The Beauty Returns

If it were a day later, this might be some cruel April Fool's Joke, but hey it's March, and the world again looks magical. The huge flakes grasping onto tree branches as they flutter down from the whitish-gray skies make even the camera shy want to be shutterbugs. I wanted to be outside experiencing and capturing all those delightful moments, but instead I stay cooped up inside playing responsible.

But for my blog I had to click at least once (or twice) to lend credence to my story. (If one squints one can find a Prov. 31 woman in the background.;)

Last Sunday for Paul

We had a moving tribute to Pastor Paul and his family on this their last Sunday at church.


And now hours later, instead of bedtime stories I'm telling my daughter blond jokes and this was her favorite:

A blonde takes her car in to the shop because it's been running rough. After a little while the mechanic comes in to the waiting area. She asks him if the problem was fixable. "Sure," he replies. "Just crap in the carburetor." Oh, my goodness," says the blonde. "How often do I need to do that?"

Copa what?

My wife and I are winding down on a Saturday night by doing none other than playing Scrabulous. As is her favorite activity, she was complaining about a word that I used. I used the word "cabana." I know it sounds Spanish and maybe is for all I know, but I've seen it around on buildings by the beach and figured it would be a great choice for that spot on the board. After complaining for a little bit more she decided to look it up and sure enough, it means hut or shack often by water.

This got up reminiscing about our beloved Bolivian daughter Carla, who was a bundle of energy and continually surprised us with her candor and frankness. One evening we were engaged in a discussion about our home and we asked her what the Spanish word for ceiling was. ". . . I don't know," she said. She pondered and prodded. But it just wouldn't come. This native speaker of the Spanish language was simply lost to find this simple word which she had, no doubt, learned as a child. But it was something to rejoice about. We laughed and giggled as she simply couldn't come through with an answer.

I guess it just goes to show that life is more fun if you don't know everything.

Still more

Yet more

Enjoying the snow, she had her bare feet in the white stuff for this pic.

More Pics

Her cell phone surgically attached to her right ear.

New Pics

Late Friday night we received Christina's senior pictures from the photographer. They are awesome. I'm trying to upload some to my blog, but I'm having trouble. So for now, imaginations will have to do. Wait. . . now it is working. Yippee. Now I have been informed that this is the one picture the daughter hates.

Such is life.

Big Bod Little Bug

It’s amazing how a little germ or virus bug, probably unseeable with the human eye, can put someone down who is over 6 feet tall and has over 200 pounds of gravitational pull. It reminds me of the parable of the mustard seed. Something small can have a huge impact.

I had my first official meal this evening. It started with soup and then progressed to a shrimp and spinach salad. So far so good. I can still hear the faint churn churn, but I think I’ve made it. (I suppose I shouldn’t have stolen those French fries from my wife’s plate.)

Forced Fast

Today is day three of my forced fast. Monday night I started feeling sick and this was sick with capital letters. Actually it should be capital letters with exclamation points. SICK!!!!!!! I think I blogged about being sick earlier this year, and even about being sick of being sick. But that was mere coughing and hacking and constant nose run and the like. I felt lousy, but I could still go to work and function pretty well although miserable.

But this week’s SICK was one that put me on my back (and on my butt). My energy was near zero, but most important (tada) I could not eat. Nothing would stay down or in and that’s no fun. Even today as I ventured into the realm of a cracker, a banana, and a piece of toast (hours apart from each other), it only served to increase the queasiness.

I’ve relearned how much I love food this week, even though on one level it doesn’t yet appeal to me. I had to put the pros and cons on a scale as I drove by each restaurant while traveling from job to job. Even the architecture of a McDonald’s building didn’t look that bad. That red and yellow lured me at some primal level. The double cheeseburgers, which I normally disdain because of their greasiness, were calling my thrifty sensibilities with “only $1.”

But I’ve survived another day. And instead of eating a bag of popcorn or a bowl of ice cream right now, I am sitting here blogging.

For now for me it’s to everything churn, churn, churn. There is a season, churn, churn, churn. I hope it’s over very soon, churn, churn, churn.

