Challenges, Surprises and Joys

The last day of the year 2010.  Along with the rest of the world, I too find myself looking ahead to the coming year and asking: What surprises, challenges and joys await me in 2011? 

The first surprise, challenge & joy will be when I become a parent for the first time - hooray!  Sometime within the time frame of January or early February, Rebecca and I will be welcoming baby Long to our family.  Are we ready?  Am I ready?  Everyone says you're never ready - and I agree - but there is a substantial part of me that disagrees, purely out of the excitement I have towards meeting our child in a few short weeks. Of course, the surprise of the gender looms - which has been cause for much curiosity and anticipation between Rebecca and I and everyone else. Many a person have shared with us their theory or Old Wives tale - which, I must admit, has added much intrigue. But, in the end, boy or girl, no one knows - it's all been just happy guessing. So, as it was nine months ago, we'll all just keep waiting to welcome 2011 surprise number one.  As a result of waiting to find out, I hope this decision to exercise patience and mystery dwelling will enable me to weather the surprises ahead in the coming year.  I've said it all along, life could always use a bit more 'mystery acceptance' - knowing the answers to everything isn't what life's goal should ever be.  I enjoy a good detective story as much as the next guy, but my experience has taught me to appreciate and respect the unknown; doing so can add so much more enjoyment and peace, even when the world says the opposite. 

As far as upcoming challenges...hmmm, let me think.... Well, there is the upcoming birth of our first child.  That might provide some challenge.  Rebecca's pregnancy has been a relatively smooth one, but the closer we get to the due date, the more freak out episodes arise for both of us. Like cramming for a test, we've been hitting the books these last 9 months, learning all we can about the do's, don't's and whatever's of pregnancy health, labor and delivery. It kind of feels like preparing for your driver's license test.  It's not only head knowledge you need to know, but you've got to be able to perform under the pressure - a passing score is only half of it, you have to be able to steer your vehicle and keep you and your test examiner safe.  My general attitude is that no matter what, we will pass the test and this baby will be born.  I expect to miss a few turns, forget to use my blinker and make a few rolling stops - but I know we will do "good enough" to bring this baby out of the womb and into our arms at last.  So, am I ready?  Three words: bring it on. (Although I cannot speak for Rebecca!)  All in all, I fluctuate between scared, anxious and excited for the labor and delivery process. The same feeling holds true for what happens NEXT - being a father.

I know there will be many surprises and challenges ahead, but nothing is more comforting and exhilarating than expecting to become a father for the first time.  The amount of joy that will accompany parenthood outweighs all of the other stuff waiting and lurking in the shadows of 2011. Labor and delivery prep aside, I've been spending an equal amount of time preparing for being a Dad.  I've been fully engrossed in the pages of my first parenting book called "SuperBaby" by Dr. Jenn Berman.  So far, it has provided plenty of information, mistakes, things to avoid, things to try and things to aim for in the first 3 years of life.  I've felt challenged, annoyed, overwhelmed and excited soaking up the author's research, suggestions and advice. Her goal is not for you to form some kind of "uberbaby," but rather, desires the reader to be opened to the many possibilities and pitfalls that accompany all young persons' development.  The book reminds me of the distinct calling and privilege it is to parent, mentor, minister to and form meaningful relationships with children. I may not do everything the book suggests, but I do hope to be the best father I can for my child as he/she continues to learn, learn, learn throughout their life-long journey. This learning and growing for all of us continues to inspire, comfort and provide the purest type of joy I've ever experienced.  

As I reflect on 2010 and all that I have learned, how much I've grown (or digressed) and where my paths might be leading, intersecting and turning for me in 2011, I feel confident in the assurance of God's presence throughout it all.

Happy New Year!

Kicking Cars

It is no secret that this winter has already dumped an insane amount of snow on the state of Minnesota. Snow has never really bothered me all that much (except for the type of snow which crunches underfoot, which makes me cringe like fingernails on a chalkboard.) It's the bitter cold temps that get me most upset. And yet, I must confess, without the combination of cold and snow, I would be robbed of a secret winter passion: kicking the ice chunks off of the underbelly of cars and wheel wells. There is no describing the surge of enjoyment I receive from dislodging a large, hard mass of ice and snow from the corners of a vehicle. I find myself lighting up whenever I see a car in need of a good kicking. In fact, I love this so much that I continually fight off the temptation to take care of other people's ice flaps, restraining myself only because of how ridiculous I'd look and that they might enjoy the act as much as I do.  I know I am not alone in this peculiar activity. When I stop to think about it all, it's really quite silly. I mean, it's not uncommon for me to practically injure myself in the process - some of those ice zits are really plastered onto cars - and yet, it's a challenge I've never turned down. And, now that I think of it, it's not only car ice I enjoy breaking apart - it's all ice.  Give me an ice chipper and a driveway or sidewalk full of ice, and I am good to go.  That reminds me of a time when I needed tools to take care of a car infected with ice-itis - the entire wheel well was stuffed... that was a great moment in my ice-breaking career. 

