Joys of #2 learning to #1 & #2 in appropriate places

Child #2 recently returned from Grandma's Potty Boot Camp. My dear wife and I don't seem to have what it takes to get a child to pee in a toilet. That's not entirely true--Grandma is just more efficient. The Young One didn't take a costly bribe to use the toilet--Papa gave her a high five and danced the Charleston with every toilet success.

She's recently become quite a little lady, making her hair just so in the morning, and putting on a headband like her older sister. Over our pancake breakfast this morning, The Young One released a small floating air biscuit. She looked at me matter-of-factly and said, "excuse me."

I'm not exactly sure when I will re-enter the full-time working world. I have enjoyed being a stay-at-home dad. First, I really like the little moments like potty training and pony tails done with time and care, and the conversations that go with those activities. Second, I like that my role doesn't come with the socially conformed expectations of the stay-at-home mother. One thing is for sure, I won't win any parenting awards, especially when The Young One can quote this scene from Family Guy (DISCLAIMER: I don't let my young children watch Family Guy per se. She's only seen this clip a few times.)



The Young One hasn't watched this clip in a few months, but she'll walk up to me and say, "Hey Daddy, Cool Whip (emphasizing the h, of course)."

NDSU Bison vs. Kansas Jayhawks

The Jayhawks have a tough game today--though few will name today's game difficult for the Jayhawks. I have been a Jayhawk since I saw Danny Manning's last home game at Allen Field House in 1988. Though KU was a place of academic failure for me, I was adopted in to Jayhawk culture. It's the closest place to sports home I have next to the Seattle sports scene. I was melancholy to watch the Jayhawks win the NCAA National Championship all on my own, without another fan. But my muscles were tense the entire game--and I got a little misty after my screams with Mario Chalmer's shot to send the game into overtime. I ran around my house like the late Jim Valvano after he won the title with NC State. I was looking for someone to hug. My dear wife grunted from her slumber, I buzzed about the house all night with my legs shaking. I supported the Jayhawks with a lot of passion--waiting in line for hours for seats, travelling thousands of miles to watch tournament appearances. I was no Jayhawk foster child. I am adopted.

So...I write this not as an NDSU apologist, but as someone with some contacts to the NDSU culture recognizing they can beat the Jayhawks today.

I think the Jayhawks have a tough opening round game today. I think they should still win, but don't let anyone fool you and say this should be an easy game for the Jayhawks. Here are the reasons:

1. Minneapolis is a home game for North Dakota State. If NSDU alums and supporters don't live in the Fargo area, they live in the Twin Cities metro. They will be at the game en masse. There will be more green in that arena than anyone could imagine.

2. NDSU is stacked with 5th year seniors who have pledged a quarter of their lives for this game, this moment, this experience. Sure, they may be nervous--but they've got nothing to lose. This is NDSU's first year in Division I (they're just out of their probationary period when they weren't eligible for championships). Though the Summit League is not great competition, it's good enough to prepare them for this game (Oral Roberts and Oakland are decent programs).

I think this game would have been harder for KU last year--with all those future NBA players and so many near misses at a title, the pressure would have been almost too much. Being the defending champs and lower expectations, they may play loose enough to withstand NDSU's experience and preparation. Or, they may play too loose and take NDSU for granted.

I will be screaming for the Jayhawks in about 75 minutes for another KU victory. Just don't count me among the surprised if the Bison come out of Minneapolis with a win or two.

Race Day

The weekend trip to South Dakota ranch country with my daughter was so rich with meaning, I forgot to reflect upon my first race in almost 9 years. On the morning of March 14, I felt relatively well-prepared and surrounded by a sense of ease. I do not feel when I am getting ready to preach a sermon. Even though I know in my heart that the sermon isn't about me, but about God, I still wonder, "why would anyone bother to hear what I have to say?" Even if I prepared well, "preparation" really isn't possible. I can't ever know all of what can be known, but I should still seek until that next Sunday comes. Sometimes sermon preparation feels like bailing out a boat on a lake with a hole. I can see the shore. The scenery is beautiful--awe-inspiring even. I can swim to the shore if I have to. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I keep bailing and bailing. Other times I feel the doom of sinking.

Preparing for this run was liberating. Aside from the little speed work I executed (which I felt was too risky during this icy season), I ran appropriate mileage, rested strategically (thanks Jeff Galloway), lost a little weight, and built my endurance. I ran farther and longer than I thought I could. A marathon seems almost realistic. I set goals and came close to meeting them. I overcame adversity--my children's haphazard schedules and the powerful work ethic of my wife that sometimes kept me at home. I overcame holiday binging and drifts toward laziness in the cold, dark winter. I saved for and acquired the equipment I needed to run in these conditions. With the gifts God gave me and the grace of my family, I trained to run a five-mile race. About what did I need to worry? I wish I could prepare for sermons like that. What is the better question? What would sermon preparation look like that would lead me to peace instead of angst? I know that I'm supposed to trust God. I know that God doesn't love me any more if I preach a good sermon. I know all that. But the angst remains. This is not torment--it's just not peace.

So be it. Maybe I can learn more about my vocation with running. Running since October has produced my best thinking and prayer time in years. Though my finishing time was 47:08--slow and sometimes plodding--I was steady and focused, calm and thoughtful, prayerful and pensive. I even cracked a few smiles. I had the best cheering section in the race--my dear wife and two girls--meeting me at 3 different times during the race, calling my name and offering me encouragement. Though a brisk south wind slapped me on the chest on the home stretch, I was buoyed by the all the good that created that moment of meeting a goal and being greeted by my family.

That was about the best day any guy could have.

But they don't say 'farm', they say 'ranch' out West...

(Thanks to Jonathan Richman in his song 'Circle I' for today's title) I created my own "Take Your Daughter To Work Day" last weekend.

This was a daring move. A child is unpredicatable (not a bad thing), but poses a problem if she decides to misbehave while I'm preaching or leading worship. My dear wife was at her own congregation, and my youngest was with her grandparents in Minnesota. Collateral damage possibilities were reduced, but I was also on my own. I had to remain calm and trust my daughter to be a good kid 200 miles from home.

Why take such a risk? I have a principle--though not quite formed. Sioux Falls is a bubble. Though my daughter has traveled to Norway, the UK, Ireland, Canada, at least 6 or 7 of the United States, she still lives in a bubble. This is not necessarily a bad thing for a child, I existed in the Western Washington bubble for most of my childhood--but I was also aware of other places and their differences. My granddad made sure of it. We talked of their extensive travels in the State of Washington as a newspaper administrator. We talked of their travels around the country.

Many people in Sioux Falls don't really care that other parts of the State of South Dakota exist. They may travel to the Black Hills and Rapid City on occasion. They may go watch their children play sports in some of the bigger towns in the state--but I see little knowledge of their South Dakotan brothers and sisters and what their lives are really like. They don't have to--everything anyone needs as a Sioux Falls resident is in Sioux Falls. This way of life is perfectly adequate for many people and certainly not to be decried; my principle is perspective. Though Sioux Falls puts of an air of agricultural influence, one can avoid it as a Sioux Falls resident. I wanted my daughter to see more of South Dakota. I want her to learn something more about where she was born--where her mother and father have served for 8 years, the goodness of the people that help put food on her plate, the beauty and diversity of God's creation, that congregations are different--even when they are close together. So we went to a farm/ranch out in the middle of South Dakota, graciously hosted by a family in one of the congregations where I preach.

I really don't have much farm experience myself. I have acquainted myself with rural people during my time in South Dakota--sometimes getting to know them quite well. I don't really appreciate the romanticizing of rural or agricultural life--I guess I hold a Lutheran theology of valuing vocation and land in general. We all need each other. I find it important that my children have that exposure--to appreciate God's work in the world and that we have a part in God's work. The lesson was fun. My daughter wandered the land, with her host, both people and animals, she poked and ground her hands and feet in the dirt, mud and water. She walked among the cows and their newborn calves. She attached herself to one in particular--with the ID tag marked "411." She jumped from hay bale to hay bale, and gathered eggs from a small hen house--eggs that we ate for breakfast the next morning. I'm glad she has learned some of the lessons of gratitude. After gathering the eggs she exclaimed, "Thanks, chickens!"

One of my own lessons was what a structured life my daughter lives. She has few opportunities to explore. This land gave her the opportunity to do that. The farm invites this kind of exploration, and the hosts not only made it possible, they made it graceful and joyful.

A Sign Of The Apocalypse: Rogue Lutheran Hobby Butchers Seek Partnership With Episcopalian Salt Makers

Lutherans have it in their DNA to split with each other over all kinds of things. Working together with Episcopalians pushed some Lutherans over the edge. Lutherans are a little cranky by nature--and they're getting ready for a fight (with attempts to be civil), in Minneapolis this summer. Sure, there's lots of business to attend to--but the press will flock to the discussion about LGBT clergy serving in ELCA churches.

Yawn.

What should Lutherans really be worried about? Rogue Lutheran hobby butchers like Mike Prussman who may partner with makers of Episcopalian salt and defy Lutheran teachings. It's just like those Episcopalians to slip under the radar of Lutheran bureaucracy before we can do anything about it at our Churchwide Assembly.

