The Fallen.

I am for the first time in my life, sitting on my couch in my pyjamas sometime between what should have been breakfast and what will be lunch writing these words on the mac, not the big mac, not the mac mini, not the macbook, but on the unnamed mac, while my kids are safely ensconced before the TV (which they have not watched in sometime, and absence has definitely made the heart grow fonder), planning my next conversation.  The house is a mess.  Homework papers strewn about the floor, dirty dishes on the table and around the sink, shoes in the same toe on toe position they were in when they were taken off, little pants scrunched down in an almost standing position as if waiting for someone to jump into them.  I have roughly, what I have estimated to be twenty hours of work that I need to finish off by Monday morning.  And that is the conservative estimate. But here I am.  Planning my next conversation.  Well, clearing my mind so that I can plan my next conversation.

With all that why would I be wasting such time?  Because the next conversation is significant, as all previous ones have been. For the last, oh, I don’t know how many months, I have been holding, for the most part weekly or bi-weekly, conversations with a young woman whose mind and body have given in and given up to an eating disorder which prevents her from eating while ravaging her of what should have been an otherwise healthy life.

It is with great sadness that I approach each and every interaction.  It is with great sadness that I sit in the ward and observe the comings and goings of the other adolescents there. All in the prime of their life.  And as much as I try to disguise my grief it shows, and the young lady whom I am visiting abruptly tells me, “I hate it when people tell me I have a bright future”.  At times I wonder what is it that could drive people into such despair?  At times I think, it is true, what does the future offer?  Not only do we live in a fallen world, the vestiges and omens of even greater tragedy weave an incessant web around us.

And that is why I think it … horrific … for lack of a better word, when I read this article about Ralph Lauren.  Come on now.  As jaded and cynical as I am, I really expected a little bit more social responsibility.   Is this really necessary?  We often hear about the media being a torrid influence on the lives of our children.  But this I think has really stretched that statement.  Or compounded it.  I’m not sure which.  I will refrain from commenting on the multitude of books written that have become how to manuals for those who are anorexic or bulimic.

I never really was a big fan of RL, more of guy’s brand in my mind.  You know, polo shirts with little horsies and what not.  But the interesting thing is that as much as I don’t own any RL clothing, would I come out and boycott it? Not that he would know, but it’s the principle of the matter as we in the business say.  Would I prevent my children from buying or wearing RL items?  What if they were fake? Would that be like a slap in the face for him?  Even as I try to wrap my mind around what difference does it make to me and what difference can I make it all seems like a fairly hopeless endeavor.

After all, we do live in a fallen world.

The Times They Are A’Changin

Every year our family makes an annual trek to Cal and takes a picture. It is one of the small family traditions that we have to mark our growth and change as we grow and change.  We stand in front of the campanile on the back side of Wheeler and ask some unsuspecting stranger to snap a photo for us.  There was one year that we did use a tripod, but those things are heavy. Along with our family, it seems that the campus changes as well.  Nothing is forever as they say.  This year, Mr. E noticed right away that the top of the Campanile was under construction.  On the way out we also noticed, to my great dismay, that there is a Tully’s Coffee in the lobby of MLK.  Let me repeat myself.  There is a Tully’s Coffee in the lobby of the MLK.

Am I the only one to think that there is something wrong with this?  That Cal has somehow finally lost its’ innocence?  That the corporate world has finally encroached upon the pristine shores of academia?  It was almost like seeing Starbucks and KFC right there under the great wall of China.

I suppose there are not enough coffee shops on and around that Bancroft/Telegraph area.  Speaking of which.  It really is different than when I was a kid.  Kids don’t walk to school uphill both ways in the snow anymore.  They now do it wearing their American Apparel.  Sweats by any other name.  With a shoe string for a draw string as its’ defining mark.

The world is ending.

Got Some ‘Splainen to Do.

Contemplation

work in progress

annual cleaning

supportive

MORE FIRE!

