prone to wander

Soda Bubbles

2010-04-19T17:16:00.000-07:00

Children get yelled at by their parents. Like when I used to blow bubbles in my soda through the straw. This usually took place at Shoney's, Big Boy, or some other restaurant that let kids eat for free on Wednesday's nights. I was relentless, I loved ruining that carbonated drink with a fury of breath sent down through the straw. I loved getting a reaction out of my parents when I would end up splashing the soda onto my chin. My parents would scold me for it. My dad would grab my shoulder and give me a harmless but forceful jolt, "Lance, cut it out." Yet, I blew bubbles into the soda. It was a furious storm of bubbles.

...

Some people think that God breathes life into the creation, human beings specifically. There is dirt, then God breathes out, and the dirt begins to dance because of the breathe of life that has been given. The dirt becomes a person. The person dances about for a while, meets other people, maybe even realizes that God breathed people into existence. The person continues to dance, but eventually God's breathe is no longer an exhale. The breathe that once made the dirt dance is now being sucked back by God.

God breathes out. And in.

God gives. And takes.

...

Sometimes I feel like soda. Like I am being blown around. Like a furious storm is happening to me. Like God is some little kid blowing into a straw.

This is absurd.

Faith Architect

2010-02-10T22:45:00.000-08:00

A huge part of my childhood revolved around building. K'NEX and LEGOS rocked my world. And because my parents were suckers, they would buy me set after set of these little toys in hopes that it would make me develop into a lean, mean, designing machine. Well, not really. They probably just wanted a break from parenting and felt bad about setting me in front of the big purple dinosaur on the t.v. for the seventh day in a row.

I loved building this stuff. My dad even let me tinker around with his old school Lincoln Logs. This was the entirety of my existence as a child: to build shit.

Besides my obsession with sports trading cards, this little youngster hobby of mine is pretty much one of the only things I can remember spending literally all of my waking hours doing (video games don't count because it sucks brain out of your head). I was a committed LEGO and K'NEX builder. I would have been in a group on facebook, had it been available for 8 year old's in the early 90's. I was sold out to the cause of toy building. Had I not been raised in a neo-conservative Mennonite home (the "neo" part is for dramatic effect) I think I would have had tattoo's of my favorite building projects. One time I made a huge roller coaster with K'NEX and it actually worked. I also specifically remember covering my entire living room floor with LEGOs (and everyone knows how much of a joy it is to step on those). I loved getting LEGO's and opening the new box and reading the manual on how to assemble the toy (knowing full well I was flipping the pages entirely too fast to be learning anything). I loved laying all the pieces out on the ground, even if it meant losing some of the most necessary pieces. I would keep the finished project assembled for days, weeks, years if my mother would have allowed it.

I was the most incredible mixture of content, inspired, and challenged by these toys.

LEGO's and K'NEX were basically my baby sitter AND best friend. What an amazing combination!!

...

In the 9th grade I took one of those "vocation tests" that attempts to assess an adolescent's gifts and abilities, for the sake of offering career possibilities. Let's think about it: it seems that most children dream of being a movie star, firefighter, astronaut, lawyer, or something extraordinary. You know what I got: city planner. Yep, if you aren't impressed by the dullness of that right off the bat, then you probably, like I did, don't know that a city planner maps out roads, buildings, and various other city things to help with efficiency and organization. "Give it up for the boring kid!" As a young and willing young man, I was branded with the hope of one day organizing roads. And to make it even more unsettling, I was pretty much okay with this. I liked math and science, and with my history in Lego obsession, I would get the knack of things soon enough.

I was going to organize people's roads.

...

Somewhere along the line, religious people started talking to me about calling. Not calling my mom on the phone, or calling for help, or calling my brother a turd, nope, this is the type of word you put in quotes because it has the power to freak people out: "calling".