I told myself no more Jon Stewart posts for awhile: my will power comprimised

My will power was breached because I wet myself laughing--maybe it had something to do with my 2-year old running over to watch Dora The Explorer talk to Jon Stewart, and Boots offering to throw feces at Jim Cramer.

If you like the Hulu clips...

On this day last year, Hulu began sharing tv content to the web. Not only am I thankful that I can get Stewart and Colbert without subscribing to cable or satellite, but having a clearinghouse for Saturday Night Live and What's Happening??? Fabulous.

Can't have a What's Happening clip without a signature Dwayne, "Hey Hey Hey!" Which is tied for the #1 Hey Hey Hey on Television with Fat Albert (I wish I would have kept my Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids Lunch Box).

Journalistic 2nd cousins on the offensive as a Confirmation illustration

(maybe I should call these posts the Jon Stewart clip of the week)

Another reason I appreciate Jon Stewart is that he doesn't pass himself off as a classic serious journalist. He only exposes how foolish journalists can appear. In this clip, Jon goes after CNBC for its claim to be a high quality source of financial information. I appreciate that he is an equal opportunity skewer--if you look foolish as a broadcast journalist, you will be exposed, regardless of whether you are Fox, CNN, CNBC or any of their cousins. Not only is the content suspect, but the approach; talking heads really aren't talking heads any more. They're SCREAMING heads--which increases the chance of looking ridiculous, while also reducing credibility of the content. Passion is appropriate and desirable, but it seems like there's the audio level is either around 1-3 on the dial, or it's all the way up to 11. Broadcast journalist/personalities use far too much 11. As do preachers.

Stewart's points regarding current events hold greater resonance because they take away the fear of naming injustice and foolishness. Martin Luther also used humor as a rhetorical device in exposing injustice in the church--this was a powerful discussion last weekend as I taught Confirmation. We are currently watching the 2003 film "Luther." The students were trying to understand the humor of Luther as he lectured to theology students in Wittenberg. They didn't understand why it was funny until we discussed the quip "18 of the 12 apostles are buried in Spain," lampooning the market for relics and making money for the church off of fear. So I asked them who uses humor to expose injustice? They named Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart almost right away. This was a great Confirmation discussion--although I'm not sure folks from my seminary would readily draw parallels between Jon Stewart and Martin Luther.

What else do Luther and Stewart have in common? I'm sure they could both be asses. Actually we know a lot about Luther being an ass--he's not exactly a good role model for analyses on ethnicity or race. And Jon Stewart can be a one trick pony--but Luther and Stewart are good tacticians of humor and exposing injustice and foolishness.

In Search Of: I Was Dreaming I Was Dreaming

The Web is such a sensory feed of memories. I keep a mental list of things I want to find, occasionally remembering to look. Sometimes I check an item of the list, like finding Annie Lennox version of Ladies of the Canyon last month. That one was relatively easy--I knew what I was looking for, and I knew that eventually that track would show up on iTunes. Other search items are not so easy. I remember the television series hosted by Leonard Nimoy, "In Search Of:" a program from my youth that sometimes grabbed my attention, leaving me to an afternoon of wonder, and the stories associated with that wonder.

Though Nimoy often addressed the paranormal, my own "In Search Of" is a simple story about a piece of art. When living in Denmark over a decade ago, I befriended a Mexican family in the congregation of which I was a part. I didn't know the family very long, we never stayed in touch. They did make their mark on me. The mother told me she completed her PhD while raising two children--it was through her story that I believed it was possible for me in my life. She said it was better to study with children because they created a discipline for study--she appreciated and valued her study time more. She and her husband introduced me to chicken mole, probably one of the top 20 meals I have had in my entire life (maybe a topic for another day). The couple also introduced me to a piece of art in their home. The black and white drawing had to be at least 4 feet tall. She gave me the title of the piece in Spanish, which I could not remember. The closest translation of the title was, "I Was Dreaming I Was Dreaming." I only vaguely remember the name of the artist, and I could not spell the name to save my life. It sounded something like "REE-pay." My web searches for this piece has been futile. My friends implied that this artist was moderately successful in Mexico, so I have hope it will show up in my search.

I am not really an art aficionado. I enjoy my own photography. I like to learn about the stories behind the art that grips me. My dear wife and I had a powerful experience viewing Gustav Vigeland's sculptures in Oslo. Vigeland's story for me is an example why I am a proponent of public investment in the arts. My dear wife and I have a cherished piece by John August Swanson that was an ordination gift--we were ordained together. This piece about which I know little is a bold, haunting, yet peaceful rendering of a large, gently curved face with gaping, relaxed eyes with an image of a dreaming self in the upper portion of the piece. The piece is not haunting in a terrible way, but a mysterious way, like a recurring dream to which the meaning is unknown. Mystery is under appreciated. I find this in my own brand of Lutheranism, where everything about our relationship with God has to be so clear and understood. Is love always clear and understood? Though my wife and I are close and woven, she still holds mystery to me, and I find joy in that. Discovery and mystery do not have to be painful. Maybe this piece of art will always be a mystery.

But I am always open to receive a lead about this art. I would love to see it again.

The Homestretch Marked By The Long Run

I hit a new running benchmark today, running a little over ten miles for the first time since my 30th birthday (almost nine years ago). I have one week to go before my five mile race. I've trained well, averaging about 20 miles per week since October. I've stayed away from speedwork, but I have embraced the weekly Friday or Saturday long run. I'm pretty dead afterward, but those endorphines during the 90 minutes or more I am out there are great for my soul. The five miles next Saturday will seem short compared to today. My only fear is that I haven't done much practice with my pacing. This being my first race in nine years, some of the adrenaline rush and nerves will feel familiar, but I have also never competed in a race this long. My career of distance running consists of cross-country courses in high school and 5k runs in my early adulthood. I think I am wise enough not to get too entangled in other's paces--I'll enjoy the race and get a charge out of the race day energy.

I feel like I'm inching toward a marathon in 2010 or 2011...we'll see how this goes.

Daylight Savings

I remember being one of the freaks who liked the spring Daylight Savings time change when I was a kid. It meant one less hour I had to spend in bed (wasn't much for sleep as a kid), it also meant that my Little League games were a lot less likely to be called because of darkness. In college, that attitude changed--one less hour to party at the bars! No! Actually, I was never really much of a bar hopper in college, so the time change didn't matter much to me.

More so than Groundhog Day or Labor Day, Daylight Savings is more of a sign that the seasons are changing--from warmness to coldness and vice versa. At least this is my outlook in the Midwest. I hope for a long spring, a short summer, and look forward to the return of the snow. I didn't notice the temperature change all that much in the Pacific Northwest. I could always go outside if I kept a rain jacket or a bumbershoot handy.

Daylight Savings these days is much more of a pain in the keister--trying to ease my girls into new time rhythm, while adjusting my church preparation. Taking away an hour for Sunday prep is a big deal. I would just as soon get rid of it. We are foolish to attempt time manipulation--Daylight Savings is the equivalent of setting all of your clocks ahead 10 minutes so you can get to where you need to be on time. It seems to be much ado about nothing, even with its intended purposes.

Daylight Savings is not enough of a pain for me to write my congressional representatives, or move to Indiana or Arizona. I imagine New Hampshire might join that crowd just to be contrarian. We will always be a culture looking for a new way to defeat time. Good luck with that.

The Cacophany of Talking Heads (I Hope I'm Making Sense, Or Should I Stop?)

I remember thinking that it didn't really matter that the election is over, that the cacophany of political talking heads would not abate. I struggle to tolerate even some of my analytical standbys, like the McLaughlin Group on PBS. The Mort Zuckerman decorum-based analysis is going the way of the dinosaur. Shrill sells. For awhile I found myself listening to Keith Olbermann, just because of the novelty of a left-leaning distributor of shrill. I'm giving up on almost all of them. Jon Stewart gets to stay, only because he makes me laugh. It seems like every 2-3 years I return to the Christian Science Monitor, then I leave again because it's expensive, and I find their web content unsatisfying.

Today I laughed extra hard because of the lampooning of the NRA's Wayne LaPierre (what a tragic, French sounding name for the face of the NRA). You may have to wait awhile to get to the LaPierre section of the clip, but it's worth it. The talking heads just sound like idiots. Stewart later shows a split screen with Chris Matthews and Michael Steele??? They both sound like fools--and not the good fools in my new favorite Great Big Sea song, Company of Fools. Bad fools. Bad, bad fools.