Monkeys

So this post, as the more astute among us has already discovered, is dedicated to Baby Z who just passed her fourth birthday.  Many feel that the 10th birthday is a big deal. Or 16.  Or 18. Or even 21.  Let me make it clear that the big milestone is FOUR.  Little girls that are Three are completely different the day they turn Four.  It’s just not the same.  They are suddenly big girls.  Not itsy bitsy cutsie three year olds.  Now they are all grown up ready to go out into the world all on their own Four year olds.  Let me wipe the tears from my eyes before I go on…

Ok.  So here we have some pictures from our birthday week.  Because apparently that’s how long it takes to celebrate a Four year birthday.

We start out with Baby Z at her brothers desk doing some serious thinkin then doing some drawing.  She says this is a good desk for that.

Next up.  I managed to clean her ears out for the first time.  I chipped a tooth in the process but we won’t discuss that.  I think this was the fruit of one ear.  or four years.

Big brother has been learning to type.  Why?  Because he must.  It’s now homework at school.  He gets a bit frustrated so Baby Z sits next to him just to give him those pats on the back that are so needed.

Birthday time.  Monkey cupcakes.  I felt like a great mom! I made monkey cupcakes! From scratch. Then I tried to eat one.  I felt not so great.  I also felt not so great because it brought back memories of Mr. E’s four year old celebration.  It was a minor to do.  But we spent four years planning it.  At least it felt that way.  We had a little family dinner.  But we did think and think about what to get him.  This time around, it was really last minute.  One of those, wake up, look at the calendar, Oh NO! moments.  Good thing it was Friday night and she could celebrate at church.  I forgot to bring the candles and they substituted matches instead.  She was VERY concerned at the slight blaze effect.

Ah sigh.  Alls well that ends well.   Oh.  here is one more while we are at it.  Yesterday was our first real rainy day of the season.  Baby Z was totally excited.  Went to her room and threw on some clothes to go puddle stomping in.

Free! On Craigslist!

I am a pastor.  My father is a pastor.  I married a pastor.  The son of a pastor.  But our job roles, while much the same as our parents, is vastly different than the one they held?  Why?  The internet of course! These days, much of what we do, our prep, our communications, even our ministry happens in front of a computer screen.  We have gone from being equippers to E.Quippers.  I’m not sure that the internet has saved my life or even saved me time, but at any moment I have three screens open.  One of of which is ……   Craigslist.  Don’t laugh.  It’s serious stuff.

I have been asked, as part of my job duties, to take part in one of the greatest social experiments of all time.  Craigslist.  And it helps that Pastor John and his lovely wife Ruth have totally sold themselves on the idea of not being so environmentally irresponsible as to get new things.   In addition to which, many of those new things cost.  Money in most cases.  So here we are.  Sitting on the free section on Craigslist. Someone please click refresh.

And Refresh might just be the word I am looking for to describe the experience.  It is a jungle out there.  I had posted something myself.  Wow.  People really clamor for stuff.  And I am one of them! I have learned to check the time stamp.  If it’s been more than like, I don’t know 15 minutes?  Fuggetaboudit.  If you have to scroll down to see the listing? Better luck next time! If they post and address where you can go asap to pick something up? Don’t waste your time or gas money.  But it’s not all bad or impossible.  In the last two days, I’d say we made bank!  Yo! You hear me?! Bank!! I will not bore you with the details, but here is one little item that I must proudly show off.

The Red Barron

There had been a free posting on 9 collectors peanuts and gang cookie jars.  You had to somehow prove that you were a bonafide collector and not a crazed ebayer.  I did reply.  I am not a collector, at all. But my son likes the red barron.  Apparently the collection had been spoken for within minutes of posting.  But the very nice lady called me anyways.   And decided to hold back the red barron for me.  I know.  Random act of kindness.  I was totally thankful and went to pick it up and it wasn’t even out of my way.  The harrowing tale of how I risked my life to obtain this little collectors item you will have to hear from me in person.   I am too scared to post it online.  But ah… alls well that ends well.  It sells for $100.00.  You see that mac mini that I am currently using?  The one under the purple lamp to the left of the screen on my very messy desk? (I am using Zoespeak by the way, the bbq = the kitchen that you cook on in your backyard).  It was received because I eagerly and enthusiasticly helped someone out.  On Craigslist.  For free.

teach your children well…..

