who loves ya, baby?

Its a tv classic. A bald detective pulls his trademark sucker from his mouth, looks at the camera, and asks "who loves ya, baby"?

Its perfect.

It's iconic.

But what does it mean?

We all understand that what the world needs now is love love love and that it's all we need. We are all looking for somebody to love.

Somebody?

Anybody?

What Kojak was trying to say is that WHO loves you is just as important as IF you are loved. In our hero's case, he was trying to say that since you are loved by him...you have nothing to fear. You are loved by someone who can make things happen. Obviously, being loved by someone unwilling or incapable can have disastrous consequences...if it even can be called love.

One of the reasons that saying "God loves you" has such an impact is for this very same reason. It's not about if this deity has any positive feelings toward me...but that the one who has all the resources of the universe has decided to turn them toward me.

Enjoy love, it's a beautiful thing, but rest knowing that the one who loves you...can.

Who loves ya, baby?

till he appeared...

just a short note this Christmas morning to honor the reason I have joy.

the world was dark

love hard to believe

hope a fools tale

joy impossible to achieve

despair seemed honest

loneliness ever-present

...till He appeared

and the soul felt it's worth.

This will always be the most meaningful sentence I've ever heard.

Merry Christmas.

Hello Michael, this is Santa

Dear readers...its time to begin another holiday blog. Half a year ago I was the subject, The Easter Bunny, searching for the risen savior from behind my whiskers.

Now it seems I'm the unlikely object; the risen savior searching for me from behind a whole different set of whiskers.

Stay tuned...reports from Santaland coming soon.

Joy in the Journey

This morning as I sat in the unusual quiet that rainy days bring, I let the normal list of people that I pray for pass from my soul to my lips and became aware that every one of them is on a journey somewhere. Life is in transition and they are all actively seeking a place to rest that looks like them. There is a deep tired in their soul…an ache that comes from movement…and a belief that they are born for more. It’s that belief that keeps them walking.

It’s true that a hallmark of being human is our journey. We do more than survive, reproduce, and die. During our lifespan we hear a call to something greater than ourselves - yet very few are willing to press forward to grasp it. For those of us who are willing to walk this path, the cost will be great We will lose relationships, comfort, and, occasionally, our own way. We will have to question the intentions of those who hover close to us - who might only be attracted to they mystery without understanding the depth of us. Our hearts will beat harder, tears fall more frequently, and find that quite often this road has lonely bends.

However, I woudn’t trade a single mark, line, or scar. Every one carved with honesty, love, faith, and sweat.

I found that as I prayed I didn’t ask for journeys to end quickly. I prayed for grace to be present along the way. I’ve come to believe that it’s how we exist right where we are that dictates the quality of the quest. It’s hard for us to live presently. Too often we live either backwards (in some past regret or former glory) or we live for the future; thinking that something that we hope to acquire or a next event will give us that moment of happy - or at least peace. 

I’ve been learning to simply receive and honor the grace that is right in front of me. 

Now, this can sometimes be mistaken as settling. Too many people have given up on the journey and have just decided to mark time. They distract or medicate themselves and work simply to maintain. There is very little thought about where one might go or who one might be. I suppose this can lend itself to a kind of satisfaction, but it feels more like resignation. 

The presence that I am considering is one that let’s go of the past, is walking without fear toward the future, and lives each day with eyes wide open for the good gifts that have been provided and makes the most of every one of those gifts. We stay mindful of those things that will take us off the path, make honest confession when we do, and learn what things make us more. We love well and enjoy true love when it reveals itself. 

Before long, we will find ourselves on the doorstep of our hearts. 

Recently, I took a trip with some friends. The trip was a long one even if there were no obstacles. This one had one after another. There were detours, gridlock, and even a crime scene that made our journey twice as long as it would have been otherwise. We heard word from other travelers how terrible the travel was. Frustration and complaint were abundant from those from whom we heard. However, when we were asked about the trip we all answered that it was long…but we had a great time. It was a journey of love and discovery for the people in our vehicle. There was safety and laughter. We learned a lot about each other (TMI?) and have commented about it since. 

We got to our destination just like everyone else. There were beds and hot meals and work to be done and a home to rest once we got to our destination. However, I wouldn’t have traded how we travelled. We could have slept, done nothing but listen to external distractions, or spent 10 hours in frustration that we weren’t home. 

Instead, we found grace and love. I would argue that this made the arrival more worthy.

So, to the ones who passed my lips today, walk well. There are graces around you that have been given to you as guides for your walk. There is more. There is love. Find things that make your heart sing and don’t be afraid to let the notes rise. 

Be here…the world is better because you are.

Fearless Love

“If I’d have to choose her or the sun I’d be one nocturnal son of a gun”

Harvey Dent, one man in a long line of Bat-villians, is one of the most curious simply because he’s unfinished. Every super villain that the Dark Knight is asked to fight has had a clear click to the dark side. There is no conflict. For Harvey, aka Two-Face, life is much more complicated. No doubt the man has lost his sense, but half of the man originally thought of as the district attorney that was going to clean up gotham city remains while literally the other half is taken my a maniacal side bent on destruction. On his own he could be used as an illustration of the battle that goes on in all of us on a regular basis. There are always opposing sides of our psyche struggling to govern our decisions. Harvey has given up his divine right to make his decisions to the coin he carries in his pocket. 

The two-headed coin, once a humorous prop carried by Dent, was also damaged in the acid that created this character. Like Harvey, it was damaged only on one side. When there is a question of doing good or evil this coin is taken out, flipped, and the choice based on whether it’s the face of liberty or her damaged face on the other side.

I’ve spent my life on love. I’ve spoken of it, written about it, fought for it, longed for it, believed it it, and had my heart damaged by that belief. The thing that I’ve discovered on my journey is that I’m not alone. None of us enter creation without the space for love. It’s how we were designed. We are build to seek it, give it, celebrate it, and rest in it. Love gives us the strength to do great things. In love and for love we can climb mountains, fight dragons, and feel like flying. Sacrifices don’t feel like sacrifices when love drives the giving. When we feel love we freely give it away from the overflow of our hearts. We can laugh, dance, sing, and embrace when love is allowed to govern our lives.

It’s how life is supposed to be. 

As with most things in life, there are two-faces to this coin. With all of the passion and freedom and uncontrollable smiling that comes when one is in the arms of love, there is scar tissue on the other side. When love is taken from us, it leaves a mark, every time. When we hear the message that love needs to be earned it bends and twists. Too many years and we start to forget what the face of liberty - the face of love - even looks like. 

That is when we break. 

That is when we become afraid.

