The Wal Mart Death in All of Us

His name was Jdimytai Damour. He worked security at a Wal Mart on Long Island. He was 34, and now, he is dead, because, well, we need to have our stuff.

I have been haunted by Mr. Damour's death ever since the day it occurred, on the Friday after Thanksgiving, when a mass of "Blitz Line" shoppers crushed him under the weight of their greed, lust for consumption, and lack of concern for others. Crushed by our sick culture, one that values material things over souls.

And then, several weeks ago, the LA Times ran a Column One Piece about this event, that got my attention again. I cannot get this out of my mind. Crowds are a strange thing. They have a psychology all of their own, and it can be a scary thing. But this event at WalMart was, to me, just about the scariest thing I have heard about in our country in a long time. If people are worried about taking God out of our schools, or gay marriage, this event, to me, deserves equal, if not greater attention. I think our souls are sick, not just those WalMart people, but all of us, me included. Let me tell you why.

Our Stuff
The WalMart waiting people had started lining up at 9PM on Thanksgiving night, in order to take advantage of holiday savings. Why did they do this? So they could get a $25 microwave, or a $5 blender, or a flat screen TV for half price. So they lined up ALL NIGHT, in order to save a few dollars.

Here is a novel idea, all those shoppers could have stayed home in bed. Then, they might have arisen late, to enjoy that extra Friday with family, or friends. But they chose to get up early and line up outside WalMart. So they could get more stuff.

Our nation is littered with self storage facilities - places we store our extra stuff. We have so much stuff, we need extra space to store it. A number of years ago, I was attending an investment conference where an executive of one of the largest self storage firms spoke. All of us commercial real estate analysts were interested in what shrewd things he would tell us about this interesting investment opportunity. He got up to speak, and this is essentially the entirety of what he had to say:

"Let's face it, the American people have a lot of extra crap. They come to us, and tell us they need a place to store it. But they also tell us they will be back in a couple of months to pick it up, and move it someplace else. Truth is, they never come back. And we just keep collecting their rent money. Every month. Thank you."

That was probably 20 years ago. We are not any different now, except that we have maybe two or three times as much self storage space.

What We Really Need
It has been said that the Temple of America is....the mall. I think it might be true. And then, perhaps is the self storage facility the graveyard? These are sad and bizarre edifices to our way of life. What have we created here?

The death of Mr. Damour has left me feeling as if we are a people without meaningful relationships, with broken souls, if you will. We are lost in the midst of our consumption, and we cannot find our way home. We trample those who get in our way.

Mr. Damour is a casualty of our American way of life. He is gone. I will pray for the family that he leaves behind, and hope that in a significant way his death will not have been in vain.

We need to stop all this shopping, all this consuming. We need to revisit our priorities.

Fear Not!

This never gets old for me:

O Magnum Mysterium - O Great Mystery

The other day I found this touching piece, by composer Morten Lauridsen.

O magnum mysterium
et admirabile sacramentum,
ut animalia viderent

Dominum natum,
jacentem in præsepio.

Beata virgo, cujus viscera
meruerunt portare
Dominum Christum, Alleluia!

Translation:

O great mystery
and wondrous sacrament,

that animals should see
the newborn Lord
lying in their manger.

Blessed is the Virgin
whose womb was worthy
to bear the Lord Jesus Christ.
Alleluia!

Alleluia, indeed. Thank you, Mr. Lauridsen, for this lovely composition. I think this will be what part of Heaven will sound like. For me, a measure of Advent Grace.

Advent and Lux Aurumque

I have written before about my friend Tony. I came across the video below several days ago. As it turns out, Tony translated the lyrics into Latin of this piece for the composer.

To me, this is the perfect piece for the Advent time of waiting.

Lux, (Light)

calida gravisque (warm and heavy)

pura velut aurum (pure as gold)

et canunt angeli (and the angels sing softly)

molliter modo natum (to the newborn babe)

Coffee House Advent - Corrine May

My good friend KC found this video on the web the other day. "In the Bleak Midwinter" is one of my favorite Christmas choral pieces, and this simple arrangement is wonderful. Advent is upon us, even in unlikely places, like coffee houses. I had never heard of Corrine May before. Check her out.

KC and I got together earlier this week. He pastors a small church in the high desert. He mentioned that we all seem to want to rush Christmas in early, with music and carols. We are in a hurry. And then he added, "but maybe it is better to wait.....that is what Advent is all about - waiting."

That comment has had me thinking.....

Tragic Loss and Forgiveness

From the Los Angeles Times today:

One day after an F/A-18D Hornet fighter jet fell from the sky and crashed into his two-story house in San Diego's University City neighborhood, Dong Yun Yoon returned to a home and life in ruins.

Rescue workers sifting through the debris on Cather Avenue had found the bodies of his wife, two baby daughters and mother-in-law.

"I believe my wife and two babies and mother-in-law are in heaven with God," Yoon said at a news conference afterward. "Nobody expected such a horrible thing to happen, especially right here, our house."