I am willing to offer my ice-breaking services to you this winter, should you make the arduous haul out to Dawson.  But, in the event that I don't see you or cross paths with your ice-infested vehicle, God Bless you in all your travels and your own car kicking adventures.

Merry Christmas!

Sincerely,
Keith "The Ice Breaker" Long

The Blizzard

This past weekend, "Old Man Winter" assured us Minnesotans that he can still pack quite a punch. And I thought the Christmas Eve storm last year was bad... Most of us will probably remember this year's bruising blizzard as the storm that conquered the Metrodome.  Yes, this storm proved too much for that unmistakable white puff roof we're so accustomed to seeing in the Minneapolis skyline.  And yes, this storm postponed the Vikings game and provided additional media fodder of the Vikings' season, one amazing collapse after another (See also "Brett Favre," "Brad Childress," etc.)  But as for me, in addition to the Fall of Dome, I will also look back on this weekend's blizzard with fondness, for in spite of the blizzard's ability to freeze a town like Dawson in place for 24 hours, it was also the occasion of one of the most intense walks in recent memory.

In the mood for some adventure, Rebecca and I bundled up and prepared to brace ourselves for a two mile (round trip) walk from our apartment to church. This meant I would be happily reunited with my one-piece blue snowsuit courtesy of Grandpa Doidge - a new favorite winter outfit of yours truly. As for Rebecca, she too was breaking out a favorite winter apparel item: her light blue "puff coat" as she so endearingly refers to it. Warm and hermetically sealed - leaving only the skin around our eyes exposed - we embarked on our journey.

By far the easiest leg of the trip was from our apartment to church - a stretch which took us straight south, with the wind at our backs for most of the walk. Despite the cold temperature and blowing snow, we encountered little to no difficulty - save for a few wind zones in which walking backward was necessary to avoid wind-burning the corneas. The best part of the walk was when a 40 mph wind gust hit us square in the back, launching us forward with the same intensity as the 'Metrodome wind tunnel effect' whenever you exited the stadium. You could always look forward to that feeling, win or lose.

As far as our return trip back to the apartment - well, that was when we got to experience the full impact of this blizzard. Walking into the wind 90% of the way home was, in a word, awesome. We knew exactly where we needed to go, so the fear factors were on the extreme low end. We employed a 'trust-walk' strategy where I walked backwards out in front of Rebecca, facing her in order to block the wind. This allowed for Rebecca sneak glances around me to see where we needed to go. We held hands while walking this way, which kept us stable, confident and connected. There was one miscue in which I fell backwards over a snowdrift - no doubt giving the ONE driver we encountered all day a pretty good chuckle. But, we made it injury and frostbite free. Man, feeling the force of that wind was definitely a highlight. Talk about whiteout conditions though - I don't know how a person could drive in a storm like that. It was just kind of fun to get in a little adventure before retreating to the confines of the apartment for the remainder of the storm.

I can definitely understand why there are "storm-chasers" in this world. As often as I've scoffed and scorned such people for their audacity to risk putting themselves in harm's way - like hurricane force winds and whatnot, there is something to be said about human vs. nature scenarios like this blizzard walk which kind of give me an adrenaline high. Now granted, we were in "harm's way" in a very, very low risk situation, it's not as though we were climbing through waist-high snow drifts both ways or anything - but feeling the wind at your back like that, wow - that's something I'll never forget.

Again, I am not suggesting you all go out amidst a Minnesota blizzard and try your hand at power walking for pleasure. Rather, I suggest you don't let old man winter keep you locked up all season - find some kind of outdoor activity and get out there and face the elements - even if its the grueling task of snow shoveling. There is something unusually satisfying about having survived and thrived during these frigid Minnesota winters. I mean, without our crazy weather patterns, we natives would have absolutely nothing to say to one another! What do people in Arizona possibly have to talk about?  It's December 13th and there is already two feet of snow of the ground. Looks like we're in for a lot of talking over the next three months. Bring it on. 

Hands

Recently, I have found myself transfixed upon human hands in a new, albeit, weird way. Whether it's shaking hands at church or placing them on my wife's pregnant belly, I have first of all come to realize two characteristics about my own hands that I find kind of unsettling. The first is that my hands are freezing most of the time. Is my blood circulation that bad?  I don't know, but my hands are embarrassingly cold. I am always apologizing for my cold hands - which is often in my line of work as a Pastor. Cold hands are never a good thing, even in the summer when the temps are much higher. I've even thought about getting those hand-warmers that we used to keep in our pockets in the winter months - you know, always keep one in my pocket should I anticipate a receiving line or peace-sharing moment arise.  I hate my cold hands. Secondly, I have noticed that my handshake is a tad on the dainty and feeble side of the Grip-o-meter.  Granted, it's not the dreaded limp grip, but I've noticed my hand feeling absolutely crushed on more than one occasion over the last three months. Is it because of the higher population of farmers and hands-on laborers in this area?  Perhaps.  I mean, when you work outdoors and with heavy equipment for a living, its no wonder that your hands develop into calloused, vice-grip-like instruments of squeeze. But, cold and dainty?  Really?  I have a sudden desire to start strengthening my grip by pumping iron with that hand squeeze device my grandpa used to have laying around the house.

