Being 13 - To Do List

Its Saturday. Heather made a list. Here it is.

Click to enlarge. I love my daughter.

My Funky Bunch

Being 48 years old and working at a desk job can sometimes be a bit dull. What to do? Since I cannot get a crewing job on the Time Bandit, I have another idea.

Remember the Rat Pack? I have decided that I need my own personal Pat Pack, or posse, or entourage, also know as a Funky Bunch. The Funky Bunch would be by personal advance team, but also serve as a squad of advisers, confidants, and guys to hang with.

My Funky Bunch would be distinct, and somewhat eclectic; a unique blend of individuals that would hang with me, where ever I go. And so, presented below is a brief summary of those I would choose for my own personal Funky Bunch:

John Wooden: A man of great integrity, and the greatest basketball coach of all time. He would be our personal sports advisor, character and morals leader, and generally wise sage. At 96 years old, he adds need maturity to the Bunch.

Fred Rogers: A lover of children, man of caring and compassion, and ordained Presbyterian pastor. He would be a wonderful advisor, even for a guy with teenage daughters. Its a beautiful day in the neighborhood....what more can I say? I know he is not alive anymore, but I still admire him tremendously.

Eugune Peterson: pastor, theologian, and one of the few guys who has ever snubbed Bono. I think he could read the phone book, and translate it into something profound.

Frank Sinatra: with the Chairman of the Board in your Bunch, you will always have plenty of good tunes around you. And mixed drinks. And large Italian guys.

Mr T: Protection. With this man on board, I pity the foo that messes with us.

Emeril Lagasse: Joy. Enthusiasm in great measure, and great food. Always.

Oh, and one more thing. This would be the Steve Norris Funky Bunch theme song, played when ever we entered a room. Or exited, for that matter.

Where did I get all this from? Go here to find out.

Celebrating Creation

For quite some time now, I have struggled to find words to try to articulate those things that stirs within the depth of my soul. How can you articulate what is deepest within you, and make what you write or say meaningful to others, rather than sounding like another spiritual seeker full of meaningless prattle?

Maybe words are not needed. Maybe words in general are not what is best. Perhaps I should just shut up, and let the Creation speak for itself. And lately, it seems to have been doing a marvelous job, through the remarkable series Planet Earth, on Discovery Channel.

One of my favorite authors is Frederick Buechner, and he wrote something in Longing for Home, that profoundly affected me, because he described so well those fleeting moments I have had in my own journey. In short, Buechner described an otherwise ordinary day at Sea World with his family, in which he had the sense of mind to recognize that it was perhaps God that was behind the wonder of Creation he was a part of.

The Peaceable Kingdom, if you will. The Scriptures tell us it is like this. Take a look!

Down, But Not Out

A Public Confession

I must confess. I can hold it in no longer. In a former career, I was a very hip keyboard player in the Seal Beach area.

This is my second album cover, which followed my first release, which was entitled, "Getting Partially Down".

Pictured here with me is my faithful Labrador mix, aptly named "Whitey". He is now in Dog Heaven.

Signed copies of this album are available for a modest fee. Proceeds go to the Steve Norris Hair Replenishment Fund.

WWII Memories in Tucson

This past week, I was in Tucson, Arizona for work, and was pleasantly surprised to find a reminder of my own father's service to his country.

While driving to a meeting with the Tucson Airport Authority, I spotted signs by the roadway that read, simply "WWII Planes" with arrows pointing the directions to turn.

After several turns, I found myself standing next to the plane my father flew from about 1942 to 1947, they B-17G Flying Fortress. This plane, sitting on the tarmac at the Tucson airport is one of only 15 remainging flying B-17s, from a complete fleet of 12,700 B-17s built during and after the war.

The "Nine O' Nine" is in mint flying condition, and to my glee was completely open for interior inspection. Not a single detail has been missed, and this plane is remarkable to behold, more than 60 years after being constructed. The nose contained a real Norden Bombsight, all the cockpit controls are vintage, with the exception of modern radios, and the waist guns have real ammo clips. Remarkable.

Yesterday, I showed the photos I had taken of my B-17 visit to my Dad, who is now 87. In his near constant state of mild dementia, not a lot makes Dad smile these days. However, my photos brought a big smile to Dad's face, and afterward, a new war story I have never heard before - of flying General Ennis Whitehead from Manila to Kansas City, stopping only for fuel, as they island-hopped through the South Pacific heading east, avoiding tropical storms all the way.

Just imagine it. Being 24 years old, and flying a four engine bomber with a crew of seven around the South Pacific to rescue downed flyers. Its amazing to me. My Dad will always have my respect for his service to our country.

Its Baseball Season in Town

I find this rather sexist. I mean, where are the girls? Did our Lord not like them? In addition, our league will not let you coach in flip-flops.

In Memoriam

Click on the photo....to remember.

We are surrounded with folks like these every day. Take time today to love a friend.

Viginia Tech - How Should We Feel?

Here is a helpful way to begin to attempt to deal with the tragic events of Monday of this week.

Deadliest Catch

Its April, and you know what that means! Baseball season, yes. But even more important, at least for the next couple of weeks, is a new season of "Deadliest Catch" on Discovery Channel.

The series details the journeys of five different fishing boats in the Bering Sea of Alaska, during the annual season for King Crab.