Yoon said he bore no ill will toward the Marine Corps pilot who ejected safely before the jet plunged into the neighborhood two miles west of the runway at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar. "I pray for him not to suffer for this action," Yoon said. "I know he's one of our treasures for our country."

Mr. Yoon is a man with great character.

YL Christmas 2008

What else would make perfectly normal college people and grown-ups wear metal bowls on their heads, associate with a poorly dressed Santa impersonator from the hood, stuff their mouths with Tootsie Pops, and try to guess Christmas tunes?

What else would get the cops called to our house (including police copter fly over!) at 8:30 PM on an otherwise quiet South Pasadena night?

It must be the Young Life 2008 Christmas Party!

Last night our house was stuffed with about 40 volunteers, staff, and committee of Young Life in our area for general holiday revelry.

We on committee are so very thankful for our staff and volunteers, who are sharing their lives with kids in our area, all so that they might earn the right to be heard, and have the opportunity to love kids into the Kingdom!

Presbyterian Meeting Exclusive Video

For those of you unfamiliar with the inner workings of the Presbyterian Church, I have secured video footage of a "Session" (church leadership) meeting in a typical church in this denomination. No further narrative is necessary. You may thank me later.

Advent Sublime

Suddenly, and seemingly without warning, it is upon us, whether we are ready or not. I am not. It is Advent.

To me, this means so many things. I still remember the period of waiting, of wondering, as both of our girls came into the world. And then they came, all wet, and noisy, and wiggly, and, well, wonderful! Something stunning, mysterious, and blessed, altogether. Life!

Today, as a little Advent gift to myself, and to you, I give you the remarkable choral work of St. Olaf's college, singing John Rutter's sublime masterpiece "What Sweeter Music". I cannot make it through this piece intact; my eyes always fill with tears. I think I have played this at least six times today. I need it, for Advent.

Take a few minutes, and wait, and watch. It is Advent, the time of waiting.

What sweeter music can we bring,
than a carol for to sing the birth
of this our Heavenly King.
Awake the voice, awake the string.

Dark and dull nights
fly hence away and give the honor
to this day that sees December
turned to May. That sees December
turned to May.

Why does the chilling winters
morn smile like a field beset with
corn or smell like a meadow
newly shorn. Thus on the sudden
come and see. The cause why things
such fragrant be.

Tis' He is born who's quickening
birth gives life and luster public
mirth to heaven and the under
earth.

We see Him come and know Him ours
who with His sunshine and His
showers turns all the patient
ground to flowers. Turns all the
patient ground to flowers.

The darling of the world is come
and fit it is we find a room to
welcome Him. To welcome Him.

The noble part of all the house
here is the heart. Which we receive him and bequeath,
this holly and this ivy wreath. To
do Him honor who's our King and Lord
of all this reveling

Remembering Richard Erdman

At left, Scott & Kathy Erdman, myself, and Jance Erdman, circa 1964.

I moved in across the street from the Erdman family when I was just five years old. Ours was a family of three; I was an only child of a second marriage. This was Arcadia, California in 1963.

The first family to welcome us to our new neighborhood lived across the street. The Erdman family of five seemed to me large and busy, full of personality, and, for me, a somewhat shy only child, at times intimidating. The Erdman kids surrounded me in age, they were 6, 4 and 3; a boy and two girls. As I grew, they also surrounded me by example - of character, fun, adventurousness, humor, and grace.

The husband and father of this family was an unassuming aerospace engineer named H. Richard Erdman; Dick to his friends. He was born in 1930, 10 years after my Dad. In many ways Dick was an ordinary man, and yet, to me, and to many who knew him, completely extraordinary. Dick loved his wife well for many years, was a dedicated father, and a loving grandfather. Dick was part of the Greatest Generation, having served in the Navy during the Korean War.

For the next 13 years, I grew up across the street from the home where Dick raised his family. And last Saturday, at a memorial service in Arcadia, a church packed full of friends and colleagues remembered this good man. What a fitting tribute, a congregation full of people who were blessed by his friendship and touched by his example.

Over the past two years, following the death of both of my own parents, I have thought often of what things mark a life well lived. During the past week, I have been reflecting on the life of Dick Erdman, and the difference he made in so many lives. This was a life very well lived. I hope to be something like Dick, when I grow up.

Dick was an engineer by trade, and spend many years involved in the technology behind high altitude reconnaissance photography. We found out at his service (for me, for the first time!) that Dick had been involved design and manufacturing for the cameras used on the U2 Spy plane. Very cool! But he was so much more than just an engineer. The legacy he leaves behind is remarkable, as expressed primarily in the lives of his children, who have all formed families (three marriages, all still intact - something of an anomaly today) of their own, with seven grandchildren.

At the memorial service, we learned of Dick's love for his church, his involvement with the church's lay psychological counseling center, and also of his humble love for Christ. Dick saw no need to separate science and theology. The pastor recounted how Dick loved to read and learn about physics, astronomy, and their connection with faith. Here was a man whose involvement in technology and science had a part in the ending of the Cold War, and yet who embraced his faith without embarrassment. How refreshing.