Monday Night at the Improv

Last Monday was the final week of my Intro to Improv class at a local high school in north Minneapolis. The six of us (Dan, Peter, Amy, Emily, Roneete, and me) and our teacher Michael had ten weeks to play games together. These games stretched us by forcing us to listen and concentrate. These games and exercises were used to help our minds from straying, to keep us in the moment. It was hard. Listening and concentrating at that level, with that intensity, is tiring. We did that for almost two hours straight each Monday night.

I think it was very beneficial in many ways. Sure, it helped us as we did short improv acts, but I hope it will transfer to other areas of my life. Maybe my parenting will improve, or my reading comprehension, or my organizing, or maybe even my blogging?

What? I’m sure everyone is asking, how can there possibly be any room for improvement in any of those areas?

So maybe I wasted my time at Improv. Oh well, I got to meet some fine folks.

Sicker than a Pit Bull

I was up much of the night with what I’d rather not describe. This conveniently continued throughout all of today. Blah, blah, blah.

I am so glad that I don’t get sick often. It’s only about once a decade that I feel this lousy, too weak to do much of anything. Only now at 9:30 do I have the strength to blog about it.

Zzzzzzzzzzzz . . . .

The Day After

I’m truly enjoying the fact that I have no pressure to blog today.

Use your imagination and pretend that under the day March 24th there is nothing. No blog. No pictures. No comments. Nothingness. Sheer blackness. A void from Easter till who knows when.

The obligation has been fulfilled, the test has been passed. The habit has been formed???

Only time will tell.

Easter Came Early

Easter came early.

The Sabbath was for resting. But Easter is now here. And for us fortunate enough to live in the Twin Cities, we can “get out an’ shovel.”

Ah the wonders of snow.

It brightens. It cleans. It makes new. It freshens up and makes fresh. It covers over the ugliness of dirty streets and dirty cars.

What better metaphor for Easter than that?

We gathered early this morning, 7 am sharp. We were supposed to watch the sun rise over a Minneapolis lake. But we saw no sun. We saw only grey clouds and we could feel their chill. So we had to huddle close together, being warmth to one another. And we were one in seeing our collective breathes rise to the ceiling of the bandshell.

We gathered to proclaim the hope of the resurrection. The leader encouraged us to respond to his call of “Christ is risen” with the phrase “and He is freezin’.” But tradition took hold of us and the gathered called back in a single loud voice “He is risen indeed.”

The message of the morning began with an explanation of the timing of Easter. It was Christians from the fourth century that we can blame for setting up a system that would make it a possibility to celebrate Easter in a Minneapolis snowfall. But my thoughts, being the better Minnesotan, are that we have them to thank for the picturesque scene that we experienced this morning.

Behold all things will be made new. The sun is shining, whether we see it or not.

Happy (early) Easter!

Gates of Hell

Today’s post should probably lie dormant. And maybe it will.

But let me quickly explain the piece of art beside this text. The multi-colored print is a Holy Saturday piece. Not a common theme now or in the past. Museums are full of artwork containing crucifixion and resurrection, but finding a work representing that in-between time is difficult.

Is it because of the difficulty of showing that limbo period? Or does that time not grab our imaginations? In this print we can see the sun’s rays breaking into the blackness of the cave. And we can see the body resting on the blackened gates of hell, holding back the blood redness.

We’ve had Friday. We’re in the midst of Saturday. But Sunday is right around the corner.

Good Good Friday

It was and still is Good Friday, a good Good Friday in much the way the original one was good. We “celebrated” the first day of Spring by having the weather anything but springlike. No sun, no birds chirping, no flowers blooming, no trees budding, no signs of new life to speak of. As far as typical spring weather we fell far short.

However, there was a beauty in the lack of spring-ness. We had a beautiful snowfall that brightened and cleaned up all of our surroundings. At home we had about 4 inches, but where I worked this morning, about 20 miles south, the amount was at least double. It was the perfect amount to cover the tree branches completely, but not overwhelm them. It was picture perfect scenery everywhere I drove, causing me to kick myself for leaving my camera at home. Glistening white against the grey skies made everything a magical monochrome. It was so peaceful and cozy, even outside. The winds were almost non-existent, so one could linger outdoors without pain.

