Frugal Living With A South Dakota Cell Phone

I recall a feeling of pride when I purchased my first Treo smart phone. I must admit having felt a mild inferiority complex about the semi-Luddite culture I live in with the Church; whenever I could acquire a piece of newer technology, my complex subsided. Is 450 dollars worth the complex-calming effect?

Frugality is the household rule, inferiority complexes are in remission, and higher priorities and the bigger picture guide purchases today. I pause to remember an artifact for the transition into frugality. The phone you see above cost 10 dollars. I rarely used it, but it helped when I traveled for part-time ministry opportunities in Iowa and South Dakota Ranch Country. Cost of use for the Treo over 2 years: about 1800 dollars. Cost of use for the Tracfone over two years: less than 400 dollars. The switch was good for the budget. About 6 months ago, the battery cover popped off the Tracfone. If South Dakotans taught me anything, it was to be resourceful--not everything is readily available in South Dakota. Sometimes duct tape is the way to go. They may not be attentive to recycling as my fellow Pacific Northwesterners, but duct tape as a make shift battery cover provided the bridge. I regret buying a new crappy/frugal cell phone upon arrival to the Pacific Northwest--I was too lazy to figure out if I could change numbers on my tracfone. Maybe I still can.

Someone will always be able to one-up my technology (more like 10 or 12-up). No one will be able to better my South Dakota duct tape cell phone.

They're listening...

Today I was taking the dog out for a morning constitutional. My youngest didn't appreciate my departure. When I returned, she greeted me with a scowl and said, "get back in here, MISSY!" Where did she get something like that?

Finding the center of the nation

If this collection was part of fundamentalist blog land, I could wax poetic about how God is the center of this nation...

Sorry, you can look elsewhere for that--not my belief system. Allow me to be a geographic literalist/geek for the center of the nation.Here is me trying to manage my crappy tripod in the wind (remember, South Dakota wind) and not quite getting it right. As one of my favorite avocations of geography geek, the geographic center of the United States took a shift in the 20th century after Alaska and Hawai'i were added to the Union, placing the spot firmly on some one's ranch, just off a gravel road on a central road of Northwestern South Dakota (I had to write it that way, I thought it sounded funny). Not much time is given maintaining this exact spot. It's one of those spots on a Rand McNally marked with a red square that lends a little historical and/or geographical perspective to the locality and region. Though it's not a spot filled with much information and pageantry, to get an idea of the literal center of the United States and its place on the Earth lends to me a sense of awe about the land mass of the United States, the Earth, and the realm of creation. I connected to these thoughts of my April trip after reading Psalm 19: "The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork."

Where is the simple place of wonder? As the crow flies, about 25 miles northeast of Belle Fourche (pronounced Bell Foosh) on US Highway 85 (ahh, a blue highway). Look for the signs pointing you toward a gravel road. Don't be shy--it may look like a place where someone will show up with a rifle and say, "Get off my land!" But you will find a nice little drive and a stop for a meditation, ponderance, reflection, or whatever your favorite method of pause.

Though a lot more time and effort was placed on the monument for the center of the US in Belle Fourche proper, it doesn't seem to inspire the wonder of the makeshift monument and painted sign. I suppose it's something to attract tourists, which I'm not totally against. I merely have a different preference for my time apart to explore. The time alone to take these geeky little side trips has been reduced since my life of fatherhood. I doubt my children will find these interesting in the years ahead, though I will certainly try.

Today's post represents my most recent geeky escapade--with plenty of photos creating a backlog of writing from moving and nesting. Knowing my history, I won't get to them all, but one is a good start.

Wind (Entry #3 in the madhousegazette South Dakota Lexicon)

I find current public discourse on differing views of global climate change tiresome. I still find fascination in climate and humanity's relationship with the Earth and its atmosphere. I know I'm not the only one--how else would The Weather Channel been able to survive so long? I suppose it was on the leading edge of reality television.

Wind is a term relative to region. In the Pacific Northwest, it's something that cools your house down in the evening after a warm summer day. Wind makes the guardian evergreens dance in the near sky. Wind occasionally challenges the floating bridges across Lake Washington. Wind can kick up the sand in your face during an otherwise chilly day at a rocky beach. But wind is an accessory in the Northwest. It kicks up, but it dies down.

Though I have never lived in hurricane country, wind is more associated with violence. As the Atlantic waters warm, so comes the potential of evacuation and damage to homes and businesses.