The last time I spent with Dick was brief, but memorable, about two years ago. I was checking on repairs to my parents home, and Dick hailed me from across the street. Always the engineer, he noticed that I had the same make Acura sedan that he did - except he owned the fancier model - the one with all the high-tech bells and whistles. He invited me across the street, where we sat inside of his car, while he carefully explained each and every feature to me, including the GPS system that was connected to the Internet to warn of traffic events. Classic Dick Erdman. I was late to my next destination, but it didn't matter, I loved spending time with a man who was in love with learning new things, even at age 74 or so.

When my time comes, I hope to leave a loving legacy like that of Dick Erdman. I am so much richer for having known him. An the world is richer for the example of devotion to family, love of people, and live long enthusiasm for learning.

May the God who Dick loved comfort his family and friends in this season of loss. In the constellation of roll models of my youth, Richard Erdman shines brightly as a faithful man. I look forward to the time, in Another Place someday, when I will meet Dick again, and he will explain to me the wonder of the universe from a place where we can see it in a completely different perspective.

The Grand Decline - Granite Counter Tops

Beauty Beyond My Comprehension

This past weekend, Nancy & I ditched civilization and went here. Yosemite. We were here to celebrate 20 years of marriage, marked officially on October 29th.

We had a wonderful time, walking, talking, resting, eating, hiking the Mist Trail. Yosemite Valley is from 1,500 to 2,000 feet below the cliffs that surround it, and as a result, the primary feeling one comes away with after a very short time is that of smallness. Littleness; insignificance.

The grandness and beauty of that place is staggering, large, and overwhelming, all at once. For me, standing in a meadow or among the trees on the valley floor, and looking up, put my life in sudden perspective. I spend my days often thinking that I am large, and in charge. I think I can handle things. But when I am placed in a location that forces me to look up in order to appreciate the immense beauty around me, a renewed sense of perspective sets in.

It is I who am small, dwarfed by the sheer beauty of Creation around me, and humbled to the point of a loss of speech when considering the mystery of the Creator of it all. When first passing through the Wawona Tunnel, the primary emotion I feel is that of just wanting to sit and weep, in awe of what lays before me. To get out of the car and just look, seems, well, so small an offering.

A recent article I recently read struck a chord in my spirit in relation to the beauty I experienced this past weekend:

What more, you may ask, do we want? … We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. —C. S. Lewis, "The Weight of Glory"


.

How Do I Say This?

Lately, there are these ideas drifting in and out of my head.

These thoughts have been there now for some time, wandering in and out of my days and nights, and I have been pondering how to get them out in writing. Thoughts about Our Purpose, the meaning of life, if you will. Why I am here on this planet, and what it all means.

These are thoughts about the deep waters that run through our lives, about moments that capture us breathless and speechless, and wondering what just happened in our souls. These are the thoughts that epiphanies are made of, ideas that make lasting memories.

And yet, it seems that we often spend so much of our time in places where the water is very shallow and warm. We like it there, its easier to stand and not really think. The little waves feel good against our ankles. No deep water for us.

This is my first attempt to sort through it.

Perhaps this sort of this thing happens when one hits mid-life. As I am now well into my 50th year, I often find myself at mid-point; reflecting on my own childhood and growing up, and at the same time wondering what the future will hold. Where am I going, and how will it feel? Over the past several years I have stood bedside as both of my parents have passed; fading from life slowly. At the same time, I have been learning to adjust to the changes occurring in the two beautiful daughters. Soon they will be leaving our home, and spreading their wings in a world that, to me, often feels hostile and emotionally barren.

How will they fair, how will I? Where have we come from, and to where are we headed?

At the center of this wondering, in the middle of this in-between, there is Hope. There is Grace, and there is deep Peace. I have found my relationship with Christ to be the only thing that connects the dots, that renders meaning to my wonderings, and that sustains me on the journey.

Next, what role does Beauty play in my faith.

Remembering - Veterans Day

Today is Veteran's Day. My Dad was a veteran, and I am forever thankful. Deeply thankful.

This morning on NPR I heard THIS. It is simply wonderful. Make sure you click "Listen Now", the music is completely perfect.

A Blessing

For anyone with teenage girls, this is wonderful.

Now What Will They Do?

We have a new President. I did not vote for him, but I will be praying Mr. Obama and his family. Perhaps this is an era of new hope, I hope the Democrats can lead with humility, the Republicans certainly did not.

A young teenage friend of mine posted this on his Facebook today. It made me laugh, there is is a bit of truth in this. If you can't laugh at yourself......

Vote

Listen to this guy:

The Grand Decline Explained

I am in Boston this weekend for a conference. While here, we were presented with a short video that explains, rather completely, what has been happening in our economy over the past several years.

Please note, there is a comment about why "no one ever asked what these properties were worth". That is what I do; tell people what their properties are worth. Mind you, no one ever asked me, or those who share my profession, during the past several years, what these properties were worth.

I present you with the British humor of Bird & Fortune:

Of Daughters, and Dancing, and Liberation

Almost two years ago, our then just 13 year old sat at our dinner table one early spring night and told us that she was "done" with public school. Done. Her grades were fine, she was involved in sports, the play, and student leadership. But she was weary from the effort, and wanted something different - and not just another four years at South Pasadena High School.