This is documentary TV at its very best. I watched last season religiously, and highly recommend it again this year.

Why do I love it so much? I think I know. Picture this: middle-aged balding white fellow with a relatively mundane office job, sometimes feeling as though his own life is a bit too routine, and musing over his place in life, sits on his family room couch in warm, temperate Southern California, feet up on coffee table. On the TV he is watching a bunch of men about his age and younger, daily risking their lives in the near-freezing Bering Sea. I am vicariously reveling in a life style I would never choose, but nevertheless respect.

And, as I watch, I am reminded of this. An old profession, indeed.

Doonesbury Gets It Right

I usually am bored by Gary Trudeau's humor. Not today. Click to enlarge.

Finding Solitude, Amidst The Rush

Humming. Honking. A rush, a sort of buzz in the distance. Never a quiet moment, a constant under current of noise. Subtle, yet pervasive.

One of the memories that I always have carried with me of New York City, both from our recent visit, and that of many prior trips, is the constant city noise. It is as if you are living in the midst of a gigantic human body; always hearing the noise of blood rushing around you. A massive organism that indeed never sleeps.

These are the sounds of most of our lives. Unrelenting sounds. White noise, in the midst of the constant rush. Come to think of it, my own life is nearly constantly accompanied by sound. The clock alarm awakes me, most days at 6:40 AM to the sound of classical music. From there I enter the shower, listening to NPR as I rinse and repeat. Then on to getting dressed while watching the Weather Channel ("It Could Happen Here!) or MSNBC, if only for a moment. Then off to work with more sound in the car, albeit Pray-as-you-go (which is wonderful). Then to confirm my crazy need for noise, I arrive at my office, where I immediately switch on the classical music again.

I have been like this for nearly every day of my 48.5 years! What happened to quiet? When was it decided that noise rules?

What about the Desert Fathers, and leading a life that learns from the "alone" parts of Jesus life? Where is silence, reflection, solitude? Where have they gone, and why are our lives like this?

Wholeness from Emptyness

It is a mystery and a paradox that from an empty place can come wholeness, healing, life transformed. Two of my friends....both very different fellows, have some very unique ideas relating to Easter.

First, Rob Asghar talks about his thoughts on an empty tomb and reconciliation with his Muslim mother.

And then, Tod Bolsinger has an interesting reply, if you will, to Rob's thoughts about that empty tomb.

My take is this. For far too long, we Christian folk have let the facades and organization of the organized church speak for us. This may be why Rob is so troubled by the way Christianity in the west seems to have been hijacked by politics. Rightly so, Rob! I can't stand this. However, I am not sure abandonment of church is a solution, we need folks like you with your contrarian views. We are not all loons, and you surely know this.

But I do know this, the tomb was empty, is empty, and offers great hope. If we can just carve Jesus loose from the confines of the church and politics, then there is a pure message of Gospel hope.

Christos Anesti!

What's so Good about Friday?

Total loss. Complete dejection. That knot in the pit of your stomach. That sense of dread, of fear, of uncertainty, even about tomorrow.

It's the phone call in the middle of the night that you did not expect. That relationship that seems irreversibly broken, with no possibility to mend.

Holding the hand of a dying parent, with no hope in sight. The inexplicable loss of a child. The end of the road. Ruins.

Last Thursday, I stood at the edge of Ground Zero in New York, the sight of the greatest single catastrophe in our country in the past 50+ years. Even as someone whose job deals with large real estate developments constantly, I was surprised at the scope of it all.

On that September day now more than 5 years ago, the weight of shock and loss in New York was beyond comprehension. This was a depth that seemed insurmountable. In my conversations with New Yorkers this past week, the topic of 9/11 would come up in the natural coarse of conversation; "ever since 9/11", or "since the tragic events of 9/11". 9/11. That is all you need to say. And I detected a momentary pause in the conversations, when the events of that day were, only briefly, recalled. But in that pause, volumes were communicated. All the pain, all the loss, all the despair.

And so, its Good Friday. And what is so good about this day? What is so good about a single purported Jewish mystic loosing his life more than 2,000 years ago? Is it just another death, another loss, more ancient pain, leading to nothing today?

Or might it be more, might it mean so much more. Might it not be the beginning of the most significant turning point in a remarkable mystery?

If you ask New Yorkers how they feel today about the events of the past 5 years, they would like have a million different answers. But I can tell you this, Ground Zero is now fully of cranes, trucks, construction workers shouting at one another, concrete trucks, noise, and the sounds of rebuilding. Its a nearly constant hum, which is the sound that all of New York gives off, 24 hours a day. That is what New Yorkers are, if nothing else. Rebuilders, renewers, movers, shakers; a city that recovers. And they are clearly recovering.

A whole in the ground. Immense, immeasurably, permanent pain. And strangely now, rebuilding, rebirth, renewal.

Maybe Good Friday is really, in the end, Good News.

Oh! The Humanity!

People. Everywhere. Above ground and below it in subway tunnels. Hurtling forward, like the rest of this city. Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, millions. Overwhelming. Huge. Massive. All sizes, shapes, ages, nationalities, and every type of mental and emotional disposition. Buildings stacked one against another.