In South Dakota, the wind really doesn't stop. A South Dakota weather forecaster shouldn't point out that it's windy, rather, they should point out that it's not windy. There is nowhere to hide from the wind. It alters a human's walking course. It chafes skin. To an uncovered set of ears, the wind in South Dakota bears a sharp edge, like needles to the brain. Even on warm summer days when I ran, I would wear some sort of headband/ear covering to protect my hammer, anvil and stirrup from torment.

South Dakota may be on the edge of Tornado Alley, but the wind does not mess around. There may not be as many tornadoes compared to Kansas and Oklahoma, but the wind won't let you forget it's presence. Matching God with the wind and my Pacific Northwest experience was always a simple connection. South Dakota was different. Wind is an agitator. Wind is a destroyer (as in this photo from South Dakota Ranch Country) And there was no place to hide. I tried to plant trees for a refuge, and the wind would bend those trees to the brink of their survival. When I hid in my house, I could hear the wind howling outside.

The wind moves--sometimes in ways I don't like. Such is the power of God. I can't hide from it.

Listening...(May 19, 2009 Edition)

Only The Good Die Young--Billy Joel
Yesterday's News--Whiskeytown
Feeling No Pain--Jason Falkner
Dani California--Red Hot Chili Peppers
Folsom Prison Blues--Johnny Cash
And When I Die--Blood, Sweat & Tears
Misery Business--Paramore

Billy Joel appeared several months ago on Oprah (yes, even Mr. Moms like myself watch Oprah (maybe once per week), except I don't do the Oprah nod like the women in the audience). Billy was appearing with his wife, some 20-30 years his junior, talking more about his new family life first and his music. I'm not the biggest Billy Joel fan in the world, but I decided to take another look/listen at some of his songs from my collection after this interview. He was candid about his music, saying that he was disappointed in some of his songs that didn't have staying power--though he recognized this state of his repetoire is reality. What gives music staying power? Not being a musician myself, I would guess that staying power is rooted by a musician being a student of their craft, passion, persistence, an openness to critique, and a healthy dose of reflection (which I think comes naturally to an artist). I have settled on Only The Good Die Young as a favorite. I struggle to think of a better philosophical look at young love related to religion, culture and values--with some signature great lines: "Come out, Virginia, don't let me wait, Catholic girls start much too late." Though the piano is well represented in this song, it's not piano driven. Though an amazing pianist, Joel's pounding piano can be exhausting--probably the reason Jerry Lee Lewis is not a personal favorite.

On the subject of musical staying power, my dear wife and I had a great evening listening to the music of Chicago and Blood, Sweat and Tears on a double date. It was one of those pleasantly surprising evenings that I wasn't dreading, but I also wasn't imagining how great it was going to be, either. We had a fabulous Middle Eastern meal in Sioux Falls (yes, it's possible at a place called Sanaa's) good conversation where our companions for the evening were interested in us beyond being pastors, and a great evening of music. We were going to the Symphony--something I appreciate, but don't crave. What I did not know is that we were attending a pops concert, featuring symphonic accompaniment to the two aforementioned bands. I was in awe of the two musicians who composed the accompaniment for all those classical instruments. These two bands are rather horn heavy--and with the strings, the music was positively beautiful and stirring. This is also staying power--music can contain some underlying quality--where style doesn't particularly matter. Maybe this is the core of music theory--where math, creativity, beauty and sound meet to provide musical interpretation that can span the generations. The vocalist during that evening of pops was also a dead ringer for the B,S & T singer--fascinating. I've admired his voice since I was a child hearing their songs on the radio.

I wonder how often music theory has influenced music used in the life of the church? At this point, I'm only wondering, though considering developing the thought...

I had a dream recently about Johnny Cash coming to a congregation I was serving, and he opened the worship service with "Folsom Prison Blues." Of my thousands of dreams in my lifetime, why do I remember this one?

Gathering rulings on Puyallup pronunciation

After around 20 years away from the land of my birth and rearing, I'm not sure if this is the land of the familiar for me anymore (more on this later).

I know how to pronounce Puyallup. I also taught my dear wife to share her pronunciation knowledge in public as a tool to make her way in conversation--something in which she has greater gifts than me, but it doesn't hurt to learn the lingo. However, someone told me I pronounced Puyallup incorrectly (pew-Al-up) at a dinner gathering last weekend. Washingtonians are passionate about their place names--gatherings in my Granddad's living room only solidified this point. I even have the textbook of our discussions from his library in my own collection. Puyallup is a pronunciation like potato/potato, tomato/tomato, like the song. I think this place name pronunciation is a matter of preference, not law or rule (Pew-awl-up and Pew-Al-up are both correct) South Dakota has Huron (Hyur-on and Urine are both correct). The dinner partner tried to argue with me--he hinted that because I just moved from South Dakota I didn't know what the hell I was talking about. I'm collecting pronunciations from my fellow native Washingtonians. Feel free to comment.