My father is particularly proud of the day he was awarded his citizenship status.  It did not take place in a room crowded with others who had gathered on these teeming shores.  The whole thing transpired in a little office downtown.  I somewhat remember being there.  The signing of the papers, then the “congratulations Reverend”.  The handshake and platitudes thrown in my direction.  At no point in this whole conversation was there any swearing or oathing or hands on a Bibling.  Which is a good thing as far as Dad is concerned, because he doesn’t do that.  He does not swear or take oaths.  As far as I have been told anyways.  He will not pledge the pledge of allegiance.  His allegiance is solely to Jesus Christ Lord and Savior.  And he has fairly successfully passed his civil disobedience on to me.  There was one time a few years back when I received one of those camera tickets.  I could have sworn I crossed on the yellow, but I will concede that I was speeding.  Dad advised me not to pay the ticket.  “It is not illegal to cross against a yellow. If it is then the light should go from green to red.”  I informed my immigrant father that people rot in jail because they don’t pay their tickets.  “Well, then rot in jail! It’s the principle of the matter.  Why would you admit guilt to something you didn’t do? I would rot in jail.”  I paid the ticket.

And it is true that what goes around comes around.  We were recently alerted to the fact that our son, the notorious Mr. E engages in problematic and risky behavior patterns.  Namely that he does not always willingly obey the authorities that be.  In one case, he was talking while the teacher was talking.  He was asked to stop talking to his friend.  So he did.  Not a minute later he was talking to his other friend.  Sitting on the other side. When the teacher commanded him to cease and desist he slumped in his chair.  He was immediately told to sit up.  Did this disturb his father and I? Yes. It did. This did not happen in school. The whole risky behavior issue took place in church. Where, unfortunately, we are more concerned about his behavior than in school.   We informed our son that he was not to repeat this.  It is not allowed.  We must obey the authority at hand.  His response was, I don’t understand what is wrong with slumping.  If you are tired, can you not slump?  If I am unable to sit then wouldn’t it be better to slump than not be at all?  Infuriating child as you see.  There was an issue at school as well. In the same week.  Mr. E decided that he would reveal his germaphobic ways and share some hand sanitizer with a friend.  The playground monitor did not take kindly to this and the hand sanitizer was taken away.  Thus begins Purell Gate.  Mr. E can be a rather ornery child. In every sense of the word.  He was upset and really, stuck in a moment.  He refused to get in the lineup to go back to class. He was offered his purell back if he got in line.  He was then sent straight way to the principal’s office.  To this day he insists that he did nothing wrong and “if it was wrong, why was she giving it back to me?”  We have informed him ad inifitum that, once again, he was out of line. Literally.  And that he is to respect and obey adults. Take heed to my words O my son and it will be well for you….. You know the drill.

I know. I know. I don’t think Dad. My Dad that is, would approve. And I know, Ghandi is dead.  Likewise the Lone Ranger.  But this sticky little issue(s) has really thrown me for a loop in my heretofore smooth path of parenting.   It is a true and fairly undebatable fact that if you learn to obey life will be easier.  But is that all we we are after after all?  An easier life.  (The answer, of course, is yes.)  And not to make it a family matter, but even my sister advised me to advise him to take the low road.  Bow down boy!  I’m not convinced that he is a disrespectful young man.  Perhaps one in the making, but not really quite there.  Defiant? Yes.  Ornery? Yes. Difficult? Yes. Stubborn? Yes. Unless he is not of course. Disrespectful? I dunna know…   But at any rate.  Here in lies the quagmire that my mind has slipped into.  There will come a day when he will be told to stand down! Sit down! Shut up!  And he will at that time need to stand up.  How do I know that? Because the Bible tells me so.  Not necessarily STAND UP! But stand up. Quietly perhaps.  Firmly for sure.  I see people every day.  Many of them asians.  Many of them men.  They are beaten.  By their cultural background.  By their families.  By their environment.  And when they stand up, they very likely do so in a more or less unacceptable way.