Aside from shaking and clasping, I've really noticed people's hands when placing the body of Christ into them during Communion.  There isn't much time to connect with someone when distributing the bread or the wine, so I usually find myself taking notice of two things: their eyes and their hands.  But sometimes, people aren't looking at me, so all I get are their outstretched hands to connect with.  This is how I've started my fascination with hands.  Our hands have no doubt seen, felt and experienced every thing over the course of our lives. I've encountered missing fingers, dirt and grime encrusted hands and big, beefy I-could-kill-a-bear-with-my-bare-hands kind of hands. Some hands are old and frail and others are tiny and innocent. Palms can be sweaty or rough while some are smooth.  As mentioned, some hands are warm and others frigid, and some are comforting while others are threatening. Some hands communicate weakness, while others shout strength and power.  I admit, I've had a bit of hand envy from time to time. But, all in all, what is most interesting about our hands is that I know they hold so much of who we are in them - they embody and reflect what we do, where we've been and how we interact with one another.

As I reflect upon our hands, a well-known story from the life and hands of Jesus emerges. Coming to mind is the story of Thomas, who, unfairly in my opinion, has been deemed "doubting Thomas." Upon hearing of Jesus' resurrection, he demands to touch with his own hands, the wounds Jesus has sustained in his crucifixion - otherwise, he will not believe: "Then Jesus said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe." John 20:27  Talk about our hands telling a story!  Both Jesus' wounded hands and Thomas' uncertain hands connect in what is by far one of the coolest hand-exchanges of all time.  Yes, our hands hold a tremendous amount of memory and story and serve as the extensions of God in a troubled world, as my sister-in-law Christine in South Africa can attest.  In my case, I've learned that regardless of my hands' weakness or temperature, they continue to help define who I am and how I choose to connect with others on this journey of faith and doubt, in sorrow or in joy.

May God continue to bless your hands to be a blessing for all the hands you come in contact with this holiday season and beyond.

PS: Don't forget to wash your hands! Clean hands are happy hands.

A New Old Approach

It is amazing what happens when you bribe children. Ok, I know that sounds terrible, but today, I needed a new game plan for my first graders - and I went back to the ol' positive and negative reinforcement techniques. Getting absolutely steam rolled last week (see last week's blog picture) by their energy, I knew that should I ever want to harness them long enough to get a sentence of instruction in, I would need some kind of leverage.  So I purchased a bag of Starburst fruit chews and decided to lay down the law with the trusty ol' "name on the board for misbehavior" threat. I couldn't believe how fast it worked. My strategy worked so well that zero names went on the board - and for the entire hour, I had probably a 95% increase in total attention span length. Sure, kids still went on the occasional energy binge - falling off chairs, climbing on the table, paper airplanes, selective hearing and general unrest - but for the most part, they listened, they participated and they walked out of the classroom today with a treat for good behavior. Fascinating that this technique still works so well!

My only mistake was that I left the scissors within reach. No, nobody was stabbed or attacked, but for whatever reason, when these kids see scissors, something inside of them nudges them to use them - constantly. They were to draw a picture in the first part of my lesson. Randomly, the kid next to me grabs a pair of scissors and cuts out his drawing. I continued teaching, commenting how he didn't need to cut his picture out... Next thing I know, half of the first graders are using scissors!  Paper scraps were everywhere. Ah, their inattentive tendencies managed to escape through their hands!  Needless to say, I will be hiding all scissors next time. Oh, I know, they will just find something else to distract themselves, but hopefully whatever it is will leave less of an aftermath for me to pick up.

I wonder what life would be like if we adults still behaved this way? The more I think about it, perhaps we still do. Instead of our name on the board, we get a ticket, jail time, "the look" from our spouses and instead of Starbursts we receive a bonus or a raise or some ice cream for dessert. And instead of scissors, well - we grab a keyboard or a cell phone, leaving brain cells all over the place.  How's that saying go? "The more things change, the more they stay the same."  Pretty much sums it up, doesn't it?

So, if that's all true, and we're just older versions of our young squirrelly selves - why don't you stop what you're doing, pick up a piece of paper, and draw and color yourself a picture - trust me, it'll make your day! 

This is Your Brain on Facebook

Pictured at right is a room full of extremely energetic, inattentive and adorable first graders with whom I have the pleasure of “teaching” every Wednesday afternoon. These kids are amped up – released from the control of a school classroom, they come over to the church across the street, where they get Pastor Keith to teach them about Jesus and the Bible for an hour. I do not make for a very productive first grade teacher. Most of my hour is spent trying to get them to sit for longer than ten seconds – make that three. I thought getting them into the sanctuary or the fellowship hall would help, but all I’ve done is give them more space to run, squirm and bounce around like spastic superballs shot out of a machine gun. In a word: chaos. They are always moving and have the attention span of squirrels on crack-cocaine. I have lots of love for these little ones, but I will need a much improved game-plan from here on out if I expect to keep my head from spinning off my neck.

