| Sunday, July 31, 2005 |
| Gone |
So we're finally finished. The house is ours no more.
I won't lie: there was some sadness associated with the parting. As the place got emptier, the feelings got stronger. This was our first house, and we had poured a lot of ourselves into it. From paint to drywall, from water lines to shrubbery, we did our best to make the place look good. But as we drove away Friday afternoon, I was able to feel a sense a relief that we finished everything that needed to be done. I slept well that night.
The whole house sale experience was one of the most stressful times I've had in recent memory. I don't think it was all about moving; I mean, we've done that three times before. No, I think it was the fact that we had to pack both long term and short term at the same time. Trying to decide what we would need for the next two months and figuring what we could pack long term. I'll admit that I was a jerk to my wife during the moving out process. I flew off the handle and probably yelled at Kel more than I ever have in our entire marriage. I have already in person, but once again I'd like to apologize for it. It's interesting how I let a little bit of chaos affect me. But it's over now and we had a wonderful Saturday yesterday, hanging out and talking about life. Hopefully I'll be sane for awhile now and won't need more confessional time.
As I've been noting for weeks now, God was really watching out for us through the whole process. All the way up to the closing, things the could've been major disasters miraculously turned into minor hiccups. Even the little things are a great assurance; as this has been the biggest step of faith we've taken in our lives, we feel like He has our back. It's a great feeling to have.
And now it's into the future as we try not to be the house guests from hell. More on that to come. |
yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:22:00 AM
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| Thursday, July 28, 2005 |
| Pure Genius |
 I wasn't there to see Leonardo Da Vinci paint the Mona Lisa. I wasn't there to see Michelangelo paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. And I wasn't there to see James Wright invent Silly Putty. Even though I missed the moments of creative genius, I was able to witness one last night:
I saw Paul Carlile pack a POD.
You might think that this didn't rank up with those other moments, but you would be wrong. All I could do was step back and watch an master artist fill his canvas with expressive brilliance. In this case, the canvas was an empty POD, and the paints were our furniture. So I guess following with this metaphor, the paint brushes were his arms . . . and I'm not sure if the easel was my driveway or my couch . . . but you get what I'm saying.
When we invited a few people over to help us pack [thanks Carol and Tim too] I anticipated throwing a bunch of stuff in and being done in an hour. If it were up to Tim and me, we would have jammed the big stuff in and worked our way back. No, not with Paul. When he showed up, he began surveying the scene to see exactly what we had. Then in Tetris-like fashion, he began to stack arrangements of boxes and cabinets in a way that I had never seen before. I had no idea, when we asked him to help, that he was so masterful. At first, we brought him what he asked for. By the end, we just got of the way. I didn't want to even talk to much so that I didn't disturb the process. By the end of the evening, he could've packed the entire neighborhood's possessions into our POD. I kid you not, even this morning I'm still amazed at the job he did.
Now I'm not saying I figured everything out by watching Paul in action, but I suspect the key to doing a packing job like his is patience. If it were just me running things last night, I would have tried to get finished as quickly as possible. Even though Paul was very fast, he's stop every few minutes to deliberate what would go next; he was thinking five steps ahead. For the last half hour or so he kept asking, "that's it?" We could have help onto all the junk we've been getting rid of the past few weeks with his packing skills around. Sure, it wouldn't have all fit into our new condo, but Paul would've come up with a way to make it happen.
The hilarious thing is that I frantically called the POD company this weekend to get the bigger unit. I was really afraid that we'd run out of space, so we upgraded from the 12 foot to the 16 foot POD. Once again, my lack of faith was on display. I'll never, ever doubt again. Promise.
So here's to you Paul. I had no idea I was in the presence of such greatness. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:11:00 AM
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| Wednesday, July 27, 2005 |
| Hablas Espanol? |
OK, that's a first. I was just sitting here and the receptionist downstairs asked if I'd take a call from a guy on line one. He was speaking Spanish and she couldn't understand him. So I said I'd it a shot.
Apparently he is living in West Chester and looking for a job. I told him this is a church and we didn't have any jobs here. He then asked if it was a Catholic church and I said no, that it was a non-denominational church [how do you say non-denominational in Spanish anyway? I think I just made something up. You just say the English word but pronounce it differently]. I said there were plent of restaurants on Tylersville Road in West Chester, and he said he had an interview tomorrow with one of them. And then he said bye and hung up. So that was interesting.
I think after we move downtown I'm really going to try to work on building my Spanish vocabulary. It couldn't hurt. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 9:31:00 AM
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| POD: more than a band |
They dropped off the POD that we'll be storing all of our stuff in for the next couple of months. Starting tomorrow, almost all of our earthly possessions will be in a trailer-like box. I was there when the guy delivered the thing yesterday and, I must say, I was impressed by the ingenuity of the thing. It was a brilliant invention; I'm sure the guy who invented it is set for life.
Makes you wish that you came up with an invention like that: something simple, capable of earning mucho dinero. I'm rather creative, but not in the imagining new inventions category. But allow me a few ideas that, if developed and marketed correctly, could make one of you millions:
Jetpacks
Trust me people, despite the numbers of deaths incurred because of mid-air accidents caused by cell phone use, jetpacks would still sell huge.
Instant Steak [just add water]
My mouth is watering just think of it. Or is that the water?
Automatic Transactions
All you have to do is implant this microchip in your wrist [or forehead, whichever you prefer] that has all of your personal information on it. Then, when you want to purchase something, they just scan it with a laser. You could use it everywhere. We'd start it off with a test market of 665 people. Of course, Robert Tilton will want to participate, so we'd have to add one to that number. I've even come up with a name for the company: Super-fast Automatic Transactions Around the Nation.
The Two-Second Cat Shaver
Like Rachel on Friends believed, it's probably true: there's nothing like a naked cat. It's just such a bother to pull out a Bic razor to get the job done, so why not create a machine that eliminates the time and needless mess? They'd be all the rage. I guess you could use it on a dog as well.
Book Pills
There are just way too many books to read out there; there's never enough time to read them all. So why not combine the fun of reading with the convenience of a daily multi-vitamin? Instead of books-on-tape [which leaves a funny aftertaste] we would put all the information in books in a pill you can consume. How cool would it be to walk in a pharmacy and say, "Can you get me one Taming of the Shrew, something by Jackie Collins and the Encyclopedia Britannica letter V, please."
OK, that's all I have. Do you have anything better? |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:31:00 AM
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| Tuesday, July 26, 2005 |
| Where's the Love? |
I'm writing this first sentence after I've finished writing the rest of this post. I really don't know where I was going with this, but it's just some rambling that I put together. So don't hold it against me if it doesn't resonate with you.
