Bus - Tred

Well. Sh**

My week has been eventful, but this story shall start with last night, when I got to share a meal with my beloved sister, who is soon to be married. To share memories of the past and plans of the future. To talk over the Grace of God, who has seen us through our lives to this moment and our hope for a hereafter.

It was with much joy and contentment that we parted ways and I headed back home in twilight, needing to make one last stop before retiring for the night. My car was at a quarter tank and I needed to address that basic maintenance of feeding my transport. But my steel wagon gorged itself and refused to rouse once full, like a dragon under a dimming sunlamp at night.

I prayed, I waited. Then I got out and checked the seal on my tank. Making sure that the car wasn't leaking pressure, as I needed its internals to gurgle into a belching spark in the front rather than a wet wheeze from its exhaust. I waited another moment, then again strove to twist my spur into stirring the quiet old beast to heed the call to amble on to its homeward stable to sleep it off. After grumbling, it finally caught and slowly got awoken enough to putter home. 

This did not build my confidence in its suitability,and I determined to sacrifice my own rest this morning to saddle it with my smaller two wheeled mount across its rear trunk, wagering it might be diagnosed at a nearby shop for an early dropoff. But in coordinating my early morning checklist to manage this, I forgot to tend to the internal pressure of my two wheeled mounts' rubber turgidness with an air compressor, and in the transfer, noted that the rear tire of my bicycle was underinflated. Aw, well, it was a short journey along the paved pedestrian trail to the bus stop. It wasn't possible to succumb to regrets. But I also forgot that I left my work badge within the console of my car until I was midway through the journey to the bus stop and that complicated the notion of doubling back and extending the strain on my wheels.

No matter, the bus showed up shortly after I arrived, not more than four minutes, so I secured it to the front rack and settled into my journey into work listening to podcasts and noting that road work seems to have detoured the bus from its original route. That is a problem for later, currently, I am mentally prepping for what I will need to get accomplished at work today. And that I will not be able to stow my bike in the garage cage, due to the forgetting of my work badge to access that area.

Fortunately, my arrival to the building elevator coincides with a coworker and was able to nod and wheel my bike after he entered our offices, walking it to my desk, making sure to place an emailed request to the front desk to borrow an access badge to enter and exit the offices without tailgating for reentry.

I eventually hear back from the shop, detailing minor maintenance issues, but not encountering the major one I had last night with it not turning over. I get a callback from the shop near the end of my workday that those issues are addressed, and I bid my farewells for the short ride back to the transit center. I have an hour and a quarter to make it back to the shop by reversing the route I took this morning. The bus comes at almost exactly an hour to complete the route. And immediately hits standstill, one lane traffic. This is not even rush hour. But it allows me to witness two things. The first is that a passenger is handing out gospel tracts with the caption "Somebody loves you", she comes across a guy with a red and white walking cane, but appears oblivious in her mission to share the good news, even to someone whose sight seems to be impaired by the evidence of the cane and sunglasses. But maybe that is the strength of her faith, that Christ and the apostles did give sight to the blind. The second, is that the bike rack at the front of the bus was full with three loaded, but just as we got turned around from the transit center, one of the riders startles from his seat as if he forgot a key thing back at the center. He scrambles out of his seat and exits the bus, disentangling his bike and riding a block backwards to the transit center. I don't know what he forgot, but as we are not moving from the standstill traffic, I am curious whether he will return on his bike to the pneumatic doors before we make any progress. Furthermore, whether he will have to pay his fare again due to his departure.

This second question does get revisited. Five minutes later, the bus has crawled to a block and a half away from the transit center. The second passenger skitters to a hard stop on his bike, it goes sideways as he yanks up on his handlebars to a Flintstones stop into the crosswalk of the perpendicular intersection. He looks to the doors, but the pentient does not receive grace or recognition from the gates, as we are not at a sanctioned bus stop area, even if we are stopped. He stares through the doors in mild shock and dismay, shaking his head and then gives up to pedal forward across the crosswalk, perhaps hoping to plant himself at a later bus stop to be recognized. But as I watch him pass out of sight in the standstill traffic, I envy him his progress and begin to again regret that I didn't inflate my rear tire before setting out this morning. I don't want to ride all the way back to the shop after I had just paid to get on the bus, but I am eyeing our progress so far and remembering the detour on the dark from the usual route this morning.

