Appleseed – Alone

“Every living thing dies alone” - Donnie Darko

“Whisper to my heart
When hope is torn apart
And no one can save you

I walk alone
Every step I take
I walk alone “
- Tarja Turunen

[Or insert your favorite “alone” lyrics.]

[I went to an “Appleseed Shoot” a couple weekends ago (4/16-4/17). Without great detail, it was a 2-day event covering rifle marksmanship fundamentals, Revolutionary War history, and admonition to be a positive force in your community. You can find more info at www.appleseedinfo.org.]

(Disclaimer: Politics and firearm ownership are often highly-charged subjects. Over the course of our discussion, I will present my life the way it is with regard to these two subjects. You don't have to agree with the way my life is, but that's not what I want to write about.)

I really enjoyed my Appleseed a couple weekends ago. I was grateful for the time I got to spend outside, even though we had to persevere through some unfavorable weather. To quote the instructors, “A Rifleman perseveres!” We were told that it would be a rain-or-shine shoot but both days were canceled early because the wind was starting to become a safety hazard by disturbing unattended rifles. I was grateful for the instruction I was given, and grateful that I got a day and a half of “trigger time”. Practice makes perfect (actually permanent) and I enjoyed the opportunity to maintain and hone my rifle skills.

OK, so here's the best way to visualize a rifle range if you've never been to one. In the distance is some sort of target backer, whether plywood on posts or wires strung between poles with cardboard (or similar) attached. Behind is a berm to catch bullets. In the foreground is typically some sort of firing line marked in the ground, with various collections of shooting gear arranged just so by the shooter's preference. Rifles typically eject spent casings to the right, so shooting lanes commonly fill from left to right. Right-handed shooters face to the right of their target, so everything is slanted accordingly. Because of the slant, most shooters are much more interactive with the person on the right than the person on the left. During actual shooting, there's a row of us all intently focused downrange with rifles to our shoulders and instructors pacing the line giving hints and the occasional safety directive.

Shooting can be an individualistic or a social event. At my usual indoor range, it's pretty individualistic. Floor-to-ceiling dividers keep shooters' brass from hitting the person next to them and individual target runners allow each person to change targets at their own pace. Except for the gunfire and occasionally seeing targets move in your peripheral vision, shooting at the indoor range feels like you're by yourself. Indoor shooting is definitely an inward-focused experience. At an outdoor-range Appleseed, everyone has name tags and was present for their own reasons. Circulating the crowd for stories and “how's your day going” feels much more organic in such an environment.

At Appleseed, I noticed an interesting phenomenon. I've seen it in other places, but it was particularly noticeable this weekend. I took my younger brother with me. He still shoots competitively at various levels, often in very demanding competitions with strict rules and high equipment requirements. I brought Joseph because it felt like a good big-brother thing to do and I thought he might enjoy it. I didn't realize until the end of the weekend how much I appreciated having someone to share my experience with. It's one thing to do cool things, it's another to do cool things with people. “With people” means the opportunity to laugh or commiserate later over shared experiences. The range was about an hour drive from my house, and the drive would have been long, quiet, and boring with nobody to share it with.

The first morning, someone next to us was shooting a louder rifle, so I placed Joseph on my right (we both had .22's as did the young man to our immediate right, whereas the guy to my left was shooting an AR-15). For consistency, we kept the same firing point all weekend (reducing but not eliminating crossfire situations), while the AR-15 shooter moved down the line after struggling with his rifle on Saturday. My neighbors were more agreeable shooters on Sunday, but I didn't get much chance to get to know them.

I tend to be quite task-focused as was illustrated in tight concentration on my shooting. In my aural background, I could hear Joseph sometimes visiting with his neighbor (to the right, of course). By the end of the first day, he had found out his neighbor's name, where he was from, where he went to school and about a half-dozen other things. What did I have to show for myself? Well, I had nice tight groups on target, I suppose, and hadn't taken any brass to the face from my neighbor to the left, which was a “win”. At the end of the weekend, I had achieved a higher score (exceeding the goal I'd set for myself), mostly because Joseph had experienced equipment problems (dust and rifles don't agree).