Wait. Done? We moved to our town 20 years ago because of the great public schools! What about those property taxes I grudgingly pay each year? THAT was what was supposed to secure a good education for my girls. Older Daughter was seemingly happy in a good public school system, and likely college bound. What was going on here? Private school? What tha...? This was not in The Plan.

You know The Plan. That's the script we all write for ourselves in our heads, whether we admit it or not. We are all fiction writers, planning out our lives in minute detail; the friends we will keep, the places we will live, the comforts we will have, the lack of pain, complete health, laughter, no troubles. Even the wonderful, trouble free public schools our kids will attend.

That was my Plan, this is my reality. Private school.

And so, we are now in a private parochial school, and an all girls school to boot. All girls, no boys. And after just a short time, all I can say, is, for our daughter, thank you Jesus, for a choice.

Now mind you, I am very aware that my daughter is going to a school for Very Privileged Young Ladies. She is spending time in an elite class of girls for whom there is very little need, or what. This will be something we will need to keep constantly in focus, given that we live in a world crying with need.

However, this past week I got to be a part of two events that were very helpful in my understanding of where our daughter might be going on this journey of high school and beyond.

Wednesday night was the annual Father Daughter Dance. For most high school girls, this event might have the potential to be massively embarrassing. You know, something on the scale of Cinderella goes to the Ball with Quasimodo. Or Dwight Shrute. But not this school, and not these girls. This was an evening of unbridled fun; dinner, conversation, and of course, dancing. Watching girls dance with their Dad's was a study in unbridled joy. This was not your Father's Father Daughter dance, either. This was a wonderful celebration of being a girl. And us Dad's were privileged to participate. Submitted below is grainy video evidence of a fun time:




My favorite - the Father Daughter Dance Contest. Needless to say, we did not make the finals.

And then, on Saturday night, I showed up at school for a ComedySportz event at school. Without too much explanation, this is all about comedy improv, and its all girls, no boys.

As I sat in the dark, in the midst of my middle age and raising teenage girls, I thought to myself how good it is there are still such things as private, religious girls schools. These girls making jokes and doing skits up on the stage are being liberated from a society that would like them to fit in little girl-shaped boxes.

This, my friends, is a good thing.

Sick of Politics, Try John Adams

The Problem
I don't know about you, but I am just about fed up with this election.

Recently, I wrote a note to a friend via Facebook and this is what I said:

"Right now, I am fed up with both sides in this election. Really. And its politics as usual in DC, in the midst of the greatest financial crisis in 50 years, those turds on the Hill passed a bail out bill ( needed, at its core) laden with something like $50 - $100 Billion in more pork. I could scream. Enough blame on BOTH sides of the isle. See my recent blog post quoting Peggy Noonan, she nailed it.

Anyway, here is my choice come Nov. 4th:

One one side - Old guy, veteran, patriot, who made a risky and really quite dense VP pick (she can see Alaska from her house!) He has an angry streak in his personality that is scary. Sometimes I wonder if he gets what is going on. I respect him greatly, but do not feel comfortable with his ability to lead from the center. I am completely disappointed, but I may have to vote this way out of fear of........

The Other Guy. Young handsome guy that talks....a LOT in vague generalities, and has very little experience, save "community organizing". He is a good speaker, but not our Savior, which, I fear many think he actually is. I fear his near complete incompetency in things financial and foreign. Feels like Jimmy Carter all over again. Lets hold hands and talk to Iran. Please. This worries me greatly.

I really do not know what to do. I voted for Bush twice too. I think Bush is looking more like nearly clueless daily, his lack of leadership during the Wall Street Meltdown was stunning. BUT I know differently from good friends, who spent an extended period of time with him just recently, that he is a good and decent man. He is not evil.

Neither are either of these candidates. I cannot tolerate the talking heads on TV, and the wave of negative ads. It makes me sick.

God help us, every one."

The Anecdote
We have recently rented the HBO series "John Adams" on DVD. In a time in which cynicism about politics is everywhere, I can think of nothing more moving than taking the time to remember the intelligence, tenacity, courage and patriotism of our Founding Fathers.

Watch this series, and you will very likely agree with me - the founding of our nation was a miracle. What a long way down and away from that beginning we have decended.

Advent Conspiracy

We interrupt the financial crisis to think about something of great importance.

A different kind of Christmas. Only 70 more days to think about this.

Think about it, and watch the video below. I am thinking, and praying.

The Abyss, The Decline, and Our Souls

Kyrie eleison!
Lord, have mercy upon us!

Christe eleison!
Christ have mercy upon us!

These are the opening words to "Missa Solemnis", Beethoven's Mass in D Minor. In this majestic piece, the choir and soloists seem to nearly burst out of their collective souls in the opening chorus. This is a moment of stunning musical surprise; and it leaves you with a glimpse of something from beyond our world. Something grand, and ominous, and massive.

Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy.

Over the past several weeks, I have often felt like we have been witnessing something grand, ominous, and far beyond our control. The complete turmoil in world financial markets has felt like a massive earthquake that seems not to stop. This is large, it is beyond the futile attempts of we little people to contain.