As intriguing as these tiny terrors have been, I have decided to offer you some interesting parallels between these first grade pupils and what is happening to our brains, perhaps even at this very moment, as we utilize the ‘Interweb.’ After deciding to trade ignorance for enlightenment, I took on the intellectual and thoughtful reading of The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains, by Nicholas Carr.  Maybe you’ve also noticed changes in your mental capacities and practices, or maybe you’ve never given it a second thought, but this subject has become somewhat of a fascination of late, especially as I’ve become immersed in prenatal reading materials discussing how our bodies and brains develop. 

“Whether I’m online or not, my mind now expects to take in information the way the Net distributes it: in a swiftly moving stream of particles. Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski.” (The Shallows, page 7)

I think most of us find ourselves on Jet Skis too. For all of the benefits of the web, and don’t get me wrong, there are many, this book has opened to me some startling consequences of our consumption of the Internet’s instant information and stimulation.  Perhaps the most negative affect of our incessant web use is the overall loss of sustained concentration we suffer. Like energetic and inattentive first graders, our brains are constantly distracted, not able to idle for longer than a few seconds before we crave additional stimulation.  Whether you’re on Facebook or Google, we are actually encouraging our brains to succumb to A.D.D.  “Our goal,’ says Irene Au (of Google), ‘is to get users in and out really quickly’…In other words, as author Nicholas Carr puts it, “Google is, quite literally, in the business of distraction.” (Page 157)

So what?  What’s the big deal?  I love the ease of Google. I love being able to find just about any answer by typing in a few key words and clicking “Search.” I still can’t believe most of my childhood homework assignments required use of the card catalog. But despite the awesomeness of the internet, I realize there is probably a significant part of me that has been numbed or eroded. “When we go online, we enter an environment that promotes cursory reading, hurried and distracted thinking, and superficial learning. It’s possible to think deeply while surfing the Net, just as it’s possible to think shallowly while reading a book, but that’s not the type of thinking the technology encourages and rewards.” (pg. 116)  Then it dawned on me: do I really want to become a shallow minded thinker? Do I want to lose my ability to ponder and imagine, contemplate and create?

“The constant shifting of our attention when we’re online may make our brains more nimble when it comes to multitasking, but improving our ability to multitask actually hampers our ability to think deeply and creatively.” (pg. 140) So, again, with the positives come the negatives. This constant desire to be connected every where, all the time, can be extremely helpful. On the other hand, ‘To be everywhere is to be nowhere.’ (Seneca, ancient Roman philosopher) I know I’m not the first person to make that conclusion - we've all been victims of either our own inattentiveness or others' while multitasking, but the desire for connectedness through our technology and web applications may in fact be leading to the opposite result:

“The great danger we face as we become more intimately involved with our computers—as we come to experience more of our lives through the disembodied symbols flickering across our screens—is that we’ll begin to lose our humanness, to sacrifice the very qualities that separate us from machines.” (pgs. 207-08)

I could go on and on. The book was really, really interesting. It devotes a chapter on how we formulate memories which had me hooked – it was like a Harry Potter novel, I couldn’t put it down. Did you know that “the normal human brain never reaches a point at which experiences can no longer be committed to memory?” The bottom line is that I want you to at least be aware that time spent online is rewiring your brain, and in not all good ways. I know that sounds dramatic and dreary, but it’s true. For me, staying sharp and having the ability to concentrate, contemplate and be creative is core to who I am as a person, so knowing and understanding a bit more of what happens to my neural circuits and synapses when I make multiple fantasy baseball transactions or check my email every hour is crucial to my future and overall well-being.  The same holds true for those of you online right now, reading this blog post – beware, be disciplined and be “attentive to what we stand to lose. How sad it would be, particularly when it comes to the nurturing of our children’s minds, if we were to accept without question the idea that ‘human elements’ are outmoded and dispensable.” (Pg. 224)

Obviously scaling back our internet use cold turkey is difficult, if not impossible in a culture such as ours. But, we do have choices and we can all make adjustments, and hey, you’re always welcome to join me in the Non-Facebook Club! Finally, if retaining depth and creativity is of importance to you, make sure you get outside for a nature hike now and then or better yet, go spend some time being in-tents! 

Harvest

For the first time in my life I had the opportunity to investigate, explore and experience a harvest. Two weeks ago I set foot upon a rural family farm operation in west central Minnesota to find out how a corn harvest works. It was nothing short of fascinating for a guy like me who grew up in suburban Minneapolis. I have often wondered how things work, from batteries to thunderstorms or cassette tapes and fax machines... I am amazed at the 'behind the scenes' inner workings that we take for granted. I mean, can we really explain how our voices can travel from one cell phone to another? So, when given the chance to learn about how the combine actually harvests the corn from the stalk, I was all for it.