Sometimes I wish I were a jerk. It would make life a whole lot easier. You're probably muttering to yourself, "What's Steve talking about? He is a jerk!", but I'm talking about being a lifetime jerk. I have moments of jerkiness that are unavoidable yet, overall, I'm a nice guy. I like people and I care about what happens to them. But if I were a jerk, than I could run with my holier-than-thou attitude and not give a rip whose feelings I hurt.
Last night we were watching the new FX series, 30 Days by filmmaker Morgan Spurlock. Spurlock to the concept of his Supersize Me film documentary and is applying it to different situations. It's an interesting concept. Kelly and I watched the first episode when Morgan and his girlfriend lived on minimum wage for a month, just scraping to get by. Yesterday they showed an episode where they took a rugged, midwestern, twenty-something male from Michigan and transplanted him to the middle of a highly homosexual part of San Francisco. He had no idea how to react. Much of the show focused on the lack of acceptance by evangelical Christians toward a homosexual lifestyle. Of course, this led to the obligatory shots of the ignorant people claiming to followers of Jesus while protesting homosexual events with signs proclaiming "God Hates F-gs" and "AIDS Cure Homosexuals." You just want to grab a 2x4 piece of wood and beat those protestors senseless because they have no idea what they're talking about. If they really believed Scripture, they wouldn't act like that [of course, if I really believed Scripture I wouldn't be grinning right now at the thought of bashing one of those moron's head in]. Ask me to summarize the life of Jesus in one word and I'd say "love." In the gospels [NIV Translation], Jesus used the word "love" almost fifty times. Maybe He liked the concept.
Anyway, this brings me to the conversation I just had half an hour ago with a college-age young adult. It was your basic dialogue about sex and why they shouldn't be having it if they really love the person. As I went through the Biblical teaching on the subject there was this voice crying inside of me, wanting to be the matter-of-fact jerk and yell out something like, "You'd better not or it's off to hell, you fornicator!!!" I mean, it would be much easier than having to show a little love and understanding. Isn't it interesting how we Christians have perfected ways of acknowledging wood specks in others eyes, while ignoring the redwood in our own? I'm not saying that we ignore sin; that's the farthest from the truth. But the very least we must do is love those caught in sin as Jesus did [and does]. I'm serious, I have times where I want to be the jerk. If you're the jerk you don't have to invest yourself in the lives of others, you just play the role of umpire. And I find it interesting that nobody waits for hours after the game to collect the umpires' autographs.
I can't be the jerk. I don't have it in me. And I'm sorta glad. I'm just sick of people who don't like people. And why do those "haters" just always seem to be followers of Jesus? It just puzzles me. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 5:15:00 PM
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| Monday, July 25, 2005 |
| Pride and Packing |
We're T-minus four days before we have to be out of the house. It's come up quickly; I never imagined that we would actually have our house sold and closed before the end of July. We were praying that the house would sell fast so we wouldn't be faced with two mortgage payments at the same time. I guess you need to be careful what you pray for.
So we're in the process of gathering all of our earthly possessions to put in a POD for two months until our new place is finished. The problem is: I don't like packing. From industrial strength scotch tape to used cardboard boxes, the whole process just bothers me. Maybe it's the constant contact with cardboard the makes me think of having paper in my mouth which gives me goosebumps [no kidding, I have goosebumps right now just thinking of it]. Yeah, I'm weird-- get over it. I don't mind moving the boxes and furniture; I actually get pumped up about all that grunt work. But the packing part has always been a task that I've dreaded.
Keeping in form with everything He's done during this transition, God once again provided help. This weekend my in-laws, Dave and Bev, and our friend Carol Carlile came over and did hard core packing. I mean, practically everything is boxed up and in the garage ready to be moved. It's amazing! If Kelly had left me to do it alone, there might have been a room or two packed. From kitchen to storage spaces, things are ready to move. Their work this weekend is going to make this week bearable with all the other chaotic things happening.
It's been moments like these, since we've decided to start the new church, that God has used to teach me a valuable lesson. Like a lot of people, it's difficult for me to admit that I need help. I'm a rather proud person, who wants to show people hat I'm capable of doing anything I put my mind to. But when there aren't enough hours in the day in which to get everything done, either you don't get them done or you get help. As we embarked on this new phase in our lives a few months ago, I vowed not to let my pride hinder the effort. It's been tough for me to admit, but without other people, we wouldn't have made it.
I can't begin to describe how people have already come through in ways I can't believe. From the realtor advising us to sell the house by ourselves, sacrificing his commission so we could save some money to the friends offering legal advise so we could get the proper documents without paying extra fees. From those who helped make our house look beautiful before we moved to the people who gave us plenty of moving boxes. God has used people to keep us going. This doesn't even include all the people who have been praying for us as we move to a new mission field. It all leaves me humbled.
And just Friday night the air conditioning in the house stopped working. The motor in the heat pump outside stopped moving. I never would have noticed if we hadn't grilled out that night [well, we would have noticed a few hours later when the house wasn't cool, but by then the motor would've been completely burned up]. Since my father owns an HVAC company, I wasn't too worried; I was almost relieved that it happened before we moved so the new homeowners wouldn't think we ripped them off. I called my dad to see if he would send someone over on Monday morning. Faced with a weekend of extreme heat, he was at our doorstep early Saturday morning with parts in hand to fix the problem.
Just when you wonder if all this will work out, it does-- almost symphonically. Like an artist working a canvas, God has been using many of you to make all this happen. Kelly and I are eternally grateful for all your support and actions. And thanks for being a part of teaching me an important lesson on life. We need each other to get by. That's one of the reasons Jesus gave us the church: so that when one of us down, we can pick each other up. I just felt like I was always on the giving end.
So the next time one of you needs some boxes packed up, don't call me. I hate it and the goosebumps. But once you need them moved, I'll take 'em wherever you want them to go. It's the least I can do. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:10:00 AM
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| Sunday, July 24, 2005 |
| Bye, Bye . . . |
Not sure exactly where I'm going with all this, but on Friday Kelly and I broke down and bought an iPod. There's just so much stuff it could do, even she's pumped up about it. The only problem is I've done a horrible job organizing our iTunes playlist which means, when I synchronized the iPod with my iBook, everything was wack. I'm going to have to get organized this week so I can use it properly. Fortunately we have plenty of free time with the move coming up on Friday, so I have plenty of time to get that done [sarcasm implied].
I was really feeling it this morning: total exhaustion. I really wanted to call in sick but, if you're a minister, it's not an option unless you're throwing up a lung. So I got showered and dressed while half asleep and got out the door. Having no iPod working to play my music, I was forced to take what the radio gave me [how archaic]. As I turned the ignition of the Explorer, I was greeted by the radio to the end of Fooling Yourself by Styx. I'll admit, that perked me up a bit. I'd have that on my playlist anyway. And the very next song really got me going: Don McLean's American Pie. I don't have a copy of that, but I gots to get it.