And yes, eventually, we do hit that detour. And the bus driver is often blaring their displeasure at smaller cars hesitating in the turn lanes of lights. This bus has a schedule to keep and it is already inconvenienced by the detour. I am too, eyeing the overhead internal bus display's slow switching between the accounting of the time and the upcoming intersection. Finally, we rejoin the main road, but there remains lane closures, and my deadline nears fifteen minutes before the auto shop is scheduled to close. I place a call to the shop pleading for grace that they could stick around to recieve me, accept payment, and return my key, trying to explain I am on my way on a delayed bus. The shop guy is willing to hear my plea, I ask for an extra ten minutes and he agrees to wait, I thank him very gratefully.

Soon after, the bus pulls to an unscheduled stop, no one has pulled the cord, and I am not seeing a passenger awaiting pickup. A sinking feeling coincides with the hiss of the front door opening and the swinging plastic of the driver cab partition. The driver trudges towards a Wendy's entrance, presumably to take a biobreak. I wait a beat, disbelieving my poor luck, then resolve to exit as well, pulling down my bike and urging myself to press onward towards my deadline, rerouting to the parallel pedestrian trail I had used this morning. Within the first mile, my rear tire gives up the ghost, but I shift to a lower gear and press on, unwilling to abandon this course which is now set. To add injury to injury, just when I come to the turn in the trail to the last leg, I see the bus coming into the station I had used this morning. I seem to have gained merely half a minute from what my fate would have been had I stayed and waited. And now I was winded, stressed, and my bike was worse for the additional use.

But I persevere to keep my appointment and soon pull up to the entrance of the shop. An old man with a fast food bag and a young buck in a heavy print graphic T-shirt are hanging around the entrance to the shop office. I dismount, out of breath and try to explain that I tried my best to get here on time. They look at me curiously, but the response is underwhelming, making no move to enter the office. So I inhale, realizing that they are mere customers likened to myself, who have made peace with being a little late and resigned to not be served today. But I press forward to test the office door, finding it unlocked, and the employee behind the desk. I renew my thanks, identifying myself and quickly whipping off my backpack to retrieve my checkbook. The pair trail me into the office, remarking that they didn't know that the guy had stuck around to remain open long enough for me.

I wrap up, again with effusive thanks for his patience, and secure my bike to the rear rack of my car. I determine I don't want to take the same route home, having seen enough of that main road with all its construction and the adventures for one day. I want to take a shower and relax, hoping that my lungs and heart will calm down. But as I pull into my garage, my brother-in-law sends a group text, promising to buy a dole whip for anyone who shows up to a restaurant near his house in the next 20 minutes. I take it as a sign of unexpected Providence and direction, as I am within range if unload my bike and head out again. I messaged the group chat that I would take him up on that offer.

For there was an event that I had hoped to attend this evening, if all other plans had been resolved. Jennifer Knapp was playing a show tonight, and though I hadn't bought tickets online, finding the option to be closed to sales when I had eyed it today, I had SO wanted to go see her perform. And the restaurant in question was on the same strip as the venue. God was luring and nudging me with an opportunity to enjoy a free sweet treat and sweeter music for very cheap.

You see, I had just recently learned of this show and it seemed so bizarre that it would be at this local venue. This artist, who had a beautiful and unique voice with edge and energy, whose journey into and out of faith took courage to navigate. What brought her here, and what inspired her to play? What would she play and say in this small and rough venue?

I got to the restaurant, and couldn't find my brother-in-law. I placed an order for food and opened the group chat to wail at my brother-in-law for not delivering on his end. But it turned out I managed to arrive before he did, as my sister and my nephews were in a bike caravan from their house nearby. I cheerfully related the misfortunes of my transportation difficulties today and my renewed plans for the evening. My sister laughed in memory of Jennifer Knapp coming up, but was not inclined to attend, wishing me well after we wrapped up the meal together and clinked the bounty of dole whip provided by her family's promised generosity.