I’ve often heard the phrase “the opposite of love isn’t hate - it’s indifference.” I disagree. My experience has taught me that the same thing that drives indifference is the same fuel for hate. We are afraid. Fear is the flip side of love because, for whatever reason, we have locked people out of our hearts. The reasons might be completely understandable. People that have been abused or bullied or rejected can, it can be argued, have valid reason for pulling up the drawbridge. Some choose to go in and blow out the candles and are never heard from again. Our wounded brothers or sisters settle into a life of movement but have little vision of anything beyond the waking and sleeping. There are creature comforts used to help numb the pain, but the hope for something that satisfies to the soul has too high a price tag. They might not be particularly nasty, but they have made a decision that the risk of love is simply too much. Others are so afraid that they actually do turn destructive. They work to destroy themselves or others - again because the risk of love is just simply too heavy for them to carry. We lose so many people this way. Bullies who are afraid of the loss of their position or power abuse the weak or the different, resulting in further losses either of spirit or life. 

Love takes courage. It takes courage to both love and be loved…especially when your other face seems damaged beyond repair.

So, I’ll just say it clearly. I do believe that a fearless love is possible. What I am not saying is that there is a love where the emotion of fear is non-existent. What I am saying is that love is worth the fight. Love is worth the effort. I, like you, wonder if I will ever be loved fearlessly and each time it seems to go, I add one more scar to the other side of my coin. Every time I set out to love and be loved I’m scared to death. I’m scared that I wont be received or that I'll hurt again.  In some ways it seems easier to live in the castle doing all of my loving with a closed drawbridge. 

But I’m not designed for that. 

We are not designed for that.

In my faith there is an image of love. It’s of an obscure jewish rabbi who had been bullied and beaten and is now hanging above the ground waiting to die. In the writings that reflect on the meaning of his death it’s said that his death was a demonstration of love…of a fearless love. It’s not that there wasn’t anything to fear. There was pain, rejection, humiliation, and the distinct possibility that no one would be interested in this gift of a relationship with their creator. 

But he believed we were worth the risk. That is the kind of love, if it can be embraced, that can heal the most broken heart. It’s a love that would stop at nothing to find the one it loves. The loved just needs to open the drawbridge. There is a world of people that simply want to know they are loved.

Pain causes us to fear…of that there is no doubt. The question is which side of the coin will we let govern our lives. Grace offers a love that is healing, safe, and inspires us to love big. It causes us to look for the right hearts and learn to embrace them and let them embrace us.

Sometimes it requires the greatest courage to simply let ourselves be loved.

Columbus Day

As Christopher Columbus stood on the deck of the Santa Maria looking at the world of water that had been his same view for months, I have no doubt that he wondered if this quest was going to end in failure. I imagine that he considered his bed back home, a warm meal, and the feeling of being celebrated at court. Now the world was wet, cold, moldy, and filled with sailors on the brink of mutiny.

What had he gotten himself into?

The motivation for the ones who paid for this mission was clear. Money and power would go to the country or the company who discovered and controlled a short cut to the wealth of the indies. However, none of them ascended the gangplank of the small vessels that was taking a never-travelled western path across the Atlantic Ocean. Columbus stood to gain it’s sure, but something more than wealth or fame has to motivate a man to take on a quest for which there are no guarantees. 

There would have been a key point in the journey that the faith of this mission and the man who held the lives of the men who joined him was tested. That point was when the supplies were halfway gone. Move further west and there is no return. That is when the adventure becomes real. I imagine the quiet deck that day. Everyone knew that this was either a ship of heroes or dead men.

At 2am, after 5 weeks of sailing, a sailor on the Pinta sighted land; a small island in what is now The Bahamas. The quest proved itself out and Christopher Columbus became a legend.

Of course, now the historical debates can begin. Was the world really a better place now that there is a new world? It didn’t seem true for the native peoples who inhabited the invaded paradise. This was business for the ones who were to come after this October day in 1492. The discovery was not always honored and people lost their lives. Much suffering came to many as a result. Even Columbus himself proved to be a harsh ruler as the governor of Hispaniola. It’s true that sometimes we misuse the treasure we find even when it was the very thing that drove us to begin with. However, on this day we celebrate the faith that made a man cross the uncharted ocean.

I don’t know if quest or adventure lies in all of us. Many seem satisfied with a life that never progresses much past the place they were born. There is beauty in that kind of peace to be sure. However, there are those of us who look out over the ocean and believe. We believe that there is something that lives on the other side of the horizon and as the sun sets we want to hitch a ride just to see the truth. 

I know my quest. It’s driven by a stubbornly held belief that Eden exists and there is life and deep love in the world. I’m looking for truth that matches the thumbprint on my soul and a voice to tell my children about what I find. I’ve burned bridges and rations on my journey and have passed the point of no return. There are many who feel I’ve lost my mind or have become a disappointment on a fools errand. Sometimes, when the storm is raging, the rations low, or I can see nothing but water for weeks, I’m tempted to question. But, even with my knees starting to tremble, I hold fast the wheel and pray for wind and solid ground.

Then, when my toes sink into the sand, I pray I honor what I’ve found.

This journey is one of preparation. The miles make me stronger and the struggle makes me worthy. I could have gone back…but the call has always been forward. 

I’m hungry. 

I’m tired. 

But the winds are changing, the water getting warmer, my heart beating faster, and birds are traveling with us. These are the whispers from God that we aren’t far now.

We are almost home.

The Same As The Rest

So, this week I've been struck by the story of Tyler Clementi, if you don't know his story, shame on you. I've read the posts. I know many people died that day in unjust ways, heroic ways, and natural ways. Every life mattered. This one is special, not because of Tyler's sexuality per se, but that we still live in a world where people find it hard to keep on living. As a Christian minister, I can't help but be struck by the role that the church has played in creating an environment that someone's sexuality can be considered odd enough to prank. I'm angry for the lack of space that the body of Christ has offered to kids who are trying to discover who they are. This past year, a colleague and I attended a convention of christian youth workers. One afternoon we attended a panel of ministry to gay teenagers. I assumed the group would be discussing how to care for them, help them self-identify, protect them, etc. Instead, the questions surrounded the idea of what to do when one of "them" enters the youth group. What do you do? How to you treat them? I watched in amazement as the discussions focused on the sexuality of the kid - someone going so far as to say "love the sinner, hate the sin". It was only my partner who began to bring sanity back when she said "You treat a gay teenager the same way you treat a straight teenager - you love them".  I wish I could tell you that everyone sighed and said "oh, yeah...thanks". But arguments ensued. I was dumfounded.

I have no desire here to be eloquent. I want it to be made very clear where I stand and what I believe our call to kids is supposed to be. Our call is to love every single teenager who wants us to love them - not in spite of who they are but BECAUSE of who they are. We tell them about Jesus and invite them on the adventure of faith with us. We protect them, celebrate them, and be the first one in anyones face who dares to say a word against them.

As Jesus went with Tyler into the river His heart broke. Not because this kid was gay, but because there was room in His house at his table and no one ever told him so.

God forgive us.

A Place to Rest

This week I have been feeling an extraordinary tired and have been searching my soul for a recognizable me. The last couple of weeks have been filled with movement and giving, a life lived, for the most of which, on the road. Now, I'm a big fan of the adventure of movement. I love long drives, endless wanders around Manhattan, and work that takes me "on location". I drive a truck that is ready at any given moment to have bags thrown in the back and aimed toward a setting sun. However, as any road wander can tell you, sometimes you just want to go home, gather those you love, and just be.