Now before I get into my reflections about driving my "Chevy to the levee" [of course, everyone wants to go to Newport, but GM is struggling so you might drive a Honda instead], I need to talk about how I think God can work. Some of you might consider it blasphemous that I listen to non-Christian music on my way to church. Sorry if you feel that way, but honestly I'm one of those people that appreciates good music and will use it to perk me up when I'm feeling low or tired. Don't get me wrong, I'm not jammin' to the Thong Song or anything like that on the way to church, but I'll definitely go with the Beatles or something classic. Maybe in the next few weeks I'll drop my Christian music diatribe on y'all. Then I'll really tick some people off.
OK, back to my American Pie thoughts. I wonder how many young people, when they hear the words "American Pie", think of the movies by that name rather than the song? Since I've never seen the movies, thankfully, I always think of McLean's masterpiece. I don't remember if I ever made a concerted effort to do so, but over the years I memorized the lyrics. They're beautifully poetic, even though you don't always understand what he's talking about. Fortunately, there are enough web geeks out there that have posted the meaning of the lyrics so you could do a study of the meaning behind was being sung. In case you're totally disinterested in reading more about American Pie and are ignorant of it's background, McLean wrote it as a tribute to Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and The Big Bopper who tragically died in a plane crash in February 1959. They were supposedly flying in a plane called the "American Pie" and that day was referred to as "The Day The Music Died."
There's nothing like driving fast and yelling out the "them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye." All the lyrics rock. Where else can you find something like this:
"And while Lenin read a book on Marx, the quartet practiced in the park and we played dirges in the dark . . . "
Brilliant. And the somewhat religious:
"And the three men I admire most The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, they caught the last train for the coast."
Makes me want to pick up my guitar right now and start playing it. Great song. So anyway, I'm awake now and good to go, ready to face the day. It might seem weird to think that God could use a classic rock song [especially one with references to alcohol] to get me rolling, but he did. Hey, He's the Master DJ. We're all on his playlist. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:11:00 AM
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| Friday, July 22, 2005 |
| No time! |
I'm running on empty as it seems I'm all over the place. The new church, the house sale, the move, and VBS owning me . . . I have no time to blog at all. Which reminded me of one of the greatest moments of television history: a very special Saved By the Bell.
Now before I start in on this flashback, those unfamiliar with Saved By The Bell have to understand that it was the coolest, lamest show of my adolescence. You had to watch it and, thanks to syndication, we had the ability to watch it over and over again. I feel like I actually went to high school with Screech, Lisa, Slater and the gang. Therefore, the dialogue runs through my head like the voice of my conscience ["There's no hope with dope"].
Anyway, in this more serious episode, Jessie [who's acting career flourished in Showgirls] gets addicted to prescription drugs. It's the same episode where the three girls have an opportunity to make it big as the first Destiny's Child. They have an important test in school that day and an audition scheduled for that night. Jessie's been popping pills just to get by. The climatic scene in the episode is when Zack [who cameback in NYPD Blue] enters the room to get Jessie to the audition. She's asleep on the bed after almost overdosing. Jessie groggily wakes up and begins to talk math terms that she needed to know for the test. Zack tells her that she's confused and she's already taken the test. Jessie needs to get ready for the performance but Zack tells her that there's no time. The exchange goes down like this:
Zack: "You don't have time"
Jessie: "No time! No time! There's never enough time!"
Zack: "C'mon Jessie! You have to sing!"
Jessie: "Sing? Sing? [breaking into her best Pointers Sisters impersonation] 'I'm so excited! I'm so excited!' I'm so, so . . . scared!"
End Scene
No, I didn't have all this dialogue memorized; I pulled it off the web. But I too, during this time of hecticness in my life, am so, so . . . scared.
Or is it scarred? |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:45:00 AM
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| Wednesday, July 20, 2005 |
| I Must Not Be Sure |
I don't like hand motions to songs.
Back in the day, growing up in church, we had the ultimate motion song: I'm In The Lord's Army. We learned it in junior church when I was five and requested to sing it throughout the years of my Christian rearing. While singing this song we were able to imitate a bomber plane and artillery cannon all in the name of Jesus. True, it probably wasn't Biblical, but it made us excited about combining our passion for killing people and God. I guess that's why you don't see it sung in churches today. Against The Lord's Army, no other song with motions is able to compare; it's the H-bomb of motion song. I wonder if the guy who created the movements to Lord I Lift Your Name On High was a pacifist who had disdain for The Lord's Army.
This week I'm at VBS surrounded by almost a thousand children participating in hand motions for the songs we sing. I'm left with a dilemma. I can't be that adult male who thinks he's too cool to do the motions and not participate at all; I'd look like a jerk. At the same time, I'm not going to get overtly hyped-up and go loco doing the Christian Macarena. So I settle for the middle ground, doing the motions, but not enthusiastically. Some have criticized me for not getting into the motions more but I say, "leave me alone." Here I set up my headquarters. Do not force me to participate with your hand motions or I will declare a jihad.
I'm glad the kids like it. Personally, I'm ready for The Lord's Napalm. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:38:00 AM
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| Tuesday, July 19, 2005 |
| The Scholar who wasn't |
The problem with evenings in the summer is watching television is just about a wash; there's usually nothing on TV but cheap shows the network puts out there to see if they'll do well and make big bucks [I'm pretty sure that American Idol was a summer show, and Fox was OK with it after season 1]. So at eight o'clock last night we tuned into the finale of a reality series that we had only glimpsed at throughout the summer. It was called The Scholar, and it was a competition among graduating high school seniors for a full-ride scholarship to the school of their choice. These were some of the best and brightest from all over the nation. The girl who eventual won the competition was rather affable, but of all the top-notch colleges in the US to attend [Harvard, Yale, Columbia], she picked Pomona College. I had to look it up on the internet this morning because I had never heard of it. Looks like a good school, but still, interesting choice . . .
But that wasn't the fascinating thing about last night's show. Throughout the cheesey competition, the students were trying to impress a scholarship committee comprised of admissions personal from several high profile schools [sorry friends, no Cincinnati Christian University representative]. To whittle the field down to the final three, the remaining contestants were to answer three interesting questions from the committee. One was, "What's your greatest weakness and how have you/can you overcome it?" That's cool. Another was, "What fear keeps you up at night, personal and global?" Getting deeper, but my favorite was, "if you could meet anyone dead or alive, who would it be and why?" Now that's a good 'un.
I immediately told Kelly that I'd have a little talk with Jesus. She asked if I'd try someone else because I'd eventually see Jesus in heaven, but I would like to talk with Him anyway. One of the students even picked Him. The contestant stated that no one has influenced the world like Jesus and he'd like to meet Him in person so he could clear up any miscommunication of His message two-thousand years later. Although I personally wasn't a fan of the guy who answered, I really respected his answer.