After some thought, I think I might know part of what it is that feels so large, and oppressive, and frightening about the financial shock. There is a sound that accompanies all of this; the sound of something overwhelmingly large being dropped from a great height. A massive Dull Thud.

That dull thud is the sound of our own greed finally hitting bottom. It has come back to haunt us, with a vengeance. For the past decade or so we have built our housing economy on two things; vacuous promises from greedy lenders (enabled by ethically confused politicians in DC), and our own sense of entitlement to the American Dream - even if we could not afford it. And painfully, many of us could not. And our souls hurt as a result.

I have a good friend who lives on a modest income, and does the best he knows how to be a good steward with the money he has been entrusted with. Several years ago, his family bought a home in the suburbs of Los Angeles - now the epicenter of the mortgage melt down. At the time he was getting his loan, the Loan Officer (from Countywide!), offered him an Adjustable Rate Mortgage, saying to him, "Man, your family NEEDS this!" My friend sought the counsel of family and friends, all who told him to avoid this form of mortgage. That was his experience with the Greedy Lenders.

My friend choose not to take the ARM loan, and instead went with a boring 30 year fixed loan. Higher rate, higher payments, no vacuous promises of a happy future that he could not afford. This friend avoided the other half of the mess in which we find ourselves. This good friend did not feel entitled to the American Dream. He was willing to forego instant satisfaction, and end up with a house he could actually afford. He was wise. Unfortunately, hundreds of thousands of Americans were not.

And now, we are living with the results of our greed, and need for instant gratification. This will take a long time to work out. And, hopefully, this experience will help us reset our moral compass. That is my prayer.

Reflections on the Trauma

Here is something from, again, the Wall Street Journal, that is very worthy of consideration:

The Truth about the Decline

From Peggy Noonan, in today's Wall Street Journal:

Here is the truth, spoken by the increasingly impressive Sen. Tom Coburn: "The root of the problem is political greed in Congress. Members . . . from both parties wanted short-term political credit for promoting homeownership even though they were putting our entire economy at risk by encouraging people to buy homes they couldn't afford. Then, instead of conducting thorough oversight and correcting obvious problems with unstable entities like Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, members of Congress chose to . . . distract themselves with unprecedented amounts of pork-barrel spending." That is the truth.

The Grand Decline

I had a good friend call me last week, and leave me a voice mail. His question was "Whats it all worth, man!?"

This has been an amazing ride, these past several weeks.

World financial markets have been in near complete turmoil, and most experts think the bad news is not completely over. Not even close. The foundations of financial markets have been shaken to their very core.

Can you spell Recession, with a capital "R"?

The casualty list is really amazing. Bear Stearns, Lehman Brothers, AIG, Smith Barney, WAMU, Wachovia, and many others; perhaps more big ones to come. How did we get here, and where are we going to go?

And now, we have The TARP Bailout.

If the entire Credit Crisis were to be viewed as a football game, where were my seats, as a small business person, during this game (and it really was a game)?

I was watching, but likely from the very top row of the cheap seats, or maybe from a hillside above the game, like they do at Berkeley.

Over the next couple of days (ok, maybe a week or so, I have a job and a life, I do not blog all day in my PJs) I hope to offer some of my thoughts and reflections from Tightwad Hill.

Also, the most informative thing I have seen about all this is the Charlie Rose interview with Warren Buffet. I see Warren as the FDR we Americans need in a time of crisis, since our existing President seems pretty much Deer in The Headlights over the past couple of weeks.

Darkness, and then Dancing, After 24 years

Today something remarkable dawned upon me.

More than 24 years ago this summer, I spent time in Eastern Europe, on a mission to serve the persecuted church, prior to the downfall of the Iron Curtain. During that time, and for many years prior, from 1967 to the end of communist rule, religious practices were banned, and Albania was proudly and officially proclaimed atheist, marking an event that happened for the first time in world history.

Just think of it. For almost 30 years, God was seemingly gone in Albania. No churches, no Christmas celebrations, no Easter.

Nothing. Silence. Darkness. A form of hell on Earth.

Enver Hoxha reigned over perhaps the most repressive communist state in history. In order to enforce his radical program, however, Hoxha resorted to brutal Stalinist tactics. His government imprisoned, executed, or exiled thousands of landowners, rural clan leaders, Muslim and Christian clerics, peasants who resisted collectivization, and disloyal party officials. Private property was confiscated by the state; all churches, mosques, and other religious institutions were closed; and all cultural and intellectual endeavours were put at the service of socialism and the state.

Total control. Complete isolation from the world. And Life, and Freedom.

There is a happy ending to this story. As we now know, in the 1980s and 1990s, freedom broke out across Eastern Europe. God was up to something. And then, in 1998, Albania established a democratic system of government based upon the rule of law and guaranteeing the protection of fundamental human rights.

Several weeks, ago, I mentioned here that our daughter Kelly had an amazing summer mission trip experience in Albania. We now have a video review of the trip.

