“I believe that many who find that 'nothing happens' when they sit down, or kneel down, to a book of devotion, would find that the heart sings unbidden while they are working their way through a tough bit of theology with a pipe in their teeth and a pencil in their hand.”
C.S. Lewis - Introduction to "On the Incarnation" by St. Athanasius
03.16.09
Posted in Life at 2:31 pm by Adam B.
The only reason I’m in Denver is to get to Chicago. I was on the plane to O’hare, the luggage was getting packed onto the plane, when a disconcerting beep begins to play over the loudspeaker. The captain comes on to reassure us. “A sensor is down, things don’t look good. They said they’re going to try to fix it by 2:00… that’s not going to happen. Don’t rush off the plane yet. I’ll tell you when it’s official.”Just what I wanted to hear from my captain.
The amazing thing, no moaning. I expected a sudden outcry complete with gnashing teeth. I expected an enraged public to massacre the flight crew and storm the luggage bins. In fact, everyone stayed calm. I think the quiet acceptance had something to do with the solidarity of the moment. There was no unfairness here. We all have places to be, and right now. A lowsy situation stuck us all; there’s no need to make it worse my moaning. It’s almost enough to make you feel okay being human.
So now I’ve got three hours to spend in an airport. Luckily, it’s a nice airport. I have a quiet location, more or less, to plug in my laptop and sit on a chair and compose. When I’m hungry, I have a bounty of adequate and nearly-adequate food choices. I’m on a business trip which means expenses are paid. Within reason. Using my ipod, complete with all the books I could ever want, I can send text messages and emails so the important parties are informed of my whereabouts. Who needs a cell phone. Bah!
Airports are funny because they are like a giant mall with one exception, no one wants to be here. Everyone here is just waiting to be somewhere else. There are plenty of fine stores, resturants, and wild people to watch, and yet, it just doesn’t have that jazzy mall feel. It’s like they have invented a way to make us shop while we wait in line. Yes, it’s just like that. Airports are those isles of useless goods in the checkout line at the grocery store trying to seduce the kid in you (or your actual kid) to reach out and buy some gum you didn’t intend to purchase. And a candybar. And, oooh, I didn’t know Brangelina met up with Jennifer A. this week, I’ll have to check up on that. While I’m at it I might as well catch up on my biblical prophesy. The only real difference is that rad voice reminding you to watch your step before the moving floor comes to a sudden stop. I’m still waiting to see someone fall flat on their face.
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01.19.08
Posted in Life at 6:25 pm by Adam B.
Today I attended my first meeting of the PDX yo-yo club. Before I say too much I must dispel any false impressions you may have. This is not some club for nerdy, puny, middle school yo-yo freaks who have been ostracized from the football field, basketball court, and chess club. No, only adult nerds attend this club. I haven’t fit in anywhere this well since Science Olympiad.
The yo-yo you see here is designed and manufactured by one of the members. It is making quite a splash in the yo-yo scene these days, and even an Old Skool yo-yoer like myself can appreciate its subtle allure. It is called the Project, and it specializes in all the tricks I can’t do. Purchasing this yo-yo is my first step into an uncharted jungle of mad yo-yo skills. With their help I am already working on a few new tricks. The other members said it will be an even trade if I will teach them how to talk to children. (That comes up a lot if you’re a yo-yoer). When I told them I worked for a family with eight kids they were quite impressed.
By the way, if your interested in learning to yo-yo and you live in Portland, OR you can keep up with the PDX club at http://portlandyoyo.blogspot.com or you can visit my yo-yo trick video how to site, http://yotricks.com
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08.14.07
Posted in Life at 10:08 pm by Adam B.
I bought a bike. It’s what people do here. Didn’t want to pay full price so I waited ’til a garage sale had one in stock. Twenty bucks. The owner let it sit out in rain once. I bought a lock but I am not sure which is protecting which. “Nice lock… but I’d hate to steal that bike to get it.” They have a symbiotic relationship.
The first thing I had to do was adjust the gears. It’s a ten speed but only five were going when I rode it home. I adjusted a few screws and BAM five more speeds. I rock. Next I adjusted the rear brake. After seven or eight tweaks with no improvement I decided to try wiping the WD-40 off the wheel frame. I must have missed that lesson on fixyourbikeyourselfyounerd.com.