Then there was this girl from Idaho who dominated The Scholar throughout. She was extremely intelligent and had what it takes to win the competition. So when the interview came and she was asked what person, dead or alive, she would like to meet, her quick response was:
Angelina Jolie.
Brilliant. Extremely brilliant. The little girl attempted to explain her answer citing all the humanitarian work that Jolie was performed, but I was so dumbfounded that I couldn't pay attention anymore. It could be one of the most ridiculous statements in reality TV history. Even the next morning, I can't believe it.
Do me a favor and mentally scan the 10,000 year [or whatever your guess is] history of the earth and think of the billions of people who have dwelled here. There are people who shaped the history of the earth like no one else. Alexander the Great conquered the known world in his twenties. Constantine made Christianity the dominant world religion with the Council of Nicaea. Muhammad mixed together a bunch of religions to start Islam and the world has never been the same. I'll even give you Adolf Hitler because the actions of his insanity has shaped the world politics for the last sixty years. Even if it was a humanitarian the girl wanted, she could've called out William Booth or Mother Teresa. But from all the people in the history of the world that she could've chosen, she went with the star of Tomb Raider. Great choice, smart girl. Wonder why you lost the competition.
I'm sorry if this has sounded harsh, but I really want to help the poor girl make her dream come true. So here's what you do: fake a severe illness and write a letter to Angelina saying that you're dying wish is to meet her. Then she'll show up at your house immediately. I saw it done on the Brady Bunch when Bobby wanted to meet Joe Namath and I'm pretty sure Arnold did it on Diff'rent Strokes, but I can't remember if it was with Muhammad Ali or Mr. T. Either way, you'll get to meet her and your life will be complete. In the meantime, you'll want to think of someone else to name in the history of the world that you'll want to meet.
I hear that Steve Buscemi does some great work with cats. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:19:00 AM
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| Monday, July 18, 2005 |
| VBS |
It's Vacation Bible School Week here at Christ's Church which means everything is turned upside down. For you loyal blog readers, that means I'll have erratic posting times this week. I'll do my best to stay consistant and give you some stuff to read, but I most likely won't be able to get out stuff first thing in the morning.
In case you're wondering, I'm teaching fourth graders this week. It's right about the perfect age: old enough that you don't have to help them use the bathroom, but young enough so that they're not too cool for life. As usual, I haven't looked at my lesson for today yet but VBS at Christ's Church is a well-oiled machine. To be a teacher, all you have to do is walk around to different stations and the teach a fifteen minute lesson. And I have these activity books they use, which takes about ten minutes. The only suspense is whether or not I'll have to go medieval on any of the kids. I'll let you know how it turns out. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:45:00 AM
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| Sunday, July 17, 2005 |
| Have a seat |
 I love the purging process. Preparing for the move, the downsizing is going well. When we moved here three years ago from our two bedroom apartment, the house was somewhat empty. Like people told us at the time, you'll find stuff to fill the space. Oh we did; we filled the house up and it finally looks fully lived in. There'll be about 600 square feet of space less in the new condo than what we have now, so everything's gotta go. I'm actually thrilled about having less junk. Just yesterday I made a pile of clothes about two feet high to trash. Most of it was khaki's that I was saving for golf [when they're so ratty that you can't where 'em to work anymore, there's always the golf course, true?]. But the problem is having to get rid of items we've had for years that have sentimental value. Yesterday I threw away my lucky soccer training shirt that I owned for ten years. I haven't worn it in four years, but it took me this long to stomach throwing it out. Is the No Fear product line even in business anymore? I loved that shirt.
The first major furniture pieces we ever bought were couches in our living room. We purchased them right after we moved in. They're a dark green, made from a synthetic suede material that's virtually stain resistant. They're wonderful couches, but have rarely been used; I like hanging out in the den [um, where the television just happens to be]. So except for occasional Bible studies and parties, or when Kelly needed to get away from me so she could read in silence, they haven't seen much action. But with the move, they'll be stepping to the forefront as our primary lounging furniture.
This means, because of a lack of space, we're forced to give up the couches we've had since we first got married. I'm pretty sure that my in-laws purchased this couch and love seat shortly after they were married. The pieces are almost thirty years old. I know it might freak some of you out thinking that we were able to hang on to furniture that old but, as any of you who have ever sat on them can testify, they are some of the most comfortable couches I've ever had the privilege of sitting on.
After we started dating, I had the love seat in my dorm room in college. I'd spend many an evening strewn out on that love seat with a book in my lap, staring at the downtown skyline in absolute comfort. After we got married, I developed a tighter relationship with the couch. I watched many an important reality TV moment on that couch. As you can see in the photo above, the cushions are starting to give out on them and they're finally getting to show some age. We knew the end was near as we were watching an episode of Trading Spaces [when Paige was still there] and Hildi said, "look at this ugly couch I bought at Goodwill!" Yes, it was our couch, but in an orange tint. I don't care what that lady says, those couches were awesome! But we have to move on. Kelly's parents are taking the love seat and the couch is up for grabs. I don't think we'll find a taker. It could mean the end for the couch.
So here's to you couch. You served your purpose to the fullest. Couches all over the country could learn something from you. Thanks. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:40:00 AM
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| Friday, July 15, 2005 |
| Follow The Bouncing Ball |
 If only we had known earlier, we could have connected with the entire Landen community.
One thing Kelly and I are going to miss about living in Landen is walking around the lake. It's not that we're complaining [I mean, now we'll be able to walk around Eden Park anytime we want], but it's been a wonderful place that we'll long for when we're gone. The lake is a beautiful place to walk, but you're never alone. There are always people walking the lake, no matter what time of day or how bad the weather is.
It doesn't matter where I am, but when I walk past someone, I do my best to make eye contact and throw out a, "how ya doin'?" The only time I didn't try this was walking the streets of Paris, Jerusalem, and Manhattan- where I would have said "Bonjour,""Shalom," and "Forgetaboutit" respectively. Walking around the lake forces interaction with people, or at least the opportunity for interaction with people. When we walk around the lake, there are some people who imagine they're in New York and refuse to make eye contact, burning a hole into the walking path by the power of their stare. Even if someone isn't looking, I'll still say, "hello" just because I want them to know that they're not invisible.
As you go around Landen Lake, there's a tennis court on the island there. Last week as we were walking, I saw a stray tennis ball lying in the grass. There was no one on the tennis court and no one around so I went and grabbed the ball [true, this could be regarded as theft, but I refused to put up posters for a lost tennis ball] and claimed it as my own. For the next mile I bounced it as we walked, enjoying myself thoroughly. Finally Kelly wanted in and we started playing a game as we walked, bouncing the ball back and forth to each other. I knew it was official when we left the house to go walking the lake the next day and Kelly asked, "aren't you bringing the tennis ball?" I ran back to the house to get it, and off we went.