But because I have always been in a religious family, the unique nature of this language didn't really hit me until recently. As a teenager, I got more and more comfortable with "calling", maybe because it put some words to the deep longings I had, or because it meant that "some thing" was doing this "calling", or maybe thinking about my "calling" allowed me to wrestle with ideas that were foreign to me. Not foreign like illegal immigrants or Eskimos, but foreign like unfamiliar to my routine. The "calling" I was experiencing in high school was an awakening to something outside the material, quantifiable, and mechanistic stuff that I was used to. My future as a city planner was being shattered by "calling", not because dealings with the physical and seemingly mundane world around me would have been a bad pursuit, but instead, because my eyes were being opened to questions of the abstract.

My future as an architect was shifting away from the building and designing of roads and buildings, to the mapping and exploration of faith and meaning. My interests were, and continue to be, grounded in a desire to organize the stuff that surrounds us; however, I think that the stuff of faith and meaning resists this organizing, but instead requires that we thoughtfully "name" this stuff. My childhood obsession with Lego's ought to teach me a thing or two about the time I spend with religious and spiritual ideas, that I can appropriately love this process of exploring faith and meaning.

May my faith journey of the present remind me of my time spent with Lego's as a child - the most incredible mixture of content, inspired, and challenged.

near.

2009-09-13T08:34:00.000-07:00

so much of my pain
and so much of my worry
is being cured by this...

"the Lord is near."

Young

2009-04-29T11:05:00.000-07:00

"And sometimes you close your eyes
And see the place where you used to live
When you were young"

I used to ask lots of questions, most of which were directed towards my Dad:

Dad, How far away is Pluto? Is spontaneous combustion real? How do I stop it from happening to me? Why is money made? Did Jesus have a beard? Why do Amish ride in the back of cars but not the front? Is the devil only in the front of the car? Can I have a new Batman toy (signs of early childhood consumerism...YES)? Oh, and why can't I tell Grandma about the beer in the fridge?

Being inquisitive is fun sometimes. Especially when you are a small child and life is so wonderfully overwhelming.

But I am tired. I am tired of thinking critically. I haven't sworn it off, but i would just really like to take a break.

I want to drink coffee or have a beer without analyzing what it means to be responsible in my current setting. I want to stop thinking so damn hard and breath deeply. I need rest from this lifestyle of intellectual criticism.

I need silence. I need help.

But, when I think about the consequences of such "freedom", my heart and mind scream...MYTH!!

This myth being the idea that senseless wondering and spontaneous adventures will in fact yield freedom. Freedom from the pains of thought and the realness of decision making. Many of us yearn for a life that is other than the one in which we find ourselves.

So, we escape. We run to the bathroom to cry...
or the couch to consume entertainment...
or the bottle to feel good for a time...

And the pattern continues. we run. we flee. we escape.

But here is the inconsistency: Escaping does not seem so much like freedom after it has become a pattern. We are enslaved to our "freedom".

Voices both in our heads and from others scream: What the hell is wrong with us?

"You gave your body to the lonely
They took your clothes
You gave up a wife and a family
You gave your goals"

"To be alone with me"

Jesus' understanding of freedom is something quite different than how I think about it most of the time. Freedom is humility. Through giving and lowering himself, Jesus showed us what freedom ought to look like.

Maybe curiosity and selflessness can be joined. Inquisitive Humility?

What's good?

2009-04-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

change in seasons.

lemonade and tea - mixed together!

roommate bonding.

finished papers...i should say, "turned in" papers.

being employed.

being unemployed.

a poster of Einstein riding a bike.

making gifts.

receiving gifts.

naps outside.

a huge box of illegally made DVDs.

silence.

analytical conversations with people i care about.

coffee and ice cream.

new things.

old things.

momentary peace.

hmmm...lots of things are good.

more.than.fear.

2009-02-17T16:27:00.000-08:00

Tension. Conflict. Imbalance.

All of these words are fun. (not true)
But I can't escape them.

To be the Inspiration...Or the inspired?

This search is enjoyable. (also, not true)
But I love what happens inside of me.

Stories of entrepreneurs, artists, wanderers, creators, and dreamers are stories that I hold onto. I cherish them, I write them down, I live vicariously through them, and I share in admiring their work with others.

