a Wolverine comic would become one of the best friends I would ever know.

Outside of Saturday morning cartoons and reruns of Adam West’s Batman, this kid was my introduction to superheroes. My parents wouldn't buy comic books so I read whatever he brought to school. Wolverine. The Dark Knight. Ghost Rider. Punisher. Spawn. Silver Surfer. The Watchmen. Occasionally the X-Men. He was drawn toward the anti-hero, so they were the first comics I ever read.

We spent the year talking about these characters and geeking out over their exploits. Every day during lunch. Then we would both head off to our classes ready to resume the geekery the following day.

The next year, he was gone. Due to some health issues, he missed both semesters. We didn't see each other until my sophomore year. I was surprised to see him in the drama club and we reconnected as if we hadn't lost contact since junior high. A couple years older, the topics of our conversations widened. He was still a comic book geek, but we added shared interests in music and movies to our discussions. We were both crazy about a girl. Two different girls who shared the same name: Heather. The first time the two of us hung out together outside of school was to watch Heathers - the 1988 movie starring Winona Ryder and Christian Slater. It seemed appropriate considering where we were at during that phase of our lives.

As we got older, our conversations gained depth. We began talking more and more about life and God and girls. Then we began talking about our hopes and fears. We talked as teenagers about our dreams while the whole world still laid out before us and anything was possible.

By the time we graduated high school, we were spending nearly every weekend together. Eating at Taco Bell. Going to the movie theater. People watching at the Everett Mall. Playing video games. Playing poker at a mutual friend's apartment. Or debating philosophy at midnight out in the middle of nowhere under a sea of stars. He helped me get a job at the record store where he worked and we began hanging out on a daily basis surrounded by two things we loved: movies and music.

But going back to the beginning, back when the most exciting part of our day was reading comic books during our lunch breaks, there was a song that was a big radio hit. The Counting Crows became popular while we were in junior high. Their debut album became darling to both MTV and FM alternative stations. Songs like Rain King and Round Here were inescapable. However, their single Mr. Jones holds the most significance for me.

My friend was a metal head. Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, and Megadeth ruled his music collection. But he loved Counting Crows. The song, Mr. Jones represented the entirety of our friendship, from our days as a couple of junior high nerds into our mid-twenties, trying to figure out how to adult effectively.

He was my Mr. Jones. In turn, I was Mr. Jones to him. He has been on my mind a lot lately.

Great Expectations

Several years ago, I attended a seminar about strengthening relationships. The big idea was setting a foundation in your live that would serve you well in any connection - be it professional, romantic, familial, or a friendship. One of the questions asked was about how other people have the power to hurt us. They said something that stuck with me: the greater your expectation in a relationship the greater the power this person has to emotionally wound you.

Think about it. A stranger could level the cruelest insult at you but their words are easily ignored or forgotten. If a spouse or a parent said the same thing, you would be devastated. Even simple criticism from someone you love can hurt worse than the barbed words of casual acquaintances.

That seminar was an ah-ha moment for me. I was (at the time) in the middle of a long string of disappointment from unmet expectations so I latched onto this practical concept. However, I have the tendency to take truisms like these to the extremes. If (a) the people with the most potential to hurt me are those on whom I place the greatest expectations and (b) I don't want to get hurt, then the most logical thing for me to do would be to set the lowest of expectations for everyone.

As you can imagine, this did not turn out as planned. Sure, it worked for a while. But then it didn't. Then I was dealt the most wounding blow imaginable.

Part of my journey of healing these past couple years has been learning to set high expectations and not being disappointed when those expectations are missed. It has been brutally difficult and I am nowhere near proficient. I have lost count of the times I have told myself that I am OK when I'm really not or that it is not a big deal when it really is.

One of the realities I have had to admit is that I am far more self-centered than I would care to admit. Yet more and more I have found a degree of narcissism to be present in most everyone I meet. Knowing this, I can work on my own issues while bracing myself for others who might not be as self-aware.

This year, as I work toward being a better person, I am working to erase the concept that I need to keep my expectations low. Along with that, I must accept a few (generalized) facts about humanity.

People are mean. Most of it is unintentional, so I will show them grace.
People are selfish. I will speak my needs but understand that most care more about their own.
People are manipulative. I will set appropriate boundaries and love them anyways.
People are vindictive. I will not participate in the cycle of vengeance.
I will trust knowing that my efforts will probably be betrayed.
I will invest in the lives around me knowing that few will invest in my life.
I will set great expectations knowing that most will not achieve them.
I will offer encouragement, support, and assistance whenever possible knowing the favor will most likely go unreturned.

Through this, I know I will be hurt. I know I will be let down. Yet I will forgive, I will care, I will love. And sometime, somewhere, someone will completely surprise me. Someone will be kind and generous. It has happened before and I cannot wait to see it again. It is for these people I keep the greatest of expectations. You are out there. I do not know who you are, but I am eager to meet you.