Just to get this out there: Kelly's pretty good at the game [I really wanted to type "for a girl" at the end of that sentence, but I'm proud that I refrained]. She has good hands and makes an even cleaner bounce. I always try to increase the skill level a notch by bouncing it through my legs. The best part about playing is when you get an open stretch of street in front of you when you can really bounce the ball high. The only thing that thwarts the flow of the game is the proximity of the paths to the lake and major roadways. I have yet to be killed or soaked because of a missed ball, but I do believe it's a possibility. We haven't lost the original ball yet, but I've tempted fate a few times, believe you me.
We were having a ton of fun but then realized that it had become more than just a game: we were now attracting attention from the people we were passing by. Yeah, they might have been laughing that two adults would act so childish as to bounce a ball to each other as they walked but, overall, they found it interesting. We passed one couple who were walking their dog the opposite way around the lake and, when we passed them the second time, the guy said, "I'm open!" So I threw him the ball; he wanted in on the game. We get more smiles as we walk past and we can tell that they're interested.
It's been a little frustrating living out here in the 'burbs because it seems impossible to connect with people you don't know. We've had more people acknowledge us as we were walking with the tennis ball than we have our previous three years here. I think back and wonder, "if only we had done something this silly earlier, we might have met a ton of people." Of course, we would have been known as "the crazy ball-bouncing people" but that would've been alright. But at least now we know that people are intrigued. Who knows, we might start a brand new fad for walkers everywhere. And we'll probably take it with us in the move.
First thing we'll do when we move into the new place: buy tennis balls. There are a lot of trails in Eden Park. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:55:00 AM
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| Thursday, July 14, 2005 |
| The Great Outdoors |
 Kelly's been excited all week. Not about the move, nor my recent haircut. No, Kelly's pumped because it's time for ESPN's Great Outdoors Games.
For some reason my wife, who grew up in Lexington, Kentucky rather than northern South Dakota, is absolutely enthralled by this event. It started three or four years ago when she first saw the big air dogs. These are the dogs that sprint down a dock and jump off the edge to see who goes the farthest. After that, she started tuning into other events. By last year, she had taped all of ESPN's coverage of the games. As long as I've known her, I've never seen an addiction like this. And unfortunately she's a pusher; she making me into an addict as well.
There's a whole slew of events to watch from Archery to Timber Climbing, from the Hot Saw to Four Wheel Frenzy. And I think they might have finally gotten rid of fishing which would be awesome. Yeah, I'm fishin'-hatin'. It's the dumbest stuff on television. I know, I watch golf on TV, which some might find incredibly boring, but how much worse is it to watch fishing? How about having to listen to this dialogue:
Fisher 1: Catch anything?
Fisher 2: Nope. You?
Fisher 1: Nope . . . catch anything yet?
Fisher 2: Not yet. You?
Fisher 1: I think this might be it.
Fisher 2: Well then, reel it in.
End scene. Multiply that by fifty and you have an entire fishing show. I rest my case.
I don't get into the dog events that much, but I love the log rolling. I swear, if it were possible at all, I'd try to become a log rolling competitor. It's not that I think it's easy, but I think that would be the easiest event to jump into having never done it before. In that same category, there's an event called the boom run, where competitors run across logs in a relay. It's pretty cool [or, dare I say, "hip"]. So if someone has a log and swimming pool to use, I just might get into it.
If you have some free television viewing time this week, might I suggest the Great Outdoor Games? Kelly promises you won't regret it. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 9:03:00 AM
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| Wednesday, July 13, 2005 |
| It's hip to be square |
Scanning the news of the day on the internet this morning, I came across the story of American Idol winner Carrie Underwood signing an endorsement deal with Skechers. She was quoted as saying, "Being a part of Skechers is exciting. It is such a hip company with a great attitude and image." Hmmmmm. Thinking about the word "hip" that she used there. Obviously she wasn't making a reference to a part of the body that senior citizens commonly need replaced. So she must have been using slang. This leads me to ask, is "hip" still a "hip" word? I personally use it in similar contexts which leads me to believe that it's no longer hip.
Slang fascinates me. It's ever changing and by the time you finally figure it out and are able to use it, it's instantly dated. Think of words like "square," "rad,""totally," and "wack" which all had their hey-day but now are nowhere to be found. I remember back in college, we actually had a few months when the guys on our floor in the dorm would invent our own slang and see if it would transfer out to the broader world. I wish I could remember some of those words. Somewhere there's a youth minister in middle America using slang we made up at CCU.
A few nights ago Kelly and I finally watched Save the Last Dance on TBS. The phrase that the "hip" African American girl use was "slammin." This movie has been out a few years and I'm not sure that I've ever heard someone refer to an object, situation, or member of the opposite sex as "slammin." So I guess I missed out on slammin' and will, most likely, never get the opportunity to use it. And if I did use it, I would most certainly not be hip. I'm reminded of the scene from Meet the Parents when Ben Stiller meets his girlfriend's younger brother, whom he's trying to relate to. First he referred to the brother's poster of Little Kim saying, "Little Kim...she's phat-- 'P' 'H' phat." Then as he's leaving he promises, "Don't worry about sneaking out--I'll keep it on the low-down." The brother replies, "down-low," to which Stiller responds, "no doubt."
There's nothing worse than someone using slang that's so five minutes ago [case in point: the number of people over the age of fifty making "bling-bling" references]. But you can still be environmentally conscious and recycle old slang. This is how you do it: Say it in such a way that makes fun of the slang. As long as you don't take yourself seriously when you use it, you're golden. Two examples:
1) Within this past year I discovered the phrase "snap" and immediately fell in love with it. Unfortunately, I learned that the term is five years old. I shouldn't be able to use it without being chastised. But I use it at least once a week around high school or college students, and I'm able to generate laughs with it. Just place it in dialogue like this:
Other person: "Did you hear that Mr. McGee has typhoid?"
Me: "Oh, snap!"
Brilliant stuff here, friends, and it's all free.
2) The word that refuses to die:"word." Because of it's presence in 1990's rap music, "word" has widespread exposure and is still viable for use. Once again, you have to deliver it in a mocking way, but it's still loads of fun. Just place it in dialogue like this:
Dr Wolf: A measuring device does not collapse the wave function according to quantum physics. That assumption although popular and practical turns out to be incorrect as careful experiment indicates
Me: "Word!"
It's just that simple.
It would be wrong here not to play homage to the ultimate enduring slang term: cool. When has "cool" not been cool? Cool, we salute you. When all else fails, you are there. You're so hip. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 9:27:00 AM
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| Tuesday, July 12, 2005 |
| A Good Day? |
I started this post Monday morning. I never finshed. I'll explain why in a second.
"There's nothing like a good day [especially a Sunday] to make you charged up about another week.