Loving the air

The Pacific Northwest brings a lot of enjoyment to my life for several reasons. Certainly, mountains and water are great physical features to view on a daily basis. When I turn on to the main road to travel anywhere in the region, on a partly sunny day or clearer I can see Mt. Rainier in all its splendor. This peak is like a magnet to even the longest term resident of the area. However, I will no longer be a West Coast person who reduces the Midwest to fly-over land. The Plains states have their own beauty. Though I knew I would enjoy a return to this PNW climate, I forgot the way the air fills my nose and lungs, and how it feels against my skin.

Midwest air is filled with oppression about 40 weeks per year, whether its the humidity that lasts from late May to early October, or the wintry dry air that makes my hands bleed. Life indoors is an important consideration (maybe this is why Midwesterners have such a reputable work ethic). Not to mention the mosquitoes that the cities attempt to keep at bay, but bugs that will terrorize your flesh at any opportunity. When talking about weather with PNW locals, they always wonder how I could stand the winters. No problem, just put on more clothes and keep my hands bathed in hand lotion. New snow on the rolling prairie and its few trees is quite beautiful--like watching a child slumber sweetly. The land takes a sweet nap in the winter.

I love the air here. Though we have our share of smog here, it feels like it is always being brushed clean by the evergreens and rinsed by the rain.

Discombobulated web life and forgiveness

I thought of titling this post: "Qwest sucks"

But I decided not to because everyone has a bad day, including those in the customer service business. Qwest had a horrendous day with me, and like a true neanderthal I snapped at my two-year-old child because of it. With tears running down her face I apologized profusely, ran my fingers through her hair and said, "I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at the computer people. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?" She smiled and gave me a hug. If that wasn't the sweetest thing and the best grace...

I am borrowing my parents' computer tonight because I am receiving poor customer service in getting connected, and I have another week to wait. The story is not that interesting. One company continued to pass me off from department to department, while another company said expediently, "I can help you with that."

I miss my web life. I am hopeful it will return next week.

I miss writing online. I suppose I could get all primitive and type out a few thoughts on Word.

Keeping up with writing can be hard enough--dealing with adversity on top of that challenge is too much to take as I am recovering from this move.

I will only dream about the blue highways

Some trips are made for the blue highways. For all you road trip buffs out there, pick up a copy of William Least Heat Moon's Blue Highways This is a great non-fiction book. Probably on my never-published list of best non-fiction. I'll put that list together at a later date. My homiletic inspiration during Holy Week came from blue highways in South Dakota and a little bit of North Dakota. I'm not a highway snob--I'll take any highway I can get.

The interstates are their own cultural distinction. First of all, the change of terrain is compelling on its own. The trip with my family, for all its frustrations and lack of peace coming from the back seat is an opportunity to stay connected with my dear wife and ponder the road before us--both literally and figuratively.

We are moving from South Dakota and headed west. This was a long-imagined dream, now a reality. Not the kind of dream that on which I hang hope, but something to paint in my mind; a family gathered and nurtured with a grand background of outdoor beauty. For those who communicate with me regularly, the details need not be discussed here. Nor does the word "journey" need to be used. I loathe that word and all of its self-fulfillment connections in pop theology and "Christian" music. I am only thankful I can more easily gather with extended family, show my family value in some of the places I enjoyed growing up, while discovering more with them. This is only possible because My Dear Wife has a calling to follow and people willing to use her gifts. There would have been no other way to head west.

The interstate will be a good road to travel. I don't lament missing the blue highways--we need to reach our destination efficiently. I will only dream about the blue highways and travel them when I am invited to travel them.

You may not read any updates for longer than I have in several months--I worry about losing my momentum and getting caught in the seemingly urgent transition moments. I have high hopes to return to writing soon.

Garage Sale

Nothings reveals personal failures or bad investment of resources quite like a garage sale. A trip to the Goodwill is different--more anonymity, also the scant feeling of giving to the public good. As if the public is better off with the redistribution of my crap.

"Come see my failed fitness program! Come see what I haven't read, or couldn't fit on my body in my more optimistic days! Come see my half-hearted attempt at a hobby! Come see my fizzled-out work toward a collection! And get it at a low, low, humilitingly low price..."