I've seen this other places – my siblings make friends quickly and spend large amounts of time with their new-found friend while I focus on my task, excel at it, and not meet new people. At my old church, I felt looked down upon for neglecting people in order to do stuff. I did actually meet people and have quality conversations, just less of them, and I was OK with that. It did make me occasionally wonder if my priorities were well-placed, though.

It seems that wherever I am, I am alone. “Alone in a crowd” is a very real and normal feeling. Even with few or many friends, I'm still, at some level, by myself. The feeling was much diminished when I was with Mary, and to a lesser extent with my first girlfriend, because I knew that she always was aware of me and interacting with me. Being with somebody doesn't make it go away, though. God is always with me and it's a good thing, because otherwise I feel that I would sometimes walk through life as a ghost, not seen, not heard, not touched.

What do you think? Is that the way that the world is – not noting the individual, only seeing the standout, the person who purposefully calls attention to himself/herself?

Appleseed - Sacrifice

I went to an “Appleseed Shoot” a couple weekends ago (4/16 and 4/17). Without getting lost in details, it was a 2-day event covering rifle marksmanship fundamentals, Revolutionary War history, and admonition to be a positive force in your community. You can find more info at www.appleseedinfo.org. I now have material for multiple blog posts from just one weekend, making the remaining challenge getting the words out of my head onto paper before they are lost.

(Disclaimer: Politics and firearm ownership are often highly-charged subjects. Over the course of our discussion, I will present my life the way it is with regard to these two subjects. You don't have to agree with the way my life is, but that's not what I want to write about.)

History at Appleseed is presented as a series of stories, each with a moral. Now, when I was in school, I avoided biology and such things because they involved much memorization without easy patterns or rationalization. To some, history is the same way – lists of names and dates with no continuing narrative or rationale. As a person who both speaks and understands in stories, history presented as stories helped some of the morals to sink in better this weekend. I'd like to particularly focus on the story of Samuel Prescott and Lydia Mulliken.

Wikipedia (or Google if you prefer) will set the scene in the early morning of April 19, 1775. Paul Revere and William Dawes had been sent out to raise the countryside in advance of the British military action. Samuel Prescott – Dr. Prescott, actually, as he practiced medicine in the town of Concord – was on his way home from visiting his fiancee (Lydia) who lived in Lexington. From here, I adapt the story as it was told by one of our weekend instructors.

After completing their prearranged route, Revere and Dawes were riding to Concord to secure a colonist supply of arms and ammunition when they ran into Prescott on his way home from visiting Lydia. This was about 1:00 AM. The three rode purposefully, as they knew they were likely not far ahead of the British advance. Soon, all three were accosted by the British, but Prescott was able to escape arrest. Traveling on and rousing yet more minutemen and militia, he arrived in Lexington in time to see the first shots exchanged at Lexington Green.

In the way of this world, two people who love each other and get engaged are generally planning to get married. Everyone likes weddings, at least most people. Weddings are a time of celebration with family and friends and stuff. Engagements are also exciting, also less so and in a different manner. Engagements are a time of both waiting and frantic activity, of planning and organizing. Engagements are exciting because of the promise of something to come – a wedding where all may be excited with the new couple.

Weddings are a time for memories. Nowadays, we remember with photos, videos, and even those odd little favors at your reception table to thank you for coming. In the 18th century, they definitely didn't have the first two and probably skipped the third as well. Imagine, though, if you will, how a wedding portrait may have looked in Samuel and Lydia's mind, had they conceived such a thing. When I heard this story, the words were assisted by a group of volunteers and some light role-playing.

Well, one should definitely start with the happy couple themselves. In the telling, the storyteller picked a married couple and stood them in a blank space. Hopefully you can follow along in your mind's eye. In most weddings that I've attended, family has been an important fixture. Samuel came from a family of eight kids, while Lydia had four brothers and two sisters. Often today, brides/grooms pick family members for bridesmaids and groomsmen, right? It seems like an easy step to assume Samuel and Lydia might have done something similar. In our little roleplaying arena, add in your mind Lydia's older brother Nathanial and Samuel's brother Abel, proudly standing behind their brother and sister. This looks like a pretty good start, but everyone knows that a wedding needs a preacher. Someone needs to say “...pronounce you man and wife” and prompt lines for vows and read “I do's” and stuff. My memory fails me as to the preacher's name, but our roleplayer stood proudly beside the “happy people” already assembled.

