Stories

I stumbled across this story telling troupe called The Moth, in which they invite real people to tell their real stories.  (a la This American Life)  This video is the first one I watched.  I love it because it shows that forgiveness truly is a miracle.  Coincidentally, this man is also a carpenter by trade.

The Worst Thing I've Ever Done

On the front page of the Des Moines Register there lay an article introducing Burger King’s next Frankenstenian masterpiece, the bacon sundae.  My first and immediate thought: I’m having one today.  Such a creation has some of my favorite things: bacon, ice cream, shame, and a promise for an early, heart-attack-diabetic-shock-induced death. 

I invited my friend Anna Aderton, who was waiting for her husband Dan to return from Thailand.  If there was one thing I knew about events like these, it’s that misery loves company. 

When I was in high school, I had a similar experience at Wendy’s and their infamous Baconator.  (THE BACONATOR!  THEY’RE PURPOSELY REFERENCING A WORD THAT CONNOTATES KILLING AND DEATH!  THEY’RE NOT EVEN TRYING TO HIDE THE FACT THAT IT WILL INDEED KILL YOU!)  My friend Connor and I ate a Baconator for lunch and it single handedly wrecked my day, it was like an immediate hangover.  I was depressed for the next week, and watched Dawson’s Creek reruns in my basement.

I picked up Anna, who out of some childlike, Christmas-morning, restlessness had already walked to the corner of the street.  “I’m so excited I got to come!” she exclaimed as she entered the car.   A man’s sin, one can bear alone.   But woe to the one who causes another to stumble.  The millstone had tightened.  I was now in the hands of a living God.

After the front-page dedication, and knowing man’s lust for all things evil, I was surprised to see the parking lot relatively empty.  We walked in, and there was no line either. I wasn’t sure if this was encouraging or ominous.  There was no fan fare, no grand banner, no advertising, it wasn’t even on the menu.  It was as if Burger King knew that it had gone too far this time, and even they were ashamed. 

Cathy, our sweet server, took our order.  We asked if she had made a bacon sundae yet, and she said no.  Had she tried one though? “Oh goodness, no.”  Cathy went over and began to make something she had never made before, and hopefully would never make again.  She leaned over and squinted at the directions, pausing now and then, as if trying to ignore the guilt of being an accomplice to such a horrifying reality.  I half expected her to go to the back and return with a hazmat suit.  She constructed the beast carefully, like any other sundae, but then picked up the bowl of bacon, and placed each piece down slowly, the weight of the slabs making her wince, she looked at us with mournful eyes.  And like Eve handing over the fruit to Adam, gave us over to our deaths.

Death itself is not merely satisfied with taking away life, but also stripping away all humanity, all dignity.  We went into the playroom, alone with our shame.  Maybe we believed that we could conjure up an innocent ignorance, a youthful exemption of all guilt and shame.  In its place, however, was only an empty and eerie irony as the bright reds, blues and greens surrounded us with the hellish echoes of Sponge Bob Square Pants squealing from the television. 

We ate our fill.  Anna stated the guilty ambivalence of regret and unrepentance: “That was really good.  But I’m never going to eat another one again.” 

I carried an internal dialogue with my once close friend:

[Jake awakens from a greasy, disorienting coma]

Jake: Who’s there!  Who is it!

Voice: It’s me.  Have you forgotten my voice already?

Jake: Dignity?  Wha… What are you doing here?  Don’t look at me!

Dignity:  How did it get this far? 

Jake [beginning to cry]: I’m so sorry.  I don’t know!

Dignity: My poor, poor friend.  What have you done? 

Jake: IT WAS SO GOOD!

Dignity: This one is over the line.

Jake: I LOVE BACON SO MUCH!

Dignity: And do you not love me?

Jake: Please, don’t leave me!

Dignity: I have not forsaken you, but you have forsaken me.

Jake: Give me another chance!