Welcome to New York City, baby. This city defines so many terms; urban, megalopolis, the city that never sleeps, high density development.

Being here for four days leaves me thinking about the way that I view life. I am a Southern Californian, born and raised. I come from the land of the great sprawl, which is the exact opposite of this city, which really is the great compaction, if you will.

After an absence of many years (I used to visit here often in the 1980s), I have come to New York with a new perspective, willing to learn and experience.

Bottom line, I love it here. There is so much to offer; in spite of the crime, the crowding, the noise, it is after all, one of the greatest concentrations of humanity on the planet. I also wonder about the Christ followers here, and what their lives are like. I plan to do some searching around for Manhattan bloggers that I might enjoy reading.

And in a new way, I have been reminded of this. More soon, as time permits. Home to Southern Cal tomorrow.

By the way, we had a blast!

The Big Apple Adventure

Monday morning at Oh-Dark-Thirty, we Norris' are off for four days in New York City, baby!

I hope to blog on my impressions of New York, after an absence of 13 years. Much adventuring with lovely wife and teenage daughters!

Stay tuned.

Shift Happens

I find this....fascinating:

Going Solar in South Pasadena

Last summer, I came home one day to find a $550 electric bill for our home. After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I was on the Internet looking into solar power.

Now, since I am in the commercial real estate business, I am not always the environmentalist NIMBYs best friend. But when it hurts my wallet, I can hug a tree, or sit in one, with the best of them.

And so, we are in the process this week of installing solar panels on the roof of our home. Being pretty much of a geek, I am jazzed about this. Our 5.2 KW system should roughly cut the "carbon footprint" of our home by about 50%. The payoff for the cost of the system should be approximately 8 years, and the internal rate of return of this investment is about 15%, based on current utility rates, and factoring modestly for inflation. I will even have the system report to my PC each day, so I can come home and obsess about my power savings. Matter of fact, now that I have this system, bring ON the global warming, baby!

Take that, Al Gore!

Christ Killer to Christ Follower

This past Sunday, I listened to a remarkable story. One I have heard before, but never grows old. Its the story of the journey of one man's life, of great love and great loss, and of redemption.

My friend Frank was asked to share his "testimony", as we church folk call it, at a meeting of our congregation. We should have all gone home as soon as he was done; nothing else we said or did or voted on afterward seemed to matter after we hear Frank's story.

Frank was born more than 80 years ago, and grew up in a Jewish family. The first time he ever heard of Christ was in Kindergarten, when one of the other kids called him a "Christ killer" on the playground.

Like my own father, Frank enlisted to serve in World War II, and right as the war ended, he married his bride of more than 60 years, Jane. They moved to Southern California and started their life together. Kids came along, and it was time to find a church. Jane came from a Christian family, and they ended up at our church. There, Frank heard the preaching of Ray Lindquist, and heard about Christ in a way he never had before. Soon, Frank found himself at a church retreat, listening to Major Ian Thomas. His life had become changed, permanently.

Frank went on to tell how, after the raising of his family, and being rewarded with success in business and life, along with many grandchildren, "everything seemed to fall apart" in the last couple of years. In the past several years, Frank and Jane have witnessed the death of their oldest daughter Jan, a wonderful wife and mother of a beautiful family of her own. She was too young to die, too full of life and hope and joy. It was brain cancer, and it was not pretty.

And then, at about the same time, Frank found out that he had ALS, Lou Gehrig's disease. There was nothing he could do about it. His body would continue to deteriorate, but his mind would remain completely alert. Just like Stehphen Hawking. Since then, Frank has spend a week in a coma, and in various hospitals for nearly six months. He is back at home now, enjoying mornings by his pool in his wheelchair. Thankful.

Frank spoke to us from his wheelchair, with his breathing controlled by a ventilator. He cannot move at all, and requires nearly constant assistance. And yet, he spoke to us of hope, and love, and God's care for he and his family.

I have always said, I want to be like Frank when I grow up. Thank you Frank, for your story, for your life, and for the joy you still radiate to everyone around you.

From great pain, great faith.

Mexican Food & Evolution

Last week, my oldest daughter Kelly and I stopped for a Mexican food dinner during a busy evening of errands and tutoring. She is taking high school biology this year, and having a rather rough go of it, but is hanging in there, and learning a lot.

We had a great conversation about what she is learning, and the relative merits of evolution versus creation, very much along the lines of these thoughts by Dr. Richard Mouw, President of Fuller Seminary. I am thankful beyond words for these little moments of connection in a life that moves way too darn fast.

On a totally separate note, I appreciate the thoughts of Ben about the Edward's decision to keep on running.

That is all for today. Soon, updates on solar power!

I am also very thankful for the sharp mind and creative thinking of my 16 year old, that she lives in the real world that God created, but hasn't yet given up hope on the Creator.

Oh My.....Final Four Baby!

The past several weeks have been torturous for us Bruin fans. Two losses to end the season, including one embarrassing one to Cal in the Pac Ten Tournament. Aaron Afflalo playing well below his capability. Bruins winning games on defense.

But tonight! For the last 43 straight games, Kansas had held their opponents to under 50 points. No more. Afflalo - 24 points!

Final score: UCLA 68, Kansas 55.

Here we come, Atlanta!