It had its christening yesterday as rode it into town. Half-way there I begin feel grinding rubber slowing me down every time I peddled. The breaks you ask? Have you already forgotten I adjusted them myself? No, it wasn’t the breaks. The bolt holding the rear wheel was loose. The owner must have missed that in his twelve point inspection before he sold it to me. So here I am in the middle of town with a loose bolt and no wrench. So I asked myself, “What would Macgyver do?” I checked my pockets. All I had were my keys and some receipts. I pulled my carabiner off my key chain and compared it to the size of the bolt. A perfect fit. In no time we were back in action.
I may have inherited some of my dad’s mechanical genius yet. Maybe next I’ll try something really wild and adjust the seat.
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08.08.07
Posted in Life at 12:17 pm by Adam B.
I have been experimenting more with WordPress, an open-source online system for building websites. This site is built with it and I recently developed a page for one of my teachers who has a line of t-shirts and hats (Theta Threads) and I just finished the first draft of llamabottle.com, a site for Chrissy to sell her photos. (Don’t worry Steve, I have only been coding in the early morning and late at night when I am no good for writing).
So far WordPress has been a dream. All the code is written in php which means that all the sites can have dynamic menus and all the web 2.0 (that means user-interactive) features you could want. Since it is open-source it is free to use, if you already have your own web space, and it is 100% customizable. No more constraints from the 5 blogger themes available, there are 100s of user generated themes that look very professional. For someone stylistically challenged like myself this could be the biggest advantage of all.
The other advantage of WordPress being open-source is that users are constantly writing new code (plugins) that enhance its already robust functionality. On Chrissy’s website I installed a picture manager called NextGEN that creates all the layouts and slideshows and it manages all the pictures for me. This was written by some guy in Germany (I think) who took four other picture managers and combined all their features into one awesome plugin. (Again, he could only do this because every things is open-source). Because of his pluging I don’t need to go to some outside page like flicker to manage and display my photos, I can host and control everything myself.
Since WordPress is blogging software it has a great back door for adding content. I can generate sites for people and setup all their links and they can add all the content themselves. No more managing pages for people who don’t know code! Woo hoo.
The next stage in my WordPress development is to add a store. We’ll see how that goes. In the mean time check out Chrissy’s page and post some comments about her lovely work. (Did I mention all her photos were edited using UFRaw and Gimp, two rad Open-source photo editors?)
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06.21.07
Posted in Life at 1:08 pm by Adam B.
One of the main reasons I moved out to Portland is because of the people here who love me like family. With my family that’s no small thing. One of those friends who drew me here is Tarver. He just had his leg chopped off.
Tarver lived with me for a short time while I was at Wheaton. He liks good conversation and has terrible taste in music. In Wheaton he loved tormenting me with a song about a girlfriend who sheds too much. I met him through our mutual friend Steve Fitz, my techno loving roommate at Moody. I’m still trying to get both of them into Geoff Moore and the Distance.
Tarver is trying to get a prosthetic leg. They cost about $40,000. His insurance will only cover $5,000 (this is typical). The prosthetic companies don’t offer financing either. (What are you going to put up for collateral, your hacked limb?) Oh yeah, the best time to get the prosthetic is two months after surgery because of the healing process and limb growth and stuff I don’t understand. That means he has a very short time to earn the money he needs to get a new leg.
Did I mention his wife is 6 (or 7) months pregnant?
This is no sob story nor something unexpected, but those are the facts. While the rest of us prayed for money to drop out of heaven Tarver went to work. He designed a t-shirt that reads, “This Shirt Bought Tarver A Leg.”
Checkout his story in our local newspaper and on the news. Buy a rad shirt and help Tarver get a leg.
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05.28.07
Posted in Life at 5:56 pm by Adam B.
“Who am I?” That is the question my generation is asking. We are a people desperate for self-definition yet refusing to be defined. Do not try to label us by our country, our job, our denomination, our parents, or any cleverly devised social construct. Your categories are a cage and we long to be free.
In our search for understanding we tried many schemes. Early on we thought our interests could define us. “I read fantasy.” We dressed in robes and wizard hats and played Lord of the Rings Trivial Pursuit. We were happy here, for a time, but only as a fish who has not yet sensed the limitations of his bowl. And so, like a curse upon our heads, we matured and left the simplicity of our youthful delusion that we are not so complex. “Am I nothing more than a consumer of other men’s visions immersed in a false world of someone else’s thoughts? There must be more to me.” We looked to our fathers for answers, but they were either absent or in the midst of their own crisis of retirement redefinition. When we asked, “Who am I?” we got “I don’t know, but what has my life meant?” If they can’t look at us and see their answer maybe we should look elsewhere.