The only reason I'm doing it is that the cash will be helpful, and my mind can rest a little easier with less clutter. That purging of junk is almost better than the cash. Almost.

Spicy (Entry #2 in the madhousegazette South Dakota Lexicon)

I previously wrote on this topic over three years ago, but I continue to build my anecdotal evidence to support a SPICY entry into my new and developing lexicon. Please forgive me for my repetition to the throngs of loyal readers.

SPICY is a relative culinary term no matter where one travels. Spicy is often associated with a type of hot pepper; a jalapeno, chipotle or a habanero for the daring awakens the mouth for a party in some, drives others toward a state of panic. I consider myself one who enjoys a risky level of hot, though I didn't realize that this particular gastric joy would be repressed in South Dakota. Urban legend in Sioux Falls has it that some nascent ethnic restaurants have failed or changed their preparation because word gets out that the food is too spicy. I don't know this for a fact, but Thai food can't seem to gain any traction around here, and Indian food is rare.

So how does one assess the palate tolerance of the average South Dakotan? While serving a congregation in a small South Dakota town, I ate at one of two places available in town--the local Senior Center. After eating at this spot for several months, a few of the locals asked me about my favorite meals at the Center. I tried to avoid the local favorites of liver and onions, and scalloped ham and potatoes. The Center doubled attendance for those meals. I declared my love for the lasagna--it was well above average. It was a good meal to which I looked with positive anticipation. One woman responded to my proclamation, "ooooh. exotic!" Another tersely stated, "lasagna is too spicy for me." Several nodded in agreement. I never knew oregano could be such a tongue scorcher. Though not a South Dakotan, my mother-in-law has some similar feelings about spicy food, though she is much more willing to try new things than most South Dakotans. However, when she describes a food, I have developed a two-tiered system of spice: "Is it spicy? Or is it Norwegian spicy?" Some Norwegian-Americans are insulted by this distinction. However, almost all of them seem to get it. I referenced my Norwegian Spicy distinction out in South Dakota Ranch Country, and that inspired the most laughter I had ever received from that crew.

I wondered if the spice anecdote was confined to one town. Probably not. In another town over a meal I talked with a couple about dining favorites. After I shared my preferences, the wife stated that her husbands preferences were simple; he would only eat food that was white or brown. Maybe I should publish a cookbook called "White and Brown Favorites." Maybe it would only be a leaflet.

Gumbo (Entry #1 in the madhousegazette South Dakota Lexicon)

I should have started this series a long time ago, which would have been especially good for days like these when I know I need to force through days of sparse motivation. The day after Easter for some pastors feels like a Grade A hangover.

GUMBO is a mixture of gravel, farm debris (which can include various species of poop, hay, corn kernels, feed, etc.) mud, and whatever the constant wind brings in from the corners of the Continental United States that gets on your shoes, clothing and hair. However, Gumbo's most cacophonous appearance comes after driving through a gumbo patch on a dirt road. After parking your vehicle, the raw gumbo bakes on the vehicular underbelly. Upon departure, the roasted gumbo releases from its baking area and is redeposited over the next several hundred yards toward the driver's new destination. Gumbo is a close cousin of sand from the beach (for all of you Pacific Northwest readers); traces of gumbo can be found for sometimes months at a time after initial exposure.

Sometime gumbo looks like beef stir fry if it is served over a nice plate of spring snow.

I almost always found traces of gumbo on my clergy robe after a Sunday in South Dakota Ranch Country.

A New Dimension To The Northern Great Plains Vehicular Hand Greeting

Today was my last day serving out in South Dakota Ranch Country:
4 days.
6 services.
1 session of Confirmation. This Easter Sunday was a conclusion to a pleasant, thoughtful and prayerful 3.5 months of ministry in SD Ranch Country. I was thankful for the time, people and ministry. This was certainly not a big Holy Week schedule for some pastors, but it was plenty for me. I'm about ready to pass out.

I took in as much Ranch Country as I could during the spare time I had, hitting some of the small towns and topography in the region. It turned into sermon preparation; I drove around with an altered perspective compared to my usual tooling around my house, herding my children. I never would have thought SD Ranch Country as beautiful country growing up, but I appreciate it now like I enjoy a good Scotch or a well-aged cheddar. Not something I would take in every day, but certainly a lift to the senses, helpful for perspective and a celebration of God's varied creation.