Doing Things Differently

From Dallas Willard's latest book:

"Why should one insist on the exclusiveness of Christianity if all it is is one more cultural form? But let the reality of Christian spiritual formation come to its fullness, and exclusiveness will
take care of itself. If the witch and the warlock, the Buddhist and the Muslim, can truly walk in a holiness and power equal to that of Jesus Christ and his devoted followers, there is nothing more to say. But Christ himself, and not Christianity as of form of human culture, is the standard by which "we"
as well as "they" are to be measured (Acts 17:31).

Are we seriously and realistically about the business of Christian spiritual formation as measured by the unqualified love of Jesus Christ, and as specified by our "job description" in the Great Commission?....How much of what goes on in ourselves, our local assemblies, our denominations, and our (Christian) schools, is dictated only by 'futile ways inherited from our ancestors" (I Peter1:18)?

Suppose we were to engage in ground-zero planning, planning which, armed with the best theological and psychological understanding, considers only the aim without attempting to salvage or justify what is already in placethrough previous efforts. How much of what we do would be omitted? And how much of what we now omit would be done, if all we were trying to do was to bring ourselves and others "to do all things whatsoever I have commanded you"?

This just might be what Jesus is asking us.......

Wordless Sweet 16 Reflection - Click to Enlarge

Wordless Lenten Reflection

Matt is Planning Another Trip

I love this. Matt is planning another trip. Here are outakes from his last trip.

Jesus As a Magic Clown

My friend Julie, and Professor Dallas Willard have me thinking about the Jesus we may have created in our minds - as opposed to the Christ of the Scriptures.

After a bit of thought, and based on my recent reading and reflection on this book, I think we church people might have created a caricature Jesus, as in Jesus the Happy Magic Clown.

Not the real thing, but a funny looking shell of the genuine article. Stripped of Divinity, and simplified by our culture. New and improved. Now with Sin Whacking Bleach - you can have the whitest whites ever! Just believe, and He makes everything better!

My college chum Julie has illustrated better than I ever could the way the church does not own up to its shortcomings in this article about the Ted Haggard tragedy. And then, reading Dallas Willard's latest book, I was struck by this question:

"How many churches do you know that actually have a plan in place to teach people to do everything Jesus said?" How about THAT?

So, we are left with Clown Jesus, a sad American version of the real thing. He does what we need, when we need it, for as long as we need it, and then, stays out of the way. Just like a rented birthday party clown, when his tricks are over, he will sit quietly in the corner eating cake.

He can forgive us of our sins, just like that! But inside his heart, he would like to show us more, much more. He wants to give us an abundant life, truly. What would happen if we gave him the darker parts of our lives, our money, or maybe even our anger. But we did not rent him for those other things, just the animal party balloons and general sin forgiveness. No financial lordship, no anger management.

And so, Jesus the Happy Magic Clown sits quietly, out of the way, waiting. What he really wants is for us to remove his costume, the wild wig, and the rubber nose, and see him for what is really is. Fully human, yet fully Devine. A mystery. Partner in Creation. The Atonement. Good Shepard. Yahweh.

No wonder it feels easier to keep the costume on him.

Want to Help Transform the World

Saturday night my wife and I attended the International Justice Mission dinner in Los Angeles. They will also be a part of this event:




We cannot be ignorant any longer. I am in to help. Are you?

Strange Man in Shades Plans Marathon

The strange man in the shades in this undated photo is planning on running a marathon for a very good cause.

Although in dire need of recognition, and at the same time, dealing with lack of affection issues, he is basically a good fellow.

Support him here. I am.

The Dangerous Act of Worship

About 20 months ago, during the darkest time in the history of our church, when we were in the midst of a painful split, a dear friend gave me two CDs to listen to. I am a fussy listener to sermons, and so, this was an act of bravery for my friend. I don't do well with about 80% of Christian radio; it bores me.

Soon after, I needed to be in my car for about a 3 hour drive, and I listened to the CDs, recorded at a retreat several weeks before. The speaker was the Rev. Mark Labberton, and for the next three hours I found myself at once thrilled, challenged, laughing, convicted, and in tears. For me, Mark "gets it" about what it means to follow Christ in the real world.

Then, about six months later, as my family and I were taking an emotional break from the near insanity of the hysteria that had surrounded our church, I took a weekend away for a retreat, at which Mark was the speaker. After the first night, several of us stayed behind to chat, share a bottle of wine, and enjoy each other's company. Mark joined us, and I found him to be an engaging, relaxed fellow (remarkably so, for a pastor-type) with a refreshing view of things Christian. His topic for the weekend was worship. I loved every word, and at the same time, felt convicted and challenged in new ways.

Mark has just completed a book which should become required reading for all of us confused, or wondering, or just trying to get an understanding of what in the world the concept of worship really means. The title of this book is "The Dangerous Act of Worship", and the premise of this title is well taken.

We silly church folk have been embroiled in a lot of chatter over the past couple of decades about worship. Worship styles, worship settings, the meaning of worship, on and on and on. It seems endless. To me, most of this discussion has felt like meaningless prattling; silly and trivial banter about a topic that is so far beyond our real reach we have little idea about what we really are talking about.

In this book, Mark Labberton takes us on a journey about the real meaning of worship, and makes some very disturbing observations about the state of the church as it approaches the concepts of worship. His first observation: much of the American church is asleep (me included)! I could not agree more.