I've been in the situation of looking into my future and seeing happiness and joy, even as these people, these families must have. Into every life a little rain must fall, though, and for the Prescott and Mulliken families, the rain was the American Revolution.

Samuel's brother Abel was sent to some more towns to spread the alarm even further, but on his return a British soldier recognized him and shot him. Four months later, he died of his wounds.

Lydia's brother was also a member of the militia and fought bravely for his country and his freedom. Within a year of April 19, 1775, he would die of illness while on campaign.

The reverend whose name I am disappointed to not remember? He died within a year of the war's start.

For each death, remove in your mind's eye the associated person. If you've been keeping count, we're back to just Samuel and Lydia. There is a sentiment in the world that says that if two people have each other, then nothing else in the world matters. Duty called for everyone, though, and Samuel went to war as well. At first, maybe Lydia received letters from her beloved, but then there was nothing.

Samuel Prescott died in a prisoner-of-war camp in Canada in 1777. Lydia never heard of his capture or death. She waited for eight years – EIGHT YEARS – without word.

Remember above, I mentioned the fight in Lexington? As the British soldiers left town, they set fire to some of the town buildings. According to the story, the Mullikens lost all their worldly possessions in that fire.

The image of our roleplayed “Lydia” standing alone while all others had left her was one not easily passed over. The story, as it was told to me, ended in one simple question: “How much did Lydia Mulliken give for her ideals?” Almost unanimously, our group responded: Everything. Her love, her family, her worldly goods. Everything.

That's a pretty heavy story, isn't it? After that, I started looking inside myself, and I had lots of questions. I often have lots of questions and some of them I even find answers for. You know what they say - “far more dangerous the unquestioned answer than the unanswered question”. Even Google doesn't know who “they” are for that one, sorry; but I digress.

Lydia and Samuel were able to sacrifice that much because they had a cause that they strongly believed in – that of a fledgling nation and living in peace and freedom. Did they give all? Yes. Are our lives today richer for it? Unquestionably.

Over the last couple years, I spent a lot of time and emotion setting something up. I had an amazing relationship set up with a young lady. We loved each other, and we were slowly walking toward something more long-term, investing time, effort, and emotion.

Then it all burned down, burned in a fire lit by the girl I trusted. In a moment, in a flash, everything I had worked for and was striving for was stripped away, leaving me alone and bleeding once again. Lydia gave everything for a country. I apparently gave all I had given for a lie, for an unrealistic dream.

Now, I don't figure that those who marched to meet the Redcoats really knew how the fight would turn out in the end. They very much had faith as an “...evidence of things not seen”, believing that their sacrifice would be worthwhile. I have no such assurance – maybe it all is just a futile effort, “running down a dream” to quote Tom Petty. I can look back at 18th century history and know that it's OK now. However, that part of my story hasn't been written yet, and only God can say how it turns out.

Nevertheless, I wonder.


Sources:
https://secure.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/wiki/Samuel_Prescott
http://www.rense.com/general44/pres.htm
http://www.concordma.com/magazine/julaug01/samuelprescott.html

Easter at Flatirons

(I have some full-length blog entries in my mental queue, but it sometimes takes time to sort through words, then put them down on paper in some semblance of order. In the meantime, I offer some quick thoughts from today.)

My church is great. It amuses me greatly, meets me where I am, and challenges me to move on towards who God wants me to be. The few friends who have come with me to brave a Flatirons service always make their first remark "It's BIG!" Yes, it is. I can't say I'm a big fan of the size (although it makes some great things possible), but I appreciate other things about it enough to not care about the size. How big? OK, we just moved buildings last week. Our old (rented) building sat 2000, and ran into overflow seating for 2-3 of the 6 services every weekend. Our new building seats 4000. Based on the parking lot this morning, I think they'll hit their estimate of 20,000-24,000 for Easter (six services). Next week, it'll be back down to the "normal" 10,000-12,000. Church is big.