Jack Kerouac, the patron saint of all those who hear the call of the open spaces, felt that without "hearth and home" his writing becomes a "peculiarly un-human" endeavor "waged on stormy and unimaginable seas". His point being that without a place (and a person) to call home, a man grows weary and ends up with something resembling human life but is void of the depth needed to do great things.

We need a place from which we draw our strength, recharge, get inspired, and rest. We can spend our days doing amazing things, but if at the end of the day we find ourselves still on the streets, our souls are never fed and our spirit lacks the sustainability needed to keep moving. Like a homeless person wandering without purpose, we eventually lose our mind and ourselves.

What is home for you? Is it a special place; a coffee shop or garden? Is it your house or a room that you have designed to look like you? Is it a person that you can't wait to see after your work is done or an activity that renews your soul?

I know what it looks like for me. It's a place that I can sit. It's a place that has a room with a shelf of my favorite books and a stereo that I play music and some of my favorite art on the wall. There is a dog and a yard where my kids can play and feel safe. There is a dining room table for friends to join me for dinner and a kitchen to cook. There is late nights and early mornings lingering in bed.

Sometimes it is a coffee shop, or having coffee on my porch, or a really good story, or a fine cigar, or some live jazz, or a walk through NYC.

And yes, I'd like to share. There is something to be said for being with someone who sees you and loves you. Someone whose face you see in the windshield makes any journey filled with strength.

When was the last time you've been there?

Jesus said "I go to prepare a place for you and I'll come back for you, so that you and I will be together".

He knows we are all looking for a place to call home...for now I draw on the strength the graces given me as I take this truck farther down the line.

live to tell

There is an old hymn called "I Love to Tell the Story." In it the writer expresses his passion for telling the story "...of Jesus and His glory, of Jesus and His love." It had been a while since I had heard it. I remember singing it as a kid...people always sang it with an evangelistic fervor. It's a lovely song, but always conjured up images of someone constantly talking about faith to coworkers, family, friends, or even the waitress pouring your coffee. I've met many of these people in my life who feel it is their mission, like a spiritual Ari Gold, always trying to land the next gig for their client. It just so happens that their client is Jesus.

Today this hymn came to me differently. Maybe it's the season I find myself. It feels I have been fighting to survive for the last couple of years. The fight has taken it's toll. This begins a season of rebuilding. I believe that there was a message there for me.

I love to do lots of things. In my heart I'm a cowboy. I want to be outside, work with my hands, come home to a warm house with love inside, drive to town to go dancing, and do again every day. I'd love to be a rock star, run a bookstore, or even own a coffee shop. I'm a man that likes to step back and see what I've built, feel the burn in my muscles and the cuts on my hands, and call it a day well lived.

But, I'm a story teller. Specifically, His story. I've always been good at it. I have the ability to see and translate the "old, old, story" in a way that makes sense in the human heart.

If a man is blessed when he does what he is designed to do, then regardless of the challenges of my life I need to tell stories.

It's a story I love to tell...

I can still be a cowboy. I think a Stetson works with my collar. I'm promised that if I seek the Kingdom then my heart will find the things it desires, so I saddle up and ride into the desert with a message of love.

It's who I am

I'm wishing...I hope

Ok...today I was introduced to one of those concepts that tend to become game changing for me. I'm a sucker for little tidbits of facts that give me insight into how humanity works. Today...it came in a radio program about Disney movies.

It seems there is a template that Disney movies work from. Of course there is a princess, a prince, a villain, a sidekick, and some magical character that provides the bridge over some insurmountable obstacle. But there was one concept I had never really considered...the importance of the main character's first song.

It's called the "I wish" song

It's called "I wish" because Snow White invented the concept. The entirety of Snow White can be understood in her "I wish" song. She just wants to be with the one she loves. It's a humble and simple wish and tells us about the core of her heart.

Ariel? Her song is about adventure and and experiencing the surface world.

Quasimodo? He just wants to be with the "normal" people.

Belle? Something more than this provincial life

The concepts stretch beyond Disney of course. Dorothy sings about a life over the rainbow and Roger sings about leaving behind one great song.

We all have an "I Wish" song. It's the one we would have sang when our story began. It's almost always a song about love and adventure. It's what we were deigned to be.

Our lives are filled with obstacles that threaten our "I wish". Every story is about the wish and the things that get in the way on the way. Often the singer finds what their soul longed for, but it's not the way they imagined it (it's often better because it's more real) and it is never without scars.

So, today I'm wondering about your "I Wish" song. What was the song placed in your heart that you have been trying to fulfill since you learned the tune? Have you forgotten the words because the villain is too loud or you feel the affects of poison apples?

What is the song that creation placed in your soul?

staycation

I had the idea last night. As of noon today, all of the work I needed to do would be done and I was going
to the shore. My first time all summer. It's been a long season of working hard, loving the best I can, and holding things together with very limited funds. It's the limited funds that really prevented any kind of traditional vacation and I could feel the tired in my soul.

So today I hopped in the truck all by myself and drove south with nothing but a change of clothes and the latest GQ.

Each opportunity that I have to spend the day alone finds me watching people. I do it fairly naturally. Like some alien scientist, I watch them move and interact. I find them fascinating and beautiful. I am an invisible part of a great community. In the distance I could see the skyline of New York City. It provided a backdrop to the frolicking children of God gleefully challenging the ocean in front of me. There, life is hard...expensive. Here we were on vacation. Everything here is alright.

As evening fell I found a stand that sold fresh oysters and enjoyed the flavors of being alive while my skin tingled with the cooling breeze.

What an amazing thing to be alive.

The boardwalk was jammed with people...I moved among them undetected like Nicolas Cage in "City of Angels". Leonard Cohen sang "down the shore everything's alright" and tonight he is right. Humanity is beautiful. Back on the beach, fires are lit and people are gathering to roast marshmallows. I'm watching people live in peace.

I think this is what God had in mind.

In fact, I wonder if he walks among us like this sometimes. I believe he does. If people take the opportunity to open their eyes and see him he is shockingly visible. He's moving among us whispering "This is how it's supposed to be". "Perfect days are your birthright". "I made you for love".

As I grow older and understand God's voice clearer, I find I'd rather be a gardener than a builder of empires.

Cities require building. Brick and mortar built so high they block out the sun.

Gardens require tending. They live in communion.

God made a garden

We build cities.

Tonight my heart muses on Eden

God Alone

Tonight it’s a beautiful night. I’ve spent the day loving on boys, working hard, making a little bit of cash (not a lot…but a little), and praying for loved ones on journeys. I’ve got a cigar, a glass of wine that has been breathing for hours, and my guitar. I’m just picking and singing by the glow of the candlelight that happily bends to the soft breezes that join us on the porch.

I’ve lived well today. I’ve created things, loved those I encountered, and moved my life forward. There couldn’t be a more me situation right now. Even the guitar sounds flawless.