And I moseyed on down to the venue. The ticket guy was extremely chill and kind. The merch table was laid out with Knapp's 25th anniversary of her Kansas album, including shirts, posters, a tote bag, and even an anniversary rerecording of the album. Also, there were yarn beanies and gloves "Knits by Knapp". It was very charming, the venue seating was very intimate, the staging area furnished by a nearby vintage shop to be a very cozy and fetching scene. There were less than 20 people who came, and we immediately started turning to neighbors and asking "how did you hear of this show? What is your background with the church? Do you keep the faith or have you deconstructed your understanding? What is your relationship to Knapp's trajectory and fallout from the Contemporary Christian scene, do you find yourself along a similar path in your relationship to that culture and identity?"

Two members had attended the meet and greet opportunity with Knapp and were ecstatic about the time and personability even after all these years. Showtime arrived and the lights dimmed, Knapp descended some stairs, and her presence lit up the room. She was so joyous at the ability to play music, understanding who she was now, and at her growing skills in connecting with the ability to play songs from artists who resonated with her, her latest project was an EP of covers of some of those songs she admired, often deep cuts from those artists' catalogs. She enjoyed the opportunity to highlight these stories and songs to a greater audience. And Knapp's banter between songs was self-effacing and honest at her journey to get here, her wonder at how her original songs appear to have resonated with people over the years, and how they told her what it meant to them. And it wasn't arrogant, but happily and genuinely proud and touched that people came even after all these years to hear her sing. And her voice still carries the same fullness and character to each track she performs. I was moved and overjoyed at the connection she had to the music and the audience. She talked about why she chose the artists and songs she covered for the EP, she talked about her family having to figure out how to deal with her representing their town with her fame, and how they were a part of her consideration when that started to change direction when she left the CCM spotlight and canopy due to questions raised over who she was. Her family still loves her, and embarrasses her in all the minor and charming ways that families do, figuring how to adjust as the members grow into themselves, some reconnections over old interests stirred up again. Like how her family loved country music and her music was built more around a pop core. But when Knapp told her mother she wanted to cover a Mary Chapin Carpenter track, she was mildly worried that it would raise false hope as it was sourced from one of the less country projects. But it turned out that her mother did love that album and they gushed over it together track by track. But when Knapp mentioned which track she was learning, her mother mentioned that "The Last Word" was not her favorite from that album. But Knapp's performance in the room really sold it for me. Honestly, in her original music Knapp's lyrical content was ever as raw and interesting as her voice was in singing it. And she talked about how her reclamation of some of those songs from her early career came with some reconsideration of whether she still could embody some of those ideas and messages.

But oh, it was without shame and with much joy that these people came to spend an evening with her. She was so grateful to all the people who came to her shows in recent years, and the individual time she got to spend in talking to them, building community with them and encouraging them to connect with each other as well, finding a natural point of common interest in even showing up to a space to hear her music. She has seen it happen and it is beyond her,but she is happy to witness it and serve in her role as facilitator. 

Truly, this concert was a redemptive point to my day. Listening to the audience respond to her and to each other. She stayed after her set to talk to each of us, ask our name, what brought us here, take a photo, tell a story. Many a strange and troubled beginning does not dictate a fate of remaining so forever. There is hope and joy in community, of not finding yourself to be on your own or isolated. Or discouraged that you are at a small show in a small room, but embracing and accepting the opportunity made possible by that intimacy and ability to see and hear one another as accountable and present. 

 

Still - Echo

Sometimes God gives me what I persistently requested. And it does not resolve my fundamental problems. But it does give me a reprieve from meditating on that issue. Pondering 2 Corinthians 12:7-10 "So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations,fn a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me.
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

I am not as Paul, and I am not claiming some greater revelation or witness to what he is discussing here. But the answer to his pleading request does bring me solace and hope in these days. I think of my fondness for Rich Mullins and his song "Hope to Carry On" comes to mind.

God does not always fix my problems, but He does provide comfort in His word through scripture to attend and comfort those who diligently seek him. I have been distressed for a short while and prayed for relief, for peace, and for patience. I asked the counsel of others who I trusted to see what insights they had into my life and how to intercede on my behalf before the Almighty God and in the earthly plane. It has been a time of formation and practical wrestling with the nature of the God I serve and so desire to understand. I was having to consider, on a daily basis, how He manifested and intervened. I was trying to figure out what was the nature of Hebrews 11, about faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. For I found myself living a life in which my community was trying to help me navigate what God meant when in Hebrews 11:6, that He was a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.