More soon. Meantime, buy the darn book. You will be very glad you did.

The Kelly Song

My friend Eric Myers found this clip. I will always remember the first time my wife suggested the name "Kelly" to me - this song came to mind, and I promptly began to sing it to my wife. Here, for posterity's sake, is the real song:

Being Sixteen

Recently, we celebrated our oldest daughter Kelly's 16th birthday party.

Kelly. Sixteen. That is a good collection of years. Almost a complete bushell. A good clump. In California, you can drive at 16. In two more years, you can vote. In 5 years, you can drink, whether your parents want you to or not.

If Mom and I are realistic, in two more years, assuming the grades stay up, California doesn't fall off into the ocean, our savings don't evaporate, you will be leaving home for college. What the heck?!

And now, at this point in life, it seems, speaking only for myself, that pretty much of the parenting work, is well, almost done. And as I look back on these years, I feel like I want to do two things. First, give thanks. Second, apologize.

Every Day a First
I had a very wise man tell me years ago that with the oldest child, in any family, the parents and the kid are "doing each day" of the growing up years for the first time. Everyday its the first time. Changing diapers, going to kindergarten, Girl Scouts, T-Ball, 5th grade graduation, first day of Middle School, all new. Softball, the Middle School musical, knee surgery, going to summer camp, every day, for the first time. High school orientation, mission trips to Mississippi and Alaska, girls water polo, the struggle of biology class, all of it for the first time. It never stops.

Kelly, you are an amazing person. Every "first day" with you has been an adventure and full of joy. For me, your name means that word - joyful! Funny, outgoing, laid back but energetic, a great friend. The girl who is always singing, unless the shower music is so loud we can't hear you (which is often). Your social life rivals that of Hollywood people, without all of their fakery. You are a great friend, and have surrounded yourself with quality people. For these things, as your Dad, I am completely, utterly, and almost without words to say it, thankful. What a ride. When you were little, and you wanted to be pushed again on the swing, or chucked on the bed in a pile of pillows .....over and over again....you would say "Go-giin!" as in lets keep it going! Now, that's what I want to say....

Just the other day, I found something that struck me, and made me think of being a Dad, and of needing to apologize:

"Don't pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. Don't condemn those who are down; that hardness can boomerang. Be easy on people; you'll find life a lot easier. Give away your life; you'll find life given back, but not merely given back—given back with bonus and blessing. Giving, not getting, is the way. Generosity begets generosity."

Jesus said this, in Luke. I know now, after thinking about it, he was talking to me, as a Dad of a 16 year old. I need to "be easy on people", and there is one person in our family that I am the least easy on. You and I both know who that is.

It seems I have spent most of my adult life trying to be less like my Dad. We both also know that he is not exactly the world's warmest fellow; he was not exactly "easy on people", nor easy on me. And now, after all this time of telling myself I would not replicate his behavior, I find myself being often too critical, and far less loving to you - my "first". For these things, I ask your forgiveness. I am going to try harder in year 16, I promise. I won't stop being the Dad, but maybe I can bring less stress.

For me, the good news is we aren't done yet. You and I are not finished growing up. With God's grace, we have lots more miles to go before we are done. I am so completely excited about your future, whatever the heck it may be. There's a world out there, Kelly, and you can do and be whatever your heart desires. I can't wait to see what happens!

So now, as you turn 16, know that as always, I love you more than I can tell, I am sorry for the ways I have judged, or not listened, or not understood. Its not easy being 16. I can remember vaguely, in the fog of the past, what it was like. Trust me, I was not the picture of grace, handsomeness, poise, and generally having my stuff together. No way. And so, I hope this next year, and many years in the future find me out to be a fairly tolerable guy. Someone who listens better than he talks, who cares, and laughs often and loud. You sure can make me laugh!

Happy Birthday, girl - I love you!

Dad

Shoppers Alert

Do we really need more stuff?

Parenthood

Today, while recuperating from the cold/flu fungus in our home, I watched "Parenthood" with Steve Martin. This is one of my all time favorite movies, as it so well captures the pain, humor, and trials that all of us face as we grow up together in families.

One of my favorite moments is near the end, when Steve Martin's grandma intervenes in a discussion that Steve (Gil) and his wife Karen (Mary Steenburgen) are having about how messy families are...

Grandma: You know, when l was 19, Grandpa took me on a roller coaster.

Gil: Oh?

Grandma: Up, down, up, down. Oh, what a ride.

Gil (sarcastically) What a great story.

Grandma: I always wanted to go again. You know, it was just interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together.

Some didn´t like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. l like the roller coaster. You get more out of it.


The next scene is the perennial school play, and Gil and Karen watch as their youngest child charges on stage and disrupts and "ruins" the school play. As Gil finds himself, yet again, stressed out by the behavior of his kids, he suddenly envisions himself on a roller coaster, right there in the school play audience. Gil hates this feeling; the stress and pandemonium his kids create in this life.

But as the coaster ride goes on a bit longer, Gil realizes that all this school play chaos, is really the joy of life, as he turns to smile at his wife, and they share, for a moment, the knowledge, that in the midst of all this panic, they are right where they are supposed to be.....on the roller coaster...of life.