That changed perspective alerted me to a new Vehicular Hand Greeting (VHG). While in Harding County, I came upon a mustachioed man waving at a string of cars as we all slowly approached a four-way stop (could have been the only one in Harding County). There was something different about his motion. Ah...an accessory. A cigarette. Raymond Carver taught me to notice accessories when crafting a scene and enhancing dialogue. The cigarette was a great accessory for Carver, creating a more tangible reading of non-verbal communication. The greeter man in the blue Chevy S-10 held the cigarette between his two-fingers; he waved upwards in a nonchalant, yet friendly manner. He led with the back of his hand, yet the motion was intentional enough that his hand angle never varied much from 45 degrees, as to not lose control of the cigarette ash. Unfortunately, I missed whether he added the nod combo--I was fixated on the use of an accessory in the greeting. I was so glad about this discovery, I wonder if I smiled accidentally and violated the rules of VHG's. I have yet to receive a VHG with a smile. I'm not sure I have the VHG experience to add a component to the repertoire or make a ruling. Who is the governing authority of the VHG?

The kick off to Easter was better than I could have imagined. I might even go so far as to say it was one of my more fulfilling Lenten seasons. My Holy Week produced an unexpected book reading (I will review it at a later date), a good run, thankfulness, some rich prayer time, photography, exploration and a time away from my television. Unfortunately pillow talk with My Dear Wife took place on the phone and I didn't get to put my girls to bed. But those late days of the week were good soil time for both my sermon preparation and me. I hope to integrate that growth into my time at home.

Good Friday for any of us who aren't Jesus...

One of my favorite lines from a country song, by Randy Travis:

"The road to hell was paved with good intentions."

I may have intended for Holy Week to be more peaceful than usual--but in my crazy preparation this morning for my last day of substitute teaching and my 200 mile trek--I screamed at a ringing phone and a blue-haired lady driving 25 in a 40.

My eldest daughter said, "Dad, you don't have to be so grumpy..."

That's right, I don't.

Good Friday, the day where good intentions go to die.

Podcasts and Sermon Preparation

Today is crunch time for my Holy Week sermon preparation:

1. I drive 200 miles tomorrow afternoon to South Dakota Ranch Country to begin a series of 6 worship services and one session of confirmation.

2. That 200 miles means several things logistically: I do not have reliable access to a computer, web, or a theological library of any consequence.

3. My family is in the midst of a big change (more on that on another post), not to mention the flurry of activity associated with Holy Week in a two-pastor household.

Granted, I could have been preparing for these sermons for weeks: I know a pastor who plans out their sermons for 6 months, locking himself in a hotel room for a week. I don't think I could sanely work like this.

I don't think the value of the podcast for preachers can be understated. Sitting down for extended hours and studying is not really an option for me these days. Between audio Bible passages and Sermon Brainwave on workingpreacher.org I have accessed good thought provocation while I do the less mind occupying tasks of the day. Though I am not a huge proponent of multi-tasking, as long as I don't gorge myself on this practice, I find it quite reasonable. I think the consequences of homiletical multi-tasking preparation depend on how the rest of the preachers time is filled. If I continue to pray, read the Bible, attend to my primary relationships, write and read generally, I am still living the student and preacher life faithfully. If I watch too much television, play too many video games, watch too much sports (these are my vices--if you are a video game programmer or work for ESPN, then please, take these pursuits on to feed your family) then I am starving my sermon preparation.

I actually have some angles to work with for this weekend--and I am caring for my family.

May the remainder of your Holy Week be a blessed connection with God and with your communities.

A New Holy Week Experience

This year, Lent has not been a seemingly endless series of extra tasks and groanings about the work load. My former spiritual director tried to assure me that that was not how Lent was supposed to be. Rather than set out a plan that neatly fit into the 40 days of the season, I now look back and see what God has given me. I have used this time to write more, read more, and pray more--a serendipitous gift--something I could not create for myself through planning. This has not been a classic 40 days of Lenten discipline; I know that Lent doesn't mean drudgery, it's supposed to mean growth. Maybe growing through writing, reading and prayer--though I didn't read Augustine or Paul and did not pray the Daily Office or from the Book of Common Prayer, I believe that God and I met.