Dignity: There are some things that are beyond forgiveness.

Jake: Aah!  Don’t say that.  Whe-  where are my pants?

Dignity: I’m leaving. 

The Monster

The point of no return.

So delicious.

The remnants of sin.

Hell.

Favorite Sports Commercials

During the NBA playoffs I've seen some pretty sweet commercials.  There are certain commercials that really intrigue me as I like the art of story telling in such a confined space and time.  Here are some of my all time favorite sports commercials that get me excited.  I get chills.  At times I may or may not tear up due to the sheer emotion that wells up in soul.

David Fincher's "Fate" for Nike.  Everything leads up to a single moment.

And then we have Michael Mann's companion piece:

I also love commercials that dream dreams, and think thoughts that we never would see in real life.  Like Michael Jordan playing against Michael Jordan:

Nike does it again with their "What If" commercial:

This is an NBA promo for Christmas, and it's just awesome. 

Finally, we have Tiger Woods.  I'm not a Woods fan per say, but he and Nike have teamed up to make some pretty sweet commercials.  I love these commercials because it unites the themes of identity and father-son relationship so well.  What's more affirming than your father speaking into your identity?

(Especially during times of trial)

This one is probably my favorite.  I get teary eyed every time. 

How to maintain your blog

A lot of people start blogs with the intention of consistency and regularity. They have high hopes of daily posts, and maybe when times are busy, a post a week.  They may start off strong but in the end their blog posts begin to dry up to maybe once every month to eventually never blogging ever.  (Which is probably a good thing as there are a lot of boring people out there).  (Just kidding.  Everyone has a story)  (But seriously, some stories are better than others.) I’m even guilty of this trend.  As you can see my May posts were few and far between.  Here are some tips to keep your blog afloat and increase that weak and dying post count. 

1.     Not everything you have to write about needs to be clever, witty, or insightful.  – Everyone thinks that he or she is the funniest or deepest or smartest person to have existed.  Not true.  This is my problem.  I don’t write because I feel the need to be super clever.  Just write and something will come of it.  As the saying goes, even poop can be gold.

2.     Don’t think about how many people are reading your blog – Numbers aren’t everything.  But they’re really nice.  But then it begins to add pressure to ideas and then you freeze and come up with nothing. 

3.     Don’t proofread, don’t care about grammar – One of the major reasons I don’t blog as often is because it takes me way too long time to write a post as I’m meticulously proofreading.  The majority of your readers aren't even going to be smart enough to cacth your mistakes anyways.

Sub note: Here’s a free lesson I’ve learned (despite many corrective comments on pretty much every paper I wrote in high school and college), use commas everywhere.

4.     Use a quote as a post – Easy and simple.  Quote someone, put it on a colorful background and bam.  Got a good one.  And if you’re Christian (or even if you’re not) just make the quote by C.S Lewis – even if it’s fake (especially if it’s fake).  It’ll make you sound really smart, and it’ll get you a lot of followers. 

5.     Post a song – Another one that is easy.   Middle school mixtape number 8: Love You For Reals Girl.

6.     Post a picture – Any picture, because at worst it’s a bad picture, and then you just say that it’s something abstract.  So deep. Too deep. Real deep.

7.     Just write about every moment of everyday of your life.  – This may seem mundane and it may seem boring and irrelevant but you’ll eventually strike gold.  If anything, tell a story about your day and then add a Bible verse at the end to make it seem like you ambiguously learned something. For example:

“Today I brushed my teeth and I was reminded of the cleanliness and redemptive quality of the gospel.  As John writes: “Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” – John 15:27b 

8.     Make a list.  – Everyone loves lists and countdowns and you can drag it out real slow like.  A post explaining the list, a post for honorable mentions, and then a single post for each number.  Puff it up baby.  (I should have done that with this post…)

9.     Plagiarize – No one checks sources these days.  You’re not writing a thesis.  It’s ok.  Just steal it.  Intellectual property is a lie from hell. 