I am not at all entertaining the thought of raising the unibomber.  He held to his beliefs that is for sure.   I am not in agreement with that.  (Although, really what is the difference between a man who sits in his shed and makes a bomb that kills a man, and another who sits in his office and “designs” a bomb that kills a city of men?”)  I am not even trying for the whole James Dean rebel without a clue deal.  And I  can not. CAN NOT tolerate people who will defy this and that and pick a bone when even the dog’s buried that bone.  You know what I mean? There are people like that.  When you stand up for everything you are standing for nothing. It is time to sit down and shut up.  For all of our sakes.  But how to teach and raise a child so they understand that you need to pick and choose your battles so that you win the war and achieve your ultimate goal.  That’s what I’m talking about here.  After all, how can we obey God whom we can not see if we can not obey the man that we can see?  How?  That is the real question here.

I hear the sounds of footsteps.  It is the flight of parents rushing to rescue their children from me.

No rest for the wicked.

I am somewhat of an itinerant insomniac.  If there ever was one.  I have trouble sleeping because I keep thinking of the things I could be doing, so I get myself out of my bed, to do those things, supposedly, and end up not at all doing those things and having to worry about not having done them the next night. It’s my own version of giving it all you’ve got.

Urban Meyer of the Florida Gators, you know, Tim Tebow, on the other hand, was recently quoted in the Miami Herald as really asking his players to give it their all…

“Meyer said earlier in the week there was no chance he would rest sick players.

“That’d be one of the major errors in coaching history to go do that, because you’d go lose,” he said. “No. Absolutely not. We’re going to bring everything and go as hard as we can. That gets you out of the profession, those kind of thoughts. You go as hard as you can.

“The good thing is I’ve got a mature group. Not a whole lot of cheerleading going on this week. Got to get better and go play.”

The Gators won this game.  Big time.  Would you have expected any less?

I am sure that I am not the first or last person to opine on this, but Coach Meyer is sounding just a little bit Richard Nixonish to me.  He needed to “secure” the victory when they were up 31-7.  And that was the reason he kept Tebow in.  Huh.  He does seem like a Coach that really cares for his players no?  And how about all those guys playing against players with the flu?! Be they swine or not!

But on a not altogether unrelated note.  Professional coaches.  They actually take care of their players.  The players are the big money. A commodity.  But it seems like the real crazies are in the college arena.  Players are then not really a commodity, but chattel.  If I were a college player, and I am not getting paid the big money to do these things, and I am ruining those knees and wearing myself down… well, lets face it, I’m a nerd.  Not an athelete.  And maybe thats why I so don’t get it.

Tim Tebow, there is no rest for the wicked. Or the weary. Or so they would have you believe.

Am I missing something?

My recent conversation with Baby Z while she played with Legos.

Z: Um. What color do you  want?

Me: How about red?

Z: NO!!!  I said what color do you want?

Me: Green?

Z: No no no! Thre is no green! What color?

Me: Blue.  Do I want blue?

z: (back to her sweet self)  Oh, did you say you want blue? Sure. Blue.  Good choice.

Warp Speed Ahead Mr. Sulu

I am feeling particularly old this evening.  Last Sunday during one of the two church services we attended (the one where we were just happy go lucky since there was nothing we needed to do), there was a reference to Coldplay.  I leaned over and asked the college freshman we had brought if he knew who Coldplay was (I am now officially a back pew whisperer), and he shook his head.  Dude.  How has someone not heard of Coldplay?! I tried not to let this growing disturbia ruin the rest of the service.   At the other end of the spectrum, I have heard of, but have never heard Kanye West.  How does one pronounce that anyways? Not that I consider myself ignorant of what is musically current, but I’m finding that Cat Stevens is just not quite as popular as he once was.  If he ever was.  The last concert I went to was U2.

It just seems that time is passing much faster than it used to and that each generation is shorter than the one before.  I remember when MTV, KTV, VHS, CD, DVD’s were totally new in the language.  I remember how horrified I was that my youth pastor used MTV, KTV, sex and drugs all in one sentence.  I’m not sure how my parents felt when all these newities were introduced into the calm pastoral landscapes of their lives, but I do happen to know that it wasn’t all that long ago.  And then just the other day, my 3 year old referred to GPS, online and PBS kids all in about 5 minutes time.  OK, so PBS kids doesn’t really fit in there.  But I was a bit floored by what has become common for even a 3 year old.  What did I know when I was 3?  What did I do? Compared to the standards of today, the easy answer is next to nothing.  In some ways I am leading up to the point of, well, and, I am not the worse of for it.  (Despite the fact that the references I use are really dating me) But is it my 3 year old catching up to me or me trying to catch up to my 3 year old before she catches up to me?