Yet something is missing. 

I keep looking to the empty spaces on my porch and wishing someone could be here. Someone to hear me play, someone who could sing, share stories of the day, someone who knows me and whom I know.

Is there something wrong with me? Am I too greedy? I’ve got great boys, a place to live, a job, dreams, a full belly…even the aforementioned luxuries. That should be enough…right?

It’s been a lonely season…and rightly so.  It’s a combination of summer and personal journeys of friends and family that has made it so. I can’t complain about it, I want the people I love to go have great experiences or find the life that coincides with their destiny. I just miss them.  I miss their company, the work we do together, or the process of seeing them grow. I miss having someone to talk to that you feel really sees you…sees you and loves what they see.

Conventional wisdom says that we aren’t supposed to feel this way. We are supposed to be self-sufficent and satisfied with our own bootstraps as company. Loneliness is equal to weakness and, in my experience, unnecessary exposure to dangerous souls. If I am to love myself then it stands to reason that I have no need of anyone else.

However, experience and philosophy often do not rhyme and in this case the dissonance is felt. When there is a collision of idea one must ask which one is out of sync…my belief or my experience.  It has always been my practice to look to the story of God for an answer to my own so I went to the beginning of relationship.

Our story tells us that in the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. How it all happened is not for me to say nor do I think we have the information we need to tell the story of the birth of the cosmos. What we do see in the first chapter of Genesis is a sculptor coming to an unformed lump of clay and setting to work.  He takes the elements present and by his word begins to create. Light, air, mountains, oceans, plants, flowers, trees, fruit, and animals. A perfect ecosystem balanced upon itself. In God’s on words, creation was good. God could sit on his back porch on a perfect evening, strum his guitar, and bask in a job well done…a day, several in fact, lived beautifully.

Then he had this idea…an idea that would literally change the world…

“Let us make man in our image, in our likeness”

Theologians have debated God’s moves since the words were written. Whatever you believe, one things is true; God set to work making a being that shared his heart, his mind, and his breath. This was different. This wasn’t a work simply for which to be proud, this was God making someone to talk to. God intentionally introduced a creature to the cosmos that would be able to see the world the way he did and be free to create and decide just like God. They were created to grab hold of the world. The command is simple…now it’s your turn to create and make this planet hum.

God and man walked together. God shared his life with the man…showed him all of creation and helped him understand his own heart. While man was built with the capacity to do anything he wanted to do, it would take some time to realize all that he could really be. It’s the joy of growing. Their walks in the garden helped with that. 

Then there was name the animal day - a crucial day where God realized that Adam was missing something. 

Up to that moment all of creation bore the stamp of “good”. Now, like a restaurant that failed an inspection, the license is being revoked. It is “not good” that man is alone. 

God made Adam like himself…complete in every way. Adam had everything he needed to fulfill his commission. He could completely experience the image of God just as himself. However, as God looked at Adam he noticed one giant thing missing…Adam had no Adam. He had no one to share his heart and his life. He had no equal.

This isn’t good.

If Adam is going to realize fully what it means to be alive there has to be a heart for Adam to give himself to. Someone to walk with. Someone to trust.

Adam goes to sleep, the image of God is divided, and Eve is formed. Eve is someone who is literally his flesh and bone. He who was complete is now found in communion.

I’ve never really thought about the intentional vulnerability of God in the creation of mankind until this moment. As soon as someone enters into relationship their life changes. In an ideal situation it changes for the better. We are designed to live in response to the others in our world. We gain our identity and support from them as well as a partner in creating a world. We long to be known and loved by another human and reel when love is betrayed…sometimes irrevocably.

God, we will discover in the next part of the story, is about to know what it is to hurt. His life is about to be altered. Some would say that he was better off alone rather than to take the risk of love…especially in the face of such failure. But love must love. God had a heart aching to be known and love bursting to be expressed. That only happens when we move into the life of someone else.

What we do here isn’t religion. We were absolutely designed to know and be known. Our faith is one of walking and talking with the one who created us and to hear his heart. His heart informs ours as we turn to others and open our chests to them. Injury will happen and healing will be required. But to not do it is to miss it.

To miss it is to not be human. To miss it is to not know God. 

He wants us to hear him play and in the listening we learn a new song to sing.

So tonight, I’m perfectly lonely. I think I understand the heart of God just a little better because of it. I'm going to get back to playing now.

You Can Call Me Al

Dateline - Sunday, August 8, 2010

77 years ago today my father was born. It was supposed to be a work day for me, but circumstances have created a solitary morning…one of which up to now I hadn’t looked at the date. August 8…my dad’s birthday.  I called my mom.  She was heading out the door to church and apparently ran back in to catch the phone - happy to hear my voice but on hers I could feel the crunch of the ticking clock. We acknowledged Al’s birthday and she went on with her day.  Left a message with sis…she is probably as unaware of today as I was.

This is my way of calling Al.

For the last 30 years I’ve said Happy Birthday in my own way to the man who I was only able to be near for 8 years of my life. I don’t have many memories of the life I had before he had to go. I don’t know if it’s one of those things where tragedy causes a reinvention and so much of your life gets lost or the fact that I was simply 8. 

I can remember a few things. I remember that he was huge. 6 foot 7 inches of man. Funniest when standing next to my 5’4” mom but way cool when I was carried in his arms. He always smelled good…being a man of his time who always left the house ready to meet the world. I can’t remember ever seeing him in a t-shirt…even mowing the lawn.

He was kind. He had an infectious laugh kind of burst into a room…it matched the voice that seemed to come from his toes. 

He had deep fears. He was afraid of communists and hippies. He distrusted teenagers of all kinds and didn’t have much patience for children…except for us. He had incredible patience for us though we were always dressed to warm because he didn’t want us to catch a cold and die.

He was a pastor. Not a full-time one…but one who served from calling. He experienced an old-fashioned conversion and never looked back. Studied for the ministry and spent the second half of his life speaking in small churches and loving people where he was invited. Found a small urban church that couldn’t afford him and spoke there whenever he was asked.

We never had a home church that I could recall…we were always on the road somewhere and I was always in the front pew watching my rock star dad. 

It was in preparation for the ministry that he met my mom. It was 1960. The dating was brief but somehow the engagement stretched until 1971 when my mother finally issued the ultimatum. Story is that within the first year he turned to my mom and said “this is great…we should have done this earlier”.  The man had stones…

The rest of my memories are really just stories and photographs my mind has put into home movies. There was bring your child to work day and I spent the day in the post office where he worked full time emptying and filling a single bag of mail or the times he would come home early enough for me to ride up and down the hallway wrapped around his leg or how cool it was to sit in his basement “study” and draw on his stationary with the red felt pens he used for notes. 

I remember having to wake him in the middle of stories because he worked so hard that he often fell asleep with me in his lap. He would tell me he wasn’t asleep - only resting his eyes.

I remember the last night he was in the living room. He felt good enough to come out and go through the slides he used in churches to show them the holy land. He was an expert on every detail though he had never left the midwest. It was his greatest attraction…a multi-media walk through an exotic land.