As I watched this video, something remarkable and other-worldly dawned upon me. I was watching Psalm 30 come to life. Where nearly absolute spiritual death and darkness once reigned for more than 30 years, my own daughter, nearly oblivious to history, was laughing, and playing, and loving, singing in church, and even.......dancing.

And people say there is no God.

Put My Life to Music, Please

You know how you are when you are in college; idealistic, hopeful, a dreamer. You actually believe that you can change anything in the world, by yourself. Its wonderful.

I remember once in college, a good friend said, "Don't you think that all of life should be put to music?" I thought this was a wonderful idea! I still do:



Thanks to the people at Improv Everywhere for this!

Lehman, Denial, and The Box

Can it all really fit into a box?

Go ahead, imagine putting your professional life in a box.

Over the past several days thousands of faithful workers in New York, London, and other cities around the world have stood in their offices, and tried to understand what in the world is going on in their lives. I know some of them.

And they have had to pack up their box.

In my work, I have stood on the sidelines of this situation for years. I watched as Lehman Brothers bundled up commercial real estate loans into packages and sold them on The Street. Lots of people in my world thought that this was sophisticated and sexy. As a person who works in due diligence, I never felt comfortable with the situation, and avoided it completely in my own investments. And now, it has all come home to roost.

If you just had one box, standing in your cubicle and pondering your future, what would you pack? The plastic cube commemorating a Big Transaction? The stuffed penguin from that Big Meeting in Vegas?

In the end, what DO you have to pack, if you are in the situation of these folks? One would hope that there might be things that you could not pack in a box. After all, we are all going to leave this planet in a box. Or an urn.

Friendships. Shared lives. Wedding, births, birthdays, casual lunches where the conversation turned to more meaningful things. I think that is the best kind of work, the kind that matters.

I hope my life might reflect things that can't get packed into a box.

Remember

Reflect.

Rebuild.

Sonseed, Mounties, and Wasting Time

And they say there is no good sacred music anymore.

Friends, I give you "Sonseed":




My favorite lyrics:

"He is like a Mountie, he always gets his man, and he'll zap you anyway he can.....ZAP!"

"He loves me when I'm right, He loves me when I'm wrong, He loves me when I waste my time by writing silly songs."

I think Jesus loves "Sonseed" a GREAT deal.

LHC - Kiss Your #@! Goodbye?

Tomorrow, the worlds largest atom collider powers up for the first time.

In the best case the Large Hadron Colliders' ALICE experiment successfully creates quark-gluon plasma, a substance theorized to have existed just milliseconds after the Big Bang. By generating temperatures more than 100,000 times hotter than the sun, scientists hope to watch as this particle goo cools and expands into the particles that we know. That could help scientists answer why protons and neutrons weigh 100 times more than the quarks they're made of. And why women cry at the most random times imaginable.

The the worst case, scientists inadvertently make a micro black hole, and the earth is quickly erased from existence. Just kidding. Scientists at CERN and elsewhere have ruled out the possibility that the LHC will create any kind of doomsday scenario. The black holes that the LHC could theoretically create don't even have enough energy to light up a light bulb. On the other hand, the U.K.'s Astronomer Royal put the odds of destroying the world at 1 in 50 million. I plan on going to work tomorrow. If not, I hope I see you in Paradise.

If you are as geekish as me, check this out, its interesting:

Driving Home a Little Slower

Sometimes, God presents you with these little moments. Glimpses of grace and reflection. The feeling that, if maybe for a few moments you have been relieved of the mundane pattern of living. Gravity gets a little lighter, and the space between Heaven and Earth gets very thin.

I had a few moments like that last night. I won't forget them soon.

It was 10:45 PM, and Nancy & I had just had a wonderful dinner and long, interesting conversation on our back porch with friends. After chatting for hours, our friends departed, and it was my turn to pick up our 14 year-old at a friends house, just two blocks away. A bunch of neighborhood kids had all decided to gather at this home to watch TV and hang out. I was to pick up Heather and her friends, and deliver everyone home. Normally, this would be an ordinary task. Lately, I have taken to looking for the extraordinary in the ordinary.

As I pulled up to the house, I could see all the kids in the kitchen, hugging each other goodbye, in that special, Not in Junior High, but Not Really in High School sort of way. There I sat, outside in the dark in the car, looking back 35 years or so, and reflecting on that same time in my own life. Caught farther along in time, glancing over my shoulder.

The kids piled in the car, and the friends were delivered home, complete with jokes, and giggling, and even cell phone photos taken of each other as we drove home. Playing softly in the background, from my Ipod, was Eric Clapton, the Unplugged Album. Just another seemingly normal September night.

But as we headed home, Clapton's ballad, "Tears in Heaven" came on. I paused the Ipod, and turned to Heather, telling her that this song had been written after Eric Clapton lost his son, who was only 4 years old. "This song asks a lot of good questions", I said.

And then, we two, drove silently, all the way home, a drive of about 5 minutes, listening to the words of this haunting song.

Loss, pain beyond our knowing, and questions about Heaven.

I drove home slower than I usually do. Note to self: I need to do this more often.