But I didn't know what that meant, when the evidence on earth was that the request giving me such consternation was not being rewarded in the way I could believe was progress. I was living along others who did not believe as I did in my will and we all claimed to be serving the same God. How is He to judge among His children when our wills are contrary to one another and involve Him and what His will in our lives should be next? There are days in which I wonder what I would do if I were tasked with governing in the heavenly realm and administrating His will. And I come up against my own finiteness and feel inadequate to understand the depths of God's grace and righteousness in matters of the heart and mind.

I was spinning my wheels in my daily life. People asked me how I was and I answered honestly with what was on my heart and mind. That I wanted to love others well and, if Hebrews 12:6-14 was guidance, I was willing to set my path straight with discipline and love, in order to fulfill 14's recommendation to strive for peace and holiness in living with others.

And as my peace was being tested, I was having to learn the discipline of long-suffering to minister well to others in my life. And I was praying the same grace from those whose ears I bent for counsel.

But today, I came home, and there was quiet. A stillness in my surroundings and in my heart. And I felt the Lord's grace in that moment and knew relief. I thanked Him for hearing my plea and prayed that I would know the next steps. It has been a long winter of small deaths and shaping, and I am longing for the new life of spring's resurrection.

 

Inevitabilities - Matches

I had the opportunity to watch two different baseball games being broadcast tonight. And it clarified something I ponder occasionally. The first game was the St. Louis Cardinals vs. the Kansas City Royals. My dad grew up a Cardinals fan, and passed down the fondness to me. I almost took the team's consistency and character for granted as a team who showed up and had enormous pride in rewarding their fans for their loyalty and class. And the Royals? I didn't think of them often, but I traveled to Kansas City on a Midwest road trip and visited Kauffman Stadium because I liked watching live sports and baseball tickets are usually a cheap fix. And I fell in love with the stadium, for there was not a bad view from any seat available. Nosebleeds were irrelevant for the paupers could see the action as well as the princes. But as for the team itself, I didn't know any of the players very well beforehand and was not very attached after watching them play. Despite winning a world series in the 21st century, the Royals did not traditionally field a very competitive team.

But I liked the field and made return trips with my dad because it was so pleasant to watch a game there. And this past year, the Royals actually made an effort to spend money on signing talented players for meeting their weaknesses and needs NOW, rather than selling off their talent to other teams and using the team only to develop prospects over the long term. It was exciting and different, and the Royals are actually winning more than losing this year.

The Cardinals are a mess. It hurts my heart to watch them play, because their stars are getting older and while they are consistent performers, it is turning towards being bad more than it is being good. The young talent is still green and inconsistent, and it is awkward for me to watch them. Because I remember when the team and its stars were good, and I don't recognize the newcomers for who they might become.

The Royals's starting pitcher, Michael Wacha, bounced around the league and recent years, but was best known as a key player for the Cardinals in their glory years. And he was haunting his former team by pitching to contact with a loopy delivery which dropped pitches into the strike zone and getting efficient outs on few pitches. And the Cardinals starter, Andre Pallante, was not doing that, throwing a lot of pitches before getting weak contact and few strikeouts, trying not to give up the slim 2-1 lead. As soon as he left the game in the fifth inning at just over 100 pitches, I knew the Cardinals were going to lose. The St. Louis relief pitchers did not offer comfort, but additional stress. It was as if the cross state teams had changed their stars and fates by taking on each other's legacy of "great striving" and "good talent, bad chemistry, minimal worries." And indeed, my assessment was correct. The Royals did not make mistakes, but took advantage of the Cardinals's errors and weaknesses to make it a no-doubter.

I then changed the game over to watch the Pittsburgh Pirates at the Los Angeles Dodgers. And I had a different experience with inevitabilities. As mentioned above, I grew up having the Cardinals be my default team. But then I got distracted from sports for a while and did not keep up with that roster. When I started to get back into watching baseball, I went to Indianapolis Indians games at Victory Field. The names both respectively were questionable in execution, though understandable in their intent. The Indianapolis team was affiliated with the Pirates, who shared a MLB National League division as the Cardinals. The Indians are at a AAA level and are the reserves for the professional Pirates team to replace any injured players or provide an active practice for slumping or recovering big leaguers. And I felt the same way about Victory Field as I did about Kauffman Stadium, in that there was not a bad seat available in the park. And I began to become more invested in these reserve players who were so close to being in the MLB if they could hit a hot streak of performance. Being at that level is slightly infuriating for the players and the audience, because good players shouldn't stick around for long and therefore roster changes in quality according to the Pirates's needs.