He got tired and couldn’t finish.

A few days later the ambulance came. He had gotten to spend his remaining days at home. Cancer had won the battle for his body but not his soul. I sat with my sister and could hear my mother crying in the next room. It was her tears that made me cry when she came into us.  I didn’t cry again until I was 20.

Then I cried for three days.

Now I cry every year on August 8

I cried today.

I want to honor my father. It’s quite a thing to grow up without one. For the most part you have to raise yourself…looking for shadows of manhood in other places to help you make sense of your own. I know he would have done anything to be there as I became the man I am. I know because I would do anything to remain here for my own sons. 

However, in so many ways he is here. It’s his laugh that comes bellowing from my lungs when I’m with people I love. I have his legs, his walk, his smile. Apparently, I’ve followed in a similar professional path. I don’t share his same fears…but I do have his ability to keep moving when fear or pain finds a place in my heart.

So…I guess you could say he has been here. I’ve worked hard to listen to his voice locked in my DNA. There has been many nights that I’ve asked him questions and heard a voice that sounds like mine - but taller and with wavy black hair.

So…Dad, thanks for being there for me all these years. I haven’t grown without scars…and there is a lot I’ve done that you probably wouldn’t have ever done…but you were always happy to sit with me and show me your soul.  It’s helped me become a man who loves deeply. Even during those seasons where I am grappling for someplace to stand…the man you are gives me the confidence that people will be better because I was there. 

I couldn’t have gotten here without you.

Happy Birthday.

Puffy Shirt

Minutes ago I had on a puffy shirt. I also had on a pair of linen pants tucked into my boots that I had wrapped with cloth and tied with leather straps to cover the fact that they were more cowboy than courtier.  Around my waist a leather belt did nothing to hold my pants - it was to keep my shirt cinched up and to hold the pouch in which I carried my coinage. Around my wrist I wore the token given to me by the queen.

Yes, I, ladies and gentlemen, went to the Renaissance Faire.

Now, before those of you who are far too hip or jaded proceed to laugh, I must tell you I had a great time - and I need to tell you why.

It may not surprise you that I would enjoy going to a place were knights, princes, and princesses abound. This place was chock full of them. There were also knaves, monks, wizards, poets, ladies-in-waiting, elves, jugglers, wenches, pirates, and cutpurses. Shouts of huzzah, giant turkey legs, miles of handcrafted cool stuff, musicians, performers, and the general commitment to staying in character made this day extraordinary fun; but I’m not sure this is why, when it was time to go it felt (as one of our merry band put it) cold outside the gates.

The shell of the man who walked the shire today now lay on my floor like molted skin. I’m now sitting at a table, reheated pizza on a plate, air conditioning on, and reflecting my ideas into a machine that holds more information than all the libraries of europe combined; and considering why did we all just want to go back. When one considers the realities of renaissance europe, there is little that holds any modern appeal.  Life-spans were short, disease and poverty were rampant, and the fates of many were dictated by a few who held all the power. Communication was severely limited and the living was hard. Trust me when I tell you that there are no illusions.

It’s the reminders of what we are missing that makes it hard to leave.

Our company was one of honor and love. Inside the gates of this land, people who lived most of their lives in the margins of our developed world get to feel noble and valuable to the community - if just for one day. Our troupe all carried burdens up to the ticket booth and was able to leave them outside in the world where they belonged.  We all knew that outside was a world we could hardly afford, but here we could laugh. There was plenty to eat, creation to enjoy, sport to celebrate, conversation to be had, and mead to drink. We spent the day enjoying each other and meeting new and interesting people who felt safe sharing themselves with us. Each of us could see each other and ourselves a bit more clearly - even with the unusual disguise. We spoke of how life was supposed to be and for a this day we could feel it.

When the day was done we entered our cars (which felt so unnatural) and drove back into reality. I couldn’t help but think that we could live this way all the time if we didn’t have so much we felt the need to maintain. Too much house, car, technology, and stuff. The “real” world is loud, obnoxious, and so expensive. We arrived back at the driveway that held our cars, gave final embraces, and went our separate ways…alone. Our merry band broken.

Something just feels wrong.

Ask me what I want in life. At the end of the day I don’t want to live my life in costume (though I’m quite happy in my puffy shirt.)  I don’t want to spend the day pretending to be a character when all the while I live a life that doesn’t reflect my soul.  I want to live fully.  I want to love without fear and be with people. I want to spend the day working hard for my good, the good of my family, and the good of my community. I want to have a vital part of my section of the world and help create space where people feel they can laugh. I want to work side by side with people, like the ones I spent the day with, and offer what I can to make them better as they do the same for me. I want to return home from a day of celebrating everyone around me and have a nightly joyous reunion with my breathtaking queen who is a daily wonder to behold as she lives creatively and lovingly. My heart desires to raise my wild and wonderful children (and someday their children) to be people of honor and love.

I want to help you heal.

I want to live how my heart feels…what my soul sees.

I want to age in peace, in a loving community, knowing that I learned how to live.

I think we can do it. It will require some work and a commitment to simplicity and ridding ourselves of those things we can no longer afford because they rob us of our ability to be human. 

More than anything…I want you to come. This one can’t be done alone. Our joy is in the together.

I’m putting the band back together.

And buying a few more puffy shirts.

And maybe a hat…

Lakeshore-on-the-Hudson

The request seemed perfectly beautiful and even romantic if not for the fact that my open guitar case was not an indicator of a catalog of songs for couples. I apologized for having to decline the request of the couple who now sat at my feet to play a song for them. They were young but seemed they had been traveling some of the harder roads to get here. For some reason they stayed and I played. There were a few songs I could remember, mostly spirituals, revealing my vocation. Our conversation moved quickly from small talk about geography or work to our shared pursuit of love. As they shared their journey and heartbreak I found myself with the grace to speak peace to them. I told them of princess hearts and of a faith that believes that love will find it's way to you. I felt I could promise it to them.

Maybe I could promise it to them because as they walked away I was struck by my own heart and the fact that for this moment I didn't hurt anymore.

I came to the river tonight with my own heart filled with feelings I was trying to manage. The universe, to quote, just hadn't been cooperating in recent days. I've spent my days just moving through, doing my best, but not sure
where to land.

I came to the river without answers...but apparently with a destiny. I can live with that.

I'm grateful that I've learned enough about love to reveal royal hearts. I'm grateful that I know enough guitar to draw people looking for music. I'm grateful to follow the spirit of Jesus out to the shore and not get trapped in my own head

I'm grateful I have a heart that still has a capacity to know love

I seldom think about the fact that he went to the lakeshore with his own hurt, his own frustration, his own tired.

But he went to be who he is. He went to find hearts that beat with the music of the universe

And I imagine he, like me, felt like life made just a little more sense in the process.

thanks for asking me to sing

Walking to Ft. Lauderdale

I have this tendency to choose books or stories by reading the first line.  If they are provocative or well written, I’m in.  If the author fails to intrigue me in the first few words of the story about to be presented, I usually move on. They don’t have to be long or filled with a lot of detail.  