Grandma was right. I feel so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together. I am just like Gil.

Diseased

I have been missing for a couple of days from my random blogging. We have been having a small epidemic of the flu/nasty bad achy joints hideous cold running through our house. Not wanting to be left behind, I have contracted a nasty case myself.

We should be back to normal in a couple of days.

In the meantime, the girls JV Waterpolo team is coming over tonight for their post season party. Never a dull minute around here.

Hope - Mars Hills Bible Church

What if the image to the left was found on the home page of a church?

What if this church had a completely new way of looking at their mission in the world?

Seeing this makes me hopeful.

What If We Can Be Different?

What if the basic rules of mathematics were suddenly changed? What if you woke up tomorrow and 2 plus 2 inexplicably equaled, say 5.75? How about having the furniture moved around in your house, without your warning? Permanently, and nailed to the floor. Or the ceiling, take your pick.

This is a bit of the way I am feeling after reading about half way through Dallas Willards latest book, "The Great Omission".

What if everything we have learned is maybe only half right. Part way there. What if we really can be different people? What if the abundant life (not money, not status, but a full and overflowing life) that Jesus spoke of is possible? What if?

It seems some of the basic things of faith that I have felt comfortable with for the past 20 or so years are not as important as I thought they were. I think that I may have been pursuing, well, not much of anything. To quote Willard, I am struggling with.. "The Great Disparity – the hope for life expressed in Jesus versus the actual day-to-day behavior, inner life, and social presence of most people who profess adherence to Him."

And what is the Great Omission? Its something the church (in America, to be sure) has not been doing well at all - the lack of making true disciples, apprentices, of Christ.

We have just been consumers, just like the culture around us. To again Quote Dallas:

“The will to obey is the engine that pulls the train of spirituality in Christ. But spirituality in many Christian circles has simply become another dimension of Christian consumerism. We have generated a body of people who consume Christian services and think that that is Christian faith. Consumption of Christian services replaces obedience to Christ. And spirituality is one more thing to consume.”

I have to go rearrange my furniture.

This is How the Church Sometimes Works

Lent and .... Self Denial?

I have decided. From now until April 8th (Easter), no Starbucks for me. By my rough calculations, that means I will be saving about $70 over the period of Lent.

I plan on giving the savings away.

Come to think of it, this is pathetic. I need to give away a factorial of this amount.

Ash Wednesday is today. A mark. Upon my forehead. A little cross. What would our lives be like, our culture be like, if the cross would not wash off. Permanent. Now that would make life different.

And so, I hope to take the time over the next six weeks to pause, to think, to reflect on Jesus, on myself, and on my sinfulness. And to miss my mocha.

This thought seems almost trivial. Doing without for me is almost a joke. I need to work on more significant ways to do without. Really. Honestly. Perhaps I need to adopt a form of 'Lenten lifestyle". What would that look like? What if every Christ follower did this?

Dare You to Move - Illustrated

Read this, then watch this:

Loving Your Job

Every once in a while, Nancy and I like to take a break from reality, and enjoy something timeless. Tonight found us at Disney Hall enjoying the music of Antonio Vivaldi, and the Venice Baroque Orchestra (VBO).

From the middle aged white dude in the fifth row (don't ask me how that happened!?)....a hearty "Bravo!"

But I noticed something else tonight. The lute player. His name was Ivano Zanenghi, and watching him play made my evening.

The evening was not designed around the talents of Ivano, as Vivaldi music is not exactly lute-centric (can I say that?). Anyway, the lute, which is a sort of contorted guitar, is a minor piece in most baroque music. But, tonight, the passion and joy with which Ivano played stole the show for me. Maybe it was partly because Ivano is a middle-aged fellow who is somewhat "hair challenged", like me.

But more profoundly, Ivano's facial expressions gave away the passion, enthusiasm, and joy that he brings to his music. In my view, his simple joy in merely being present upstaged the efforts of the principal violinist, who had a tough time breaking a smile. It is so rewarding to watch someone who loves their job with all their heart, and brings a sense of infectious passion to the stage. You could just feel it!

Might my work, my relationships, my very life convey the joy that Ivano brings to his lute!

Bravo VBO, bravo Vivaldi, and Bravissimo Ivano!

Dare You to Move!

I remember the old outer space movies of the 1950s that I used to watch when I was a kid. All the astronaut guys, and even the bad-guy robots used to wear these massive boots - supposedly to give them extra weight or stability in zero-gravity. Those boots were huge.

I always used to think to myself, "Man, those shoes are a bummer....I would face-plant in no time in those puppies". Maybe its because I was an awkward white teenage kid who loved basketball, but had all the jumping ability of Jabba the Hut. Anyway, I digress from my main point.

What the church in America has wrought upon itself is a pair of humongous boots. Heavy boots. Massive ones. Awkward.

In his latest book, "The Great Omission", philosophy professor and author Dallas Willard offers a peek into a world for us all, without boots, if you will. Floating free, experiencing a life of faith without the boots the church has sold us.

Willard warns that the church has been promoting "Consumer Christianity" for far too long. This type of faith is just a matter of receiving benefits from Christ. That is all that is essential. Salvation is just heaven. And, as it turns out, this consumer faith is now the “default” system of Christian identity in the Western world. On this you can be a Christian forever and never become a disciple. Our local congregations and their extensions generally assume Consumer Christianity is the essential thing.

