of marbles and muck

He fussed about with marbles and jacks. Blue suspenders and all, though he dared not react. The fact that today his marbles down the drain rolled. From his perch upon the curb, the boy sat slightly perturbed. His father’s gift now hunckered below cement and sewage. Try as he might to save his marbles, to no avail. Short arms just won’t travel the distance between he and his marbly dream. A stick catches his eye. No opposable thumb keeps that marble well run dry. Stuck in the muck, the sun sheds its last light on him.

Running from flat to drain at the first morning spark. No change, all remains the same for the blue-suspendered boy and his marbly toy. Several ditch efforts to regain what seems now to be lost: a funnel, some paper and glue, a lasso just won’t do. Just out of fingertips reach, the marbles settle into a gooey mess. Dirty suspenders weigh down burdened shoulders sluffing down the street.

A jack game across the street has drifted to boredom. Three eye pairs stare down street at lurching suspenders. Sudden compulsion moves plaid arms and jeans to action as a sprint ensues. Closing the distance, suspenders turn into time to see arms flailing about. “Hey you, whatcha use?” The boy stopped, stared, signaled over here and there. “What about these?” points out the plaid-clad lad. A grin hits the chin of this small suspendered fella. This good news that arms reach longer and farther loosens the suspenders, freeing his shoulders, filling with hope that all is not lost. Suspenders lead plaids to the region of despair. Points out the junky miry mess then sits back to let plaid to the rest. Arms elongate down to into the abyssy carmeled lie. Marbled-eye looks on in hopeful antinicipatory emancipation. Pulling out cloggy marbles one by one, suspenders sag tugged by trouser’s pockets.

Out of the mess arises the plaid hope turned joy of the now smiling contendedly, suspendered boy.

didn't expect to see a banana hammock tonight

“The Oilcan, eh?”

“We’re gonna pop his gay bar cherry.”

this is a nice-looking bar *
wait – their beers suck *

“I don’t think you’re really gay.”

“So is that guy paid by the bar or is he just dancing up there for fun?”
“Probably paid by the bar.”
i should probably blog about this, how? *

“Who went to the Kelly Clarkson concert tonight?”
wow – apparently, a lot of people *

“I didn’t expect to see a banana hammock tonight.”

He drew in the sand *

“So we’re with the guy who takes his shirt off when he dances.”

“You were that guy dancing out on there right?”
no, it was the other straight guy with a ponytail in a green farm shirt *
“I think I lost my cell phone out there on the dance floor…”

“My neck is really gonna be sore tomorrow from all this dancing.”

He had compassion on the crowd *

“Let me know about movie night.”

“I’ll see you when I get back.”

Maybe I should come back next week *

*denotes personal thoughts

reflection

I grew up Baptist. Okay, I grew up Southern Baptist. In the Southern Baptist church we worship God on Sunday morns, have choir on Wednesday nights and put money in the Lottie Moon offering plate at Christmas. This was normal for most of my life. I enjoyed it for the most part. Most thankfully, Heights brought me a basic understanding of the love of Jesus and placed me squarely within the church family. But, in the end I left. The violet phase.

Martin Luther, John Calvin and Jonathan Edwards – All great minds that lead the cerebrally-driven Evangelical denomination. College, so it was a good time to learn about theology and mission – even if mission was “over there.” Buildings say a lot and when we moved into a new one (just like the move in 8th grade), there just wasn’t as much community thereafter. I spent time working and really understanding “church” more. In the end I left. The indigo phase.

Smaller, more intimate, communal perhaps? Ya, house churches are sweet. I’ve been in the big church all my life, this is what I need. Less people telling me what to do and how to go about doing it “with excellence.” Short-lived idea, still apart of the same service idea. I left before I really participated. The blue phase.

I suppose the Charasmatic, Pentecostal and various offshoots comprise the redish-orange areas, that the Methodists lie in the fairly violet with the “Bible” and non-denoms in the greens or so. There’s plenty more cultures, communities, and models that are much bigger than me throughout the globe, but this blog is small and about my experiences. I spent most of my life in various shades, feeling comfortably bluish, not really caring to step out into bold yellows, then settling into some pleasantly green middle-ground.

ROY G BIV

Some say you can’t see the forest for the trees. In the church I think we miss the rainbow for the colors.

After spending a week in Hawaii; hues, tints, and luminosity fill my mind. The flowers, the vines, the sands, the mountains, the waters, the skies, the sunsets; all filled with wildly vibrant life. It rained on my family while we canoed up the river in Kauai last Tuesday morning. Just as the shower came to an end, a rainbow flowed from one side of the bank to the other. There, directly in front of my eyes, beautiful in its entirety: the Noahic covenant. The rainbow. God’s sign (to the entire earth) that he won’t destroy his beautiful creation ever again. Overarching the sky, the rainbow stands as God’s magnificent promise to redeem the cosmos.

We live in the “light.” Sometimes we take parts of the light and amplify them to our standards or culture. In doing so, we lessen the impact of the spectrum by focusing in on one specific portion.

Maybe I’ve come to a new place, one’s that been wrought by a long rainy season, but thankfully, the covenant still stands. For far too long, I’ve been so wrapped up in the colors that I couldn’t see the whole creation. But what if the beauty of the Lord shines most fully when we can step back and enjoy the view?

I suppose that’s what I’ve been trying to do lately – not miss the rainbow for the colors. Not exchange the spectrum of the Lord’s light for the individual shades of denomination, sacrament, and tradition. Yes, those colors can be gorgeous, but they can miss the totality of the rainbow.

The beautiful rainbow. The glorious convenant. Both an appreciator and a participant.

Stepping back and allowing the rainbow to speak for itself reveals it to all of creation, as was the original intent. The rainbow is not to be churches. The rainbow is to be the Church – the body of Christ reflecting the love of its Creator and Savior to a world wrought by rainy days.

paradise

A single ray of light tingles the tip of a yellow surfboard standing in the sand. The waves tumble louder as the young surfer grabs his board and runs towards the water. Each day, he rises early in hopes of catching that one great king wave that will not only take him into shore but nurture the inner longing – that single aqueous navigation that unifies self and nature all in one faithfully eternal instant.
One day, the blue, reds and blacks made their way made their way out to the beach on a slightly overcast morning. The yellow board remained stationed firmly in the sand while the young surfer stayed in bed, asleep. That day the great king came to take them away to the paradise only a skilled surfer will ever understand or appreciate. The wistfully alluring gem of a wave for which they patiently awaited came and went whilst the young one slept.
For you do not know the day or the hour, nor does the coming depend on you. Stay awake that you might not miss the coming King.