“Call me Ishmael”

It’s more than enough to make me believe I want to board the Peaquod. 

I’ve been told to give books a chance…and there have been many I had, against my better judgement, and liked.  But I still am going to be captured more by a first line than a recommendation or review.

“There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it” - Gotta know more about this kid.

“Elmer Gantry was drunk” - I’m coming to the tent meeting

“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York.” - Shiver.

Your first glimpse of beauty is enough to make you believe. 

One winter I was in Ft. Lauderdale when I met a homeless man.  The weather was perfect and we sat on a stone wall and ate a slice of pizza and watched the girls go by.  We had a great time hanging out when his questions revealed that I had flown from New York City to join him on this wall on the edge of paradise.  “New York City? That’s where I’m from! Born and raised in Brooklyn?”.  We chatted for a while about New York and how amazing of a city it really is and both of us realizing how much different the weather was there.  “That’s why I came here.” He told me.  I was intrigued as to how a homeless man from New York ended up on a beach in Florida.  So I asked.

“I was here when I was a boy and I remembered it…so I just started walking”.

I decided that I had just met the smartest homeless man who ever lived.

New York had it’s share of homeless who in that moment were just trying to survive.  This man saw something beautiful and believed that the journey…no matter how difficult…was worth trying.  He knew that there was a possibility that he wouldn’t make it…that he would die along the way…but the man had seen Ft. Lauderdale…it made his feet move.

His first glimpse of beauty made him a man who believed.

So much of life is enough to make a man doubt.  There is enough chaos and confusion to spin one around and make you stay in the winter.  Nights can be long and lonely and there seldom seems like there is enough of…well, anything.  Some might even say I’m a fool to even try.

However, I’ve seen beauty…I’ve read the first line.  I believe.  I can’t unsee it.  You’ll find me somewhere on I-95.

happily ever after

Dear reader...we have come to the "end" of our walk with the prince. It's just the begining for him.  The following words reflect my own experiences as I journey. Some have asked me if I think I am Prince Charming. I suppose my life has found me as both hero and villain depending on where one sits...and I write about both. All I can do is tell you what my own heart has found and I sought a new heart.  I welcome comment and pray my walk enhances yours.

Here we are…our journey has come to this undiscovered country.

It has taken great faith, unspeakable courage, and an awareness of the nature of what’s at stake and what’s to be gained.  This is a journey that has cost…and the cost has been gladly paid.  

Dragons…defeated, 

Witches…fallen over cliff, 

Out of control rosebushes…landscaped.

The Prince has come to the goal of his quest and has kissed a kiss that inspires the deepest sighs.  The evil spell is reversed and all that’s left are the immortal words…

Happily. Ever. After.

Few of us haven’t taken pause at those words and wondered if it was really possible. We’ve often tried to imagine the rest of the story.  Is it constant bliss? Do the birds still sing every morning? Are there still dances that last till midnight? 

Most would skeptically answer no. The prince has his prize, she has her castle, and now is simply a matter of doing every day until you wake up one day and wonder if you were happier in the tower and everyone is asking what happened to the fairy tale.  This isn’t the life you thought would be yours when the slipper fit. Happily ever after has just simply become…after.

In Oscar Wilde’s “The Picture of Dorian Gray” we see the first instance in known written form where we hear our hero mentioned.  Only here his name is not attached to heroics.  The attractive Dorian is identified as a young actresses’ "prince charming".  He pursues her and wins her, gives up the quest once he has had her. This despairing princess eventually takes her own life.

Dorian is not alone.

History is filled with poser princes who stop looking at the wonder of the princess heart, leaving a hole behind that may never heal.  Healing takes faith that there are real princes whose white steed isn’t a rental and who are simply dying for the opportunity to love a worthy heart of a queen.  The princely quest then must proceed with great care…but proceed all the same. It's still her story. The princess heart never dies...and it's always worthy.

The temptation is to stop believing.

Here’s the thing.  I believe in love.  I believe in magic.  I believe it with my whole starry-eyed heart.  I believe in bliss.  I believe in happily ever after.  

What I don’t believe is that it just happens.

Many of us who look like princes end up as paupers because the only effort we put in is the effort to win the princess and then we lay down our sword.

Lean in close because I want to tell you a truth…

…Our quest never ends.

It’s who we are.  We are men on a quest to seek a worthy heart…and we never stop.

I know what your thinking…what about the prince, right?  Is it ever about him? Does he ever get to just hang out with the boys and watch the joust with some flagons of grog? Wouldn’t it just be nice to head out to the forest in pursuit of a wild boar? What’s all this about questing?  If it never stops, why does it ever have to begin?

It’s simple…our story is irrevocably linked to hers.  Yes, we have our own life. If not, we would have little to bring to the table.  We can be strong, graceful, attractive, well spoken, and rich…all by ourselves.  However, without quest, we are merely shining armor, sans knight.  We become like a Dorian Gray or the humorous twist on our own Prince Charming found in the movie Shrek.  Flowing hair, winning smile, but no heart and no ability to go beyond the trophy.

Our heart finds a beat with hers and she is responsible to honor our hearts.  We can trust that she will. A true princess knows when she has found a worthy heart and you will find no greater champion of the heart of a prince.  I’ve seen this to be true. And a prince has no greater joy than to see hers full of life.  It may go against conventional wisdom…but we find our life in our love of another.

Another for whom, we never stop staring.

So, our friend, our Prince Charming, has brought us along on his quest.  He has trained himself, been transformed by beauty, he has journeyed through a nightmare, bravely stood in the face of certain doom, defeated the obstacles in his path, sweat, bled, and kissed with the entirety of his soul.  She is awake.  She is free.  She is as beautiful as he imagined her to be.  His joy is immeasurable…simply because she is.

Now the real quest begins. Finding her every single day…

Happily.

Ever.

After.

Becoming Prince Charming Ch 7 - That Kiss...

Is there anything more iconic than that kiss?  Nothing was timid or unsure.  He walked right up to her sleeping form and looked at those perfect lips and kissed them.  There is a lot of reasons why he should have hesitated.  Really, it does seem odd when you think about it.  What right does this man have to go and kiss the sleeping princess? What if it doesn’t work? Or, maybe worse, what if it does and she is horrified?  Did he check his breath or put on some chap-stick?  Was this all planned or did he get caught up in the moment?  Did he approach her as some kind of savior or was it just a private expression that ended up with magical powers?

In this journey I feel that I’ve come to know my dear friend the Prince.  I don’t know if the results of the kiss surprised him or not, but I do believe one thing for sure…  

He made that kiss count.

After all the preparation and all of the questing, when Prince Charming gets to the moment for which he has been waiting his whole life, he is in awe of her.  She is more beautiful than the movie playing in his minds eye that kept him on the journey.  This face, these lips, helped him cross kingdoms, fight dragons, and storm castles.  When he sees her, all of the visible circumstances tell him that he has reached the end of his journey in failure.  She is gone…he has lost.