The discipline actually began in December last year; I have read more, written more, prayed more, attended to my primary relationships (finding profound joy in my wife and children) more and exercised more than I have in years. Though I haven't deeply planted my activity in congregational life in the past 2 years, I have still been able to attend to the word of God and preach and still speak something of value to congregations. I honestly don't know how pastors grow in their faith while they attend to the work of congregational life. Maybe it is because I have a preference for introversion and congregational life is more often an extroverted life style. My wife and I moved to South Dakota eight years ago not holding a solid idea of how God was going to use me. It took me about 3 years to get an idea and 5 more to live that idea out vocationally, all while raising two children we didn't have when we arrived. Because that vocation in both my family and in ministry now feels like my own skin, the next few years will be a deeper discernment of how the next season of my life will form.

Maybe this new discipline and reflection will come out in my Holy Week sermons. For the first time in many years, I am responsible for all the sermons of the week (maybe the first time--I don't fully remember). I have always approached Good Friday with the most trepidation. I don't care to make excuses for the challenges of the texts (a pet peeve of mine), yet I never thought that my words can somehow do justice to the ethos of the day. Maybe I have residual pastoral authority issues from the early days of making sense of my calling. Maybe it is this Holy Week that the theological soil I have turned and tilled will bear fruit. For the first time in over 10 years of ministry I have come to this Holy Week not completely spent from Lenten activities. I know better than to expect a great epiphany from my time of reflection--but I have great hope that God will use me to provide a word that reaches people in a place of peace.

Hyperbolic video game violence

Hot New Video Game Consists Solely Of Shooting People Point-Blank In The Face

This Onion clip doesn't rank in the pantheon of Onion greats, but I put forth a hearty guffaw after I watched this. The more I thought about the topic, it's funny on multiple levels:

1. This piece highlights the progression of video game violence over the past two decades and takes it to its absurd conclusion--I've noticed this as I play our family Wii and add on old games from the NES basic system from the late 1980's. Does the humor highlight desensitization to violence, or does it merely lampoon moral outrage?

2. I find it interesting that The Onion has taken on topics the last few days that get buried in this endless news cycle of apoplectic economics: video game violence and that Pope Benedict decides to accept abortion. Not that I wish for more discussion about abortion or video game violence, but these recent stories satirize media tunnel vision about economic issues.

On another Onion note: quite a coup for the Onion News Network to sign on former CNN veteran Bobbie Batista. Nice work ONN--you are a media PLAYA.

My relationship with the CFL's of the world

Today I share with you some thoughts not about my third favorite pigskin sporting organzation (the CFL known as the Canadian Football League--LOVE those Edmonton Eskimos), but the CFL known as Compact Fluorescent Lights. I am not one to agree with George Will on much. He's an intelligent man who shares my love for baseball and writing--but I often want to scream at him when I read his columns.

Will confirms some of my own observations and feelings regarding CFL bulbs and the misplaced frenzy to incorporate them in our lives. Though Will disagrees with the notion of earthly environmental distress, he still works to dismantle actions taken to address that distress--in this case the foolishness of the incorporation of CFL bulbs by law. I think the basic industriousness of people and a desire to act in the face of an anxious situation has produced foolish actions in a love fest with CFL bulbs. For some households and businesses, these lights may make sense. However, my household is occupied by 2 Tasmanian Devil-like children and a dim bulb of a dog who often has no real understanding of his surroundings. Not to mention I have been known to attempt to swing a golf club in my own house. The likelihood of a broken bulb in my household is high. This is not good for a product containing mercury. I have enough worries about my children and their exposure to neuro-toxins; CFL's only add to my madness. It seems like the tradeoff isn't all that good in the first place, and here we are, mandating these kinds of products in to law. The disposability of the CFL's don't seem to enter in to the conversation about environmental impact. I'm not sure why.

I have much higher hopes for some LED style bulbs, but it seems like CFL's are the flavor of the month. I hope the mercury issue will enter into the discussion more often, and I'm thankful that Will continued to direct this toward the mainstream, even if I believe his enviromental discourse is off.

Snowed out

For the fourth time in over 10 years of preaching, I got snowed out from a worship service. Spring snow storms are a shifty bunch. We were told last weekend 6-12 inches of wet, heavy snow was on the way. Nothing for us, but 30 miles to the west received 14 inches. I prepared for my weekly trek with a survival kit (snow shovel, kitty litter, salt, snacks, blankets), only to be told by the good people of South Dakota Ranch Country to stay home. No forecaster even bothered to tell us how many inches. Only a blizzard warning. I-90 was closed around 4:30 pm. They knew better out on the ranches. This is my first relaxed weekend in over 3 months.

I like preaching, but the adrenaline rush and tension are noticeably absent this evening in a good way. I'll probably wake up at 4am wondering if I missed church. Sabbath is a good thing--I think my bodily hard drive needs defragmentation. I'll feel it at about 10 am tomorrow when I finally get around to dressing myself for the day.