God was definitely good yesterday as He showed himself throughout the day. Yesterday morning Dominic Delvechio [I never spell his name right] taught my morning Sunday School class so he could complete a requirement for a summer course he was taking at CCU. He did an awesome job. Even pulled out the Hebrew ["hevel" in the book of Ecclesiastes] during the lesson. It's cool to see God raise up new teachers and leaders right in front of you.
After church we played some softball. I had my game on, so it was a great time. Kelly is smoking the ball right now. It's all I can do to keep up with her. I mean, I don't want to be the guy invited to play because his wife is good.
We had our VBS carnival here at church after that. Every year we do snowcones. I don't like snowcones too much."
And that's were I ended. The day ended up well. For our college-age gathering [Catalyst], Tim Tucker gave his testimony. It was an amazing gathering. Later that night Kelly and I ended up sitting in her car in the CCM parking lot watching the Kings Island fireworks. We reflected about how it was a wonderful day. And then Monday happened.
It wasn't that Monday was bad, it was just crazy. We had an appointment to see the condo that we were interested in. As we were checking it out I received the call from the guy buying our home. His financing went through and they'll be buying our home. Good news. BUT the sale of their house went through so they'll be wanting to move in July 29th. Not so good news. They don't want to go through a home inspection for our house, so we'll get what we originally agreed on. More good news. BUT the condo we want to move into is smaller than our current place, so we'll have a bunch of stuff to get rid of. More not so good news. The condo we'll be getting is new construction. We'll get to pick out the tiles, cabinets, and fixtures and get a ten-year city tax abatement. Good news. BUT it won't be finished until the end of September. More not so good news.
So as the thought of the chaos that will be started to settle in, we got a little stressed-out. Combine the house stress with the new church items, and it's quite a cocktail. But as Kelly and I talked about it, we started to get excited. God has done nothing but take care of things. All we've done is trust him and things have gone great. Why worry now? We'll get rid of our excess stuff, rent a POD so we can keep our possessions in storage, and live with my parents until the place is finished [they won't even charge us rent]. Even though a lot is going on, it's all good. Nothing BUT good.
Life is all how you handle it. Sometimes I'm a champ and sometimes I'm a schlep, but overall I force myself to have good days. I like good days. And these have been some good days. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 5:54:00 PM
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| Sunday, July 10, 2005 |
| Ricky |
Dear Ricky,
My name is Steve. How are you doing? I am fine. I've never met you before so I thought I would write this note so we can become better acquainted. I'm a minister here at Christ's Church in Mason, Ohio. It's a good place to be. I'm leaving soon, though; I'm getting ready to start a new church near downtown Cincinnati. It's exciting.
I'm about 5'9", 160 pounds with brown eyes and red hair. I've never really thought of it as red. It's more of a hybrid brown/red color. I've been married to my wonderful wife Kelly for almost seven years now. Serious, Ricky, she's awesome. We met in college. It's an interesting story. I'll have to tell you about it sometime.
So Ricky, what are you like? Do you think you can tell me a little bit about yourself? I've been trying to piece together a profile in my mind but I can't totally visualize- OH, I'M SORRY! I've written all this and have yet to let you know how I know you: apparently I have your old cell phone number. I've actually had it for over two years now. When I first got it, I was getting one or two of your calls a week. It's died down considerably, but every few months I get one of your calls. It's always a woman, but I can tell it's a different woman everytime. YOU 'DA MAN, RICKY! You got 'em lined-up, don't you? But, then again, maybe you're a pimp. That wouldn't be good. If you are a pimp, Ricky, I'd advise you to find a new career. You can do so many better things with your life than being a pimp.
Anyway, all of this brings me to the point of this letter. See, I was sound asleep last night, getting rest because I have to get up early Sunday morning to work [remember, I'm a minister!]. At 4:00 this morning I received a call on my cell phone. I woke up worried; a call that late at night[or early in the morning] is never good. I braced myself for some horrible news, answered the phone and heard, "Is Ricky there?" Somewhat relieved that it wasn't an emergency I muttered back, "Wrong number," and immediately hung up. Normally, Ricky, I don't mind a wrong number, but you know what I'm angry about, don't you buddy? So if you could let your lady friends know that you gave up that cell phone number over two years ago, that would be great.
Sorry if this note sounded harsh, but I just had to let you know. Things are still cool between us, Ricky, it's just I have to set up those boundaries. Hey, we should get together sometime soon and hang out. We could go bowling, or I still want to see that new Batman movie. It would be a blast.
Um . . . unless you're a pimp. Then we probably can't hang out. Kelly's never been too keen on me hanging out with pimps.
Talk to you later,
steve |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:35:00 AM
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| Friday, July 08, 2005 |
| Bird's Eye View |
I didn't fly on an airplane until I was twenty-two years old; our honeymoon flight to San Francisco was my very first. Since then, I've been on at least a dozen flights and I really don't care for flying too much. Sure, there's no way I would trade the amount of travel time saved by being in the skies, but I find flying an uncomfortable experience. I"m not afraid of flying, just annoyed. The cabin pressure beating on your ear drums, the icky food, and the obnoxious co-travelers are things I could do without [I know, right now, that my father-in-law is probably laughing at this little flying diatribe because he's flown more this year for IBM than I have in my entire life. I guess it makes me respect you all the more, Dave.]. Anyway, despite how horrible the experience can be, there is one thing that would make me head to CVG right now and hop a flight anywhere: the views.
I love the view from high above the ground. There's nothing more amazing than to be soaring the air and being able to recognize where you're flying. The house where I grew up in was under the landing patterns. I always wanted to be able to see our home from the sky. That's why I love flying in and out of the Cincinnati airport. I forget exactly where we were coming from, but a few years ago I was finally able to see the house. It was somewhat liberating.
Well thanks to technology, I can have that view anytime I want. Check out some place in America you want to see at Google Maps [or you can even type in an address]. Hit the "satellite" button and you can zoom in for a satellite view of practically anywhere in the US! Keep in mind the images area about two years old, but it's still fascinating. Last night I spent almost an hour looking at the Greater Cincinnati area, then scanned around to see some national landmarks. You can see the Golden Gate Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, Hoover Dam, and even the White House. I'll warn you in advance it can be addicting, so you might not want to try it work; you'll get nothing accomplished once you start. Now there's [almost] no reason for me to have to fly again.
Look! I can actually see my house from here. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:52:00 AM
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| Thursday, July 07, 2005 |
| Safety |
As we've announced our move to start a church in urban Cincinnati, the one question we're constantly asked is, "Will you feel safe down there?" It's a question that both Kelly and I have struggled with throughout this process. During the week after we made our official announcement, there were two shootings within ten blocks of the building where [hopefully] our church will be meeting. We have friends and family members who are concerned for our wellbeing and have advised us to either invest in bulletproof vests or purchase assault rifles. It's wonderful when people are that enthusiastic and encouraging about the place to which you're moving. I won't lie and say that I'm fearless about relocating there but, at the same time, I'm refusing to buy into the Chicken Little gospel that some people are preaching to us.