This evening though I got a call from a friend whose sister just found out that her boyfriend was found dead at home. She drove her sister to the home, but they were not allowed to enter by the police. I don’t know any more about the situation, but my heart was heavy as I spoke with her on the phone, even as the glimmer from the street lights made each tree in the front yard twinkle through the window.

A few other odd and sad things happened today too. It was that sort of day. Unexpected, unusual, tragic, and sorrowful somehow got mixed in with beauty, peace, comfort, and hope. Death and life are such strange partners at times.

Blogging in Limbo

I’m really too tired to be blogging. Anything I say or do could have disastrous consequences.

I’m really too tired to be playing Scrabulous too. Any play I make could have disastrous consequences.

But here I am writing, primarily because I’m waiting my turn. My wife can’t decide which tiles to lay down, so I am left here in limbo.

But I guess that way I can relate to anyone who might by chance actually be reading this blog. You too, and you know who you are, are in limbo. You are in limbo as you wait for something to be said which might reward you for running your eyes over these here words. This limbo could last for a long time, for I sure don’t know when something of significance will appear here before your eyes and mine. But we’re in this together. Both of us waiting here in eager anticipation for a point to be made or a purpose to be revealed.

Will it come? I guess that depends on when my competitive wife lays down her tiles. If she continues to search for that optimum score, I might have time to find out where I am going with this blog. If she becomes impatient and settles for a 20 point word, then our time together will quickly come to an end. For when she does finally play, I will leave this hallowed place in cyberspace and migrate back to the Scrabble board where I can practice dominion over my wife (the one and only place really).

Oh, there she did it. She has played and I must end. Good night to all and have a Good Friday tomorrow.

Five Weeks

I’m feeling almost Catholic as we’re in the middle of Holy Week, Lent 2007 is almost a memory, and I’ve practiced enough discipline to carry this blogging thing on for five weeks now. It hasn’t been quite as grueling as a tax season for a full-time accountant, but the temptation to say (or write) nothing is always very strong. (One of those silent retreats has always sounded appealing to me, but even moreso now.) But for now I plod on, continuing to write one word at a time.

Missing My Calling

This past year the world has been graced by my good looks a number of times. I don’t know if it’s the Dick Cheney factor (sort of a leftover crumbs deal) or something bigger. But I continue to see my smile popping up in print in the strangest places. First it was the front page of the Minneapolis StarTribune, front and center, where my baby blues could be seen following the pastor’s swinging arms as he chopped up the air.

Then months later, I’m sitting in a restaurant minding my own business and KSTP-TV shows up and decides to put my mug on their news broadcast as a refined fair-trade coffee drinker.

Now today I look at the latest Cornerstone brochure advertising this year’s upcoming fest and who do I see but yours truly. Top and center are my bald head and gentle eyes tuned in to the lanky speaker sporting his smock and dreads. The speaker, Shane Claiborne, is far left in the photo (appropriate?) while I’m seated right there in the center.

So what’s the deal? Should I start to exploit these circumstances? Do I go find an agent and work my way into modeling? What is a humble Nordic-looking type to do?

For now I’m open to bookings. I will appear at any gatherings you may have. I suppose my fees should start somewhere in the $2,000 per shoot area. But for now I better get back to signing some release forms to further expand my pictorial presence in this world that is desperately seeking more beauty.

I Really WAS NOT Drinking Green Beer when I wrote this (although I should look for some excuse)

There is a wise blogger so fair,
Who thought it would be fun to dare,
Her readers to write
A limerick despite
That it might only be much hot air.

For what could one say
On this enchanted O’day
If he’s not got a stitch
Of Irish with which
To brogue or cant or convey

That his wardrobe is lacking
Any Green for attracting
His dearest sweet Gaelic
With looks so angelic
A swan would only be acting.

She’ll just have to be content
With a fat bald one who’s descent
Is from much farther north
Where those Vikings came forth
To plunder, pillage and torment.