With that said, please don't expect me to explain it to you. I sat in the cab, I watched the machine violently mow down and chew up the stalks - and I saw it from all angles, too. But I still don't understand, really. It was explained to me in thorough detail and yet, when I sit and ponder it all, I still don't have a clue how all that corn is taken off the cob and collected. But, I did learn some other cool things about corn harvest. I learned what a bushel is. I know what is considered a good yield. I could tell you what the optimal moisture percentage is. I understand how the elevator works and the ins and outs of purchasing. I didn't realize how much math was involved in all of this. I would be doomed - I will just stick to writing sermons and teaching confirmation thank you very much. Yes, hanging out at the farm and asking lots of questions was a day well spent. I tip my hat to the farmers of this world and am grateful for having a little more wisdom into how the food ends up in our cupboards and on our tables every day.

I still have more questions though. Its like I can see the corn going in the combine but by the time it comes out, I still have no idea what just happened. Likewise, it's hard not to think about and discuss the methods of food processing which we're subjected to in the present day. Have you taken any time to read the ingredients on some of this stuff we're putting into our bodies? I consider myself pretty good speaking English but I cannot pronounce half of those words. Ignorance is bliss indeed! Don't get me wrong, I enjoy convenience just as much as the next guy, but it's getting a bit out of hand. From the recent documentaries Super Size Me, Food, Inc and No Impact Man to the books Omnivore's Dilemma and Grub, something is unsettling, if not entirely disturbing, about America's food business. Personally, I have chosen to make much more informed decisions when it comes to what I'm eating and drinking. We are trying our best to buy local and organic whenever possible - but even the label 'organic' is becoming suspicious!

It is both a hope and a goal to someday get all of my food from someone I can shake hands with - both as a way to truly know the where's and how's of food, but also to do my part in treating all of our bodies with care and respect. This is not easy to do on a budget, but worth every effort possible. If nothing else, I think it makes a difference to spend time reading the ingredient labels and knowing what is going into my body. G.I. Joe always told me that "knowing was half the battle." Okay, so 50 percent isn't going to win many battles, but its a good start, right?

6 A.M. Basketball

If I had to pin down the one thing that I’ve enjoyed the most since arriving in Dawson, above all it would be their hospitality. The sense of belonging that exudes from this community is unmatched by any other setting I’ve experienced before. The welcome they’ve extended has been nothing but open, warm and full of Christ’s love and acceptance. We have been truly humbled by their familial embrace and continue to be awed by the various acts of kindness they continue to extend toward us.

One such act of kindness came in the form of an invitation. This invitation was to play basketball on Tuesday and Thursday mornings with other men from the congregation – at 6 o’clock in the morning. I vaguely remembered hearing of such an insane opportunity when I first arrived here. I grimaced. I winced. I shuddered at the thought of rolling out of bed in the wee hours of the day to engage in an intense workout of my muscles, lungs and hand-eye coordination. I have to admit, my first response was to decline the invitation. “Look, I love to play basketball, don’t get me wrong, but not at 6 in the morning,” I replied. After some gentle prodding and encouragement, my hesitancy withered and I agreed to give it a try.

I had a great time and haven't stopped playing since - even after I left one morning with the largest blister I've ever had in my life. It was right on the ball of my foot, and I am not exaggerating - it was the size of a golf ball! Oh, and it had already burst. Needless to say, I was out a game or two after that.

In a strange way though, the early morning basketball has kind of ignited me lately. Aside from getting into more of a routine physically, I have also settled into a nice daily devotional time, getting a little more spiritually fit. And my reading hasn't stopped at the Bible either, I am currently on a frenzy - from multiple pregnancy books to The Shallows: What the Internet is doing to our brains to Brian Mclaren's A New Christianity: 10 Questions that are transforming the faith - I am locked into the written word.

I haven't really missed watching television - we are going into our second month without tuning into a single prime time show. I have found a way to check out a few Minnesota Vikings and Twins games (dropping hints with co-workers with large screen TV's, using the community room at the apartment, etc.) We have watched a few PBS programs and have surprisingly found them enjoyable. As for time with real people, well, Rebecca and I get out for a daily walk and on top of all of my ministry related tasks, I've also been getting to watch plenty of high school sports through the Dawson-Boyd Blackjacks' football and volleyball teams. Sure, we've watched several movies (August Rush - SEE IT) and continue to enjoy the old standby DVD collection like Arrested Development and 30 Rock - laughter is after all, the best way to stay healthy.

I guess what I am trying to say is that all in all, life is good. Now, if the Twins could find a way to break the Yankees' spell and win a playoff game or two, life will be GOLDEN. Go Twins!

I'm New Here

It's truly a wonderful feeling being the new guy in town. My pastoral internship began this week in Dawson, Minnesota, a small town of 1500 - small only in population. Their welcome has been anything but small - we've been amazed at their warmth and friendliness. I could easily get used to country living.