This is my first Easter at Flatirons. I've been attending for almost a year, and seem to often be out of town (with my parents or otherwise) for Easter. I didn't have firm expectations this morning, so I was caught off guard when the traffic snarl started more than a half-mile from the church. ... I knew I should have left earlier. Entering the entryway, my worry changed from "I hope I find a parking spot" to "I hope I find a seat." Although the auditorium packed out, being barely on time was enough time to get settled.

Easter at Flatirons isn't much different than any other Sunday at Flatirons. Unlike Jay, Pastor Jim didn't wear a tie, so no disclaimer about "none of us will look like this" was necessary. The new building has allowed for slightly longer services, which means slightly longer worship sets, and I'm not sure it's possible for me to get enough worship.

The band at Flatirons is always very talented, and tries to "speak God's truth in the language of our culture", which means we get to hear interesting songs as either before-service warm-ups or sermon introductions. Today was no exception - I heard Led Zeppelin first, then the sermon intro was Linkin Park, complete with rap. Although the music isn't on my "best ever" list, the lyrics seemed applicable to life and fit in perfectly with Jim's sermon. It amuses me to no end that my church plays such music.

OK, today wasn't quite like every other Sunday. After the sermon intro, we noted something heavy falling on a rope from the catwalk (we have a tall auditorium now) accompanied by a thump and a "holy c**p" from the row behind me. Immediately after, Pastor Jim rappelled down the rope into his preaching spot to much laughter, opening with "You know it was only a matter of time before we did something stupid here." Rappelling, Led Zeppelin, and Linkin Park, welcome to Flatirons.

After the attention-getting intro, he continued his series on "basic things we believe in", which is a yearly spring feature. It's always good, and I'm inexorably moving towards being more involved again. There are many opportunities and choices, requiring discernment to find where I belong best. It's an adventure, though, and one that God will lead me through one step at a time.

Happy Easter and stuff!

Darkness

“Are you afraid of the dark?”
-Pitch Black, tagline

(I decided to try something new this time. I'm not sure I quite have the words arranged the way I want, but it's as good as I'm going to get it. This may get unpublished or rewritten for improvement in the future ... Lastly, my examples do include plot spoilers, which I wouldn't want to take you unaware.)

“Will you guide me now, for I can't see

A reason for the suffering and this long misery

[...]

There will be sorrow...“
Bad Religion, “Sorrow”

When I was younger and read more, I read the Abhorsen trilogy by Garth Nix. Although there were a few scenes I didn't care for, the world and the story were immensely compelling and prone to deep immersion. In Nix's world of Ancelstierre and the Old Kingdom, there is no god, no higher power to ensure the “goodness” of the world. Many times, the destiny of the whole world hangs in the balance with the only person who can fight back struggling just to stand their ground.

Necromancers roam the land, raising the dead through terrible rituals. The (un)dead fear running water and fire, but little else gives them pause. The mere sight of a Gore Crow (the form of a crow, but animated by a weak dead spirit) is enough to strike fear into the everyday Old Kingdom citizen. Low-level undead like Gore Crows or Dead Hands (which are somewhat similar to zombies) can eventually be nonmagically killed by explosives, but only great difficulty. As the power of the controlling necromancer and the re-animated spirit increase, nothing short of powerful magic will harm them and restore the safety and purity of the land.

As a soul dies, it passes into the first of nine levels of death, separated by the Gates. Death is a place of uniform grey, of water everywhere flowing towards each Gate and deeper Death. The current is often strong, and anyone who enters Death must be constantly on alert else they be swept under. The dead spirits may be called back to serve in Life until they pass the Ninth Gate into true death. The Old Kingdom has seen a lot of death over the years. Sometimes, in a place marked by many deaths or particularly evil deeds, a rift between the kingdoms of the living and the dead is formed, allowing dead spirits to walk unbidden back into the land of the living.