Listening...(March 4 Edition)

Company of Fools...Great Big Sea
Lost Myself...Jason Falkner
She Don't Use Jelly...Flaming Lips
Ladies of the Canyon...Annie Lennox
A Living Prayer...Alison Krauss + Union Station
Funplex...B-52's
I'm On A Boat (Featuring T-Pain)...The Lonely Island
Half A World Away...R.E.M.
Bad Day...Barenaked Ladies
Casino Queen...Wilco
Dani California...Red Hot Chili Peppers

I used to hate the Flaming Lips song, "She Don't Use Jelly." I thought it was one of those songs that Bob Mould critiques in "Megamanic:" 'It's the shit because they told me so." The song made an appearance on one of my favorite shows, "Friday Night Lights" last week, where the misfit Landry tries to keep his band going, and finds some misinterpreted chemistry in a Jill Sobule/Jane Wiedlin combo, questioning young girl. She turns Landry away from lovers angst over a girl named Tyra, toward some fun rock and roll. It was a good storyline, a truthful tale about an awkward teenage boy with some confidence in his abilities, yet struggling with finding his place and making sense of relationships. The story line lent a little charm to that Flaming Lips song, enough to get it in my head and not be annoyed to screaming.

I'm almost ashamed to say I like the "I'm On A Boat" hip-hop semi-parody (call it Lutheran guilt for finding art in gratuitous vulgarity). I laugh every time, and it's got an infectious beat. T-Pain has made some great cameos on SNL recently, including the video for this song. I like how he doesn't take himself too seriously. The beat keeps me awake and moving with its energy and humor. Great for my 400-mile commute and my running.

Good Great Big Sea songs continue to reveal themselves to me. "Company of Fools" has a jig-party kind of rhythm and the poetic sensibilty of Garth Brooks' "Friends In Low Places," but, believe me, this is a far superior song with a dash of theological reflection and class awareness:

I'm wading through the quicksand
In the gardens of the gentry
Blooming vacuity
Leaves mind and pockets empty
In the Social Order
I accept the bottom rung
Until the wine is pouring
And the Lord commands a song
Meet me at the staff door
When the posers all go home
We'll gather with the other Fools
And put on a proper show

If you have any music suggestions, I'm open to your ideas.

Where are the authentic monologues? In The Feast of Love

The Feast of Love by Charles Baxter (Vintage, 2000, 308 pages).

In my shallow career as a fiction reader, I have wondered how an author writes good dialogue. One thing that has irritated me about my favorite authors (Carver, Coupland and Baxter) is that their dialogue sometimes seems contrived. Do people really talk about this stuff? Maybe people wonder about the same thing about people like me--he talks about that stuff?

Charles Baxter came to (then) Mankato State University during my first term there after I transferred from the University of Kansas. I had rediscovered my academic passion after my poor-to-mediocre first three years. I was voraciously reading and sucking the marrow out of collegiate life--attending lectures, readings, campus events, and getting involved in campus ministry. I attended a public reading by Charles Baxter for his collection of stories, A Relative Stranger. It was my first reading by a published author, ever. Though I had sworn off journalism for the time being, writing and literature were still keen and developing interests. Though I remember little about Baxter's dialogue, he bacame an example in my fiction writing for details and lists that gave information about characters without action or dialogue. Probably a basic for fiction analysis and writing, but new to me. In Feast of Love, Baxter is still good at those details.

The dialogue is still labored, but I learned so much about the characters and relationships in short, descriptive monologues about their relationships, that the dialgoue doesn't seem to matter as much later in the novel. The monologues were effective to me because of their authenticity. As a pastor, I feel like I get a lot of inauthentic communication because so many people are trying to filter their stories in a religious/spiritual/faith setting. These are the kind of stories shared with a hair dresser over several years. But these monologues are shared with the author, Charlie Baxter, about whom the reader learns very little, except that he is an insomniac. Because of the authentic monologues (sometimes graphic, but never gratuitously so), I cared about the characters and their paths more deeply than I can remember for any characters in my reading memory. The conditions for these monologues also speak to the human condition: I think people are looking for a safe place to tell their stories, but people are also a bit narcissistic. They want their story to be out in public (reconfigured to protect the innocent) to assure themselves of meaning in their lives. Maybe I should speak for myself, but I identified with these characters for this reason. They desired to be understood and have meaning for their stories.

I like this book more the more I think about it. Which for me is the sign of a good story.

I picked up a copy of Tess of the D'Urbervilles. I don't think I'll be reading this as quickly as Feast of Love, but I need a shot at literary redemption.

The teaser thaw gets you

(Falls Park In Sioux Falls, taken by the blogger.)

After the leaves fall in South Dakota, I look forward to the first snow. The white blanket is still a novelty to this Pacific Northwest native, even after a 2 decades of Midwest winters. I get a little giddy watching the flakes fall and relish the thought of snow people, sledding, snow balls, hot cocoa and the lights of the town bouncing off the snow tapestries. I remember how sad I was when the 30-year big snow departed after 10 days in my youth, and I'm just as forlorn when the snow leaves here and the drab prairie lays there like pile after pile of dirty laundry, waiting for the spring to come when the earth seems clean and fresh.

That pile of snow was gone for a few weeks, and we hit the mid-fifties in Eastern SoDak. It made my morning run less dangerous--but the view wasn't all that appealing.

Inevitably, the thaw doesn't last and the snow comes back, sometimes with a vengeance. The brief thaw lasts long enough that body cold defencses break down, and the 30mph northwest wind bites a little harder. Mid-to-late-winter almost always produces a teaser thaw. But, March is the snowiest month in South Dakota and winter has returned. We got about 3 inches in Sioux Falls and about 8 where I preach on the weekends. Nothing like the Southeast and the Eastern Seaboard, but it's enough to keep me sane. This weekend snow was cool--fish tailing in the Honda Element and running over snow mounds. The rural counties of South Dakota plow as little as possible for cars to function. For some reason, the big snows have avoided Sioux Falls over the past two years--they seem to be all around us, but just miss us. I would love a good old-fashioned oppressive snow storm before the wintry weather leaves for another year. I want some good photographs.

BNL "moves forward:" feeling melancholic (part 1)

Barenaked Ladies say they have not "broken up." Barenaked Ladies will continue to exist, but not as my dear wife and I have known them from our early days of dating. While traveling home from Ash Wednesday worship this evening, I tuned in to one of my favorite radio programs "As It Happens" on CBC Radio (my computer's home page), and learned that Stephen Page has left the band to pursue a solo career (You can listen to this interview if you're patient with this audio file). I may lay awake tonight feeling melancholic about this change. It feels like a divorce of friends with whom I went to college. If there was a soundtrack for my life since graduating from college in 1994, Barenaked Ladies would take up a plurality of songs. I think this subject may take more than one post...

I haven't followed BNL as fervently as in years past. At the end of the CBC interview with BNL founding member Ed Robertson, they played a song from their last CD as we knew the band, "Snacktime." I hadn't listened to any of the songs from their first children's CD yet; I missed out. The song "Bad Day" hit me hard--I got a little misty, remembering many times when a BNL song spoke to me and offered me better understanding and pastoral care than most sermons. Songs that fueled longing for my wife or elevated a joy of the day, or gave me insight to someone else's struggles. Bad Day became a soundtrack song for my eldest daughter just 45 minutes ago. Though she has developmental challenges and I look to those challenges as why she has a bad day and why we struggle with each other, sometimes she just has a bad day, like any human being. I remembered something of what it was like to be a kid, and I see my six year old differently this evening because of hearing that song.

Here are the lyrics for Bad Day.

I wish the band members well in their new ventures. I may like the new BNL, but they will never be the same. These kind of relationships move on--though their fans may perceive it to be like a marriage--vocation changes. Robertson is a bit evasive in his interview, but I respect that. I think he wants to honor the creative and powerful relationships of the past 20 years in BNL, yet also be communicative with their fan base. I appreciated the As It Happens approach--they eventually stopped probing. (In addition, check out As It Happens if you find American radio personalities too shrill. Carol Off and particularly Barbara Budd have some of the best voices in radio and do some of the best interviews with a curious precision and class.) Too bad the BNL guys weren't my friends--I would love to hang out with these guys over a beer and just talk.

Ash Wednesday

Though Lent is a painful experience for me, Ash Wednesday is a different story. I don't take joy or twisted pleasure (as it seems some Lutherans do) in reflecting upon my finitude or death: "remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." I don't believe I subscribe to a theology of glory, either.

"Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

I find peace in this Ash Wednesday proclamation. How?

1. "Remember that you are dust." Some might interpret this to be a sort of worm theology, as if to say "you, human, are basically nothing. Worthless dirt. Get used to it." In the biblical narrative, I would take this statement to mean--you and I are made of simple things, we are carbon life forms, simple dirt. But we are also more than dirt, wonderfully complex yet from very simple beginnings. A wonder--from the mind and heart of God. Something so simple, yet so complex, that contributes to the wonders of life. To be sure, life is can be just as painful as it is joyful, but it is wonderful. Reflecting upon humanity's (and my own) beginnings communicates to me a generous God who makes life to be full of possibility--because I am so simple, yet so complex.

2. "And to dust you shall return." Though Christians believe in an afterlife, some still seem to take pleasure in emphasizing the pain of death (see Mel Gibson and the Sad Dane Lutherans). The story of Jesus' life, death and resurrection highlights the pain of death. Yet, the second half of our Ash Wednesday statement is a reminder to me that I need not be crushed by the burdens of my beginning or my end. My sin and shortcomings certainly contribute to the pain of the world. God holds the mysteries of my beginning and end. I don't subscribe to the idea that the time of my death or a death is God's will. I believe our Ash Wednesday statement lifts up the mystery of life and God's crafting of it. The ashen cross placed on my forehead reminds me that God overcomes my destructive tendencies in the resurrection of Christ.