Right now we are packed into a tiny one bedroom apartment. It's quaint but you really can't beat the commute time - door to door, my trek to church is .9 miles. It takes me a little under two minutes to get there by car and a mere 15 minutes by foot. There is a Subway and Dairy Queen between our apartment and the church. We have a local grocery store, hardware store, post office, coffee shop, clothing store, butcher shop, bowling alley, a bar or two, a sports grill and a library. There is a hair salon - two even. Last night we watched the Dawson-Boyd Blackjacks do battle with the Renville County West Jaguars in the first high school football game of the season. The Blackjacks won 72 - 0. I could get used to country living.

There are however, a few negatives thus far. The walls are pretty thin at the apartment - and we apparently have some rowdy neighbors. The nearest Target is 1 hour away. Our rabbit ears antenna only captures 1 channel (PBS) for television watching. We didn't have room to bring our bikes. We don't have internet in our apartment.

All in all, we are truly enjoying ourselves here in Dawson. The church is in the process of purchasing a house practically on the same property. It needs alot of TLC and renovation and looks like a move-in date for us will be late fall. It will slice my commute by .9 miles. It's so close to the church that I should be able to tap into the wireless signal. I will be able to walk ten steps and into the church. No kidding.

I've begun being referred to as "Pastor Keith." It's weird but it feels good to get going in my ministry career. Yes, I could get used to country living.

In Search of New Scenes

I just finished reading Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, and I am beginning to feel convicted of my lack of pursuits and hobbies in life. Perhaps "convicted" isn't quite the word – inspired is probably a better fit. In the book Miller structures his narrative entirely around screenwriting and the importance of story in one's own life. I really took to his format and literary voice in A Million Miles. Thought provoking, raw and emotional, this book truly hit a nerve. I have been pondering some things for awhile now, and his emphasis on living one's life not by success but by story and memory making is something I know I need to explore and unearth more than I have been.

I am primarily interested in what I could be doing with my spare time. In reflecting on my hobbies and interests I've realized that I don't really have something I can claim as "my thing" in life. I have a strong interest in video production and have always been "the video guy" just about wherever I go, but I can't really say it's something I yearn to do in my free time anymore. Part of this is that video production takes a team effort, and my access to fellow videographers is limited. I have introduced my love of production and creativity into my ministry and have found it to be a great tool especially with youth – but again, it's not really something I can escape to like kayaking or knitting. I guess what I am really trying to get my head around at 31 years old, is what I can possibly do with this "hobby vacancy" – what can I tell people about when I'm not at church doing my pastor thing?

Without further ado, here are some ideas I've started to entertain. I list these in no particular order and all under the premise of "if money and time was not an obstacle…" I feel like an addition or two of something other than making line-up changes for my fantasy baseball team will greatly enhance not only my mental and physical health but give me that much more to write about in my blog account (which has obviously taken the backseat over the last several months.) I could:

Train for Triathlons, take up mountain biking or kayaking, enroll in cooking classes, become one of those trained weather spotters, hike/backpack the Appalachian Trail, learn to speak foreign languages and travel, learn how to build websites and other techno-nerdery, learn woodworking or some other hands-on craft, rock climb, etc.

I am really interested in environmental issues and anything having to do with sustainable resources and reduction of our carbon footprint. Social justice has become an area of great importance to me. In fact, there are so many organizations and causes I find worthwhile that I would have to devote an entire post to them and yet, I seem stuck in my actual involvement and participation. And when I say "stuck" I mean I either don't know how to participate or I do know how and for whatever reason I have not gotten off my butt.

I have to do something – and like Miller in A Million Miles, I want to invest for the sake of meaning-making. Not that I view my life as meaningless – far from it – but with many changes and transitions on the personal front coming up at lightning speed, I just feel that having some kind of a real hobby would be beneficial for me and everyone else close to me. I've borrowed so many other people's hobbies for long enough. It's time to sink my teeth into something that lights my fire – something that I can truly claim as my own "scene."

 

The Smallest of Seeds

Introduction: The following are portions of a sermon I preached for my classmates at the Seminary on the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 13 verses 31-33. I haven't written in my blog since January, but I have been busy writing - so I thought I'd just put a little of it out there for my faithful Life-in-Tents followers. Writing sermons has taken up a majority of my creative writing these days, so I apologize for my absence.

"The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; ³² it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches." Matthew 13:31-33

In 5th grade, I had the desire to grow something in my mom's garden. I can still remember the anticipation I felt when I planted those first seeds in the ground. I waited anxiously for signs of growth every day. I watered it. I visited often, walking around it and imagining when it would be ready. And then, little by little it grew before my eyes until, after several weeks of waiting, I harvested my cucumber and joyously hoisted that fat green tube-like vegetable victoriously over my head. Even now, I still feel a sense of child-like awe when thinking about the process of growth. Then one day as an adult, I had another desire – to don an apron and bake something from scratch. I got the chance during my first year of marriage – it was my wife's birthday, and I was going to bake a cake. I was a bit anxious looking over that recipe – wondering how so many different ingredients could possibly mix together into a delicious tasting cake. And, sure enough, just as with the cucumber, the mixture of ingredients plus waiting resulted in a transformation – a miracle growth.