We have tried friends, marriages, and in our despair even full time work, but the cure still eludes us. No one knows us, and worse, we do not know ourselves. With our anchors raised and all the beacons torn down we are tossed haplessly by a raging world who sees us only as a number on a sales report. We are without a compass on this journey and clouds of doubt and regret cover all the stars that might guide us. It is dark and wet and cold and the wind is constantly changing. Will we find a peaceful bay or be smashed against the rocks?
This is the story of my generation, yes, but it is not my story. Do not presume I have come to gloat, I know we all struggle, this is just not mine. From the outside it seems the whole issue is one of approval. After a lifetime of criticism for doing the things you love, and praise for things done in ambivalence (doing the things they told you should be done), I don’t blame your confusion. The real question is not “Who am I?” but “Which me do I most approve of?” When you look back on a life lived their way you say, “That wasn’t me” but the problem is that it was you, a you you hate. Your search is not one of self-definition as much as self-approval. Until now you have defined yourself by their praise. You can admit it was a flawed approach, but the better way is still amiss. Do you trust the folk wisdom, “Follow your heart”? What if your heart sets you on a path towards destruction? And what of pop Christian wisdom, “Find your approval in God”? Is this so easy? If you trust in West-Coast-Jesus he approves of everyone, and if you trust in Mid-West-Jesus he approves of no one. Neither is helpful in your search. A Jesus in our own image is easy to love, but he is utterly useless. I do not presume to know the path you seek, but I am sure it is easier to walk with company than it is to walk alone.
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02.06.07
Posted in Life at 11:20 pm by Adam B.
I did a yo-yo show on Sunday for a Super Bowl party at a church in Vancouver. The man who invited me to perform said he expected a few thousand to attend. I’ve heard that before. When it comes to church events I have learned that 50 means 20 and an estimate of 500 will never draw more than 175. Churches in WA must be different. They packed two high school parking lots with cars and filled an entire high school, three levels, with people. I performed in a gym full of kids and parents.
When I finished, I found the coordinator of the event to say thanks and goodbye. Surprisingly, he wanted to talk with me for a few minutes. No, it wasn’t a surprise that he wanted to talk to me, it was a surprise that he had time to talk at all. He was the grand overseer of the event and all problems and decisions were channeled through him. Nevertheless, he found 5 minutes to talk to the yo-yoer. Unlike most people, however, he did not want to talk about me. Yes, their was the cordial chit chat and introductions (I had only spoken to him through e-mail at this point) but then he began to talk about his church. At first I thought he was trying to justify the Super Bowl event to me. I didn’t see why, it didn’t really matter what I thought. I felt I had a part to play in their schemes and whether or not I would throw the same event myself was besides the point. He called me to support their ministry and that is what I did. As he continued to talk the discussion broadened into the other ministries at their church. This was not the type of talk to impress, as I am sure you have all heard from ministry coordinators at large churches, it sounded more like a defense.
Finally, things became clear. “As a part of all these ministries we have an internship program to assist seminary students by giving them practical ministry experience.” This talk was not a defense, it was a sales pitch. He was just a guy who believed in what his church was doing and wanted me to be a part of it. It was not that he knew me, he simply wanted everyone to be a part of what his church was doing.
As I rode home I wondered at his attitude. I could not imagine being a part of a church that actually invited other Christians to come and participate because I was so into what we were doing. My first thought was, “I believe in God, maybe I don’t believe in church.” I pondered this for some time and decided, “the thought has merit.” Not that it is a good thought, or something I am proud of, it is just an accurate articulation of where I am at right now. I rolled this over in my head for hours, “why don’t I believe in church… why can’t I even imagine being excited enough about a church to invite people just to experience and take part in what we are doing?” I wasn’t sure whether I should feel convicted or relieved that I have learned something about myself.
As I pondered, I expanded on my thought. “Maybe my whole generation doesn’t believe in church, that would explain a lot.” I grew frustrated at this, “the church is God’s plan for his kingdom, what’s wrong with me?” “What would it take for me to be so excited about a church that I would actually try to sell people on it.” It was there I stopped. Me, a salesman? The reason I can’t imagine this ideal church is because there is no such church. I am not saying this because it would take a perfect church to warrant a salesmen attitude from me but because I would rather be anything in life but a salesman.