Feel Good Movies Part 2

There is no better way to start off 2016 than by finishing up something I started in 2015. After a rough week and a late night viewing of Can't Hardly Wait, I compiled a list of feel good movies that can boost my mood no matter how grumpy or bummed my current attitude. These are the instant picker-uppers. I already posted number ten through six, so if you have not yet read the first half of this list, you can do it HERE. Otherwise, here are the top five movies that cure my doldrums and make me happy any time I watch them.

5. The Great Outdoors. The second John Candy movie in my list, this one finds the late comedian as a family man whose tranquil vacation plans are interrupted by rude in-laws, accidental water-skiing, his son falling for a local girl, a 96-ounce steak, rambunctious raccoons, a brutal rain storm, and a bald-headed bear. When I was a kid, this was the kind of vacation I always wished my family would take - even if it included the disastrous pratfalls.

4. The Princes Bride. I was first introduced to this movie in high school when I got involved with the drama club. It was one of two movies considered as prerequisite viewing if you wanted to be accepted by the theater geeks. (The other was Monty Python and the Holy Grail.) Since then, lines of dialog from The Princess Bride have filtered their way into my regular vernacular. From the sick Fred Savage to "As you wish" to the fire swamp to "You killed my father, prepare to die" to the most passionate, the most pure kiss, this is an example of perfect film-making. It finds a deft balance between the sweet and the comical that speaks to the soul of every kid's dream: to live an adventurous life and find tru wuv.

3. Office Space. As I have spent most of my adult life in office buildings and cubicles, everything about Office Space rings familiar. The obstinate photocopy machine. The seemingly needless reports. Having eight bosses. Constant office relocations. Coworkers that are on the verge of a mental breakdown. A case of the Mondays. Placing too high a value on staplers. This is the movie that made us ponder what we'd do with a million dollars, reminded us how we don't need 37 pieces of flair to express ourselves, gave us the dream of taking taking a baseball bat to outdated machinery, and taught us that it feels good to be a gangsta.

2. Zoolander. Everything about this movie is ridiculous. Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson, Will Ferrell, and Jerry Stiller all give us a lesson in over-acting as they lampoon the fashion industry amidst an absurd plot about brainwashing male models in high profile assassination conspiracies. Then you add in the cameos from people like David Bowie, Cuba Gooding Jr., Billy Zane, Lenny Kravitz, Natalie Portman, and so many others. There are zero reasons this movie should work, yet it does. My mood lifts along with the Ben Stiller's character. He starts in depression because Hansel is so hot right now and his roommates all died in a freak accident; then he falls in love, saves the prime minister of Malaysia with Magnum, and opens the Center For Kids Who Can't Read Good And Wanna Learn To Do Other Stuff Good Too. Perhaps we all just need a lesson that there's a lot more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking.

1. Empire Records. I love this movie. Perhaps it's because it reminds me so much of my first job working in a record store. Perhaps it's because I miss chasing shoplifters. Perhaps it is because I am fond of independent retailers. Perhaps it is because I have love Ethan Embry movies (he was also in my #10 pick from the previous post). Perhaps it is the 90's alternative music soundtrack. Perhaps it is because I had a massive crush on Liv Tyler when this movie came out. Or it could just be nostalgia. Whatever it is, Empire Records always brings a smile to my face.

Of course, this list would not be complete without a few runners up. Here are three that could have easily made this list, but missed out by a smidge. Cool Runnings, Airplane, Coming to America, and Rat Race.

No matter how sad I am feeling, these are the movies that can make it all better. And if you're looking for a good way to begin your new year, I suggest cuddling up with some popcorn, a mug of hot chocolate, a fleece blanket, and a feel good movie. In fact, that's what I am going to do tonight.

For a New Year (again)

As 2015 draws to a close, I want to take a moment to look back (learn) and to look forward (dream).

One of my groups encourages everyone to have a word for the year. A word to focus on, to motivate and inspire, to keep you driven and moving toward your goals. Last year my word was "healing" and I have done a whole lot of it over the past 12 months. I also wrote a post one year ago about New Year's resolutions - that mine was a simple two word ambition: Be Better. I feel that I've achieved that resolution to some degree and the best thing I could do going into 2016 is to adopt the same resolution all over again. While 2015 was a great year for myself and my kids, I want this next year to be even better. With that in mind - my word for 2016 is "Better." In addition to a word, I'm also picking out a theme song:



Consider what has happened this year. I'm healthier than I have been in a long time. The kids and I are all happier than we were in 2014. There were some great changes at work. I took some big risks in life that I would have never imagined myself taking when this year started. The Faithful Geek blog has seen some successes and I have been blessed with the opportunity to write for a few of my friends. I have also found some unique chances to help and support others in ways that would not have been possible a year or two earlier. If these experiences were a result of me wanting to be better, then I am overly optimistic about what could happen in 2016 if I continue striving to be better.