10.  Finally, remember that blogging in its nature is narcissistic, so embrace it.  A lot of people passively admit this (cough links on Facebook… cough), and few will explicitly express their self-absorbed intentions.  Write a lot, and don’t be ashamed.  Begin every blog with this sentence: “This will be the greatest thing you will have ever read.”  Whether this is true or not, it will at least give you the momentary confidence to complete a post.

“The most beautiful thing about blogging, is the metaphorical relevance of our desperate search for truth.  And search we must.” – C.S. Lewis (from Prince Caspian)

The Art Walk

Many questions, few answers

Dancing

Truth.

Newly Married!

                                      
                                     

Among other things, I'm afraid of animals.

The other night my driver side window, rolled down maybe a third of the way, had invited a bird to fly into my car.   As I approached my door, I saw a flutter of feathers as the creature panicked at the arrival of a new intruder.  I panicked too, cause I’ve never had a bird in may car, and it’s not something I particularly value. 

I panicked because at first I thought it was a bat.  Or maybe a mechanized bomb disguised as some flying creature. 

Nevertheless I was afraid for a handful of seconds as I cautiously opened my door, to release my enemy to freedom. 

I realize, that maybe I panicked, because I don’t care too much for animals. 

 And then I remembered talking to a friend who told me that he has a fear of things flying around his head.  Maybe his fear became my fear.

I was creeped out.  I sat in my car feeling a little dirty, figuring out what I knew about bird flu.  I looked and saw that the bird, possibly in its distress, or simply revenge (even though it was his fault for flying into my car) had deuced on my dashboard. 

I shook my head, mostly in shame.  Fear brings out the worst (see dashboard).  I would not typically categorize myself as a man motivated by fear.  But there are certain moments where my natural instincts have no time and no desire to wait for my moral understandings and my code of ethics and beliefs.  There is bird poop on my dashboard begging the deeper drudges of existence to be mined.  Fight or flight, the bird is biologically constrained even when it wants to do the former.  What is my excuse?  My wingless body shrugs.  What can I do?  What’s the difference between fear and wisdom?  Lines can be thin.  Like my muscles.  I’m a lover not a fighter.  Ah.  There it is.

The line is love, for perfect love casts out all fear.

But for some reason I still won’t go on roller coasters, or swim in the deep end, or climb ladders – tall ladders, or not freeze when I see an unexpected animal cross my path.  But no one wants to be afraid.  No one who fears, can truly love.  Fear is self-preservation.  Love is selfless.  That’s what I need, I need more love.  I’ll pray that I can love birds in my car.  Ask and you will receive. 

I drove home in the night, telling myself that in the morning I would go and clean up my dashboard.  

Things I Love

The Beatles are one of my favorite bands.  Their paradoxical ability to make simple yet complex* music always astounds me.  There is no greater example of this than the Medley found on side B of Abbey Road.  

(*I'm not sure if this is true since I know nothing about music.)

When asked what is my favorite Beatles' song I always cheat and choose the Medley, which is the epitome of classic Beatles' musicianship.  What makes the Beatles so brilliant is their individual efforts (mainly Paul and John in these set of songs) are quite unique and separate in and of themselves, yet collaborate themselves into the whole that also makes it uniquely a Beatles' song, as opposed to merely a John Lennon or Paul McCartney song.  

It's amazing.  The Medley showcases the skills and talents of all four Beatles.  John and Paul get the writing efforts, but George and Ringo make themselves known as well.  "The End" provides Ringo's one and only drum solo during his time with the band and George's guitar is always ever present.  (He does provide two great songs for the album, although neither are in the Medley).  A fitting swan song* for the Fab Four.  

*This was technically their last album recorded together, even though Let it Be was released a year later. 