Deep down I believe all salesmen are liars. If a half truth is a lie, then all salesmen are liars. Their job is to tell one side of the story, the side that will generate sales. Best case scenario everything they say is true and they leave out certain fine-print details. Worst case scenario, we have Super Bowl commercials. I could never be a good salesman myself. I love getting deals and I hate being scammed. The golden rule tells me I should do unto others… not a good verse for a world class salesman. I also believe that few things can make a substantial difference in anyone’s life. I must qualify this. Soap, for example, has made the world a better place. However, if I were a soap salesman I could not convince myself that Dove is in fact better than Ivory. Even if I did believe it was better I could not convince myself that the difference would translate into better quality of life, or smell for that matter. We have such a variety of any given commodity I am always stuck at this point. The only way I can truly convince myself it will make an actual meaningful difference is if it is cheaper. Again, not a good rule if you are trying to make money. Unfortunately, I feel much the same about churches. “But,” you say, “a difference in church will make a significant difference in a persons life.” True, but how can I be sure that the church I am a part of is better than all the other churches I have never been to? If churches exist to lead us toward holiness (and it does, in case you were wondering) how can I be all that excited about a new singles group, youth group, young marrieds group, etc., at my church that is so fun? And if it is, in fact, leading us toward holiness I am not so sure I could convince anyone to come even if I wanted to.
If I am not a salesman, what am I? An educator, I suppose. Honestly, that is not much better. Compared to a salesman an educator wants you to have all the facts before you make a decision. They are concerned that you make the right decision, but equally if not more concerned that you make an informed decision. At the same time, it is difficult,if not impossible to present all the facts in such a way that will not lead to a certain conclusion. If I believe in a specific truth myself, I would be a fool to present the facts in a way that might lead someone away from the truth. So, even if I present all the facts, if I have any conviction at all I am still little more than a salesman. Some theologians, on the other hand, are exactly like salesmen. They tell you all the good things about their position and all the stupid things about their straw man opponents. If you are so convinced by your own arguments it would be hard to do otherwise. Sometimes I envy the salesmen educators with all their certainty and definite attitudes. I would love to reach the learning ceiling they have; nothing new to learn, being right all the time. Alas, my hopes of a complete and certain knowledge died with modernism and I too am swimming in an information age where anything can be proven and yet nothing is known. Even still, I can enjoy my education and my hopes of educating others.
I think this is why I enjoy yo-yoing and performing. I can sell something that has no value. “Buy a yo-yo, we both know it won’t change your life and offers no grand hopes for wealth or bikini clad women. It is just a toy for useless amusement. That’s right, ten dollars.” There is no deception here. If people are buying on an impulse, at least they have a high quality toy (one of the all time great toys I might add) to show for it. Performing is great too. Why will people pay me more for an hour of yo-yoing than a week of physical labor (my physical labor is not worth much)? I have no idea. Do I care? In this case, no. There are no false promises in entertainment. You get me for an hour. You will laugh, maybe be inspired, and then we will never see each other again until the next mother/ daughter banquet you invite me to. (Please understand, I know the Scripture and the gospel can and does change lives, but that is not what I get paid for. In the context of being a salesman and making money I do not “sell” or get “paid” for my preaching, I get paid for entertaining.)
It may sound funny, but I have no problem taking money for something we both agree has no value, like a yo-yo or a show. On the other hand, I would have a very hard time trying to “sell” someone on anything that they might believe has value, something like a church. In those cases the educator in me may want to inform them of their options, but that might come across as a sales pitch too. I’ll just keep my mouth shut about church and we can talk about life, Jesus, or yo-yos.
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12.06.06
Posted in Life at 10:09 pm by Adam B.
Chrissy and I, at the bequest of Kevin Hanson, took a personality test. When the tests were done we read the results; they summed us up as well as four letters can. I liked mine, the profile was “Mastermind”. It said I don’t move into leadership until everyone else proves their incompetence. They got me there. It said I had the same personality as CS Lewis. Not a bad personality to have. Of course there are only so many combinations of letters, I am bound to be just like at least one person I respect. Chrissy’s said she liked to serve people, almost to a fault. I lucked out there.
After we had narrowed down the four letters that captured the essence of our being, we saw a marriage compatibility test based on the personality profiles we had just received. We entered our letters and waited patiently for the DLS to reveal our fate. To our shock we were only 25% compatible. You can imagine the thoughts that rifled through my mind.