Driving to Palm Sunday Service with a New Bible

It was the last Sunday for Pastor Paul to be preaching at the Well this morning. Easter Sunday will be all music and the last Sunday of the month will be music and testimonies. So we heard his last sermon to the church that he founded--it was on intimacy with God. As he and his wife step into the unknown, that message will be his hope for the church as they carry on--stay close to God. In summary, it is more important to be working with God (by his side as friends) than working for God (as his servant).

I got to follow along in my new New Living Translation bible, a gift from my godfather. He gave it to me on Saturday no strings attached, an offer I couldn’t refuse. The complete Living Bible came out when I was in high school and it was my bible of choice during those Armstrong years. I loved the clear conversational style and it was much easier to memorize from for me. In years since I’ve spent as much time in the New International Version, the Jerusalem Bible, and the Message, but I’m still moved by the faithfulness of the Living Bible. As an added bonus, this particular study bible has great maps, concordance, footnotes, and introductions.

Now if only I could do something about this work hanging over my head. Well, at least this blog is done.

Dumb Minneapolis Lutherans

Happy St. Patrick’s Day. Yes, that’s right. It is St. Patrick’s Day today. And the Catholics in St. Paul are whooping it up good right now. They know how to follow the church calendar. But it’s a different story over on this side of the River.

When Easter (and therefore Lent) falls early in the year it creates a conflict with that high holy Green day. According to the powers that be, St. Patty’s Day cannot be a part of holy week. So what I thought was set in stone, March 17th, actually takes a back seat to Holy Week. And thus, today, the Ides of March, is also for wearing of, and drinking of, the Green, with nary a thought of the environment.

So get with it Minneapolitans. And next time this happens, I think in about 75 years, try to get it right, and take the lead from your inferior, smaller, non-identical twin.

Good Blog

My wife blogged yesterday, but I didn't. (I'm going to cheat and post this under Friday even though it's Saturday morning. Go ahead and report me.)

Rolling in the Dough

My favorite radio personality was talking about money this afternoon. He told the story of a guy who, although a millionaire, didn’t feel that he was really set for life. This guy felt that he needed something more like six million before he could put his mind at ease. Of course this gave Mischke some great fodder to ramble on about the “good old days” when being a millionaire meant something.

And of course before those "good old days" we had the really really good older days when one could be happy about being a thousandaire. And if one reaches even further back in time the goal of being a hundredaire was a lofty one.

After listening to Tommy pontificate I felt much better about being a hundredaire myself. I may not be a millionaire and I probably never will attain that status, but for now I should be content with the title of hundredaire. It has a nice ring to it.

And if I use my toes to also count I probably qualify as a thousandaire. That really sounds impressive. Tim the Thousandaire. I better not let it go to my head.

Have the tables been turned?

The fact that I am blogging more frequently than my wife does not seem right. For many years it has been her obsession. But her focus of late has turned to Scrabulous, the Scrabble-like application on facebook. She has many games going at once, and usually a few simultaneous ones against me. She continues to think that she might someday dethrone me as king. (Fat chance.) I try to be civil, but I just can’t keep my competitive nature in check. I continue to bury her, but I don’t feel guilty yet.

Maybe the loving thing to do is to continue to provide for her a high standard of play, to stretch her as a wordsmith and person. Yeah, that sounds believable (especially at this late hour.)

But as far as providing a good model in the blogging realm, she will have to look elsewhere.

Not quite what I had planned

I’m currently reading a book by the above title, NQWIHP. This could also be an apt description of my evening.

I won’t give any details, but the discussions of my evening covered the issues of Chinese bear bile harvesting, a more humane way of processing mass quantities of chickens, adoption stories, and midlife. None of the issues was necessarily uplifting.

So maybe my immediate blogging time now will usher in a more tranquil stage of the evening.

My pillow is calling.

Great Idea

I was thinking.

Today is the beginning of Great Lent, a holiday observed by the Eastern Orthodox Church. It always begins on a Monday and includes strict abstinence from meat, dairy products, wine, and olive oil. (How’s that for harsh?)

No cheese, no Dairy Queen, no butter. . . Now I’ve lost my train of thought. Bummer. I guess thinking about no ice cream and no milk on my cereal sent my mind elsewhere.

