eyes closed and type-think-wandering

There’s no line graph or 90degree door in nature. No bar from this place or that besides the natureal ebb and flow of the scenery the flowers and the underbrush that flods in on itself. There are boundaries and rules and they are followed but not like laws mire like guidelines on how to servivie in this place called a jungle or a rainfoest of the plains or the ice fields. Only in humanity do we attempt to cross unnarural boundaries and refuse to listen when natures telling us something vastly different from desire for progress. Oh the limitations of doors to gardens and walking with a maker that we restict ourselves to boardrooms and plate mat vovers in the kitchen with little doily on them bit lock the door so no one else can steal them from us. Oh to hear thae soiund of the farden once again. To feel the presence of the lord walking or just being and sitting and peacefully glistening naked in the sun , bit that hiding from the man that duck behind the tree because you realice your free not to be naked anymore buit rather to createand segregate yourself from your natural habitat – the first door closed only to be opened again when no one but the son’s Father’s knows.

Simson calls them fingers in a hand - Frost & Hirsch call them genius - But how do we use them?

The evangelist tells the story you’ve never heard before.

The teacher tells a story, and if you don’t understand, he tells it in a different way.

The pastor tells his story and the story of others so you aren’t alone.

The apostle tells the story of everyone so they can work together.

The prophet tells the future of the story in metaphor, imagery and poetry.

Is church leadership merely interplay of these simple story-tellers?

Invitation. Identity. Unity. Community. Opportunity.

Anti-Evangelical?

According to most churches (including the one from whence I have come) – I am not an evangelist. They tend to view evangelism as a four-step course in good news (“gospel”) and bad news. Sometimes this happens door to door and every once in a while you get to “share your faith” in some sort of “strategic conversation.” Should this lead to the end of a friendship (if it was one to begin with), that is okay because “at least they know the truth now.”

I agree with them that I am not an evangelist on their terms. I don’t even consider myself an evangelist, but the word is out there and people use it – so I’ll defend myself accordingly. I’ve worked over 1000 hours at Central Market now. I have made many friends and managed to survive on little money. I don’t necessarily like my daily tasks, my schedule or my required extroversion. But I’m working to take the “I” out…

People lead sad, crippled lives. People slink through their days clutching to any crutch they can find. People fall and look for quick pick-me-ups because that seems to be all that the world has to offer. People give up because the chaos is too much. People need Jesus.

And Jesus loves them. He healed, taught, ate with, prayed for, aligned himself with, took a stand for people sad, sickly, and sullen. Someone needs to show them love. A true love that more than tolerates and is nothing short of the agape love of the Father. The church certainly isn’t doing it. So who will? When will evangelism leave the confines of a time slot and become life’s work? Where will the church people meet real people if work, family, church, entertainment, and private time never intersect the “evangelism” program? God called Israel and Christians to the Shema – loving God through all aspects of life. Then Jesus makes sure to clarify that loving neighbors is synonymous with loving God. So where does “evangelism” fit?

Insert the “I” again. I’m trying. Trying to figure out what loving people on their own terms means. Attempting to share my whole life as an act of love. Struggling to link God’s commands to my daily routine. Hurting for my friends who swim in the depths of hopelessness. Longing for their freedom.

So yesterday when my not-yet Christian friend at work says, “I like them. They’re more like you. I mean, honest about their faith. Not evangelical.” I’ll take that to mean that I’m on the right path. That somehow my little light shines like Paul’s encouragement to the Philippians, as a star in the universe holding out the word of life.

So if the church definition don’t fit and apparently the world’s definition don’t fit, what am I?

Jesus loves people.
Jesus loves me.
I’ll love people.
Call it what you want.

born into brothels

befriend.

dream.

hope.

future.

rent.

too good to miss. you owe it to yourself to see this film. the best documentary i've seen in quite some time.

apparently i fell asleep last night

Today people trampled each other and got in fist fights.

The cause in some countries – food made available to the starving.

The cause in America the beautiful – shopping.

And not just shopping but shopping on credit. Attempting to get what one perceives as a need to make them happy so they can live the life that they see on that TV they just bought.

People lined up waiting for the chance to spend and facilitate capitalism and try to make themselves satisfied with stuff. Daily ritual for the next month to participate in the American tradition of consumerism.

At some point, the fact that the consumer supposedly drives the market is not a good thing. This perceived power creates am economic rather than social system that caters to individualism rather than the social good of the neighborhood, society, or environment.