Favorite song in the Medley: "Carry that Weight" 

Journaling

Conversation around TOAG dinner last night – everyone loves the journal-as-a-blog posts- (no one really does.  It’s trying to tell an inside-joke but no one else is “inside” and it’s not funny.  It’s like depressingly not funny).  But I figured I’d try anyways since I’m a natural contrarian.  And I want to bust out my inspiration from Joyce and Ulysses.  The first twenty minutes of my morning:

Dear Journal,

I woke up at 7:30 and I thought, I need to stop drooling on my pillows.  I need to get up and remove my face from this puddle of spit.  I like sleeping.  Will I sleep in heaven?  It’s 7:45 already?!?! Shoot I need to get up.  My throat is sore.  I need to stop smoking my pipe so much.  I didn’t even smoke last night though, so it’s fine.  I probably need to smoke my pipe more so my body can acclimate itself.  I’m so smart.  Alright time to get up.  Where are my pants? If I don’t ask that question at least three times a day, I’m doing something terribly wrong.  One leg at a time.  Don’t zip up your pants yet, you still have to pee.  Be efficient.  God, thank you for toilets.  Ugh.  When’s the last time I showered?  Oh, yesterday.  Good.  Plus I already have my pants on.  And I’m going to be late.  No time.  When’s the last time I brushed my teeth?  Yesterday.  Good.  I already have pants on and there’s no time!  Brush teeth later.  I need to get new shoes.  I need to put socks on.  No time for socks!  Feet will get hot, sweaty and smelly.  Pick up your cross daily.  Amen.  What time is it?  Schedules are dumb.  Thank you God for this day.  Outside is nice.  Huh.  Rained last night.  Car window open.  Again.  Dang it.  My butt is wet.  Thank God I put pants on today.  I’m hungry. 

Coffee Thoughts

Right now I’m at a coffee shop with my roommate Henry.  (I won’t mention what coffee shop in hopes to pressure them into giving me free drinks for a name drop.  Leverage.)  I had a lot of thoughts and ideas in a crazy windstorm of inspiration. 

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First, I want to justify more of thoughts and decisions with the statement: “to live is Christ and to die is gain.  For example:

“Hey Jake I really like that t-shirt.”

“Thanks.  To live is Christ and to die is gain.”

I think it’d raise some pretty prominent and weighty questions.  “Wow.  Jake is deep.  Real deep.

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We were asked if we wanted plates for our muffins, and I said, “there is no better plate than my mouth.”  And then I immediately realized how much this is true, and how much that’s not a good thing. 

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I read an article headline that said, “Umenyiora scoffs at Giants’ contract offers.”  New item on bucket list: scoff at a contract offer.  (Bonus points if there is a headline made about it: “McLaughlin says ‘pfffft’ to millions”) Someday, someday… 

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I need to use the word ‘beautiful’ to describe how things taste.  And also use phrases like: “Man, that sunset looks really spicy.” Or “The colors in that photograph are quite salty.”

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Let’s be honest, I’m never going to write part III of the “Bill the Baptist.”  Spoiler alert, he dies at the end. 

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I want to start conversations with more provoking icebreaker questions:

“If you could get rid of one book of the Bible which one would it be?”

“Which friend would you feel the least sad if they died?”

“What’s been the worst part of your day so far?”

“How much do you weigh?  No really, how much?”

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The one thing I miss about finals week:  Not studying. 

The Fall of Bill the Baptist

(Part II) 

Mike Montgomery has been a ministry partner with Bill for the last three decades.  He has seen Bill’s monumental rise and devastating collapse.   He is recalling the regression from the subtle miscues to the inexcusable follies.  He tells these stories with a sense of regret, wondering if any of it could have been foreseen and thus prevented.  I sit across from Mike, who rubs face, as the memories may be too much.  “What was rock bottom?” I ask.   He laughs and shakes his head.

“When Bill peed in the baptismal.”