In the other hand, I get to see professional talent trying their best out on the field to work themselves out of this job day in and day out. It brought me the chagrin of becoming invested in Will Craig as a minor leaguer, before he got called up and made one of the most foolish plays in MLB history and was cut from the team to play overseas. But currently, I love watching the Indians' third baseman, Malcom Nunez, who is an excellent defensive fielder.

But back to the Pirates and Dodgers game. I love most every one of the Pirates players because I have gotten to see many of them develop into an exciting young team. But the Pirates have been criticized for being an organization who does not spend money and go for signing other stars, preferring to develop their own talent and it has led to them relying on luck and timing to have a good team. The Dodgers are the opposite of that ethic, and will absolutely pay for the good players of other teams to create an embarrassment of talent on the field. This drive doesn't always directly translate into results, but it does provide depth and options for how to fix issues once such problems are identified.

But the Pirates have gotten lucky on many of their developing stars, who are inexperienced, but very promising and fun for me to watch. Paul Skenes, was the #1 draft pick last year and has been the most exciting pitcher to watch in the league. He tends to be aggressive and creative in trying to outplay most every batter he faces. And he struck out Shohei Ohtani, perhaps the most talented and famous player in modern history, twice. Skenes gave up 4 runs, but those runs weren't on total mistake pitches, but very good adjustments by the Dodgers and bad luck on a ball that bounced strangely in the outfield and allowed two runners to score.

It was a different kind of experienced inevitability, when a young and talented team compete against a team whose players are capable of extraordinary efforts and are managed to that level. There were two major defensive leaping catches made by Dodger players which would have resulted in hits and runs against some other teams. And there were two plays where the Dodgers demonstrated excellent reflexes and throws to cut off any Pirate hopes for an upset.

Sometimes you can beat yourself by not being in good shape to compete, and sometimes you can even be in good shape and on your best day still not escape being overshadowed by another competitor who has access to better resources and talent.

I felt more pleasure in watching the Pirates than the Cardinals, but don't think I deserted the bandwagon of my childhood. Instead, over time, I discovered that I seem to have built more of an investment in the passengers on the Pirates's ship, because I have gotten to watch them grow in their journey. I don't understand where the Cardinals's organization is, because its aims and decisions are unrecognizable to me. But I think the Pirates's leadership is stubborn enough to try to keep its current crew together and I hope to see those players become treasured.

communion - consumption

 I woke this morning with a memory of this image.

And it sticks with me in contrast with the businessman in Any Rand's "The Fountainhead." The guy who was not Howard Roark, who Rand would be pleased I remember. I read that doorstopper book in high school because her foundation offers a scholarship to write essays about it. I didn't end up composing an essay, because a true capitalist would take the lessons of the book to earn his own money rather than accept a bribe for vanity work. I wasn't going to give Ayn Rand's legacy foundation the satisfaction, so I have forgotten the other character's name, this businessman, and he is not worth the rent in my head. Anyway, this guy has a habit of finding works of art that he loves so deeply that he purchases them immediately. And then proceeds to wipe all traces of it from the rest of the world, storing it in his basement gallery so only he can enjoy it. He justifies this because there was a time where he had nothing and resented the chafing feeling of lacking access and interprets this as a power move to make the rest of the world blind to what he loves.

He had the golden rule in his mind of "He who has the gold makes the rules, and once I had nothing, so I am giving nothing back to the world who once hated me, now I am hated on my own merits on my own choices." What a diseased and pitiable mind, so I do not feel any sympathy to remember his name. At one point in the novel, one of the other protagonists asks the ubermensch architype architect, Howard Roark, "What do you think of me?" And Roark, from his perfect brutalist efficiency and vision of his towering and genius mind, turns to this character and states, "I don't."