As this blog only contains middlebrow theology on its best days--I know I have colleagues who would challenge my observations and constructs. My experience of Ash Wednesday is a powerful reminder of God's action in the world--both on a grand scale, and my place in that world. I am reminded of my finitude, yet that my contributions add both suffering and joy to the world and that the mystery of God holds this all in wisdom and care.

Crescendo Crabby...

February 23rd...I can feel myself getting crabby.

Either I'm tired because it's Monday, or, it must be time for Lent. Must be time for another Lenten rant..

When I used to talk about Lent with my Spiritual Director, she tried to convince me that Lent was something for me in which to find joy in the opportunity for spiritual growth and that Lent was such a fulfilling time for her. I wanted to slug her (not a common feeling, but that's what I thought). Don't try to convince me that Lent is supposed to be enriching, fulfilling, good for growth or my relationship with God. Or that I should be a good Lutheran and love Lent. It always means more work for me and not enough of a shared workload. This is, of course, partially my fault. I enable this kind of expectation on the congregational level.

Lent feels like another programmatic venture based on expectation rather than something the aids spiritual growth or maturity. I get weary providing energy for programmatic ventures, their organization and implementation. Sometimes I can cultivate a shared energy for something programmatic and I find some joy and growth. Lent doesn't seem to work that way. This year, I have recused myself from a significant obligation this Lenten season--I have given up Wednesday Lenten services for Lent (!). I will be at home or at my dear wife's congregation on Wednesday evenings and my current preaching locale will be hosted by the members of the parish. Maybe this arrangement will clear the space in my cold heart for God to enter in.

A Literature Glitch and a Book Conundrum

For all intents and purposes, I should have been reading Tess of the D'Urbervilles by now. I hunted through my book collection all week and found that I do not own any of the Keith Law top 100 books. I have read about 10 of them, though I only remember about 5. I hoped for some redemption reading Tess after failing to appreciate it in English 209 at the University of Kansas.

I learned a few things about my book collection.

1. I need to get rid of some of these books. This is a difficult exercise. The fact that I got rid of Tess indicates that at times I may get rid of things that I later want to use. Sometimes we have control over these decisions, other times we don't (Thanks, Mom, for getting rid of my Star Wars Cards). I must have discarded Tess because I never wanted to relived the memories of English 209--although I found some of the other books from that semester--Ironweed and Invisible Man.

2. Once I get attached to an author, I stick with them for a long time--Barbara Kingsolver, Bill Bryson, Douglas Coupland, Raymond Carver.

3. I have lots of books from the Alban Institute, MBTI, Natural Church Development, and Healthy Congregations. By the sheer size of this library, I would love to trim down this collection. But the skills from these books have put some food on the table.

I started a stack last night of books to give away, sell on half.com, or garage sale this spring.

In this process, I did find a novel I have meant to read, but passed over for required reading or other interests. The Feast of Love by Charles Baxter was a National Book Award Finalist in 2000. I am also a Charles Baxter fan. I made a good start on this book last night and should get through it quickly--it doesn't pose too many complications. I'll either give an update or write a little review in the next few weeks.

The Long Run

The biggest adjustment in becoming a more intentional runner has not been moving away from the "go-all-out-as-far-as-possible-run" to the shorter run. The weekly "long run" is the new frontier for me. I ran cross-country in high school because I enjoyed running. I found any excuse possible to get out of the occasional 10-mile run. I even faked a few injuries to get out of those runs. To accomplish the long run, I learned to take walk breaks. Now I look forward to them--through these long runs, I look at my first race in 9 years with positive anticipation rather than doubt. I have nothing to prove to anyone regarding my athletic ability. I look forward to a racing atmosphere. I look forward to testing my progress. I look forward to see if I have gained any wisdom about my ability and its application.

Tomorrow I will run 9 miles--I look forward to the time to think, pray and test myself.

Griffey back to Seattle: let the media swell continue...

Ken Griffey, Jr. is back in Seattle.

Sure, I didn't think it was the best baseball move, but Jack Z. has done a lot to earn my trust as a GM (like he cares). Leadership needs the trust of those who invest their social capital in organizational life so that they are able to survive when they inevitably make a wise, but unpopular decision. I know this in my own experience as a pastor. If this was the first move he made and had paid more money--this would have been a horrific baseball move. But this is a good situation--and I will join in the celebration of his return. Maybe I'll even take my daughter to a game this season when I head on out to the great Pacific Northwest.

I can resonate with my fellow Seattle sports fans after one of the worst sports years in the history of sports. It's important for personal morale to have something to look forward to in life. The Mariners will probably not be very good this year, but there are plenty of interesting story lines. I don't think many fans believe Griffey is the foundation for the transformation of the organization--but this is a great condiment for the hopeful baseball feast that is spring training.

Found--a long, lost favourite cover by Annie Lennox

About 14 years ago, I bought a cassette single for my now wife; we were dating (still are), and I wanted to let her know I was paying attention to her favorite things. She is an Annie Lennox fan. On the day her new album was released, I went to local Best Buy and bought her the new single that we had heard on the radio "No More I Love You's." We still have that single in the few cassettes we have saved. The B-side of that single was a cover of the Joni Mitchell song, "Ladies of the Canyon." I ended up liking that song even more. I like songs that tell stories. Annie's voice adds so much to this song with her rich and haunting voice. Joni Mitchell is great--but Lennox is better for this song. In my opinion, this is one of my favorite cover songs of all time--I tend to not like them.

As far as I could find, Lennox's version was not available anywhere outside of the B-side. I have looked for this song often--to no avail. Until now.

I cut down on my music purchases over the past year or so, but I had to get this song. I enjoyed reading some of the publicity for this release. Lennox appears to be one of the most centered and sane popular musicians of her generation (I know this could be a PR fabrication--but I'm optimistic). I may have to check in with her blog on occasion. Not sure if I'll purchase the entire collection.

My dear wife still likes Annie Lennox, and we now enjoy a musician with some similar qualities (though not as prolific), Mary Fahl. A nice memory of my wife and a good listen for the day.

Building a baseball team like I would try to facilitate building a congregation

Stories about regarding how the American Civil War divided families between supporting the Union and the Confederacy.

Fast forward 150 or so years--will my family be split about whether it is wise for Ken Griffey, Jr. to return and play for the Seattle Mariners. I don't want Griffey back. My youngest brother wants him back. My Gram probably wants him back--she's into nostalgia. Not sure what my mother and father think--but I'm sure my father and I will talk about it soon. In building my favorite baseball for 2009 and beyond, I admire the Mariners' new General Manager Jack Zduriencik's plan as I see it. Building relationships, analyzing data, finding good people, and basing decisions not on former glories, but good fits for the organization--its context, strengths, and resources. In a very tight equation, Griffey might fit. There's probably better solutions.

As an interim pastor, I see congregations make many decisions based on their former glories. They have a hard time distinguishing their principles, theology and mission from cultural preferences and emotional connections of the past. I am not against cultural preferences and emotional connections--I have my own deep connections with the faith of my youth and what conditions help make it so. If I remain stuck in those connections, I will not be able to grow and flourish.

Mariners fans get stuck in the period from 1995-2001, when Griffey, A-Rod, Edgar, Jay Buhner, Norm Charlton and Randy Johnson roamed the Seattle Mariners baseball diamonds. They were blessed with favorable draft picks, a few good trades, and a manager who caught lightning in a bottle. Mainline Protestants tend to get stuck in 1950's, days when social, cultural and political conditions favored their growth and flourishing.

Nostalgia is fine and appropriate in individuals, congregations, baseball or a variety of other situations. The point is not to get stuck in that place. I believe that a fixation on Griffey is getting stuck in nostalgia. Jack Zduriencik will only make the move if it fits for the flourishing of the organization. That is why I like him.

Listening...(Feb. 16 edition)

Feeling That Way...Journey
Before The Worst...The Script
Megamanic...Bob Mould
Jackson...Johnny Cash
Lost Myself...Jason Falkner
Soul Meets Body...Death Cab For Cutie
A Living Prayer...Alison Krauss + Union Station
El Capitan...Idlewild
Ariel...October Project
Ready To Go...Republica
I Will Wait...Hootie and the Blowfish

Some of the songs on this list are repeats from the Feb. 2 edition, but hey, some songs stick. Eighty-five percent of my informal playlists rotate on 2 weeks bases, the rest stay on the list most of the time. Part of it is looking for that running song that will propel me to either move or press on to the endorphine release. The Republica song hasn't been on my rotation for several years--I forgot what a good running song it could be.

I find it amusing to discover what song will register with my children: I would have never pegged my two year old as a Mould fan, but I find it hard to resist walking around the house chanting the catch phrase to the rhythm of my chores: "I never panic, I'm megamanic...MEGAMEGA, MEGAMEGA." She likes to say with me, "MEGAMEGA, MEGAMEGA."