John Daker, The Legend

I am a Presbyterian. However, after viewing this, I am considering switching to the Methodist Church. Talk about cutting edge......

Based on the video below, it seems everyone is required to drink at least four beers before participating in worship. Sign me up. Also, Italian love songs work so well as sacred music, would you not agree?

I Agree with Rudy

I don't like the booing.....but he does have a point.

Phillip Toledano - Days with My Father

I found this web site today. It is wonderful, and haunting.

It made me remember the loss of my own Dad, less than a year ago. Even though he caused me stress, I miss my Dad.

Olympics 2008

For two weeks, every night, the world was transfixed by mostly ordinary people doing completely extraordinary things. For me, the Olympis is always human drama at its best! This really IS part of what the Abundant Life must be about.

In the Widget below, first click on "All Sports", then scroll down a little to "Musical Montage". Wonderful! Congrats to the good folks at NBC Sports. Job very, very well done!

Exclusive Summer Olympics news & widgets at NBC Olympics.com!

Remembering Childhood - The Sandbox

For a couple of months now, I have been meaning to write a bit about my memories of growing up. I have never done this before. Blogging is a great way to share these sorts of things in a relatively permanent way.

That's me on the left, taken when I was 8 months old. Small kid, big bed. Nice curtains, huh?

About the first thing I can remember in life is a sandbox. It was located in the backyard of the first house I lived in. My dad had bought a lot in Arcadia, California, a shiny post War suburb northeast of Los Angeles, and built a house. Since he was in the construction business, he was the general contractor. 618 Santa Rosa Road. 1,300 square feet, built in 1951.

Back to the sandbox. It was located in a rather strange place, sort of off to the side of the driveway in the back yard. During the summer, I remember it as no shade, burning sun. White play sand, put carefully in a circle with little brick pavers around the edge. My Dad was always neat; he liked things put carefully in their place. Some might call it anal. We teasingly called him Norville Neat. I remember that Dad used to get pretty mad when he came home and found I had spilled sand out of the box onto the driveway. He was like that; anal.

From what I can remember, I really liked that sandbox when I was little. I have vague memories of sitting in there for a long time, playing in the sand. I was an only child, and I think I spent a lot of time there, sifting sand and thinking little kid thoughts. Maybe this was the beginning of the often solitary life I lead, growing up in the Smog Belt of Southern California.

Back to today. Earlier this summer, our older girl went to church camp the same week that my wife and younger daughter took a road trip to Texas. I was completely alone at home for a week. I was quite sad for a day or two when everyone first left.

Then after a couple of days, I was surprised one morning when I woke wake up in a very quiet house, realizing I was all alone. Then suddenly, and rather strangely, I remembered playing in that sandbox, all those years ago, on Santa Rosa Road.

Donald Miller Prays

This is my favorite moment of the DNC. The sound cut-out is not a conspiracy, you did not miss much of substance. Donald Miller got it right. I like that he is not afraid of using Jesus' name. That works for me.

Missional vs. Mish Mash

You have to love the Brits:

I'm Afraid

Tonight was cool on the back porch. I arrived home from work about 7 PM, to smell steak barbecuing in the back yard, the minute I got out of the car. A kiss from my wife and tacos on the patio with the kids.

One of our daughters' best friends was over "to hang" and join us for dinner. We love our girl's friends; they are so sweet, and fun, and funny, and goofy. Classic teenagers; if you could bottle their energy, you could make a zillion dollars.

We shared steak and chicken tacos, chatted about our summer vacations, and enjoyed the cool of evening. The conversation turned to college plans, as we adults are want to do. Kelly protested with the obligatory "Da-ad", when the topic turned to college thoughts. I understand, the pressure must often feel pretty tough. But it makes for good conversation.

Kelly's friend probably spent about 45 minutes on our porch, under the gathering dusk, talking about her family, her older siblings, expectations for life, and the coming Senior year at high school. We talked about plans, and dreams, and "what would you do, if you could do anything in the world"?

Buried in the midst of the conversation was a refrain, a common theme repeated several times. A phrase that caught the real sense of being 17, approaching Senior year, and unsure of what lies ahead......

"It's scary" and "I'm afraid". What will the future hold? Will it be college, junior college, city college, work? And then there are relationships; oh my!

I agree. It is scary. I would be afraid too. It is not easy to be 17 these days - and facing the expectations of peers, of parents, of siblings, and of well, our society.

It was a great conversation. I am completely thankful for these friends of our girls that come to visit, and that for even a few moments, our home is place where they feel welcome, and maybe even heard.

May we continue to listen well.

What Did You Do On Summer Vacation?

For the past two weeks, our house has been much more quiet.

No urban hip-hop thumpa-thump has been heard from the Ipod speaker device in one bedroom. No "Mochi Ball" ice cream treats have disappeared from our freezer late at night. No one is hogging the desktop computer in the sunroom. No one is walking around the house singing random bits of the latest hits. Loudly.

Our oldest daughter Kelly has been on a Mission Trip. But not the typical stuff. Not building homes in Mexico, or playing with American Indian kids in New Mexico, or even working in a village in Africa some where. She might be saving that for later.