All of this to say, jealousy can often creep under my skin, and I am pleasantly reminded of my problem: I am fearful. Afraid of failure, afraid of danger, afraid to appear a fool, afraid to suffer, and afraid to be wrong. I am horrified of that which I cannot conquer. Or more accurately, I am afraid of that which I cannot appear to have conquered.

I am afraid to dance, to take the wrong step, to freeze...locked in foolishness. Afraid to stumble and afraid to trip. People might see that I suck. People I care about. People that I work really hard to impress and formulate a self-concept for them to admire.

May I see those I love as more than competition. May I see those I care about as worthy of more than my jealousy.

May you teach me to dance, to stumble and to one day...take a good step. To advance. To progress. To learn from my mistakes. To take risks. To laugh and live and dance freely. May you all teach me and make me better.

May I be thankful.

ramblings tolerated

2009-02-07T12:11:00.000-08:00

Familiar thoughts. Familiar places and people. I regularly reflect upon these images and memories. A friendly face, a favorite thinking spot, or a hurtful word that came from my lips, a bad habit I have formed.

Sometimes these things come to mind on purpose, sometimes not. Sometimes willingly, and sometimes with much hesitancy, and unfortunately sometimes I fight myself, doing everything I can to avoid certain familiar thoughts. A shouting match can occur.

Struggling with what to think. Struggling to keep on track. Struggling to dwell upon those things that I deem worthy and beneficial to ponder. Sometimes a song can trigger it. Sometimes I search it out, shuffling through my iPod for the perfect song, or scanning the web for that one topic or image. Searching, wondering, running, drastically longing, yearning, and all types of extremes. From apathy which leaves me depressingly frozen...to a frantic attempt to organize all of life's problems/contradictions/paradoxes/etc...

The Church has not always been a place where this type of thinking is welcome. Honestly, it has been my experience that it has rarely been a place where this type of struggling is seen as "normal". At best, it has been ignored.

I read an article by Will Braun in Geez magazine regarding a call for more pastors to lead their churches to be what they ought to be...

"There are times when we need a word of solace, when we need to be led to a place where we can rest our consciences and slowly begin to confess the impossibility and incomprehensibility of it all. A place where contradictions are tolerated – even contradictory assumptions – and where grace runs freely."

This is extremely hopeful to me. And as my cynicism often leaves me feeling empty...I thank God for my current community of faith, and for all the individuals in my life who offer comfort and peace amidst all the tension in my life.

I am thankful for peace. And for those striving to offer hope.

lovers less wild

2009-01-17T11:07:00.000-08:00

"I am so easily satisfied by the call of lovers so less wild"

I have been a fan of Derek Webb since the day I heard him sing these words in his song "Wedding Dress". This horribly accurate proclamation is one that I have stolen to describe myself and how I interact with the rest of the world.

Although it is fairly depressing to come to grips with how easily I am fooled, how quickly I jump into dangerous habits, and how content I am to live in mediocrity...I feel as if these words speak radically about my human condition, enabling me to acknowledge how far off I am from how things ought to be.

As for now, I am in progress...AND I must be (continually) confronted with those lovers which offer me very little in the end.

May we come to understand our own situation, and through humility, be inspired towards change...slowly working towards how things ought to be.

chaos reformed

2008-11-12T20:35:00.000-08:00

Rain has an interesting effect on me. It's therapeutic, yet depressing. Or maybe therapy needs to be depressing in order for me to make any progress...

At the very least, rain allows me to be honest.

And when I am honest with myself, I realize that I hate a lot of things:

the tension in my own head
the lack of structure in my mind
the inconsistencies in my actions
and my selfish thoughts that progress into envy, jealousy, and pride.

I hate all of these things. And this hatred only furthers the chaos...
Chaos leads to more hatred. And hatred furthers the chaos.

This chaotic lens which I look through can often distort my view of the good things in life...Ultimately, it leads to my hatred of the good along with the bad.

I see through hatred, which started from my own selfish tendencies. And now I have trouble seeing the good. And for some reason, I have cried out. Why? And to whom? I don't really know...but I have learned to lament...To cry. To search. To Reason. To yearn.