I don't know many Hootie/Darius Rucker fans. I know I'm not the only one, I just don't know any others. I admire his dabbling in R&B and Country. He's also an interesting interview. He recently played a solo show in Sioux Falls (a small miracle--Sioux Falls is THE place to see washed up hair bands and little else). I like to support that kind of show--but our schedule didn't allow it.

Bathing my skin and life in water, cool and cleansing: connection at the water park

If I ranked my moments as a father (don't worry, I'll spare you), our family's recent trip to Minnesota would be up there.

I haven't done much research on this, but indoor waterparks are all the rage in the Upper Midwest (maybe they're all over the country). Going to the waterpark is one activity outside of Christmas and Halloween that captures my oldest daughter's attention every time. We make a little pilgramage about twice a year to a water park, and she will look forward to it for weeks, discussing it often with her teachers, even to the point of interrupting me in the middle of a sermon on Sunday morning: "Dad, can we go to the water park now?"

We've found a place that suits our family well for price, size of park, quality of hotel accommodations, and proximity to other things we want to do. What made this trip so great was that I connected with my daughters in a rare way. One thing I have discovered as my household manager is that when I am at home, I find it difficult to concentrate, because I am always thinking about the next household project--whether it be a little task such as moving the laundry along, or a big task like gathering the outgrown clothing and sorting them into donation and selling piles. Rare is the moments where I have a pure connection moment with my daughters. I attribute this lack of concentration on my role, part of it is my weak ability to hold a conversation with a child, as well as my yet to arrive skill of appreciating the moment. Being away from home, engaged in an activity both of my girls love (it took awhile for child #2 to find the joys of the water park), I connected with my daughters without a thought of the other burdens and responsibilities of my life. We played and talked--simple, unadulterated connection time. I never would have guessed how hard it could be. Or how joyful it could be.

The Variable of the "Open Religious Market": Mainline Protestant Entitlement

Ever since I left the cocoon of my upbringing in the Pacific Northwest and witnessed a different life in the Midwest, I have wondered why things are the way they are. The why didn't really matter to how I was living my life--it was more of a curiosity. I commonly spoke out about my observations: this is different here! This comparison/contrast was no teleological exercise: I like information for its own sake, maybe for an occasional joke.

During seminary, my observations developed a nascent purpose. Does context matter? This question was driven by defensiveness. My surroundings living in St. Paul, Minnesota, implied a cultural/theological superiority for Northern European Midwesterners--my adopted culture. I admired my hosts' passion for their culture, finding their ethnography patterns, observations, thoughts, music, celebrations, and social patterns mostly compelling and joyful. These are my wife's roots--they are a part of me. However, my experience was different. Though my family became passionately involved in the Church for some years in my youth, only half of my life in my parents' home was connected to congregational life. Religious studies observers have known for years that religion does not have as strong a weave in the social fabric of the Pacific Northwest as other regions of the country. So what?

In posts from previous years, I cogitate on implications that somehow because the Pacific Northwest is less religious or less Christian, that somehow it is less moral. I am much less angered by this implication these days. I think people's morality will always be unjustly challenged regardless of where one resides or calls home--I don't have to be a Northwest native to be subject to that kind of scrutiny. I am still sorting out what my upbringing and context taught me and what its contribution to religious discourse can be. James Wellman's book offered me a key insight to understanding religion in the Pacific Northwest, maybe even to contemporary Mainline/Liberal Protestantism as a whole. Context matters. Though he didn't coin the phrase (I'm not sure who to credit) he does like to reference the Northwest as an "open religious market." This means there is no dominating or prevailing force on the religious ethos of that region. Name other regions of the country, or faith traditions in the United States, and you could probably name a corresponding tradition or region. Not so in the Northwest. Though some religious traditions may hold particular niches in the region--the religious market is open. So what?

In Wellman's study sample, Wellman distinguishes the relationship between Evangelical and Mainline/Liberals with the open religious market of the Pacific Northwest:

"Thus, while liberal leaders might complain that the [Pacific Northwest] had no tradition of church going and tended to discount organized religion per se, evangelical leaders would often comment with excitement about untapped opportunities in the region. The reality of the region's open religious market was not so much a problem but an opportunity for the evangelical churches (49)."

In the realm of social science, I wonder how I could measure "open religious market" and decipher more of what this variable means.

As a pastor and person of faith, I think about my relationship with the continuum of a religious market. I don't think I should make a value judgement of the religious market regardless of where the locality sits on the continuum. I make no value judgement on the concept of "open religious market." It just is. The question becomes, "How do I respond to this open religious market?" Therefore, I begin to question my adopted culture's sense of entitlement regarding people's commitments, both in the Northwest and Midwest. The Northwest is not the only place where church people complain about their congregational culture and its relationship with the surrounding community. For years serving in the Midwest, I have heard both clergy and lay people bemoan people's lack of commitment to the church and surrounding cultural deterioration. In my more courageous moments I ask, "Why should they commit? Why should people go to church around here (let alone this one)? What do they see that deserves commitment?" The cultural infrastructure of the Midwest has historically upheld congregational life. I believe this has produced a sense of entitlement for mainline liberal Protestant congregations--the consequences may play out differently in the Northwest than in other regions of the country. I was once angered by the morality challenges and judgments I heard in public discourse. Through Wellman's observations I have discovered that my frustration in 11 years of ordained ministry has not been rooted in morality questions, but in Mainline Protestant entitlement. Those congregations who question their own behavior and practices have a chance to break through and be faithful to their respective callings.

I have to let these reflections percolate for awhile.

My neighbor, John Thune

If I ever have the opportunity to move away from South Dakota, I am comforted to know that I can still find Senator John Thune (R-South Dakota) on C-Span (and The Daily Show) making goofball presentations and representin' South Dakota. He represents South Dakota better as an athlete. He could pass me in a whirlwind, as we occasionally run on the same paths in Soo Foo. Apparently he could kick my butt (and President Obama's) on a basketball court. But his talk about the stimulus bill is foolish. Why? Talking about the physical size of 1 trillion dollars does nothing to help public discourse. The point does not even clarify ideological economic differences. Thank you, Jon Stewart, for lampooning this presentation.

But, Jon Stewart...I DRAW THE LINE CONCERNING YOU MAKING FUN OF OUR LARGE PHEASANT IN HURON!

That's right in Huron, South Dakota! Home of the Pheasant, our beloved South Dakota State Fair, and a dual pronunciation. Yes, some residents pronounce it: Hyur-on. Others pronounce it: Urine.

I'm not making this up.

But The Pheasant is a fun place to go visit. It represents the sporting life here in South Dakota--a connection with God's creation and an opportunity for cameraderie. The Pheasant will be an enduring memory of South Dakota--taking my family to a hot, humid day at the Fair. Despite coming close to spontaneous combustion on that 97 degree day, we enjoyed the rides, pet the animals and chugged some of the best refreshing milkshakes of our lifetimes. On the way home, we stopped for a photo at The Pheasant. It was a great day--and a story we will share every time we speak of the great days of summer fairs.

Make fun of Thune all you want. Just don't try to box him out or outrun him. Don't EVER make fun of our Pheasant.

Narrowing my literature pick to 3

I have read a lot more than I thought. Unfortunately, I struggle to remember what I read.

Three out of the Keith Law top 100 books have caught my eye. If you feel like offering an opinion--feel free.

Catch-22
I've never read this book. It's supposedly funny. No other reasons.

Tess of the d'Urbervilles
I had to read this book for a second year English class at the University of Kansas. It was my real "welcome to college-level study" courses. We had to read about a one novel per week (never accomplished that in my life), with quizzes and papers along the way. The rude awakening was that I love English--and this professor was busting my chops to the point where I hated the subject. There were plenty of classes I hated in my freshman year--it was easy to dismiss those demands of my study. I was in pain hating this English prof. I was failing the class at midterm. I still had not learned the lesson of never missing class, and how hard I had to work--even if it was a subject I loved. This prof just about taught me how to be a student. I was failing the class at midterm, met with the professor, worked my ass off--rallied--and finished with a high C. I almost made a B. Tess was a book from early in the semester when I was pissed at this professor. All I can remember about this book was how pissed I was at him.

Funny thing is, as I taught To Kill A Mockingbird this fall in high school English, I used a few techniques I learned in English 209. I'm leaning toward Tess.

On The Road
I will give any book a chance that deals with wanderlust. Why did I not read this sooner?

I hope to start reading next week.

Looking forward to the youngest being out of diapers

Maybe this hit me too close to home, after all the diapers I have changed. I am nowhere near the number the woman who gave birth to octoplets will change in her lifetime, but I will be ready to be done with that aspect of parenthood. I laughed so hard at this SNL commercial, I wet myself. Good thing I wear Chewable Depends.

Memories of South Dakota (First in an occasional series)

Sometimes it feels surreal that my wife and I have lived in South Dakota for 8 years. South Dakota is home, yet not home. It is home because this is where my wife and children live with me. Our children were born here. I have lived here longer than any city since I was 13 years old. I have packed more experience in this place, this culture, this region than I ever could have imagined.