None of that matters.

There is still the matter of the kiss.

It’s what he came here to do.

He is bleeding from the battle.

He muscles ache with each step.

He doesn’t notice any of it…his time has come.  This is the moment of his calling.

We kiss for different reasons.  There are the hello/goodbye kisses, kisses for children that comfort, kisses for friends that give assurance, kisses of homage given to our elders, and kisses of passion that expresses desire. 

This is a kiss of honor.  This isn’t a taking kind of kiss.  This is a kiss that recognizes the princess heart and kisses with boldness…but not arrogance.  I don’t think the prince is at all sure that his lips contain the cure for what ails our heroine.  It’s simply that hers are lips that require the right kiss.

It’s that kiss that has magic.

True love.

No pretense.

No selfish motive.

Merely the proper attention to beauty.

When it comes to kissing, our man Charming gets it. A kiss that counts is one that comes without fear.  It honors and recognizes the lips it engages. It flows from the very depths of the princely soul.

It breaks the spell of every bad kiss.

It sets free.

We all come in different shapes and sizes.  Some of us are tall some short, some muscly some best described as a long, tall drink of water.  Each of us has talents that others of us wish we possessed because it would make us more desirable.  We all wished we were how we imagine Prince Charming…and many of us fall short.  However, our prince’s real charm doesn’t lie in his good looks or singing ability.

It’s in his kiss.

So, my princes in training, fight for the princess heart that you seek.  The quest is ours.  When you come, come correct.  She is worthy - so be worthy.  

And when you kiss her…don’t hesitate, don’t quiver, don’t apologize.  

Kiss her with honor and kiss her well. 

Then let whatever magic is to flow…flow free.

But be ready…

honk if you can read this

I'm spending the evening in a beautiful town on a flawless night on the Delaware River. There are street musicians on the sidewalk playing "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz on a guitar and banjo. In 30 minutes there will be fireworks that will be visible from my table at this cool garden cafe. I'm sitting under trees filled with white lights that are rustling in the soft breeze. I'm enjoying a merlot, I've shared laughs with the host who is the spitting image of Dick Van Dyke, and I'm about to spend the evening writing.

This is a nearly perfect evening...nearly.

I've been considering solitude tonight. There is something about being human that causes me to want to share this experience. I'm seated at a table in the middle of the patio with a literal spotlight over the chair where I sit. There is comic perfection to it. It's not that I mind being alone, in fact I often relish it, but there is something that wants to say to another human being "isn't this nice".

There is an old quote that says "we read to know we are not alone". I would amend this to say "we tweet and hope we are not alone". You and I want someone to hear about our lives and share in the joys and griefs of being us. I'm spending the evening alone, but want to tell you all about it

Lonliness and solitude can be welcome companions. Tonight, those I love are cared for and where they need to be. I can celebrate that. I've spent the evening allowing each one to prayerfully pass through my soul as i sit here. Tonight, that is what I can give to them. I don't even mind the place in my heart that aches. It means I'm still alive and that I can still feel. Walking through lonely nights also means I can...that is also worthy if celebration.

This all being true, I celebrate the longing because it means I'm human. I'm made in the image of my creator who had a whole universe and made someone to show it off to. He wasn't needy or pathetic. Life is just too good to go through without sharing...to see the world through the lens of another.

Everyone around me, regardless of what they believe about spiritual things, repeats this cycle of creation with every touch of their companion, every comment about dinner, every story told, and every shared kiss.

Well, I'm almost finished with my flounder and Dick Van Dyke has promised deserts to die for. I'm going to have the Chambord Chocolate Cake and a coffee.

Its a beautiful night in a perfect place...

...and I can't wait to show you.

$5 Umbrella

 If you read the "gift" post, you might be wondering how the night went.  It was an amazing night, an amazing venue, amazing company, perfect weather, and a great show.  Lisa is a comfortable performer...like a minstrel in your living room, singing songs about love, lost love, and old camp songs and about what's presently happening in her life - which right now was all about being a first-time mother.

Anytime you go to a show given by someone whose last hit was over a decade ago, you expect it to be like finding an old LP.  You dust it off and listen to the hits that made you dance...putting the record back in it's sleeve after the reminisce is over.  If there are new songs, they lack the magic of freshness of the earlier hits (in her case; Stay (I missed you), I Do, etc) so when she pulled out the piece of paper with the lyrics to the song she had written the night before I didn't plan on being very impressed.

What came was a song I've been thinking about the entire week.

The song was called $5 umbrella - imagery really only understood by those who have been caught by an unexpected storm while walking through Manhattan.  All of a sudden, the people who have, just moments ago, been selling I Heart NY shirts now have a table filled with umbrellas of all shapes and sizes.  All for five dollars.

The vendors shout to every passerby the offering and its price knowing that what was a minor annoyance for the citizens of gotham was, for them, solid gold.

I have purchased many a five dollar umbrella.

Now, dear reader, you might think that I have a closet filled with umbrellas as a result.  You would be mistaken.  In fact, I don't think I have a single one.  The design of the umbrella, as well as the point of the song, is that five dollar umbrellas are meant to help you get through the present storm to more permanent shelter.  Usually these portable tents address their mission with skill, though we've all seen a poor soul struggling with an inverted twist of metal and nylon as their temporary protection succumbed to a strong wind.  But beyond the single use, a five dollar umbrella just doesn't last.

The song was striking in that it linked the imagery of the umbrella to some of the things we use to move us through our own storms.  Life comes at us unexpectedly and there are these offers of shelter.  They are inadequate and unworthy, but (kinda) keep us dry before they fail so we walk with them...for as long as they last.

As I listened to the song I thought about a scene in a T.V. series in which I have been investing my free time.  There is a tradition, with this particular collegiate club, of jumping off a tower holding an open umbrella.  Now, all of the jumpers were harnessed so, technically, they weren't using the umbrella to actually slow their fall, but regardless I would wager they weren't using five dollar umbrellas.

See, when it actually counts, we want something that lasts.  When our future depends on it, an expensive umbrella is worth the investment.  It's the difference between just surviving and truly living.  When one has the right umbrella, you are ready to make big jumps...ones you would never consider if what you held barely stopped the rain.  If you never have take the time to find (or be) the right umbrella then life is just a series of darting from building to building hoping what you carry gets you to the next doorway.

My life has piles of discarded canopies...and I've found myself on a few piles as well.  Storms come and I'm often tempted to take the offers of temporary asylum from those who call through the rain.  However, I find now that my desire is to climb to the top of the tallest building and jump, floating like a Poppins on the breeze.  I've saved my dollars and heading to the store uptown that sells the one I've been eyeing for years.  I'm hoping it will still be there when I arrive - I couldn't get there any faster than my journey has allowed.  I don't even care that I'll be soaked to the skin when I pay the craftsman because I'm not looking to stay dry.  I'm here to fly...