Even magic, that great mainstay of fantasy, is malevolent in the Old Kingdom. Charter Magic is bounded in symbols, with a symbol for everything. It is relatively safe, and practiced by those who strive to protect the people and keep light in the land. Powerful Charter Magic is known by only a few, and has an unfortunate tendency of burning or killing those who dare to speak its words and trace its symbols. Free Magic, always distinguishable by a metallic stench noticeable in the back of the throat and burning throughout the nostrils, can only be bound by powerful Charter Magic, but is itself wont unto twist in upon the user and corrupt or destroy them utterly. All know the sight of Free Magic, which prompts an immediate violent reaction in an effort to purge it from the land.

Alone against the evil is a figure called the Abhorsen. Much like there are always two Sith or one Slayer, there can only ever be one Abhorsen. Usually there is also one Abhorsen-in-Waiting, who will be called upon the death of the current Abhorsen. The Abhorsen is often mistaken for a dangerous Free Magic sorcerer/sorceress - their dangerous and unique calling requires that they utilize both Free Magic and Charter Magic. She (less often, he) is tasked with freeing the land from the dead who walk again, sending them past the Ninth Gate into eternal rest. To do this, occasionally the Abhorsen must cross into Death itself, risking life and limb every time.

The trademark of both the necromancer and the Abhorsen (leading to the above confusion) is a bandolier of seven bells. They say that the bells contain seven of the great spirits who were present at the foundation of the world. The bells range in size from a pill bottle to a large jar. All who hear the bells ring must obey, unless they possess great strength of will. And woe unto the heedless person who rings the bells without possessing the skill and clarity of mind to bend the bells to their will! Such a person, by invoking the Free Magic of the bells, may themselves be cast into Death or even greater peril. Each bell has a personality and a function. It is said that each bell takes after a Bright Shiner who lent their essence to the creation of the Great Charter. From Ranna the Sleeper to Dyrim the Speaker through Saraneth the Binder, the power and risk of each bell increases from smallest to largest.

“It's like one thousand paper cuts,

soaked in vinegar.

Like the battles with yourself,

that leave you insecure.”
The Spill Canvas, “Battles”

“I see the evil rising,

The rise of evil “
Sabaton, “Rise of Evil”

Last week, I was talking to a good friend who has been following my life by email. She asked how I was doing, and not knowing how to briefly answer, I settled for “Some days are good, some days are bad.” “Yes, but the results of all your processing seems like you're on the upswing”, she responded. I sure hope so. I can see the darkness inside. It's deep and dark and doesn't seem that far under the surface.

“There's a part in every day,

where I lie to myself and say that it's okay.

'cause if I don't I think I'll go insane.

But the truth is, I only have myself to blame. “
The Spill Canvas, “The Truth”

It wouldn't take much to scrape away the “happy” and the “joyful”, leaving the dismal and depression to ooze out. Of course my friend sees the good days; they're the ones that show. The bad days aren't necessarily outwardly bad. They usually take the form of usually Kenton getting lost in himself.

“It's all just a numbing charade

Until the day you finally wake up,

and you're not

afraid.”
The Spill Canvas, “The Truth”

The largest and most imposing bell is Astarael. Astarael is the spirit of remembrance and of sorrow.

“Astarael, the Sorrowful,” whispered Sabriel. Astarael was the banisher, the final bell. Properly rung, it cast everyone who heard it far into Death. Everyone, including the ringer.
Garth Nix, Sabriel

When one of the protagonists unexpectedly encountered the remaining essence of Astarael the Bright Shiner, the first evidence was a smell of rosemary (an herb associated with memory). As they continued walking, it seemed like everything they knew to be true in the world disappeared. The Charter, the strong magic foundation of the world, seemed to vanish, leaving just emptiness and the overwhelming desire to give up, relinquishing the drive to live.

Sometimes I feel that, in the end, Sorrow really is all that is left. That, even among all the good in my life, and all the “progress” I make, the sound of sorrow will cut through everything else. If that happens, it feels like all around me, and especially me, will be thrown far into the grey nothingness of depression and figurative death. I wonder if when Sorrow comes, if all on which I depend will become an illusion, like smoke on the wind.

It started softly, like a tuning fork lightly struck, but grew, a pure note, blown by a trumpeter of inexhaustible breath, till there was nothing but the sound. The sound of Astarael. Sabriel and Touchstone both stopped, almost in mid-stride. They felt a terrible urge to leave their bodies, to shuck them off as so much worn-out baggage. Their spirits—their essential selves—wanted to go, to go into Death and plunge joyfully into the strongest current, to be carried to the very end.