South Dakota is not home because I have never really resonated with perspectives of the majority of citizens. The people here have welcomed me as their guest and respected my contributions. I don't think I am one of them. Maybe it is because I have kept them at arms length, maybe it is because I can tell that I don't fit and in some ways been told as such. Maybe South Dakota is my home and isn't my home because of this combination. The mark the people of South Dakota has made on me is indelible. I thank my wife for the introduction to this place. I will always remember it.

While serving a congregation, I remember traveling into town for a youth group gathering. This town always had good youth group attendance--there wasn't much else to do in town. Even the local school had closed--kids travelled at least 10 miles to go to school. That night, the kids and parents staged a potluck of appetizers, snacks and desserts. It was kind of a game/movie night.

The adult presence for youth events in the congregation were one degree of separation from the local volunteer fire department. The crackle of a walkie-talkie could be actually heard at almost any congregational event outside of a worship service--this event was no different. The night of our gathering, the radio talk was a bit more frenzied. A fire had broken out at a hog barn outside a few miles outside of town. The call had gone out four other surrounding departments. This fire could have been big. Not only was someone's home in danger, but their livelihood as well. I saw an amazing response not only from the firefighters present in town, but the youth group in general. I don't know if it was common practice, but the next thing I know, we were loading up food into vans and cars, and we were travelling out to the site of the fire. The quick response kept the fire contained, but livestock was lost. The youth group and several parents set up food so that firefighters could take a break or have something to eat after they finished. I was amazed at the seamless nature of this service. No real planning, no arguing--only multiple layers of help (sacrificial help) for people in need. Before I knew what was happening, the kids and their parents gave me an example of service I will never forget. This kind of service is not unique to South Dakota, I am sure, but I had never seen anything like it.

Nation Building (Worn-Out Language...Feb. 5th edition)

In a bit of a tribute to George Carlin, my Granddad, and Gannett--who gave me practical training in language and journalism (though I don't always live up to my training); I present Worn-Out Language...

Tiger Nation, Gator Nation, Vol Nation, Trojan Nation (USC, not the prophylactic), Bruin Nation, Buckeye Nation, Sooner Nation, Longhorn Nation and many other nations collectively grunted for NCAA College Football Letter of Intent (LOI) signing day--where college football junkies celebrated the lure of their respective institutions to the top football athletes and their commitments. I kept up with my favorite college football teams: Washington, Kansas, Tennessee and South Dakota State. But the "Nation" language makes me cringe. After LOI day, only one more week until public sports discourse turns to baseball's Yankee Nation, Red Sox Nation, Dodger Nation, etc.

Do not get me wrong, I enjoy the liturgical grunting of the most passionate college football fans. I make as many pilgrimages as possible to watch a college football game. Local games or traveling hundreds of miles away--I love the atmosphere, the passion, the strategy, the bravado, the athletic prowess, the celebrations, excitement and noise. I tend to put away the poor academic performance, the cheating, the lack of integrity, the poor leadership of the NCAA, the misplaced priorites, etc. I lived the life of a collegiate athlete--I have seen many angles. Though the aforementioned troubles in collegiate athletics are bigger problems than language, language matters. I make my living off of language--it's interpretation, proclamation and meaning.

Calling a team and its followers a nation makes me cringe because it's a big nail in the coffin that what sports fans watch is no longer a game, but Empire, and the desire to be Empire. I still appreciate the charade of the student/athlete (indeed, there are great student athletes, but on the whole? I'm not so sure), and the idea that competition is at its heart friendly and that all parties participate in a GAME. Sure, institutions and programs have sold their collective souls for fleeting glories. I still believe in hard work, the satisfaction of accomplishment, friendly competition, team work, and athletics teaching life lessons. I am also glad that many people support athletics. I will continue to keep track of my favorite teams and institutions, their hard work and accomplishments and passionately wish them well.

I am not a part of:

Husky Nation
Jayhawk Nation
Mariner Nation
Oiler Nation
Seahawk Nation

I will still cringe every time I hear a team identified with "nation."

100th post/Reading...(the Feb. 3 edition)

It took me almost 4 years to reach 100 posts.

I have almost reached as many posts in the 5 weeks of 2009 as my total between 2007 and 2008. I struggle to predict when the writing will flow. Maybe the Nike proverb of just do it applies to more than exercise.

On to Reading...

Jeff Galloway. Galloway's Book On Running (Shelter Publishing)

Jeff Galloway has been writing for Runner's World magazine for years. He was an Olympic marathoner in the 1972 Munich games. My brother gave me this book for Christmas a few years ago. For a couple of years I only skimmed this book at best. After ACL surgery about 5 years ago, I thought my basketball and running avocations were over. Basketball--yes, it's over. Running has returned to my fitness scene, years after I thought I was doomed to the elliptical trainer and the occasional cross-training activity. I was inspired by a 2008 Stanford study about how long term runners can have better joint health than non-runners. If this Stanford study is true, then Galloway's book is even more important for the prospect of becoming a long-term runner (being a runner for decades). He not only coaches runners for performance, but his website also speaks volumes about the wisdom of running and the truth of the Stanford study: www.runinjuryfree.com I never gave much thought to injury prevention in fitness--I always used to be young (not so much so any more). I don't know why the epiphany now--I've had my share of injuries. However, most of those injuries were not consequences of bad training or preparation--only being overly aggressive. I didn't realize until reading Galloway's book that my approach to running--finding the best combination of distance and speed--was foolish. If you take a look at this book, prepare to have your ego and conventional wisdom about running and fitness challenged.

James K. Wellman, Jr. Evangelical vs. Liberal: The Clash of Christian Cultures in the Pacific Northwest (Oxford University Press)

Wellman teaches in the Comparative Religion program at the University of Washington. For me, he is one of the top 5 writers in the Religous Studies field today. I'm a bit geeky about anything dealing with the Pacific Northwest and Religion. That doesn't mean that anyone who writes on the subject is good--he challenges assumptions (including his own) about tired methodologies and frames about religous topics. Within the first 30 pages of this text, Wellman challenges public discourse dichotomies of liberal and conservative. Ever since I read James Davison Hunter's sociological study of the Culture Wars during my Sociology of Religion class at Wesley Seminary, I have also pondered the deficient language that left and right, liberal and conservative offer to public and academic discourse. Someday soon I hope to take on this questions more in depth--but at this time, my interest in Pacific Northwest religion is hobby that I can build into a vocation

Richard Swanson. Provoking the Gospel of Mark: A Storyteller's Commentary (Pilgrim Press).

Swanson does not produce a typical preacher's commentary. His mind works differently than many biblical scholars. First of all, he doesn't try to rub intellectual prowess in a preacher's face. Second, he avoids churchly and cultural taboos that may inhibit getting to the heart of a biblical text. "Provoking" is the operative word here. Swanson practices interpretation of the text through playing out biblical scenes with drama. This provides fresh insights to a particular gospel lesson. Provoking also entails preachers and other interested parties to consider numerous angles of textual meaning. I don't often come out of reading Swanson with a specific homiletical drive, but my mind is always expanded. Shouldn't any commentator be able to do that? Unfortunately, most commentaries are deficient in pondering the depths of a biblical text.

By the next time I offer a reading list, I hope to add a piece of literature from Keith Law's top 100 books.

Listening...(Feb. 2 edition)

"Let's Dance To Joy Division" The Wombats
"Jackson" Johnny Cash
"Earn Enough For Us" XTC
"Flirtin' With Disaster" Molly Hatchet
"In The Great Unknown" Mary Fahl
"I'll Be That Girl" Barenaked Ladies
"Light Up The Sky" Yellowcard
"Old Polina" Great Big Sea
"Classifieds" Bob Mould
"Life Less Ordinary" Carbon Leaf

Some of these are really good songs for my morning run. The rockabilly "Jackson" makes me feel like a real runner. "Light Up The Sky" works for a running motivator all the time. Mary Fahl's songs almost always help me forget any pain or desire to quit too early on a run that was probably hard to get started in the first place. "Old Polina" is great to sing to during a run.

"Flirtin' With Disaster" is dedicated to the band at the St. Dysmas congregation in Sioux Falls.

The Wave -or- A Northern Great Plains Guide to Vehicular Hand Greetings

In January I began a new preaching opportunity in South Dakota ranch country. I recall my first introduction to rural farming areas--I found joy in watching corn and soybeans grow traveling to the congregation several days each week. The residents of these small South Dakota towns and I exchanged perspectives. I gained a new perspective on human relationships with the land, and the people refreshed their perspectives with my ebullience about...growing corn!

This is my first time preaching to a crowd of men where the majority wear cowboy boots and flannel shirts. What I see in the attire and their attitude toward me is that what you see is what you get. I see an integrity about their presence. Not that they wouldn't act differently in a bar or at a party than they would at church, but the tone of conversation and their presence in the life of the church is that the church is a part of who they are, rather than merely a place that they go. Five weeks may not be enough time for me to observe time out on the ranch, but that is what I see to this point.