I don't get out much. Work, family, church responsibilities. And so, just recently, I have discovered the music of Switchfoot, a San Diego band that writes on eternal themes, without the shiny happy Christian veneer. Switchfoot has a song entitled "Dare You to Move":

Maybe redemption has stories to tell
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
Where can you run to escape from yourself?
Where you gonna go? Where you gonna go?
Salvation is here

I dare you to move
I dare you to move
I dare you to lift
yourself up off the floor

We have been sold something far less than Christ offers. Its time to take off the boots.

Heather is 13!

Today, our house is officially be occupied by two (count 'em) teenage girls. Heather turns 13 today; and Kelly turned 16 on Sunday. Amazing.

Sunday night was Heather's party, a limo showed up at our door; Heather's idea for her party, just to pick up her friends at their houses, and drive them all around town for a while. Then it was back to our house for pasta (her favorite of all time) dinner, cake, and general merry making.

Next week will be the epic Kelly Norris Birthday party. You think the Grammy's are a big deal? Just wait.

Without much warning, our two girls have landed firmly in their teenage years. Am I ready for this double whammy? Heck no!

Heather is 13!

Some office buildings don't have 13th floors. If you have Triskaidekaphobia, you are irrationally afraid of the number 13. As it turns out, the association of bad luck with the number 13 has been attributed to the fact there were 13 people at the Last Supper of Jesus, although this association seems to have originated only in medieval times. For Heather, I predict 13 will, in a word, rock!

Softball, volleyball, soccer, leadership at school, after school tutoring, hanging with friends, laughing, living, loving. Watching Reba reruns, listening to Oddessy on her Ipod, and showers that last for hours (almost). If we could harness the energy of this amazing young lady, we could light the City of South Pasadena for a week.

Heather, your care and love for others is remarkable. The way in which you can find humor in almost anything is a gift and a joy to us all. Thank you for gracing our lives with your presence. From the very first moment I held you and laughed loudly and cried tears of joy, every day has been an adventure. May the adventure continue!

Thirteen? Feeling a bit squeamish? No us, not our family. Bring it on!

Amazing Grace

This will be worth seeing:

Denial is Not a River in Egypt

This is, to sum it up, baloney.

What is going on with Ted? Why does he need to tell us, that only after three weeks in therapy, he is "completely heterosexual"? After I was in therapy for three weeks, I could barely tell you what I was feeling about myself. Please, Ted!

Interesting thought in the New York Times, by a psychiatrist:

“Some people in the community that Mr. Haggard comes from believe homosexuality is a form of behavior, a sinful form of behavior based on certain things in the Bible, and they don’t believe you can create a healthy identity based on sinful behavior,” Dr. Drescher said. “So they define it as a behavior that can be changed, and there is this thinking that if you control those behaviors enough, heterosexual attractions will follow.”

While I don't subscribe to everything the shrink here says, I am very worried that Ted is trying to "make good" on his mistakes. Really now. For more thoughts on the weird stuff the church does to us, please read this, by my college chum, Julie. It really sums it all up, far better than I could.

I have to go remove the log in my own eye now.

Name Calling

a·pos·tate

–noun
1. a person who forsakes his religion, cause, party, etc.

her·e·tic
–noun
1. a professed believer who maintains religious opinions contrary to those accepted by his or her church or rejects doctrines prescribed by that church.

Over the course of the past year I have been called both of these words. Names, really. This is what otherwise good Christian people have called me. This is what they think I am. In two distinct and completely unrelated settings, I have been called these names. In their minds, I am a blasphemer. I was labeled an apostate in a recent and very sad church split. And just the other day, in an email, I was labeled as in cahoots with heretics.

Unlike the childhood poem that mentions sticks and stones, these kinds of names do hurt me. And, I find myself filled with sadness, at the thought of all this. Why? In my mind, this behavior hurts the cause of Christ, and the furtherance of the church. Bickering church people is what the world needs far less of. Yuck.

In both cases, I did not pick fights, or get into discussions of deep theological issues, or say something out loud that offended someone. I was not part of some huge moral failure, I did not break some fundamental law, I did not dis the Ten Commandments. I didn't even mess with the Communion wine.

I was called names for thinking, well, differently than others. For having my own opinion, and for being willing to think outside of the traditional church box. And for this, I was called names. I was not invited into a conversation, a dialogue, or a way to work out differences. Just named, classified, and cubby holed. Filed away. If you call someone a name, then you really don't need to deal with them anymore. In both cases, I did not engage, I did not react, no response. That way, its one less person calling names.

What motivates good people to do things like this? Why would upstanding, taxpaying, God fearing, mother loving folks be reduced to calling others (that they profess to "love in the Lord") names?

One word. Fear.

Its a big motivator that little word. Uncertainty. It is scary when your ideas about God get challenged, when the way you look at the world is threatened. I think this is what happened. These good people became afraid of new ideas, and so, they called names. Its easier.