This completely contradicts the natural systems that came before us and from which we have kllkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
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Free-

Dom
There’s more than lines here
A breathe of air
Fresh and new
Ready meet and greet me and you with a resounding joy that we’re too deaf to hear
Tear
Reminds me of being young again, adults aren’t supposed to cry
But here I’m brought back to my own child-like memory
When wagons of red take you to places of gold
No one foretold you that place or this one is wrong –
I need a wagon train to lead me out of the sphere of thought that closes around my
Word cloistered closet
Thank you Kathleen for reminding me
Those cloaked clothes fit amidst
Honesty
Paintings float
Pictures dance through my frontal lobe
Prance on tapdancer toe to ground
They pound my brain for release when too deaf to hear
The cradles rocking and mom’s not coming to help
Just fall out and you’ll be fine
You won’t hit the floor. Your feet will catch you on your way out the door
That red-yellow make green glass window lighting your shoulder blades
As they pump towards the westward wind
Grace
A funny place to stand
Or sit if you’d like
Given the chance – make ammends
To your constitutional intuitional
Certitude left at that window
And all that’s right be the light flourish
Warm
2+2 can = 5
infinity meet humanity

african bond

for those of you who don't know. my younger brother paul is in africa working with an indigenious organization called African Renewal Ministries. he spends a lot of time loving children in orphanages and helping the ministry's organizational infrastructure.

my heart feels an unusually close bond with him lately, though he is so far away. bonhoeffer says that praying for Christian brothers in their absense brings you even closer than being with them. perhaps i agree after now experiencing this distance and closeness at the same time.

children of the night

this is a short picture narrative about the lives of some of the ugandan children that may put faces on prayers and link stories with sentiments.

you are loved, my brother. Christ guide you, protect you and bring you home rejoicing...

Watching the boy gaze towards manhood

Awkwardly small pants and t shirts rule. Cultural aloofness reigns. And Tuesday night is just another partytime if you’re a budding adolescent.

After a six song primary gig, Tacks the boy disaster confidently left the stage aware that their own creativity had a long way to go. “Progression” into the coffee house proved their ability to carve a niche in the indie scene though it was plagued with less than adequate sound and not stage. Tacks took the stage in their third performance, proving a more delicate, reserved, comfortable has nothing to prove. Morphing to fit the mood of the evening or simply becoming more comfortable in their own growing skin, the band seems relaxed laid back and ready for a full tour.

Tackling a tough crowd after a couple of single shooting opening acts that left those in the pews longing for melody, Tacks showed up in rare form. Just their third show proved the maturing band truly has potential for a very bright future. Poised and undulating underground pop piano licks, a strongly simply bass, grinning guitar power, and pulsating rhythmic action from the kit left the audience “dying to know” more of the secrets the band’s young face.

A long way to go but getting there quickly, the band’s adolescence did shine through during “Paris.” However, the quirky surrealistic lyrics keep listeners guessing which fish may be mentioned next or if Friday night (or Tuesday for that matter) will ever be the same after this band's poise. So much so that the audience didn’t seem to mind too much at all when the “cursed machinery” broke a string only to come back to roaring applause during the climax of the song.

A fully integrated show of friendly proportions, leaving fans both old and new waiting for the boy to return to the stage again.

Suits. Soda. Dogs. Where will Tacks grow from here?

just a kid and a car

I-35 facilitates flowing thinking
like strong drinking caresses words from the tongue
a white boy, a blue two-door, & yellow lines
a contemplative, a setting, & guides

Jonathan Edwards wrote himself notes while to and fro on his horse
Me too – minus horse and a lot of smarts

Sometimes I bet Jesus would have liked a car
AC and a chance to get a way
A head clearing jaunt
maybe Damascus Rd. would require a truck though

yesterday's prayer today

11.01.05

Guide me in how to speak and what to say and when not to speak it.

From this lone star epicenter, I sit and wait for you to speak clearly with guiding hand. Footprints deep to glory in.

To where shall I go and why shall I get there – how?

Then, even a cripple can speak. It’s walking that’s hard - here. But I want to get somewhere beyond these words and images, thoughts of what could and should be - art. Pour in the light on this sacred fuzzy path towards who I am to become – Jesus.



Look to the right o’ this lonesome word to be defined on Holy page.
The left needs looking after: food shelter, hug.
Above your pages wars with men and health.
Below your binding tired eyes adapt to darkness.

Quickly the sickly
Disguise grace as racial
Equities in handouts
Option-out of responsibility

The sickly page-stuck
Theologic mind-funk
Remove reading glasses
To wipe tired eyes

Not the blind eyes
Dying for life
On either side
Of black-white words

That simple step back
Widened-lenses
Focus as central
Not book, simply a look
A learn
A listen
A step towards
Those huddled under
Pale lights, questioning - gasping
for Air