These simple transformations – from the cucumber to the cake to the story of the mustard seed still leave me in awe. How can something as simple as planting little seeds in the dirt lead to something so amazing? How is this natural process like the kingdom of heaven? Imagine hearing this parable for the first time. Would it go in one ear and out the other, or would you be left pondering the mystery of God's work? There is something so compellingly wonderful about the kingdom of heaven and what it's like. As one commentator puts it, "The miracle of nature symbolized by the mustard seed, which develops from the smallest of beginnings to an astonishing fullness, is similar to the reality of the kingdom." So, the question remains: what's so great about a kingdom that is so small and often overlooked?

"Smallest" of seeds leads to the greatest of shrubs and welcoming a little child translates to the least being the greatest. What is the secret to all of this small talk? For starters, how about a small, lowly stable serving as shelter for a certain babe wrapped in swaddling cloth? Do beginnings get any smaller than that? So too, the greatness of the mustard seed is in its smallness, its humility. Where else can one appreciate the beauty of smallness? Look no further than God's creation: Imagine standing on the beach and listening to the rhythmic pounding of ocean waves upon the eroding sand under your toes or gazing up at a pitch black sky, dazzled by millions of stars which shine throughout an endless galaxy - or hiking through forests, feeling small in comparison to the hundreds of trees which have endured years of violent storms, drought and still grow taller and thicker...

Being small is a daily burial of our selfishness, our impatience, our hopelessness and our desire to be big – a dying of self into the dirt and soil of discipleship. We're watered in the remembrance of our baptism, fed and nourished in the bread and the wine and inspired by the preaching of the Word, sent out by the breath of the Holy Spirit. Like little cucumber or mustard seeds, we wait in wonder: when will we sprout to the surface and reap the fruit of the harvest? Yes, we wait in wonder. Waiting in wonder can lead to growth of the negative type: growing anxious or impatient. Waiting is difficult. From traffic jams, to the grocery store line to the internship placement process… Waiting stretches our patience thin. With timing out of our hands we wait for an answer to a prayer, wait to heal, wait for a job interview, wait to get pregnant, wait for the flood waters to recede… Feeling small and overlooked, we struggle to become known by stimulating our growth somehow, as if asking "Are we there yet?" "Are we there yet?" "Are we there yet?" is going to result in arriving where we want to arrive. Yet, little by little, in the smallness of our waiting, God is revealing the kingdom of heaven within and around us. One little sprout, one little ingredient at a time, we're creeping toward the surface, changing – transforming. We are but yeast, imperceptible or hidden when first mixed into a lump of dough, yet having an eventual, inevitable, and awesome effect upon the whole… Dead and buried to self, God raises us from our smallest of beginnings to an astonishing fullness feeding all who hunger for the good news of Jesus Christ.

We will continue to wait in wonder along the way - but we are not alone. Soaked and sustained by God's love, we're given an endless supply of the light of hope. Hope is to us what Miracle Grow is to cucumber seeds, fertilizing our little roots of faith. In her book, "Apprenticed to Hope, A Sourcebook for Difficult Times," author Julie Neraas, puts the image of hope this way: "Hope hums silently beneath the surface, content to do its work in the background. It lives at a layer of reality far deeper and far less visible..." (pg. XIV) Our hope is secure within the reality of the kingdom of heaven – not some future reality, but our NOW reality. NOW is the reality and promise of Jesus Christ for you.

Like an excited 5th grade boy harvesting his first cucumber, Jesus joyously hoists you up - giving you strength in your smallness and hope in your waiting. From smallest of beginnings to the conqueror of death itself, Jesus Christ is mixing into the ingredients of your day, your week and your very being – raising you to new life through your learning, waiting and yes, even your smallness. Amen.

This One Hurts

I've debated over the last few days if I even want to write about it. I have avoided reading and hearing about it because the pain is still too great. I have talked about it, and this has helped, but when the conversation stops, the cycle of thinking picks up again and those wounds are re-opened and start hurting again. But, I feel like I need to write about it anyways. I feel I owe it to others who are shell-shocked and suffering like me since it happened Sunday evening - and together, perhaps, we can join in collective hope (again) before another agonizing year of Minnesota Vikings football begins in August 2010.

That game was like having my heart punched repeatedly and then receiving a miraculous revival only to have it ripped away for another round of vicious abuse. The agony. I decided a month ago that I was going to stop my cynicism and try to be optimistic, forward looking and hopeful about my Vikings. I can tell you exactly when this mind-shift happened - during halftime versus the Chicago Bears on Monday Night Football. They were getting pounded by the lowly Bears. While it was tempting to criticize and write off the Vikings for another wasted opportunity, I decided to rally around them and believe that a comeback was on the near horizon. My efforts were nearly rewarded until my favorite Viking, Adrian Peterson, bobbled away the game. Since then, I did my very best to give this team the benefit of the doubt. When Cowboys fever filled the mouths of every NFL expert, and a hot Dallas team came to town and put the Purple and Gold faithful in fits of anxiety, I believed in the Vikings and predicted a win. They prevailed convincingly.