"Alas, poor Theology"

An extended period of reading time (the thankful portion of air travel) finally led to my second encounter with Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles. After reading the introductory commentary to this edition by David Galef of the University of Mississippi, I perceived another struggle with this book, another failed academic exercise. Surpising to me, I worked through about 100 pages, though it wasn't much work. There's a reason this book ranks so highly--the prose flows well, with just enough notes and commentary to not be encumbered by the anachronisms. The settings are sometimes hyper-descriptive, but not painfully so. The dialogue is about as close to perfect as possible. The social commentary doesn't approach preaching, for which I am thankful.

My review will not be posted today, I still have a long way to go before completing the book--but I found a quote about which I cannot stop pondering:

"Alas, poor Theology [from the narrator]" Tess of the d'Urbervilles. This describes a scene where Tess meets a young man who paints Bible verses on steps with red paint. I won't dissect the scene quite yet, but I love the way this quote can be interpreted in so many ways. I've considered renaming my blog by this quote, but, alas, I shall use it to describe my writings. I don't think I'll finish the book by the time I return home, but I am well on my way.

BNL "moves forward:" feeling melancholic (part 2)

The BNL song "Bad Day" remains on a regular listening rotation these days. It still produces thought of my oldest daughter--her joyful, mysterious, and common childhood. I also think of the first time I heard it in context of the report of the BNL breakup. Relationships change, and there's no need to dwell in misery over what used to be, but find grace in what was and what will be. Today's entry brings thoughts about BNL songs as the soundtrack of my household's life:

"I Love You (from the CD "Gordon")" This song was on the soundtrack I made for My Dear Wife (MDW) during the labor and birth of our oldest daughter. MDW particularly enjoyed this song--a little for its usual BNL silliness: "I love soup, and I love ice cream sandwiches, too. I love fishsticks, but I love you." It also named something in our relationship that revealed a depth of preparation, yet also some spontaneous ebullience (Defining Lyric): "I love you, so let's make a family tree." As we waited for and lived out our nascent parenthood, this song made us dance, much like child #1 in MDW's belly.

"Brian Wilson (from the CD "Gordon")" I probably like this song a little more than MDW, but we've talked about our dark side and the dark side of Stephen Page associated with this song--about self-medication with food (a struggle with us on occasion), depression (not our own struggle--but one that we see in our family and in our congregations) and the wonder about people who can produce such brilliant and beautiful art while suffering in their own torment. Why is it that the suffering can produce such art that can resonate with the masses in their episodic or chronic pain? I am also reminded of my good friends in St. Louis--almost every trip to St. Louis we went searching for music well into the night in University City--songs that reflected that the world was our oyster. I can't remember the name of those "late night record shops."
Defining Lyric: "And if you want to find me I'll be out in the sandbox, wondering where the hell all the love has gone.
Playing my guitar and building castles in the sun, and singing "Fun, Fun, Fun."

"These Apples (from the CD "Maybe You Should Drive") This was my first BNL song, an introduction from my brother (a significant portion of music I enjoy is greatly influenced by him). I heard this song soon before I met MDW. This song reflects a mood of the playfulness of new love--eros--the art that inspires and leads to the propogation of the species. This song made it to the some of the "mixed tapes" I sent to pour out my heart for MDW.
Defining Lyric: "Im not trying to sing a love song -- Im trying to sing in tune. I know I am sometimes headstrong
Falling love, catching fire -- I want to be consumed Wondering will I ever tire, will I ever tire!"

Kansas Jayhawk Basketball--the 08-09 edition

As I laid out my March Madness bracket over the past 15-20 years, every year I picked Kansas to reach at least the Sweet 16, often the Elite 8 or Final 4, if not the Championship Game. It was usually a solid pick--KU has the 2nd longest consecutive streak of tournament appearances after Arizona for a reason. Sometimes they would find a way to disappoint themselves and the fans, like losing to UTEP when they were a number 1 seed, or the losses to Bucknell and Bradley this decade. The hope of a title was on the fingertips of fandom, only to have the nails and skin ripped away.

All was set right in the universe after the Jayhawks won the title last year--it had been almost 20 years since a favorite team won a title, and the last one even had its own degree of unsavory--the split title of the 1990 Washington Husky football team. My fan angst was cooled and the sport euphoria permeated daily thought. Though the title game of 2008 was AMAZING, I watched alone, doing my lunatic Jim Valvano run around the house looking for someone to hug.