So, I am giving unto Rand what is Rand and giving to God what is God's. And she is not God, and neither is Roark for all his perfection and the poverty of spiritual riches found in the materialist books.

And so we come back to this story told by Sendak, which on first glance, would appear to have the same result as the businessman's selfishness with the beauty of art. But the businessman was an adult with experience who could have thought about sharing and the grace of considering others. Children are allowed a grace to be instinctual and impulsive. And I think Sendak's interpretation is gracious and lovely. The child loved the image so much, that he wanted it to be a part of himself, and knew no greater means of doing so in the moment. He took the work of the artist and performed a communion with it.

I would aspire to the same grace to others, and to myself. The act of holy Communion is many things, but occasionally I want to accept it as the child did with free grace and take this priceless gift and honor it as food and fuel for my life. As it was the symbolic blood and the flesh, so may these images and words be transformed into the breath in my lungs, the calories in my veins, the means by with the swiftness of feet to bring the gospel and good news.

We receive this gift not for being deserving, but because we reached out to the Giver with open mouths and wanted to be fed with good bread and water of life. And it was provided like manna in the wilderness. What is this grace? I may never fully know, but I should be delighted to consume it and turn to praise with joy.

Spatula - Spirit

It is not quite there, this time of year and my mind unspooling to measure a narrative of progress against the backdrop of a year. But is getting close. My main reflection is on the spiritual nature of objects and my relationship to them.

Recently, my black crossover vehicle gave up the ghost about half a mile from my house on a weekend night. I pushed it home to my driveway, receiving help from two strangers. One was dressed in suit and tie along the main road where my car stalled. The second was a man of the road who helped me for a section of a side street before begging off as he was needing to catch his bus. I didn't get the opportunity to thank either of them properly, but was very grateful for their providential help in my forty five minutes of need. Once I reached my driveway, I realized that I could not cut the curb the way I wished in order to park my car safely on my property. I looked across the street and remembered that the neighbor had introduced himself on Mother's Day and we exchanged numbers. So I called on him and explained my issue. He responded and gave me a helping hand to back up and successfully get momentum to put it on the edge of my drive.

It is inglorious to have a need. But it is a very human quality, and builds trust. I tend to enjoy the opportunity to lend a hand more than I do in receiving that hand from others. It stings my pride and dignity when I don't get the time to build a good reason for why I can justify my need for help. And yet God kinda works that way, in that I don't think I can technically give Him something He doesn't already rightfully possess. But I think God humors me on occasion and on others, gets to humor Himself when I scramble a little and realize that I can either accept help or keep my false image of being self-sufficient. I have been pleased by the analogy "No man is an island, but many of us want to be peninsulas." To limit the exposure by which I can be surprised, approached, and either attacked or provisioned.

Alas, humility is an ever evolving lesson for me. My calves were feeling the burn of trying to do it myself and I was chagrined, but grateful that I had the opportunity to connect with my neighbor for a legitimate reason. I am new to the idea of having neighbors and establishing that friendly level of trust and mutual investment.

On a related note of growth, I want to talk about my relationship to my car. It was a 2009 Subaru Forester. I found it on Meta Marketplace two years ago from a guy who did his own maintenance on it. It had under a 100K miles, the interior was cloth, the console had an aftermarket stereo with a gap above it that had not been filled with a cubby or faceplate. Also, the guy happened to spill oil in the trunk by accident. But nevertheless, I was optimistic as the brand's make has a loyal following for its hardiness and durability. What I didn't know was that the previous owner had pulled the engine and had installed a bracket mount upside down, which rattled the engine up like a milkshake. And it could not outshake that Legacy even with it being a Subaru. The car became a gradual Ship of Theseus, with engine parts being replaced over time as I had the ability to take it to be repaired. Its catalytic converter was in bad shape, and I didn't feel like ante'ing up to replace it, opting instead to feed it a gradual diet of fuel intake cleaners in the hope that the "cat" would cough up the blockage eventually. But in the meantime, this issue caused my dash light to complain and cascaded a fault to preventing me from using cruise or traction control.