Next stop…. the twilight zone.

Ascetics Aesthetics and Atheletics.

I spent some time today grazing through my favorite junk mail catalogs that flood my mailbox every day.  Crate and Barrel.  Who can resist?  Their layouts are so clean and bright.  Their products so necessary.  But then here I am, on some sort of frugal binge to cut the clutter out of my life.  Do I really need more things?  Does our family need endless acquisitions and accoutrements? The answer is yes by the way.  Do my kids need more things that they can leave out for me to step on in middle of the night or cut up while sitting casually nude in my office? I suppose the answer is no.  But in a world so filled with .. with so much, it is a hard call to make.  A lot of those things can make my life a lot easier.  Or so I have been trained to think.  And so the genesis of the 100 Thing Challenge.  Which is a great challenge.  But as with all challenges that we take, as with all decisions we make.  Is it necessary?  And the bottom line.. is it… spiritually beneficial? (I’m almost feeling Amish here).  And even more so, is there even a spiritual link between the (non)accumulation of things and our relationship with God?  And as with all things, I can only say, I don’t really know (sorry Dave).

But. But. I do know, that First John  tells us, “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.”  I don’t know that browsing through all my catalogues is necessary the love of the world or the things in the world.  Unless of course you’ve seen our Baby Z flipping madly through catalogues blindly pointing at this and that randomly calling out, “I love it! I’m geeeting it!” (I have no idea where she learned this from, I suppose it may be genetic).  I’m fairly involved in everything I’m involved in.  If I am into running, I need to go out and get running gear.  And really. It needs to look good.

All this is rather melancholy I know.  But I can not help but think that the more I accumulate, the more I buy buy buy, the less I stock I possess in spiritual reality.  The more static there is on the line between God and I.  In brief, my packrating consumeristic ways are a real obstacle in my personal spiritual growth.  The 100TC can clear up the clutter in the garage.  It can also clear up the clutter in our minds, and hearts.  And more likely than not.  Our spirits.  Don’t get me wrong.  An Ascetic, I am most definitely not.

To everything… turn turn turn….

First Day

“You shall make two boards for the corners of the tabernacle at the rear.” Ex. 26:23 (NASB)

I still consider my self fairly new at the first day of school thing. Even though for the last 4 years in a row we’ve had milestone first days. There was the first day of preschool. Which totally caught me off guard being that we didn’t decide to enroll Mr. E in preschool until a week or two before preschool started. Then there was the first day of Transitional Kindergarden with the whole line up and uniform and all that. Then there was the first day of REAL kindergarden. Not to be confused with TK even though it was the same line up and uniform. And now the first day of first day of first grade. Somehow First Grade seems to be the real REAL start of schooling. To me at least. There is no stopping now. Not that you can stop after Kindergarden, but for some reason, as real and emotional as that was, it wasn’t … well, it wasn’t first grade.  So first day.  Mr. E was totally unable to wake up.  We had to dress him in his sleep.  Baby Z was up and ready.

And perhaps it’s that I’ve successfully passed my neurosis on to my children, but for every first day so far, Mr. E has been fairly nervous. Fear and trembling as it were.  It’s interesting that way back in the days of the Exodus God took into account all the twists and turns our lives may take.  From Kindergarden on.  And provides for a little extra support around those corners that we inevitably encounter. At least that’s how I read it.

And being the emotiona sentimental person that I am, except on days when I am not, the first day is happy sad. Waah! First grade already?! waah! Summer already over? Waah! No more opportunities to hang out with my kids?  Woohoo! First Grade! Big time! Woo hoo! summer is over! Back to normal!

Speaking of normal, I was out of the house for a few hours.  Dad was enjoying time with the kids.  I came home to this …. with the theme from the Tiki room BLARING in the background.

In the tiki tiki tiki tiki tiki room...