Garth Nix, Sabriel

Finally, Lirael swung Astarael, and her mournful tone joined the ring of sound and magic that surrounded Orannis. Normally, Weeper would throw all who heard her into Death. Here, combined with the other six voices, her sound evoked a sorrow that could not be answered. Together, the bells and Dog sang a song that was more than sound and power. It was the song of the earth, the moon, the stars, the sea, and the sky, of Life and Death and all that was and would be.

Garth Nix, Abhorsen

Sorrow. The Weeper. All that was, and all that would be. Joyfully into the strongest current, just to be carried to the very end. A sorrow that could not be answered. Welcome to what I see in the depths of my heart.

Epilogue

As I was writing this and collecting quotes, one subsequent passage struck me, as if it was the partial answer to my sentiments

“Think of Life!” screamed Sabriel, her voice only just audible through the pure note. She could feel Touchstone dying, his will insufficient to hold him in Life. He seemed almost to expect this sudden summons into Death.
“Fight it!” she screamed again, dropping her sword to slap him across the face. “Live!” Still he slipped away. Desperate, she grabbed him by the ears, and kissed him savagely, biting his lip, the salty blood filling both their mouths. His eyes cleared, and she felt him concentrate again, concentrate on Life, on living. His sword fell, and he brought his arms up around her and returned her kiss. Then he put his head on her shoulder, and she on his, and they held each other tightly till the single note of Astarael slowly died.

Garth Nix, Sabriel

Think of Life! Fight! Choose life! Though it may be the hardest thing ever, it will be required every day that I want my heart and my spirit to live. There are people around who help me (all the farther I'm taking the analogy), even taking time away from their goals to call me back from the brink of darkness.

If you read the book, you'll learn that Touchstone has been deeply wounded by his past. He was witness to something terrible that he was powerless to stop, but which left deep marks on his heart. Over the course of the book, Sabriel has to help support him emotionally as he struggles to come to terms with his “baggage” and how it affects his future. Even at the end of the book (which I excerpted above), when he's almost back to himself, she has to reach out for him one more time so that he doesn't give up and retreat from life.

Now, if I was a good writer, I would take the time to connect all the dots and how this hooks into my life. However, to do so would remove both the need for "critical reading" and any room for personal interpretation.

Jeans Part 2

(If you haven't read part 1, go here and read it.)

In a book I read in middle-school (-ish, it might have been elementary school, I used to read a lot), an alien was trying to describe something like warp drive to a human.

If you study enough physics, you'll figure out that all that faster-than-light mumbo-jumbo on your favorite sci-fi show creates serious issues. Trying to accelerate to the speed of light is hard because the faster you go, the more energy it takes to accelerate, the heavier your spaceship appears to be, and the slower time appears to travel in the outside world. (Or something like that – it's been a bit since I've studied relativity.) In other words, it's not impractical, it's impossible with any mechanism or technology scientists have thought of up until now. You just can't go that fast, let alone any faster.

Back to the story from the dubious book, though. The character speaking described a space journey like a noodle – it has two ends, A and B. To get from A to B, you have to travel the length of the noodle. Everyone knows that you can't go faster than the speed of light, so there is a maximum speed (minimum time) at which you can traverse the distance. However, what if you could make the two points closer together? What if you could somehow bend the noodle so that the ends touched? Then your journey could be almost arbitrarily short, lessening the time required to make the journey.

So last time, I established a distance; a distance between my “peers” and my life. I was content with that – my life is my life, their lives were their lives, and there may always be a cultural distance.

I've been attending a Vineyard small group for reasons strikingly similar to reasons for attending Flatirons – it's been a place where I could feel safe, listen for God, and just sit. I came into both the church and the small group burned out and needing a place to “be”. However, the small group is ending, and now all of us in it have to decide how to make our next jump.