I did have a point though. Seriously. Please believe me. But it has completely vanished, like the hair on my head. Lost in space, before it ever made it to cyberspace. I'm so sorry.

So please accept my deepest apologies for wasting your time. I’ll try to not do that again.

Larry Part VI

It's easy to listen to sincere. And I think sincerity helps make things timeless.

The Road out of Lameness

Aaahh the joys of blogging in

(insert seven hour break)

the morning!

But actually I only wrote two thirds of that previous sentence in the morning, and now it’s already night and I’m trying to carve out a few seconds to write.

And now I’m listening to Prairie Home Companion and typing. I’m trying to blog about something of significance, but Garrison is telling jokes and talking about flatulence. What could be more engaging? How do you expect me to concentrate?

Why did God make farts smelly? It’s so deaf people could enjoy them too.

How can I compete with that?

I wanted to write more about Larry Norman. I’m not that sad about his passing (maybe because I’ve been expecting it so long), but I’ve spent much time remembering. I’ve played and replayed his songs as I’m rushing from job to job. Strolling down memory lane without the time to say much about it.

Well, I managed more than a single sentence, but the road completely out of lameness still eludes me. I’ll set the alarm earlier tomorrow.

Ooooops

definitely heading in the wrong direction

Lame, Lamer, Lamest

Is it really possible to follow a lame blog post with one even lamer?

G.W. or G.C. or G.L.

I'm tired of stuff freezing in my truck.

Primary Blog

The fact that I'm blogging means that I'm not watching primary results. What better reason to be blogging? (Actually I did just peak.)

It seems that the Texas race is too close to call.

But all I have to say is that it saddens me that MY favorite color has been co-opted by a political party. And who's decision was it to standardize the color allocation? And what role did the public have in this decision. Talk about a lack of political process, this stinks. Talk about taxation of my eyeballs without representation. I want my color back.

We Will Miss You Paul

We received word today that our pastor announced his resignation on Sunday. We were being heathens on Sunday morning, so we didn’t receive the news first hand. I’m personally very saddened that Paul will no longer be pastoring the Well. But I’m hopeful that God will follow-up with good things for Paul, his family, and the congregation.

A book a week, that’s all we ask

This is not the time of year that I should be reading books, or blogging for that matter.

But I did. And I’m glad. So I confess. Real good book. Real fast read. Easy to relate. So I write.

After church last Sunday night someone came out with a bag full of a soon-to-be-released book. I saw a flock of people swarm toward the bag, especially since the price of “free” was announced. I wasn’t one of the flock, knowing I was too busy to read a book now. So I stayed put. But just before we left I walked by the bag and took a peek inside--one solitary copy left.


Should I or shouldn’t I? That was the question.

I did. I started reading Tony Jones’ New Christians: Dispatches from the Emergent Frontier when I got home. Immediately I was hooked. In many ways, it was my story. I’m almost 10 years older than the author, but his journey took him to and through many of the same places and thoughts. So I could relate. I finished the book this evening. I hope to have more to say on it soon, before I forget what I read

Sorry to tease, but it’s getting late.

Why Should the Devil?

Thanks to Dave for the link to Paste Magazine. Paste columnist Andy Whitman wrote an insightful and honest article on Larry Norman, his life, and legacy. It’s worth the read.

My experience mirrors those of many who have commented on Norman’s impact this past week. My first Norman album was Only Visiting This Planet and I literally wore the groves out on that piece of vinyl. From the first listen through it grabbed me. And it never let me go. It became my anthem, my mission, my passion, my canon. Those were the words I sought to live by. They became deeply etched in my heart and mind. I could use them as an excuse for who or what I am today.

His music led me to many other artists over the years, but his words were the ones that stayed fresh. Even as my theology continued to evolve through the college years, and I questioned some of the presumptions that undergirded his work, I still listened and appreciated.

I got to see him numerous times in concert. And whereas his studio sessions had the edginess apparent in his lyrics, the live performances especially brought forth his playfulness. He would make it enjoyable (or at least palatable) to be challenged to the core of your being.