Now that this year is dwindling into its final hours and I contemplate all that has transpired in the past three hundred and sixty five days, all I can say is this was a great year. For that, I want to express my gratitude. To everyone that has taken a minute or two to read my thoughts here - thank you. To those few brave souls who allowed me to write a guest post for their blog - thank you. To my pastors and mentors - thank you. To those of you that have laughed and cried with me, who have hugged me, who have joined me for spirited games of Quelf or Mario Kart, who have encouraged me or challenged me, who have loved my kids - from the depths of my heart, thank you. To my family - I love you all dearly. And for all who have indulged my geekiness - may the force be with you.

This is it. One more day of the old year and I am wishing you the best. May 2016 be better than 2015. Heading into the new year, here is my hope, my goal. I'm going to scream it from the top of my lungs.

The Greatest Gift

We had a rough night last weekend. My daughter was unusually morose after church. Most Friday nights, she is bursting with manic energy after the games and teaching in our children's ministry. Being the last weekend service before Christmas, this sullen emotion was out of character for my typically chipper Zu.

When I asked her what was wrong, my heart sunk. "No one cares about me" her answer. "Nobody loves me."

"Can't possibly be true because I love you very much. I'm sorry that you're feeling like this." I did my best to recognize her emotions as valid yet help her understand our feelings are not always honest.

As we talked, she continued her brooding. "God probably doesn't love me either."

"Oh, sweetheart, it must have been a hard night. It's not fun feeling like this. But I do not believe there is anything you could do to take away God's love for you."

As we talked, she revealed more of the reason behind her sadness. She wants so desperately to have a good Christmas and a happy New Year, but she fears she will get neither. This made her sad so she didn't participate in Kids' Quest, instead she sulked. She then felt like God couldn't love her because of her behavior; this exacerbated her despair. She even told me she felt like her heart was breaking.

When we got home, we started our bedtime routine. With her in her pj's and a tomato in hand (her bedtime snack), I tucked her in then sat on the side of her bed and spent some time doing all I could to soothe her fears.

"I hope you know how much I care about you." I said. She nodded. "Did you know that God cares most for those who are hurting?"

Her expression seemed to display confusion, as if she were saying 'that can't be true.'

"I believe that God's love is best demonstrated when we are sad and hurting. In fact, one of my most favorite verses from Psalms says 'The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and He saves those whose spirits have been crushed.' The way you're feeling right now isn't proof that God dislikes you; it is a sign that He is close to you."

Then I continued.

"You know what? I'm really excited about Christmas. Like really super looking forward to it."
"You are?" She looked at me with eyes swelling on the verge of hope.
"I am. And I am sure that this Christmas is going to be great. You know what else?"
"What?"
"I'm hoping we have a happy New Year too."
"Are we going to watch the ball drop?"
"Maybe."

And that was all she needed to hear. She finally smiled and wrapped her arms around me. I gave her a kiss and told her the same thing I say every night: "Goodnight sweet girl."

By morning, Zu was acting more like herself. Playful. Joyous. Looking forward to our Saturday adventure. And not wanting to take a bath. Normal.

Her stocking stuffers and presents were purchased two weeks ago and hidden in a closet. Tonight, I will be up late wrapping and setting up her Christmas surprises. However, I am convinced that none of those presents will compare to the gift of assurance I gave her this last Friday night.

We dream. We hope. We wish. And yet, sometimes life deals extraordinary circumstances. We face loses in life and jobs and marriages. Tis the season for peppermint and gumdrops but it is also the season of strained finances and annoying relatives. Sometimes happiness and joy are debatable. It can be incredibly difficult to embrace the spirit of the season when the spirit within you is burdened, stressed, and heartbroken. This is Christmas. Bah-humbug.

But sadness is nothing new. Sorrow and misery have existed as long and humanity has graced this planet. Grief was a thing long before the birth of Christ. Yet as long as people have had the ability to experience depression, God has had a plan to heal our emotional wounds. In our hopelessness, God is telling us "I am here. I am close to you. I will demonstrate my love through your brokenness and your life will be made new."

This experience was described in another Psalm: "You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent."

Two thousand years ago, God gave us the gift of His Son, this act was his signature to a love letter that He had been writing since the dawn of time. In Jesus, He showed us that wherever we find broken hearts and wounded spirits, He would be there to heal all our achy parts. A baby boy, a gift, God with us.

At Christmas, we express our longing and hope for something worth hoping for. Many of us do that in a list. Me? I would love it if someone gave me an Xbox One with a copy of Star Wars Battlefront. I could really use a new car. Or even an all expense paid weekend in Seattle. I'd be content with concert tickets or an hour long massage. Those gifts would be awesome, but realistically I have all ready been given the greatest gift imaginable, the assurance that everything is going to be OK.

I have mourned and God has turned my mourning into dancing. I could not ask for more.

My wish for you is to have the happiest of Christmases. But let's not fake it. If this is more of a somber holiday, admit it. Fell free to say "Life sucks right now." Do it. Because I believe in a God who is big enough to listen to your complaints and loves you anyways. And I believe in a God that can transform your deepest hurts into something beautiful.