...and that requires more than a five dollar umbrella.

note to sleeping boys

My Sons,

Be men who bring life wherever you go

Live fully

Drink Deeply

Laugh Loudly

Cry Ugly

Treat the women you meet with honor

Love well

Stay in awe

Let yourself fall in love

Try to choose a worthy heart

But go big

Be strong

Train you body

And your mind.

Be prepared

Never the one people have to wait for

Or excuse

Be a gentleman

Dress in a way that honors others

Use your power to heal

And to help

Hold Doors

Walk on the street-side of the sidewalk

Keep your hand on your sword

But grace on your tongue

Do not hesitate to defend

But do so for love

Not pride or position

Accept earned leadership with humility

Be worthy of the trust.

When your heart breaks

Let it break

But don’t stop or pretend

              Learn and move forward

Let yourself feel

Know the difference between feeling better and

Feeling numb

Between healed and scarred.

 Listen

Celebrate beauty

Music

Art

Writing

Flowers

Perfume

Everything about a woman

Find God

Not in any book

Or system

But in your soul

Find a muse

A reason to breathe

Know always, there is a father who loves you 

More than I can say.

the prized hard drive

I'm taking a break from my prince charming episodes to talk about gifts. Last week was my birthday where I received an amazing gift that has been worth retelling. I was fed, caked, and handed a flash drive. I know, it doesn't seem like a flash drive would count as an amazing gift...but this was a USED flash drive.

I should explain...

It was a flash drive that contained my gift.

Wait...that's not exactly accurate either...let me try again.

The flash drive had been used to save a powerpoint presentation created to tell me what my real gift was going to be.

Clearer? I suppose I should just tell the story.

I inserted the flash drive into my computer and began to play a powerpoint that described the contents of my birthday celebration in a style that was one part treasure map and one part scavenger hunt. Slide after slide showed dates, times, locations, and pre-locations...my heart and mind racing to try to figure out what this gift was going to be. Was it a night out on the town? Seeing a musician friend in concert? My imagination raced ahead of the clues to try and be Sherlock Holmes. All of me deductive skills proved useless as I got to the final slide. I discovered that I was going to see one of my favorite artists in New York City!

I made some sort of unnatural sound that had never been made prior and let the stunned excitement settle in on me. It was truly an amazing gift. Smiles on the faces of those in the room confirmed that I was officially no longer cool, but I suppose that is what birthdays are for, right? This was a gift tailor-made for me by someone who knew me. It took time, sacrifice, and creativity. It was a good gift...a great gift.

Hugs were shared, thanks were given (profusely and humbly) and I set my sights on New York City.

I was describing this experience a pastor and friend. We got to talking about Pentecost and how each of our respective churches handled the subject. Pentecost is the birth of the church...it's when Jesus returned in the form of his spirit to honor the promise that he will never leave us again. He not only gave his presence...but he gave us gifts.

Kinda like superpowers.

We all have them. Short lists are in the Bible...like speaking or healing or being able to make guests feel welcome. Some people just see life a little differently while others are able to use their strong shoulders to help the weak. Some have the ability to express their love in art while others express it in drywall or casseroles.

A gift - when exercised - is easy to spot. We tend to identify these people as extraordinary because they stand out in the crowd. They are the 20% of people doing 80% of the work. But there is a problem with that...

...he gave us ALL gifts.

The church's #1 problem isn't that we don't have enough money or that the culture seems to work against good or even that leaders have abused their power. It's that we have piles of unopened and unused gifts. We look like a bizzaro christmas where the gifts are ignored...or even worse, admired and put away. It's like my grandmother who had a drawer filled with beautiful clothes that were given to her. She was saving them for a special occasion that never came. She said they were too nice to wear...causing gifts - which included heart, hope, and resources - to never do their intended work.

Not to say that we aren't grateful. No...we, do an amazing job of making sure the giver is well thanked. We sing songs, read scripture, hear preaching, and even talk about how great the giver is when we are with each other. Have you ever tried to find good hymns when planning a sunday service about the spirit and his gifts? We sing about Jesus and his love, his sacrifice, and his power - all the while holding the gift he gave behind our back.

I wonder if Jesus ever feels like saying "Friends, you've thanked me...but I have given you gifts to use. You can let go now. Go see what you can be".

I suppose it's easier to talk up the giver and keep describing the vehicle for the gifs over and over. It would be like me saying my birthday gift was a flash drive. I could make sure I keep thanking the giver...I could make it a weekly or daily thing. I could commit to ever day looking at at least one of the slides and pondering it's truth. I could attend studies and read (or write) books about the various nuances of the presentation - use of colors, why a particular font was used, the significance of the locations, etc. I could get into arguments about the right way to view the flash drive and it's ultimate meaning.

Or I could get my skinny butt in a seat, order some drinks, and get ready to enjoy the concert.

I think that's what the giver would prefer. I think there would be great disappointment if all I ever did was celebrated her and the description of the gift but let it go unused. The gift involved sacrifice and I would dishonor the giver and the gift if I don't get myself to that show and let it infect my soul.

You have a gift...open it. Use it.

The giver will be there...rocking out with us.

That's a promise.

becoming prince charming part 6: quest

We've so far talked a lot of back story when it comes to our Prince. As much as I am convinced that Charming's prep-work and the princess heart are key pieces of this man's puzzle, I'm ready for some action. Let's talk about the one charecteristic that, when the tough guy thing and the sensitive singer wears thin, defines our man Charming. It's that part of the story that not only makes this mere man a prince, but identifies princesseses in the process. Its what gives us a story worth telling.

I'm talking about the quest.

Snow White lived in faith that her prince will come...even if her situation seems to scream otherwise.

Sleeping Beauty was at rest while the Prince went through hell

Cinderella's hopes seemed lost in a tower while the prince saught the right fit.

But in each story, the Prince found a princess, confronted seemingly impossible odds, and began a tireless hunt to find her again.

Its what Prince Charming does.

I think the question is why. What motivates this man to risk peril to find or rescue a princess? There is no gaurentee of success or even of return. He has a life. He has comfort. He has power. He is...well, Prince Charming. He is the most elegible bachelor of all time.

so, what is the charecteristic that keeps the quest going?

Faith.

Simple, powerful, faith.

Our hero believes in more. He believes that there is true love and that happily ever afters do exist. He believes in beauty - even after one dance. His life was one of privilaged mediocrity...then she gave him a peek into heaven. He can't unsee it and has set his mission toward finding it.

He believes, even after midnight or in the face of dragons or even of death itself.

Our faith is what keeps us walking forward. I know in my life I have constant opportunity to go back to places that filled gaps or helped me forget in days when the journey, quite frankly, is easier than it is now. It's that same faith that keeps me moving. I believe that what is forward is greater than the distractions of the past. I believe that the terrors that appear along my way will make noise, but the glory of the goal silences their shouting. I believe that my scars serve as reminders to keep myself...but they don't convince me that love is a myth.

For our friend the Prince, to lose faith would be to lose everything.

In the believing, Charming discovers that, through finding her, the one who
was saved was himself.

A princely quest, simply put, is what is required when a man's life is changed by seeing grace.