In light of the terrible bombings in London earlier this morning, I think all of us need to come to grips with this question: how safe will we ever be? We might think you have a pretty safe existence because we've protected ourselves: living in the suburbs in a Midwestern American town, driving cars side-impact airbags, having three different bolt/lock combinations on our front doors, receiving yearly immunizations from infectious diseases. Safety, pure and simple. But we fool ourselves into thinking that just because we've isolated ourselves from apparent danger that we're free from harm. Despite our best intentions, we put ourselves in harm's way everyday. I don't mean to frighten, I just want us to realize that we've never been as safe as we've told ourselves we are.
There's a direct correlation between our feelings of safety and faith. I been thinking about all of this since my post from a couple of days ago. Everything we do in life is based upon faith. You don't live a day when you don't exercise faith in something or someone. That's why atheists crack me up; they definitely have faith, it's just everywhere but in God. When I hop in my Explorer to go someplace, I exercise immense faith. I trust that the automotive manufactures at Ford built a car that won't blow up. I trust that Shell sold me gasoline and not sugar water. I trust that county officials have synchronized the traffic lights so that everyone doesn't try to go through the intersection at the same time. I trust that the semi-truck driver that I'm tailgating secured his load well enough so it doesn't crush me. And obviously I trust hundreds of other drives to act responsibly behind the wheel of their car. I love the fact that the same people who lament over our safety in moving to the hood drive the expressway everyday [and don't worry, cell phones make them better drivers]. It's all about faith.*
We repeatedly live by faith, but want to hold back when it comes to our personal safety. It's my belief that sin emerges when we substitute our worship of safety for our worship of God. When we trust in the items of this world to protect us and not the Creator of the Universe, we're not practicing true faith. How safe will we ever really be? We were never promised safety in this world. Sin ruined it all. So as we go out to live our lives, we shouldn't deceive ourselves into thinking that we're ever truly safe. Maybe we'd do greater things if we didn't dwell on it so much.
* I wasn't sure where to fit this in, but think about the faith you have in paper. You work hard everyday to receive a fair wage. Hardly any of you are paid with actual articles or items for your services rendered [sorry if I offended my mob friends with that statement]. No, you get a paycheck, a piece of paper, that you hope the bank will acknowledge so that you can get more paper: cash. You then go into a retail establishment and trust that they will acknowledge that paper as having value so you can purchase what you want. Your entire livelihood is based on imaginary numbers expressed through pieces of paper.
It's truly a fascinating thing to think about. For most of American history, the value of the dollar was linked to the gold standard, i.e. you could go to the government and request they give you gold for your dollars and they couldn't deny you. It was President Nixon in 1971 who removed the gold standard and, since then, the money you have in the bank and in your pocket are based on the faith of the United States government. How safe does that make you feel? |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:27:00 AM
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| Wednesday, July 06, 2005 |
| C'est La Vie! |
 I've been waiting four years for this and it became official this morning: London was awarded the 2012 Olympics. Now that the announcement has been made, the rest of my day will be a let down, so I might as well get it all out of my system.
This was a gigantic upset, so we're led to believe by media commentators that are apparently clueless. Paris was the front-runner throughout the entire competition and, early this morning, underdog New York City was kicked to the curb. Like I said, it might have been a shock, but I knew it was coming. In fact, I'm taking credit for single-handedly thwarting the French host effort. Want to learn how? Keep reading.
We were just in Paris this past spring and it was amazing how far those people were going to make a good impression. They put these "Paris 2012" signs everywhere, including landmarks like the Eiffel Tower [I felt it looked cheap, so all the pictures I took were on the other side of the tower. Here's one I took at night above]. Everything was lining up perfectly in their Olympic bid until the French got a little too big for their britches. We were ready to leave Israel on our Air France flight to spend a day in gay Paris [insert correct French pronunciation there]. Right before we were to leave Tel Aviv, the entire country of France decided to go on strike; not any individual company or union, mind you, but the whole nation. I guess the cost of living is out of control there and the people felt they needed to take a stand: by taking a few days off. So we were stuck in Jerusalem a few days until Air France finally got their act together and brought us to Paris. We were told we'd have hotel vouchers for a couple of days until they could get us back to the States.
Of course, when we arrived, Air France said they had no idea about any vouchers. We were stuck in the airport with nowhere to lay our head. It was ridiculous. Our group set up a mini-campground right in the middle of a terminal connection in Charles De Gaulle airport. It was late at night, we were exhausted from days of being redirected and I was getting a tad irritable. So while sitting with my back against a wall and my backpack on my lap I made the following statement:
"France sucks."
Now I didn't say it shout it out, but I'm sure those in the immediate vicinity heard me. It was a rather crowded airport, so you can't be entirely sure who caught my complaint. But this just happened to be the same weekend that the International Olympic Committee was visiting Paris to see if they would be the host site. Do you see the connection? As I uttered my lament about the vacuumonous tendencies of the French Republic, I guarantee that those IOC members walked past me. The judge from Belgium must have heard me and thought to himself, "Perhaps this red-headed American is right? Maybe France does indeed suck. I'm voting for the British." And that was the end of Paris' Olympic bid.
Just to make sure we understand each other, I'm not a person prone to proclaim racist statements; I actually abhor racism. But I don't think it counts with the French. And honestly, I only dislike them because of their hatred for America. I mean, we did save their butts in World War 2, bought Louisiana from them, and they still dislike us. As far as I'm concerned, what goes around comes around.
So congratulations England! You owe me one. A Manchester United jersey would be payment enough. Oh, and a piece of David Beckham's hair. It's the least you can do for what I did for you. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:32:00 AM
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| Anyone Have 229 Candles? |
Having experienced twenty-nine of them now, I can confidently say that Independence Day truly baffles me. Of all American holidays, this is by far the most bizarre. People take the celebration of our country's freedom rather seriously but choose to honor it in various ways. Allow me a few moments to reflect on some these moments of Americana.
Yesterday morning we decided to go to Mimi's Cafe for breakfast. We expected to wait for an hour or more because the place is always packed [especially on holidays], but we were seated immediately. While many stores were open for business July 4th, there were occasional establishments that decided to close their doors; the ones that remained open [like Meijers and Sam's Club] were crowded. Total unpredictability when it comes to shopping on this holiday.