“How could this happen? Perhaps we moved to fast. Oh, no… why am I so charming? I must have tricked the poor girl into falling for me and before we knew it, we happened on this colossal mistake. 25%!?! How? It is too terrible to be explained by simple charm. Perhaps she was dazzled and dazed by my elegant style, my physique must have enraged her passions, stifling all reason… the poor girl didn’t have a chance to get away. And now here we are, trapped in a relationship doomed by science.”
In actual fact, I thought no such thing. I really thought, “Perhaps love is more than personality.”
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11.23.06
Posted in Life at 11:41 am by Adam B.
Without the burden of AOM I am progressing nicely through Crime and Punishment. Our friend, Sam as we call him, has finally decided to confide in someone. She is sincerely a Christian, but also a prostitute so that she might help her destitute family. Sam goes to her because he thinks she might understand his inner turmoil since he murdered the two women. If I had not mentioned the murder up until now, fear not, I have not given anything away. It happens right at the beginning of the book. She is shocked, of course, at his confession, but she knows exactly what must be done to ease his soul.
“Go at once, this very minute, stand at the cross-roads, bow down, first kiss the earth which you have defiled and then bow down to all the world and say to all men aloud: ‘I am a murderer!’ Then God will send you life again.”
I fully agree with her, but I don’t understand it. Why is it so important for us to confess? Why do we long for others to know our secrets? I personally have experienced the freedom, the life she describes. I have bore my soul completely to others. I have listened as others have told me things locked away from the world. What is it in us that makes us long for our lives to be open and naked before others?
“I hid from you for I was naked.”
“Who told you you were naked?”
Is there any grace greater than being exposed, than being seen for who we are, completely? Why is this so, why do we long for it? I have seen its power but I cannot comprehend the reason.
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11.14.06
Posted in Life at 3:27 pm by Adam B.
At a very young age girls develop the insatiable desire to dress up their men. We are their proverbial Ken doll. Ken, in the Barbie lineup, was never meant to be an object of desire for Barbie. No, he is the opportunity to experiment with outfits that don’t work on women. Since I am a married man I allow my wife to fulfill her desire on me by buying me clothes.
Reflecting on my life I don’t recall any time I ever bought clothes for myself. When I was young my mother clothed me in the recently outgrown clothes of my nearest cousin. When I became a teenager my mother took me shopping for “outfits” and I began to don my older brother’s flannels. After I met Chrissy she took over and the circle was complete.
Being a nerd I always took a certain pride in the fact that I did not choose the clothes I wear. I felt my nerdiness completed in that I couldn’t care less about the articles I use to keep my body warm and my modesty socially acceptable. I was a bastion, a fortress if you will of apparel apathy. Little did I know I was living in a world of self-deception.
Chrissy did not bring home clothes often, but when she did it was generally in line with my current wardrobe: plain, yet functional. Sure, she did not bring home as much plaid as I might have liked, but what did I care? Then, out of nowhere, like some unknown terror embodying all your unspoken fears came… the girl pants.
The girl pants are a pair of jeans that are pre-faded. They are blue and darker on my outer and inner thigh than in the front or back. They are made of a stretchier material than my other jeans which is necessary because they are too tight on me. Chrissy says they are not too tight, they just fit. I call them girl pants because I had never seen pants that faded or fit in this way on anyone of the male persuasion before becoming an owner. I only notice them on other guys now because I am trying to calm my embarrassment.
It was actually the embarrassment that got me thinking. I thought I didn’t care what I wore and now here I am ashamed to go outside because of clothes. As I began to ponder this inner conflict I found the source of my discomfort. It was not that the pants were too tight, nor that they appeared feminine to any outsider, nor that they looked bad. No, it was much much worse. They were in style. Could it be? Had my desire for nerd perfection got the best of me. Had I actually become, anti-cool? Don’t misunderstand, I am quite aware that no pair of pants can make me any less than what I am and no one in their right mind would mistake me for cool. What irritated me was that I had allowed the “cool factor” to rule me. All that time spent scoffing at the cool and their pretty shirts and stylish hair and girly pants, thinking to myself “they are ruled by ‘the man’”, it was all a ruse to protect myself from the truth; I had defined a part of my being, my non-style, by the same standards as everyone else. The only difference was that I had striven to be non-cool. Even if my life was a complete rejection of all that the hip and trendy stand for, they still define me. I am not my own person I am just the opposite of them, in clothes if nothing else. I could not stand for this conclusion so I did the only thing I could do. I took my rightful place as the Ken in my woman’s life and wore the pants.
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