Kelly spent two weeks in.....wait for it......Albania. What tha....? Albania? Yes, the birthplace of Mother Theresa, for one.

Do you even know where Albania is? Check here for more details on Kelly's amazing trip.

New Pastor!

Is your church searching for a new pastor? You need look no further. I give you Kanon Tipton:

Olympics

So far, this is my favorite Olympic moment.

A come from behind win in the 4x100 race, after the challenging French team trash-talked the US.

Note to France: Do not speak ill of your competitors prior to competition. It is just bad form. Oh, and it just fires them up.

"Its Everywhere"

It has been 14 days since we got home, and as we have "re-entered" life here, I have not had much time to add to the blog. Plus, we have hours of Olympic coverage to sift through in what little spare time we have. I love the Olympics!

Last week, I had the chance to hear an hour long interview that was a part of The Leadership Summit, presented via satellite at Fuller Seminary. I am not big on this stuff, particularly when it has a sort of Willowcreek-ish approach, and so I only showed up for an hour, but it was well worth the visit.

I had the opportunity to hear Brad Anderson, (pictured above) CEO of Best Buy. While I have not personally found anything amazing about shopping at Best Buy, I was impressed with Brad's approach to doing business, his sense of humor, and his compassion for his employees. Brad is also a committed follower of Jesus, who understands that his primary role at work is not necessarily to be an evangelist. He is not just another tacky Christian person, he seems very genuine. What a refreshing approach.

During the hour-long interview Brad touched for just a moment on the situation of the church in Western Europe. After our two week vacation, I listened with interest. Brad had one comment that haunted me about the influence of this history of the Christian church throughout Europe. He said, "It's (the church) everywhere in their lives, they just can't see it", referring to both the physical monuments and the historic influence of the church in European culture. But now, in modern times, the average European does not even think about faith, or God.

Guess what? It's not so different here in the USA.

I thought about these things often in both London and Paris.

Here is a sample of who Brad is:

Above Greenland

I was last in this spot 26 years ago, in 1982.

That was the last time I flew west, home to America, after spending a number of weeks in Western and Eastern Europe. I was flying alone, single, and wondering where my life would lead me. Where I might be lead. More than 5,500 miles, from London to Los Angeles.

I remember the overriding feeling I had flying home, somewhere over southern Greenland, was of thankfulness. Thankful for an amazing journey. Thankful to be returning to a free country, after visiting with many people who, simply, were not free. Thankful for friends who supported me to go, both in prayer and financially.

Today, in almost the same place, moving in the same direction at close to the speed of sound, at the edge of the atmosphere, I am returning home with three amazing women; my wife of almost 20 years, and our two daughters, now 14 and 17. And those people I met who were not free, are free now. I would never have imagined. I am still overwhelmed with thanksgiving.

I would meet my wife four years after that last trip; my best friend forever. We would marry one year later. Less than three years later our lives would be forever changed by the slightly early arrival of Kelly. After the sadness of a miscarried child, three more years later, our home would be filled with even more noise, joy, tears, and laughter by the arrival of Heather.

All those years ago, flying so far above the planet, I could never have imagined the course my life would take; the challenges of marriage, and the constant responsibilities of parenting. Or the feeling of holding your feverish baby daughter in your arms in the hospital admitting room, wondering what would become of a 104 degree temperature and a serious infection. I had not a clue of what it mean to stand, and sit, and wonder, and wait at the bedside of dying parents. Or the feeling of near impossibility at the thought of raising teenagers. Of how to guide these young ladies into becoming not just responsible members of society, but women who might possess deep character, conviction, and a faith that is real and honest. More than two decades ago, I had no idea what this ride would be like.

Back then, I had no idea that the real meaningful work of life occurs not in momentous, magical moments of great moral victory or triumph. Hollywood often romantically teaches us that, but they have it completely wrong. What I learned is that often, great things occur at the speed of continental drift. No one would make a movie of that. Barely measurable. Almost imperceptible. Persistence is, in the end, something that matters a great deal.

And so, this next Monday, I will get up again. I will try my best to love my wife well, to care, and to let her know daily that she is, simply put, wonderful. I will listen to, and laugh with, and maybe even offer a small bit of helpful advice to the two girls we are attempting to launch into the world. They will not be with us much longer. I will breath normally, while trying to be a good Dad.

I will head to work, and do the best I know how, each day. I will try to bring excellence to my work, and try to care for those who work with me, offering them something more than just a place to go to go work.

I will persist.

Sara Groves has written a song, which came up a while ago on my IPod, here at 34,000 feet. Entitled “When It Was Over”, it is meditation on personal real stories of acceptance, forgiveness, and redemption.

My life is like that, every day.

“Love wash over a multitude of things…
Jesus save us from a multitude of things
Make us whole
There is a love that never fails
There is a healing that always prevails
There is a hope, that whispers about, the promise to wait while we’re working it out
There is a love….
A promise to wait, a promise to stay
So come with your love, and wash over us”

May Christ’s love wash over each one of you who reads this. Each day, henceforth and forever.

Amen.