Sara Groves, has a song that captures some of this behavior. In a song called "To The Moon", Sara writes:

It was there in the bulletin
We're leaving soon
After the bake sale to raise funds for fuel
The rocket is ready and we're going to
Take our church to the moon

There'll be no one there to tell us we're odd
No one to change our opinions of God
Just lots of rocks and this dusty sod
Here at our church on the moon

We know our liberties we know our rights
We know how to fight a very good fight
Just get that last bag there and turn out the light
We're taking our church to the moon
We're taking our church to the moon
We'll be leaving soon

Let It Out

The folks at Kleenex are doing a good thing:



Update. Turns out the band that composed the music are Christ followers.....

Is It OK to be Angry?

Anger is a delicate balance. On one hand, if you constantly fly off the handle, you get labeled as mean spirited and judgmental. However, if you are insincere with your real feelings, folks can see right through your false pretenses. It is hard to find the middle way.

Ok. Here is what bugs me - passive aggressive Christian folk. Disclaimer: I am not reacting to a recent event - I have witnessed this behavior for years.

A Christian therapist friend of mine just recently told me that the new edition of the gigantic diagnostic manual of the American Psychiatric Association, will this year, for the first time, contain passive aggressive behavior as a diagnosable condition. And well it should be, because from my observation point, it is rampant in the church. Otherwise good people behave in a disingenuous fashion when they become frustrated with difficult people or situations.

Someone who is passive aggressive will not tell you that they might be really pretty damn mad at you. Nope. Instead they will use other methods to convey their frustration. They will

· passively resist fulfilling routine social and occupational tasks;
· complain of being misunderstood and unappreciated by others;
· become sullen, while complaining nothing is really that wrong

What has gotten into us church people? Where did we learn to be so, well, nice?

And what about our leader? How did Jesus handle anger? Meek and mild, the Servant King? Was it Jesus the Milk Toast Savior? I have been thinking about this now for a week or so. Seems to me, Christ was a fellow who had never heard of passive aggressive coping mechanisms. He acted, spoke, and followed through in a straight forward manner. No avoidance for Him. He dealt with his anger in a healthy way. Remember that bad scene in the temple with the money changers?

Christian folk, lets get real. Lets be mad at one another. Argue, discuss, be confrontational, work out our differences. Engage in real community. Forgive.

Its very hard, even painful to do this stuff, but in the long run, well worth it. And in doing this, we might just become more real, less artificial, and more like people of real flesh and blood to a watching world around us.

Remember, they ARE watching.

Bring Back the Monkeys!

Today, for the first time in years, I sat through most of the Superbowl. I had hopes that the commercials would be, as is usually the case, better than the actual game. I was pleasantly surprised by the game, played in pouring rain, and in particular for a victory for Tony Dungy, who is a man of faith who has faced the most profound personal pain imaginable. A great win for a good man.

As for the commercials, the performance was pathetic. Sad, unimaginative, and uninspiring. If the commercials had been a football game, they would have had a final score of:

Brainless Beer Ads / Generally Uncreative - 84
Creative / Knee Slapping Funny / Inspiring - 12

A rout. The only funny moment was the ad for Emerald Nuts, which indicated something like "in the afternoon your blood sugar declines to the point where you fall asleep, and Robert Goulet appears in your office and messes with your stuff". I have this problem all the time. So glad I have found a solution.

One other item I must address. Careerbuilder needs to fire their ad agency; they are completely clueless. They have produced a series called "Career Jungle" that 1) is incomprehensible, 2) poorly edited, and 3) contains dialogue that is impossible to understand. Career Builder representatives have said that "We really want to talk about job dissatisfaction. So we have new TV work that talks about job dissatisfaction and not just bad co-workers". Oh please, people!

In my (alleged) mind, the chimpanzee campaign was one for the ages. Stay with what works. Can the ad agency. Bring back the monkeys!

Passive Aggressive Jesus

Sometimes it feels to me like the NBA has one up on the Church.

In the NBA, if you get fouled too hard, and then really ticked at somebody, the unwritten rule (until recently) was that you could get back up off the floor, and well, DECK that so-and-so. Fisticuffs as a solution. Pugilism to solve your “issues”.

Major League Baseball might also have a better way of dealing with anger than does the First Church of Wherever. Say some annoying 22 year old left hander with a wicked 104 MPH fastball keeps throwing high hard ones against your best hitters, sending them flailing to the dirt. Response? Your team can just wait an inning or two, and when Junior Lefty does it again, you simply clear the bench, charge the guy, and smother him in misdirected punches. It works. Afterward, while everyone looks sheepish and apologies to the press, inside, they probably feel really good about the resolution.

But we church folk are pretty darn pathetic when we get mad. Wait. Did I say mad? Oh sorry, I am a Christian, I don’t get mad. Matter of fact, mad might even be a bad word to say. Annoyed, yes, that is more like it. “Our patience has been tried”, we might say. We become, say, “slightly miffed”. “You know, Marge, I have a hard time with that person”, we offer to our Christian friends. But angry? Not us. Ticked off? Noooo thank you very much. Pissed? Gasp! Never. I just swore! We Christian folk often handle anger about as well as George Bush handles words of more than two syllables.

Here is the equation we church people seem to follow:

Christian person + Anger = Very Bad Behavior!

I think this is very bad math, for living life, and building the Kingdom.

More on this soon.

Mental Vacation

At the office. Need to take a mental vacation, if just for a minute.

I would much rather be here right now.