One unmistakable part of ranch culture, or at least the more sparsely populated areas of the Northern Great Plains is "The Wave." I speak not of the stadium or ocean variety, but the greeting. One need not know a resident of these areas, all you need to do is pass by one of these rural residents in your vehicle, and you will be greeted by a wave. Most of the waving seems to be done by males, though I'm not sure if only same-sex waving is socially acceptable. I cannot recall ever seeing a female wave from their vehicle. I also notice that each male resident develops a signature wave. I cannot verify the unique wave--whether each male is designated a style of wave when they receive their driver's license, or waving is a motion that develops over the years, or the wave is assigned at birth, only to be taught by the male mentor.

What types of waves can be seen in the Northern Great Plains? After almost 18 years of exploring the Northern Great Plains, here are some components I have seen in wave style:

1. Finger Raises: Raise one, two, three or four fingers. This is the minimalist approach greeting, but remains a sign of respect, unless, of course, that one finger greeting is the middle one.
2. Sweep: Can also be done with 1-4 fingers or an entire hand--a single sweeping motion.
3. A gripped or non-gripped position on the steering wheel.
4. The Halt Wave: Hold up your hand as if you want the oncoming driver to stop (you don't have to stop if you receive this greeting)
5. Nod: Can replace a wave, but can also be done in combo move.
6. Combo move: put together several of the aforementioned moves. One classic combo example: Single finger raise sweep, connected to the wheel with a nod combo. My wave is a halt-sweep combo with an occasional nod.
7. The Miss America: Just kidding. This wave does not exist except for maybe homecoming queens or queen of the local festival. Even then I have yet to see this wave.

This wave exchange diminishes the closer one gets into higher population towns. I'm not sure what the population cutoff is, but my best guess would be about 2,000 people. Another variable might be degree of town isolation. I think if a town doesn't have another significant population center within 50 or so miles, then the wave percentage might go up. An isolated town of 3,500 might have a high percentage of vehicular wavers, where as an exurb of 800 may have a low percentage of wavers.

Until I become accustomed to spending time on rural highways, I find myself waving like a high school kid trying to catch up to a 90 mph fast ball: I'm a bit too late. After 5 weeks in ranch country, my wave percentage has gone up from about .333 to about .750. I'm not sure what the Guy Hall of Fame credentials in waving might be, but I have accumulated enough experience that my time in the Northern Great Plains has been more than a cup of coffee.

substitute teaching

I recently posted about my numerous jobs over the past 18 months. Each job has given me added perspective to life and the world. Substitute teaching high school English is the most enjoyable. I concur with the proverb that teachers learn much more than their students. An admired writer, Keith Law (check out "The Dish" in my suggested links) and these high school students has moved me to read more literature. I have been a bit narrow in my reading over the past several years--reading mostly sociology of religion, geography, or my favorite authors, Bill Bryson, Raymond Carver and Douglas Coupland.

Thanks to my students and their teachers for my continued thought about To Kill A Mockingbird and the poem The Unknown Citizen. I appreciate positive endeavors that continue to inspire thought. Each of these pieces inspire my thoughts today and continue to do so. I loved English in high school--it was probably my best subject outside of journalism. But I did not read nearly as much as I should have. I have never be a prolific reader--sitting still is not my gift. I don't bring extensive knowledge of literature as a substitute teacher, but I can help build a quick bridge between the English readings and daily life. I have learned in ministry how much good stories and their context speaks truth and wisdom to life. Though not an English scholar, my weekly task of connecting truth in literature to daily life has allowed me to connect with both the congregations I serve and the students in South Dakota high schools.

jumping the shark and television indulgence

Anyone looking for anything higher than low/middle brow entertainment discussion should skip this post.

When my dear wife and I were in our pre-married life, she used to hang out with my youngest brother while he was in college on occasion. He didn't have a car, so they would get to know each other better by taking a trip to the local grocery store. My brother had a pretty tight schedule, so groceries took a back seat to all kinds of television shows. I want to say 90210, but I think that was my other brother's guilty pleasure. I never thought to arrange my life to television shows, but I've found certain shows to be enjoyable discussing with my family and friends. Especially when the topics surrounding ministry seem so overly serious at times.

After a long week, Thursday is like our Friday in the ministry. My dear wife and I watch Grey's Anatomy and ER. I had thought ER Jumped The Shark (JTS) several seasons ago, but the last two years the show has rallied. Much more interesting characters--even some plausible story lines and dialogue. Grey's Anatomy--JTS. The whole talking to a dead guy thing for Izzy Stevens might have been interesting for an episode or two--but this has gone on for several episodes. She had better be schizophrenic soon or I'm done. The thing is, there's nothing better for me on a Thursday night than snuggling up with my dear wife and turning my brain off--I always hope there's going to be something good on the tube that day.

I am currently teaching confirmation for the first time in about 4 years. I enjoy it, because I don't always have to do it. Confirmation is supposedly a top reason why some pastors leave the ministry. I like using TV clips or movies as illustrations for lessons I'm teaching--it is one way I can build connections with my students. I ask kids what they are watching--and I try picking up a show or two, a movie or two in order to learn a little about their media diet. I picked up a real guilty pleasure with the OC, and now I've tried "House" at the behest of my latest confirmation class. OC deserved an A-minus, House is probably a B.

Most of the shows I watch are for social connection, not because I necessarily think they are quality productions. I would place 4 shows on a list that do not require a social connection to watch--my personal favorites:

Daily Show
Colbert Report (though my 2 year old asks to watch him with me--in addition to calling him "Colbert," she also calls him "Bartlett Pears (a Colbert joke).")
Big Love
Friday Night Lights

Thank you, Hulu, for providing me access to 3 out of 4 of these shows. Thanks, brother, for passing on Hulu to me. And sorry, sucka, to my brother in Canuckville, who can't access Hulu. As far as I am concerned, the only drawback to living in Canada--no Hulu.

Gram's birthday

Today is my Gram's 86th birthday. A day to give thanks for her life and how it fits into the family tree.

I have thought a lot about my grandparents lately because throughout my day I often reflect from where my parenting skills come. I watch movies in my head, recalling the relationships that make me who I am. I live a split-screen broadcast: I watch how my life was crafted and watch the lives of my daughters being shaped as I contribute. Sometimes I cringe, hearing my voice weighted by generations as I address my children. Most of the time I look at the smiles on my girls' faces that come doing the simple things of the day--a request while I juggle dishes and laundry: "Daddy, help...shoes...Tato Head...please? Thanks!" During those smiles I appreciate the vocation of my Gram and Mom--all the days they spent keeping a house and connecting with their children. It's what they loved doing. They still love that connection with children as I watch them spend time with my girls. I never really imagined I would share that vocation. Though all parents parent, regardless of where they work, I am at home most days, caring for the household--my wife and girls. I would guess they never imagined that life for their son/grandson. Here I am.

For years my Gram and I have talked about many things. When I still lived with my parents, those discussions came over games of Yahtzee and Gin Rummy, a Mariners' game, practicing putting, preparing for a holiday, a few songs on the player piano, a trip to see the latest Disney movie, a trip to see the Freedom Train, or a trip to Nordstrom, to name a few. We would talk about all the places Gram and Granddad had travelled, my sporting events, friends, baseball--whatever. With Granddad, the conversations might read like an editorial section of a newspaper. With Gram--more like the Life section. We would talk about almost anything. And she'd tell me stories about family members I had never met (Great Grandmother Alice, Aunt Bob, etc.)--trying to brings parts of the family tree to life I could not see. One thing about Gram, she always listened.

There's a stereotype about how grandparents "spoil" their grandchildren. I do not believe in this stereotype. Spoiled children (and adults) are people who think they can get what they want whenever they want it. I think it would be rare for a grandparent to spoil a child, unless they were doing most of the child rearing. I was not spoiled by my grandparents. There was a lot to share and a lot to learn. I remember my mother and her siblings being aghast on occasion for the things I was willing to talk about with my grandparents, especially Gram. I think it's easy and tempting to think that grandchildren and grandparents will have similar relationships to parents and children. These relationships are not the same. I don't know a parent out there who wouldn't do a few things different in raising their children if they had the opportunity. If age is blessed with wisdom, I think many grandparents learn the benefit of listening and treasuring the moment that they have with the gift that is a child; I think they end up doing a better job of listening to their grandchildren than they did as parents. I could tell that Gram had gained wisdom in some of the stories she shared of her childhood and her days parenting young children. This is wisdom I have missed the most as I live several hundred miles away from her. That wisdom is more difficult to tap. But if I go into that split-screen broadcast while I eat a meal with my daughters, I see my Gram with her children on one screen, and see another screen eating with Gram, Granddad and me--flank steak, some slaw (maybe with some shrimp), a Gai's roll, blessed with a prayer I will never forget:

We thank thee for our daily bread.
Let also, Lord, our souls be fed.
O Bread of Life, from day to day,
sustain us on our homeward way.

Amen.

Moved toward odd jobs

After numerous and frequent childcare providers with our first child and moving in that direction for the second, we determined we needed our own hope and change. I would quit full time ministry work outside the home and attempt to lend stability to our children. We confronted days shuffling between two and three providers thinking "this can't be good." Though not a rebel or a party animal, I am not a poster boy for stability, either. My employment status shift to home life was never an obligation to an idealized nuclear family--obviously not--or I wouldn't be the one at home. I think my spouse and I are pragmatists (a tired word--probably soon to be removed from my lexicon) and the arrangement was a good intersection of ideals and short-term sanity.