This was my first year living as a pessimist for Jayhawk basketball in the tournament--I had them losing in the round of 32 in one bracket, and to NDSU in another. I was mentally prepared for an early exit. I believed in the tools--Collins and Aldrich are excellent players. I thought the matchups presented problems. I thought they were capable of more as I watched them. That loss to Michigan State wasn't warranted. They weren't beaten by a better team--the supporting cast played tentatively--it was like watching a deer in the headlights moment.

Regardless of my mental preparation for that loss, it still sucked. Regardless of how far I think KU will advance, it still hurts when they lose.

Listening...(March 30 Edition)

This Is The Right Time...Lisa Stansfield
Revival!...Me Phi Me
Little Liza Jane...Elizabeth Mitchell
Feeling No Pain...Jason Falkner
Freedom...Housemartins
Thick As A Brick... Jethro Tull
Believe...Third Day
I'm On A Boat...The Lonely Planet (Feat. T-Pain)

Jason Falkner is one of those artists that is good at first listen, but gets even better as time goes by. He writes quality, reflective poetic songs, usually about relationships. I also like that his sound is not so predictable--it's not exactly eclectic alt pop, but definitely thoughtful.

The Me Phi Me song Revival! is off the Reality Bites soundtrack, one of those old school Gen X defining movies that comes through with some good songs. I never liked this song all that much, but I gave it another listen, attracted by some of its baptismal images. Since I use part of my running as prayer time, this song is a great bridge between running and prayer, making me appreciate its groove a little more.

I had never purchased a Lisa Stansfield CD or song, but she's got a groove that sticks in my head. iTunes had her categorized as a "UK Soul Diva." I suppose she is a musical cousin of Annie Lennox, but with more of a UK club feel (and believe me, I've been to SO many clubs in the UK). Sarah Silverman had a hilarious comment about divas on Bill Maher a few weeks ago. She compared diva to "the c word." How is it that Sarah Silverman and Bill Maher can say anything they want? Anyway, I enjoy this song.

Whenever I listen to Jethro Tull, I am reminded of the classic rock burnout crowd in my days at McKnight Middle School in Renton, WA. There was one guy who was in the 8th grade and driving to school. He was in shop class with me--while I made things like cutting boards for my mother and grandparents, he made wooden bongs, which he called "candle holders." He LOVED Jethro Tull. "Dude, TULL ROCKS." I suppose it takes someone high to say that a flute "rocks." This was a gutsy statement--but if it was a song on KISW or KZOK, the song, I suppose, could rock. But Thick As A Brick is far better than the Tull classic rocker, Aqualung.

I'm not a big fan of modern Christian rock (please, I don't know what to call this stuff, I generally can't stand this pseudo genre). Too much of it moves into "Jesus is my boyfriend" music. South Park does a great parody of Christian rock--but once in awhile I'll move beyond the parody and dive into a few bands in the genre: Third Day, Caedmon's Call, and Jennifer Knapp. The music meets a spiritual need that can't be met by any other genre at the time. I suppose this "genre" has come a long way since the days of Stryper.

If you have kids and want to give them some childrens music that doesn't make your soul hemmorhage (like, say, The Wiggles--those rich douchebags), get Elizabeth Mitchell. Yesterday.

Harsh and humorous

Harsh words contain a humorous kernel of truth.It's hard to laugh when neighbors are giving everything they have to save their neighborhoods and homes. But this Onion piece is a brilliant joke about American perspective.

walk score

In my earlier days of adulthood, I thought I could live in any conditions. I proved that in my days at the University of Kansas--my Gram and Granddad came to visit me in my fraternity house. My room was called "The Zoo." My Gram took a look around and said, "this building should be condemned." She wasn't exaggerating.

I won't wax poetic about how things change when children are in the equation. I don't want my children to live in a dangerous neighborhood. But I could talk about children can be joyful in dreary conditions--the children I saw all over Nicaragua displayed the widest of smiles in the most meager of conditions. What I consider dreary is a suburban nightmare where we spend all of our time in a car attending to the basics in life. Though I don't currently live in a suburban sprawl setting, my area is very car dependent--not bike friendly, a mediocre and haphazard set of sidewalks, and weak public transportation. I have hopes for something better someday. Walkscore is a fun tool for analyzing a neighborhood's walkability. I've been playing with it a lot lately. I think there's a better way to build neighborhoods that allows for all kinds of transport--bike, walk, public and auto. Walk Score is good for the public imagination and understanding.

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.