In a dark room Bill watches the old tapes, the images fill the large screen, making him larger than life.  Bill’s booming voice surrounds us, and we clearly see his passion.  An older man walks into the pool, and Bill takes a step to help the man in and slips just slightly.  On a screen like this, the mistakes are clear too. 

The spirit and the flesh are always at war with each other.  In the summer of ’89 Bill began dropping people.  “The first few times we chalked it up as a laugh, a simple bloop,” Mike says.  “Even Michael Jordan missed a free throw.  But it got worse.”   

Not only did Bill start dropping people during their baptisms, but his baptismal diction was beginning to raise some eyebrows.  At his peak, Bill has baptized thousands upon thousands and in multiple languages, on every continent.  His baptism structure and style was as diverse as those he was baptizing.  His ability to adapt to culture and context was uncanny and revolutionary.

“Because of Bill’s and Art’s impact and influence many now believe that doing baptisms are mostly about technique.  But they’re wrong.  It’s all mental.  You lose the mental edge, and you’ve lost everything.”  Mike remembers the mental threads beginning to fray.  “We were watching film one day after a pretty terrible set of baptisms.  Bill wanted to figure out what went wrong.  He’s picking apart his form and technique.  He’s saying, ‘Look at my feet, they’re not under my shoulders.  They’re too close.  Look at the wrist, it’s too loose.  I didn’t have my hand up high enough.’ Stuff like that.  And I’m sitting there, watching the same tape, and I’m in complete shock.  He’s totally oblivious.  Finally, I say, ‘Bill.  It’s not your form.  You did the whole service in Chinese.  We’re in Fort Worth, Texas.’”

There were certainly concerns and questions among the baptizing circuit, but after Bill the Baptist’s prolific career, many were giving him the benefit of the doubt.  After years of being the forerunner of technique and structure, most believed Bill to be experimenting yet again.  But some things were simply unexplainable.

“He would baptize fifty men in one night and call each one ‘sister,’” Mike laments.  “He’d replace ‘privilege’ or ‘honor’ with ‘regret’ saying: ‘It’s my regret to baptize you my sister in the name of the Father-‘ and then dunk them, and people would just be confused.  That was another issue.  Sometimes he’d forget about the Trinity.  One time Bill baptized 115 people only in the name of the Father.  That was a theological train wreck.” 

Due to Bill’s inconsistencies and erratic behavior, Mike and the team decided to send Bill down to the minors.  “It was tough for a lot of reasons, but we thought at the very least Bill could do some infant baptisms.”  This proved to be a grave mistake, as the format of infant baptisms were able to mask the problems but not actually fix them. 

After a month of “successful” infant baptisms, and believing Bill to be back in form, he was invited to head up the largest baptism of all time at Madison Square Garden.  10,000 were planned to be baptized; the would-be pinnacle of Bill the Baptist’s career, would turn into the abyss. 

With the bright lights of the most famous arena shining upon him, Bill began to do what he had been doing three decades previous, baptizing.  “The first few hundred went off without a hitch,” Mike said.  “Then he just hit a wall, and he got sloppier and sloppier.  He’d phrase the Trinity as all one word.  He’d just mumble, fathesonhospit.  And then dunk.  We were about to pull him, when all of a sudden he just locks up.  I remember that spotlight shining in his face, and his eyes all glazed over.  He didn’t do or say anything.  And then I hear a woman shriek, ‘He’s peeing in the pool!’  It was chaos after that.”

No one died, but over 225 people had to be sent to the hospital in the stampede that followed.  Bill’s spirit was all but broken.  They sent him down once more to take care of the infants, but after a handful of parents reported their newborns missing, the crew decided it was time to close the shop.  It was Mike Montgomery who had to break the news.

“I thought, I’m going to have to give an account to God Almighty.  I am responsible for shutting down one of his greatest instruments.  I prayed that God would have mercy on my soul.  It was one of the worst days of my life.” 

(Check back for Part 3 to conclude the story of Bill the Baptist)