Spending most of my days at home, I have taken brief forays into compensated work. In less than 18 months I have:

Delivered newspapers
Custodial work
Substitute High School English Teacher
Part-time ministry

The part-time ministry deal has varied widely demographically for the Midwest. One congregation worshiped in a mall in a small city. The other congregation has men who come to worship in cowboy boots and hats, and flannel shirts. I have seen only a few places more empty and isolated--maybe Eastern Nevada, SE Oregon, or Wyoming. My friend Theobilly suggested the latest congregation should show up in my novel.

In the midst of this varied activity, I get to stay home and watch my children grow up. We talk all day.

Novel ideas will arrive on a later post.

Woven newsprint

Picking up a newspaper often brings thoughts of my Granddad. He worked in the newspaper business over 4 decades to provide for his family, develop his own interests, stay in touch with the world, and build other relationships where he could. Life with Granddad was a journalistic activity. The arrival of Time Magazine and a copy of the afternoon Seattle Times were equally revered and used more than a Bible or prayer book in his household. We read, discussed, dissected and critiqued the stories of the day.

What would Granddad think of print media today? He would never tolerate media bashing in conversations. I remember calling some newspaper a "local rag," a term I had heard living in the Midwest (though not indigenous to the region), and I was confronted about my blasphemous remark. My Granddad worked with numerous small daily and weekly newspapers--though they varied in quality and professionalism, each newspaper represented an ideal of connecting people in a community with information. He upheld the journalistic vocation as a foundation of a free society in and through his life and work. Art Thiel of the Seattle P-I reminded me in a recent column of this Constitutional notion as he lamented the consquences of Seattle being a one- or zero-newspaper city.

Granddad was not alive long enough to grasp the scope of the Internet, but I think he saw the beginning of a colossal shift in journalism, only he didn't name it at the time. As I love journalism myself, I made my own attempts to pursue the vocation over a few decades, and have often tried to grasp what was happening in journalism. I think about the macro- and micro- level discussions about the field we had over the years. Though we were never big fans of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer (we were a Times family), the idea that the P-I and newspapers all over the country have changed glacially in a media tsunami would be a part of numerous discussions for us if he were alive today. I picked up my own local newspaper Sunday and rubbed in like a Roman Catholic using beads while praying the Rosary. In that newspaper was a tactile reminder of many days of discussing what was going on in the world and in our lives with my Granddad. I am like many other media consumers these days--I do not subscribe to my local newspaper. I buy one on Sundays at a local outlet for the coupons--we're trying to be frugal. I read several newspapers online, some more than others. I have 6 on my bookmark page. The state of the newspaper business is one of the many things about which I miss talking with Granddad--but this topic is one of the most poignant topics of our shared lives. Journalism represents decades of passion and vocational pursuits for each of us, not to mention flesh and bone for our lives. And as our bodies change and all things change, so too has journalism changed. I am at peace with that notion--I only wish Granddad and I could talk about it.

Contemplating life as a Neo-Luddite

A wave gathers over my recent web-reading--am I one of the few to resist Facebook? Friend after friend reports the exhilaration of reconnecting with people, meeting new people, collecting "friends." Another email posed the question "are you on Facebook?"

The idea of Facebook sounds exhausting to me. Thinking of Facebook produces flashbacks of navigating social circles of younger days. Why would I ever want to return to that anxiety producing maze of people wondering where I am supposed to fit? It takes energy and work to stay connected with people whom I love. I barely keep up with the people whom I would consider friends and not merely Internet acquaintances. As I approach the age of 40, is this what makes me old? I don't reject technology. I use it when it strengthens important relationships or helps me in using my God-given gifts for the good of the world. I know people who use Facebook as a ministry tool--and I suppose if it works for you and enhances your life--then it's time well invested.

I am considering why I think about Facebook today--it's the one thing in common that my wife and spectrum of friends have addressed in the past month. I cover a wide range of topics as a part-time pastor and full-time husband/father/household manager. The convergent topic is Facebook. I remember the same buzz around mobile phones and email during their nascent popularity. I don't expect Facebook to fade, only that it becomes a more ordinary part of the vernacular Facebook is to interpersonal communication--is Kleenex to the task of keeping noses booger-free.

I suppose I'm discerning whether to pursue an existence as a crusty old man/Neo-Luddite. I don't think this identity suits me--I'm a joyful person at my core. I just do not want to use Facebook. I will continue to email my friends, post thoughts that no one will read on Blogger, and call my friends as a break from my life in the working world when I leave my days as a house husband/Mr. Mom. My wife and daughters are by far my best faces.

Thoughts on Obama inauguration

I think I watched a collective 5 minutes of inauguration coverage yesterday. I hold President Obama in high esteem. I think his presidency is truly historic for all of the reasons repeated in the press ad nauseum. I voted for Obama. I did my usual election coverage smorgasbord until about 1 a.m. I hope his service goes well for him and the country. My wonderful wife had a special perspective watching the inauguration at our State Capitol in Pierre. I was glad to be doing other things.

Why didn't I watch the inauguration festivities?

1. I have lost almost any desire to watch news events in real time. This was the fascination of the '90s and early '00s. CNN and FOX news have made their money on real-time reporting--reporting on events as they happened. I don't have the time or the schedule to live this kind of life. I am perfectly content to read about what happened and the post-game analysis. Podcasts, Hulu, and post-event journalism serve me quite well. I still have a steady diet of media, but caring for my children and household take priority. I do appreciate certain things real-time besides my life: I like sports.

2. The superlatives and fawning of the Baby Boom Generation reporters over Barack Obama and the inauguration set off my gag reflex as I listened to the radio and watched television related to the inauguration (John Stewart did the best job, he made fun of himself and his fawning. A Daily Show interview with Al Jazeera? I liked that). I even had a hard time listening to NPR's coverage. I endured about 3 minutes.

3. I certainly support having a party. Obama endured quite a campaign. I am much more interested in how Obama governs.

I think I'll listen to more new government analysis on my podcasts.

Barter accomplished, neigbhor culture pondered

My grandparent's house in Seattle provided me my understanding of neighborly behavior. They seemed to know all of their neighbors--a visit to their home would also often mean a visit to the neighbor's. One had a huge Great Dane and a carp pond in the back yard. Another neighbor provided treats on most visits. They would loan garden tools, get a cup of sugar, exchange Christmas cards. I thought neighborly living was a lost art. I don't remember good neighbors outside of my grandparents neighborhood.

My life in South Dakota revived my memories. I don't know if neighborliness is a South Dakota quality, or if neighborliness is like politics and real estate--depends on the local situation. My mother thinks her neighbor is a quack and keeps one eye open. My dear wife and I are blessed to have some fabulous neighbors. Saturday night I squatted at their home for a little poker game, shared a six pack of beer and some snacks. No planning of a poker party--only a simple get together. This morning, we practiced a little barter--a gallon of milk (I seem to know where to buy cheap milk) for a package of THE BEST BACON. (Sidenote: supposedly artisan bacon is all the rage, but the Hutterites in South Dakota were making artisan bacon before artisan bacon was artisan bacon). I don't really like bacon all that much. I was a vegetarian for 6 years. But that is good bacon. We get together for a cocktail here, a meal there, a talk while standing in the driveway...they have mowed our lawn, shoveled our snow, watched our children. We have tried returning the favor at times, but we have received the better end of the deal.

Whenever we move, we will never have better neighbors.

Mythbusters

Eskimos supposedly have several words for snow. Pacific Northwesterners have several words for rain. In an unrelated item television newswriters and newscasters in South Dakota only have one word for prison--"behind bars."

I find it curious that people spend so much time worrying about the weather, something over which they have no control. I complain and rejoice about the weather--but I don't worry about it. Since moving to the Northern Great Plains, I discovered my mother and grandmother perpetuated a myth that to which I held tightly until my relocation: "It's too cold to snow." I remember days when it would drop to polar conditions, say 25 degrees, and Mom would say, "too cold to snow." I suppose snow happens so infrequently in the Northwest lowlands, that it seems like only perfect conditions produce the white stuff.

As I went for my run this morning, I thought about the 2 degree weather (a warm morning these days) and thought about the forecast for another 2-4 inches in the 12 degree temps this afternoon. I wonder what kind of myths I'm feeding my own children?

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

Signs of being a veteran father...

"You kids get off my lawn!"

"Can you turn that music down?!?!? It's too loud!"

"Whoa, it's past 930! Time for bed..."

I discovered that I have begun worrying about fashion for my five year old daughter. It's hard for me to let my daughter wear jeans--they're too low cut. Forget worrying about a muffin top. I have to worry about the "coin slot." I thought it was her body shape, but I think the jeans are really the issue here.



Call me old fashioned (?) but I shouldn't have to worry about this for my five year old. Maybe I should invest in some Nutrogena for a stocking stuffer...