I considered this under the lens of the car being an extension of myself and my issues. I too prided myself for trying to live up to a reputation for being stable and able to be all wheel drive. I too never felt comfortable in my faith allowing for a system to put my life in cruise mode or trusting that the ground beneath me would not have the rug pulled out if I didn't continually monitor. And finally, I too was a person whose internal dash was constantly anxious that something might be wrong, even when the ride seemed to be performing fine without any glaring errors. And it ended up that the only way I would accept that things were indeed "not okay", was when my internal dash lit up like a Christmas tree and paralyzed my progress, forcing me to sit down and evaluate the possibilities that I ignored warning signs and would have to go through a checklist to see where I went wrong and see if I could make it back to "right".

I couldn't make it right. So, I had to trust in God's wisdom and lean into my other theme this year: how to gracefully let things leave my life, being grateful for the time I had with them without being bitter that it could not continue indefinitely.

I am probably going to write an end of year letter again with some of these themes I am reflecting upon here, through the lens of other events that have occurred this year. But I am so, so grateful for the person I am becoming. Because, letting things go has not always come naturally to me. I think a lot of the song "Looking Too Closely" by Fink. How it came into my life as a free download promotion, yet resonates despite the fact that I have not bothered to explore the rest of the band's catalog. Sometimes, I understand that I don't need to know everything to accept that the small piece I have in hand is enough for now. Like manna, I am learning to appreciate my daily bread in the Lord's Prayer.

The title of this piece is inspired by me gradually making food on my stovetop inside a pan. I bought a nice new combined set of kitchen tools, including a flipping spatula that was sturdy and strong. But most of the time, I am reaching for a cheap and flexible version that I found at a thrift store. It feels less formal and has a greater level of comfort for me. If the cheap spatula gets scuffed up, I can just flex and scrub it harder in the sink. And it is nice to have that internal relationship of trust with tools. Some of them I treat with such hesitancy, that I never fully realize their utility to me, as I am uncertain that I will not mess it up and be bummed out about it. And I realize there can be a perverse tendency in me to treat people like objects and objects like people. I am trying to live consciously in challenging these tendencies by being more exploratory in how I find uses for tools and how I interact with other people. Relationships to both have the possibility of becoming multi-dimensional, and it takes time and patience to internalize and appreciate that.

Climb - Care

 I am sitting in a chicken restaurant and Miley Cyrus's vintage single "The Climb" is playing. And I remember that era, where the song was an effort from her to redefine herself outside the character she played on television. A surreal moment of fake fame transitioning to honest identity. And I wonder if I am being honest with myself with where I am in life.

(Other than alone in this restaurant during its off hour rush).

The song came to mind two weeks ago when I was doing a long distance event held at a ski slope during its off season. I had cleared some obstacles in the course and the middle was a long jaunt in the woods. I had packed some snacks to keep up my stamina during the course, but had drained both my water bottle and provision reserves upon emerging back to obstacles. And was faced by a sandbag carry uphill in a short side track. Then a steep hill with no other burden.

I had visited this resort twice earlier in the year when it was operational for business. A friend group had organized to go snowboarding. It had been over a decade since I had last practiced my balance on a board. After a day full of downhill runs, my calves took the brunt of the impact, as I leaned back and forward, craving speed and the thrill of being on the edge of the wave of control. Having to slow down meant the board being wide to the hill and leaning against the slope's pull in order to increase friction.

 And now I was facing the challenge from the other side of the slope, looking up, and my calves and glutes were spent. I learned the application of "mountain climber" exercise, by balancing on my toes to dig into the slope and suspending my weight to my hands. I stopped about every 10 feet of incline to catch my breath and rest. This view was in sight of the ski lodge and the finish line festival. I wondered how much farther I had to walk and how many more obstacles I would have to clear before I was able to enjoy that longer rest of accomplishment. I was talking to other struggling participants and this Cyrus song about struggling further on and further up came to mind with a wry laugh.

In my previous post, I mentioned that recent events have shaken my friends and family. The world feels cracked and broken, it is hard to trust how to make my way forward when my core team is in a place of mutual support, and the hope for gaining some leverage is in the hands of the Divine. I don't want to lean on them too hard, but I am finding I am embracing them more often. Trying to speak the words of life and encouragement. I think of John 6, where Christ speaks on being the bread of life, and some of his listeners struggle with this message and leave. He asks his core group, "Do you want to go as well?" And Peter responds "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God."