Then, apparently, nothing says America like the annual hot dog eating contest. I had no idea that this thing has been going on for 90 years now. Can you believe the idiots that got together all those years ago [during a World War, mind you] that decided it would be a good idea to see who could eat the most hot dogs? I guess what's even worse than that is the fact that I know the name of the Grand Champion. It's Kobayashi from Japan. He's won five years in a row and won yesterday by downing 49 hot dogs in 12 minutes. How do I know all this, you ask? It was televised on ESPN yesterday. No, not on ESPN The Ocho, but on regular ESPN. I watched the pregame [seriously] but couldn't stand to watch the disgusting display. Constestants make the wieners go down easier by soaking them in water. If you've never seen it, don't.
Two last notes before moving on: 1) the craziest thing was that the announcers kept referring to hot dog eating as a sport. A SPORT?!?!? Sorry friends, but I'm letting NASCAR in as a sport way before I include eating pig carcass. And 2) Stinkin' Kobayashi weighs 100 pounds soaking wet. There are these huge 300 pounders in the competition and they can't hang with the man. I mean, these are guys who really know how to eat; their training shows. It's truly sad, but nothing says Independence Day like Kobayashi.
Finally we ended up the day at out my brother's house in Indiana for the great Carr family gathering, with Tim using the $40,000 boom truck as a make-shift flag pole. A great time of food, corn-hole and fun which culminated in a fireworks display. And with all the kids around, there was the obligatory appearance of sparklers. I'm assuming everyone's familiar with sparklers: metal rods of flaming magnesium made especially for kids to run around with on the 4th of July. Wonder who the creative genius was who thought that this was a good idea. Probably the same guy who's marketing the asbestos sweater for toddlers. I don't think I'm too over protective of the next generation but, until we were older, dad made us wear leather work gloves to protect ourselves from getting burned. Sure enough, my wonderful nephew couldn't resist the lure of touching the burnt portion, giving him a lesson he won't forget.
What a day! America! America! God shed His grace on thee! Too bad we have to wait a whole 'nother year to do it again. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:18:00 AM
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| Sunday, July 03, 2005 |
| My Unbelief |
Do you believe in God?
Seems like an appropriate question on a Sunday morning. I'm sitting here in a church, in the office of a minister [it's my own office, in case you're wondering] asking myself that question. The honest answer?
Yes and no.
Before you shout towards the heavens for fire and brimstone to rain down on my already red head, I guess I should explain those answers. Of course I believe that God exists. Most of us have had moments of doubt when we're unsure if there's really more to this life. I've had a few of those "wake up in the middle of the night with your mind racing about your own existence" experiences in my life, but I've never dwelled on them; I never enjoyed an extended period of atheism. I just can't buy it. There must be a God. There's just too much in the world that makes sense to make Him not make sense.
Yet I've still had plenty of moments when I haven't believed in God. Throughout the whole starting a new church endeavor, we've tried to put everything in God's hands. From where the church is going to meet to how we're going to get money, we've been releasing the stress and worry to Him. But I haven't been consistent. Which is ironic, because God has been nothing but consistent. This past week, as most of you know, we put our house up for sale. Selling it ourselves and not advertising it left me worrying that we were in trouble and might not sell it. But within 48 hours a couple had made an offer. Then I was worried about getting the contract taken care of and, despite my doubts, God provided legal counsel to help us out through the transaction. And just after we signed it and I asked myself "what if this doesn't go through?" we received a back-up offer on the house. It's simply amazing that, despite my lack of belief, God still comes through.
It reminds me of an encounter Jesus had in an area of northern Israel immediately after his transfiguration. We read in Mark 9 that, as He returned from His mountain-top experience, His disciples tried unsuccessfully to heal a boy who was demon-possessed. In talking with the boy's father, the man pleads for Jesus to drive the evil spirit out. The exchange goes like this:
Boy's Father: "But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us."
Jesus: "'If you can'? Everything is possible for him who believes."
Boy's Father: "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"
The very reason the man brought his son to Jesus is because he knew Jesus had the power to heal. But even as he stood there before Him, we still doubted Jesus' ability to cure his son. This experience serves as a lesson to the disciples about faith, a lesson that rings true to us today. Although we think we have faith in God we still hold our doubts as to whether He will provide for our needs in this world. And that is the unbelief that needs curing. I still have plenty of question marks in my mind about what the next few months hold as far as this church goes. I still harbor doubts in my mind about God's provision for us. But to Him I ask the same thing that the boy's father did: Lord, help me overcome my unbelief. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:28:00 AM
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| Friday, July 01, 2005 |
| Money for nothin' . . . |
I have to admit it: I'm an MTV addict.
I remember when we were growing up and we weren't allowed to watch Music Television because it was of the devil. Unfortunately, I fell into the devil's grip as Cyndi Lauper sang about the ultimate desire of girls [to have fun, in case you were uncertain]. I've been watching ever since. Of course they've not been playing as much music on MTV anymore, but they still had those compelling shows that achieve car wreck status: you know you shouldn't stare, but the spectacle draws you in.
You might be appalled that a minister would tune in to such programming, but I believe that MTV has been THE driving force in American culture during the past twenty years. MTV started August 1, 1981 [now Kelly finally knows why I wanted to get married on the first of August]. So the first teens who tuned in then would now be hitting forty. In the eighties, the network was acquired by media giant Viacom and has never looked back. PBS did an interesting look at the effect MTV was having on today's youth in a documentary a few years back. So if you want to know what's cool and what people idolize in the world today, this is the place to look.
What they've managed managed to do is create shows that appeal to the broad spectrum of views, from teens to adults. The Osbournes is a prime example. When that show came out a few years back the majority of teens had no idea who Ozzy or Black Sabbath were, but they loved watching the Osbourne kids and their crazy parents. They captured lightning in a bottle, and have done it more than once. I've loved shows like Made, Pimp My Ride, and Newlyweds, tuning in weekly to watch. And every once in awhile, I can even tolerate a season of the Real World [but we never miss the Real World/Road Rule Challenges]. Oh, and if anyone has a tape of the MTV Movie Awards let me know because we had a bad tape in at the time. For years, the programming was brilliant.
But the finally might be losing their touch. Recently they're putting less compelling junk out there and I'm not buying. This week I flipped to MTV and there was this Andy Milonakis show on. It's this kid who has done bits with Jimmy Kimmel with his own show doing his best Tom Green impersonation. Combine this with crap like the Ashlee Simpson show and Meet the Barkers and I'm watching Beauty and the Geek on WB.
I guess that's problem for the network that's obsessed with being cool. As anyone who hangs around with high school or college students knows, it's tough staying up-to-date on what's popular. One day you're on top of the heap, the next day you're upchuckin' in the gutter. They need to decide what they're programming is about because I'm starting to resonate more with VH1 [Best Week Ever rocks]. But maybe that's just the sign that I'm transitioning in life. They always used to say that VH1 was the network for old hipsters and I sure did love watching Styx on Behind the Music.
Come to think of it, maybe I've finally beat my MTV addiction. In the immortal words of generational philosopher Huey Lewis, "I want a new drug." |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:24:00 AM
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