Although cries are not often pleasant, I am convinced that lamenting is good. I am convinced that being heard is necessary for humanity to progress. The earth needs the rain. And i need to cry.

As ridiculous as that may sound...the vicious cycle can only be made beautiful through something else...

PEACE.

I find some peace in my lament and in my cry.

As the earth is made anew through rain...may we be made new through honest reflection and lament. May our tears not be in vain. May our cries be heard.

the book

2008-11-12T18:01:00.000-08:00

without facebook, i am forced to communicate:

creatively
genuinely
consistently
confidently

and even, dare i say...publicly.

but dammit, i want to look at people's photos and bumper stickers!

one week without facebook was enough for now...

peculiar bill

2008-11-08T22:55:00.002-08:00

My friend Bill is an older man whom has recently decided he wants the peace that his religious friends have. So, we talk about lots of things which rarely have any solution or satisfying end to them.

We talk about the trinity, and the legalization of marijuana, and ideal political systems. We talk about love, and murder, and hypocrisy. We also talk about beer, and cigars, and youth culture.

I love Bill because he cares about me, and he is yearning for something bigger than himself. He yearns for a coherent way to look at the universe, but one that is not afraid of science or God or other views.

Bill told me he thinks I am peculiar because I "have lots of vectors of thought going in and out of my mind"...and my head has not exploded, nor has it imploded. I hope he is not predicting something catastrophic...

My talks with Bill have helped me to understand human beings in a beautiful way. Bill has taught me to love everyone, not just the people we like or are like. Rather, my talks with Bill have taught me to love those that believe dumb things, and even those whom believe dangerous things.

Bill has shown me what Jesus is like. Not because he has everything figured out like Jesus does...but because Bill says whatever the hell he wants...and he gets away with it because he loves everyone.

I hope my life is full of conversations with lovely people like Bill...

People who love everyone...and seek something bigger than themselves...

But, if by chance, I run into the type of people who don't think like Bill...

Maybe I will love them no matter what...and maybe Bill will think that is "peculiar".

peace on earth

2008-10-23T21:12:00.000-07:00

I have a bad memory. Like really bad. I forget names, places, and pretty much anything that could be of use to me...

I usually forget really embarrassing things like people's names, immediately after I meet them. And then I am made even more socially awkward the next time we meet, as I am forced to call she or he "buddy", "pal", or "dude." It's just unpleasant for everyone involved.

But what really frustrates me, is that I have forgotten so many funny stories. So many life-changing thoughts. So many feel-good moments have simply been lost...

My memories are gone. This is horrible.

However, today something really neat happened.

I was taking a dangerously hot shower, which was partly in response to the fact that our house is a brisk 50 degrees (result of poor college kid status), but mostly because I love showers that almost scald me.

Anyways, I was singing in the shower, as everyone should, and I had a lot of thoughts running through my mind...

I was switching back and forth from my favorite old hymn, "Come thou fount", and Ben Harper's "With my own two hands." These songs have been on my mind for the last couple of weeks...and I was kinda jumping back and forth from one to the other...

"I can make peace on earth...With my own two hands.
I can clean up the earth...With my own two hands.
I can reach out to you...With my own two hands.
With my own, With my own two hands."

"O to grace how great a debtor
daily I'm constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
here's my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above."

These beautiful songs became personal. I was suddenly thinking about my "wandering", my "heart", my "hands". Next thing you know, memories are floating around my head...

One really vivid memory of my childhood is that of my father pushing me on our swing set. He built the swing set in our back yard. I loved that swing set. Even more, I loved being pushed by my father. He would hold tight at first, pulling me back. Then, with a burst of speed, push me high into the air...flying free, yet still safe and secure because my father was there...

Although, not my unique idea, I picture God as my Father. I understand God in comparison to the relationship I have with my father. He holds me tight. He pushes me beyond where I would otherwise go. And he is always there.

Swinging through life...

I found a memory, or maybe it found me. Either way, I am different because of it.