Then I had to endure a week's worth of build-up before the season-long anticipated match-up with the Saints. I was hopeful. I was confident. I did my best to block out the negativity and vivid memories of '98 and '03. I even had a back-up plan for defeat: along with many others, I had decided that should a Vikings loss occur, I would be happy for the Saints and the city of New Orleans. And when game time finally arrived and the Vikes drove down the field on their first possession and scored - ahh, the hope ignited within....

However, it wasn't long before we were knee-deep in endless fumbles, ridiculous penalties, missed interceptions, injuries and the end-of-regulation-field goal attempt that never came... Alas, after enduring the meltdown of Sunday's game, I am still not quite recovered. It still hurts. Granted, no tears have been shed, but there has been no shortage of internal strife and suffering going on. Do you understand how I feel football fans? Am I crazy for feeling so sad, angry and shocked about this? I've tried to convince myself that I am indeed a bit off my rocker for caring so much about a game that I do not control nor have any invested involvement with outside of my loyalty which stems from my place of geographical origin. Talking with others and just seeing the anguish in their eyes has led me to believe that I am not crazy or acting foolishly about this gut-wrenching loss.

After 4 Super Bowl losses and 5 straight NFC Conference Championship losses, this team had the opportunity to right the wrongs of yesteryear, to give the Minnesota fans of the world the chance for a new identity... Under the leadership of ex-rival Brett Favre, who for many of us became a rallying symbol of hope and determination, however weird and uncomfortable that transiton has been, the Vikings looked poised to get to the big game and ... and ... and ... We'll never know. Again. Despite the turnovers and ugly play, somehow, as the game neared its end, we were duped into still believing that maybe, just maybe, they were still going to pull this one out. (I'd like to apologize at this point for all those "Vikings fans by association," those who normally pledge their loyalty to their own teams, but either through prior elimination or just sheer self-less love for us, decided to cheer for the Vikes in order to see us attain happiness and joy... I'm sorry you had to see and feel this. You may have already moved on, but I am sorry for being the reason for your having suffered temporarily...) Indeed, Vikings fans are to be the most pitied in all of sports. On level with Cubs fans? Perhaps. But, they've won the crown before, even if it was over 100 years ago. (I am open for discussion if you feel your team is worse off than ours.)

Is it wrong to have wanted to celebrate victory and experience the hope of all hopes of a Super Bowl win for a change? Is it wrong to have wanted to share this joy with loved ones, especially my brother whom I am not sure I will have the chance to witness (in person) such an opportunity with again? Like him, I too compare this loss as spiritual - that despite one's mistakes in the game (of life) there is still a chance to redeem oneself and come away with a victory from time to time... to experience first-hand how God's grace feels- that despite what you do or don't do, you still receive the handing down of riches and blessings. Is it wrong to want to be on the "God giveth" side for a change rather than enduring yet another "and God taketh away"? So, we are left feeling robbed, beaten, disappointed and bitter. As for that "back-up plan in the event of a Vikings loss" that I earlier adopted... Let the record state that I am not happy for the Saints and the city of New Orleans (they have enough other people on their side as it is without me right now.) At this point, I don't even know if I want to watch the Super Bowl. This one hurts so much worse than '98 or '03. You would think that with time and experience of repeated heartbreak that I would grow stronger and more resilient - able to hold up under such disappointment - but no. Is it because I was more hopeful and positive rather than the opposite, which so many have adopted as their mentality of choice? I don't know. Should I abandon this team to avoid further pain? Should I go back to my self-protecting ways of cynicism and pessimistic "I knew it would happen this way"? Or do I cling to the ounce of hope that remains, that whispers to me that someday, some way, things will get better and perhaps, a team like the Vikings will hoist the Lombardi trophy, giddy as children at the playground?

I will hope. It will take some time to heal, but I will hope. Does it mean that I have to understand what went wrong, or find some kind of silver lining or "reason" it had to be this way? NO. Much like our continued hurt and pain of dealing with the "incomprehensible and cruel" realities of the earthquake in Haiti - I do not think any sort of answers will be enough to silence the pain. I don't understand. I don't know why. I question and wrestle with God. I want to do something to help in a tangible way, so I give money or volunteer my time. But before I can do any of that - before I enter back into the fray of life's trials, I must first and foremost cling to HOPE. Without hope, there is only darkness. Although not even close to the amount of pain and anguish that the earthquake has caused, the Vikings game dealt a significant blow to our individual and collective ways of living hope. Sports teams provide for us a way to practice hope and live life forward rather than wallowing in historical misery, woe and "if only they had..."

With that said, I am happy to report that Minnesota Twins players report to spring training in under 35 days...