And after summitting that hill, I am beginning to be more judicious when approaching obstacles, taking under advisement the pop up "tented" signs alongside the challenges stating a warning that if you cannot physically attempt the obstacle, do not attempt it. There was a reason behind the liability waiver I signed at the entrance to registration. But I am continuing to walk the outlined course, for what else would I be doing here? If I hand in the towel here and ask to be golf carted back to the ski lodge, I get nothing for my progress invested so far. The medals and finisher shirt are given to those who cross the finish line. And I would walk around for the rest of the day anyway if I did quit. But then I see the course does not bend back towards the finish line? It is detouring into another side of the resort and I begin to truly lose my spirit. Then I notice that there is another hill after this detour...

Previous to my last post's events, two concurrent events took place in March. I lost a long time relationship and gained my first house. The two were linked, as I had been roommates with my best friend for the past 7 years. And figured that if I was to take this other, romantic, relationship seriously, I should probably get my own space. In a conversation with my counterpart, it became clear that the first three rules of real estate were going to be a cause of conflict for the continuation of the relationship. It was not close enough to bridge our mutual priorities of important life commitments. It was an expensive lesson in clarity, and led to this transition of the first time in my life I have lived alone.

People in my community have supported me, and asked me how I am feeling. I am busy, trying to do good works both professionally and personally and am growing to truly recognize the fruits of my commitments after years of patient growth. But I don't know what I am feeling lately, I am having to be patient and honest with myself there too. For right now, I finished those two hill climbs I had before me, and said "no" to challenges I knew I had not the strength to carry out. I don't have the luxury of pride, instead accepting the humble path of the penitent at times, knowing I need a helping hand or handout of a Clif bar from a fellow traveller when I am on my back with cramped legs and a frail spirit. God bless the kindness of friends and strangers giving me hope to carry on and finish, like in the witnesses of Hebrews 11 and 12.

Cycle - Memorial

I am a person oriented to patterns and frameworks. To try to gain perspective by putting limits on what I can see to focus. My intended theme for this year was intended to be "incremental" growth. But instead, for my friends and family, it has been more of "sudden" loss and new growth. At least two of my friends have seen the passing of their parents. On the other end, many of my friends are expecting and giving birth. To one of my friends, both happened in the same night. And I grieved and rejoiced with them in that moment, but have had mostly vicarious filters in that I could see the grief and joy, but they were secondhand. Through a glass darkly, like in 1 Corinthians 13:12. But face to face is different. And I recognized that truth between knowledge and experience and was honest with myself and others about it.

Last night, I recieved the news that my brother-in-law's younger brother had been in a late night motorcycle accident and had not survived the trip to the hospital. And it didn't feel real. It still doesn't. But I spent today sitting with his family and friends, making space to process this.

Daniel was a good friend and an imperfect roommate. I had experience in the former, on and off, for the past decade as he lived out of state, and the latter for the past year and a half for when he moved. He was scattered at times, evaluating what he felt like doing moment to moment and how to skip the boring parts of life. He left this world doing what he loved: taking a late night ride home on his bike. His last Instagram story was the thrill of leaning into taking corners, his last post showed his joy and excitement in showing off the beauty of his new cycle. He took risks and enjoyed life, for that is the glory of youth. Youth is for making bold decisions and maturity is earned by living through the consequences. And now, he is finished with his lessons in maturity. He was fun and adventurous. He got invested in his hobbies and in his life, work was a means to the end of funding his ability to pursue his passions. He loved custom work on vehicles, whether gas or remote control kits. He loved to travel on the open road with friends to see the wonders of nature. But in the past year, his heart seemed to be a little more at peace with setting down some stakes to build his life rather than have a nomadic chasing of the sun and a purpose. I know that he was finding comfort and footing in his faith and relationship with God. He stated to his friends that he was happy and content with God's provision in his life. And now he is at the end of his race. And we are sorting out what he left behind. He was 20, and we, his friends mourn the absence of his presence in our future memories and moments in life. I do not mourn for him, though I loved him and how his joy was infectious to a space. I mourn for his family, of him not getting to witness being a new uncle to his siblings' kids. I mourn for his brothers who got to labor with him on a weekly basis and see his fingerprints and handiwork on their workspaces. I will miss seeing him, and I haven't fully internalized his absence.