This week, we studied three different passages. One was from Genesis where God tells Abram to leave everything familiar to him and go where God sends him. The second was from Jeremiah. In it, God told the Israelites in exile in Babylon not to wish for home, but to settle in and make a life for themselves. Lastly, we studied part of Luke 9 where Jesus sends the twelve, telling them to take nothing for the road, but to trust Him the entire way. We decided that all three passages included God directing people to follow Him and “bloom where they were planted”. Ryan asked if God was speaking to any of us about where we were being sent after the end of our small group next week. I had an idea that I think was from God. It's been in and out of my mind for a couple weeks, but it seemed like this was truly God speaking.

One of the reasons that I've been reluctant to jump to a Flatirons small group is just plain geographical laziness. The church is in Lafayette with small groups that are widely geographically distributed, but there doesn't seem to be very many down here close to me. A coworker who also attends Flatirons recently started a small group with his wife - “Dude, it's easy! We just said we want to hang out with other young married couples in Boulder and now we have a small group!” Yeah, easy for you. He's all outgoing and organized and stuff. Yet, the idea stuck in my head.

Monday, I heard God suggesting “Hey, maybe you should start that Arvada small group. You could totally host a small group.” I was debating whether I should share with everyone, but decided to. After all, what's doing life with people if you don't risk or are not authentic? After sharing, the thought was immediately confirmed by one of my “small groupies”, and later in the night a few more of my friends encouraged me to chase this idea down, saying that it would actually be really good for me.

I've been here before, albeit quite a while ago. During my junior year at Mines, I was asked to co-lead a Bible study through Campus Crusade with a couple friends of mine. We joked that I should change my name to a good Biblical name like Peter so that the Bible study would be led by Peter, James, and Jo[h]n. It was a good experience, I suppose. The three of us spent a lot of time together, but most weeks nobody would come. I don't think any of us really had people to invite, so the only folks who showed up were referred vaguely from Cru. I probably wasn't the most motivated Bible study leader either; Bible study was Monday night, my girlfriend-at-the-time worked Monday nights, and she got off of work about 15 minutes before Bible study should have ended. Therefore I tried to influence Bible study to get over early. All in all, it was not a very successful endeavor. It's like the jeans that didn't fit again – I was “encouraged” to do something and it looked good at first until I realized that it really just didn't fit.

In the Vineyard, everyone knows the growth path. Go through Discovering Community, get into a small group. Go to a small group for a while until it gets too big, then split and make your own small group! If you were at the Vineyard at any length of time and showed some kind of dedication, you'd probably be leading a small group sooner or later. I tried to avoid the idea, firstly because I liked participating over leading and secondly because this is me we're talking about, and the two ideas didn't go together well. I'm actually pretty glad that nobody ever asked me to think about leading a small group.

Big distance, see? Kenton – small group leader. Not a close association, not a good idea. This week, though, God has “bent my noodle around” - apparently the two don't have to be that far apart if there's a great force involved. Therefore, I'm in the process of exploring small group hosting/leadership through Flatirons. It'll be a scary adventure, but I don't have a whole lot to lose. God seems to be leading me down the path, so I guess I'll point my baby steps this way and see what happens.

Jeans Part 1

I wish that I would have written this entry 6 months ago. Maybe 9 months ago, I don't know. It's been rattling around in my head for quite sometime, but I just haven't written it. Today, although the thought is still true, it sounds less trusting and more hollow because I see the end.

Our story starts a couple years ago. I have a friend who works at what I would consider a reasonably affluent mall. She would good-naturedly tease me about my sense of fashion and I would rebuff her with “form follows function”. It's a good engineer thing to say, and my flannel shirts and thrift store jeans are perfectly serviceable. I'm naturally a pretty frugal-to-a-fault person, so the fact that I spent $20 every couple months to keep myself in clothes seemed great. Jenn disagreed, saying that I should actually dress the part of “reasonably successful young man.” Yeah, right.

Eventually, I did submit to going shopping with her. I set a budget and had to class up my shopping style while she “slummed it” a bit – I'm not the only one who believes in baby steps, you see. At the end of the day, I went home with a couple pairs of name-brand jeans that fit quite a bit more snugly than I was used to and some slacks that actually fit me for a change. Hey, “I don't want to grow out of these” still seemed like an appropriate philosophy when I was in college.

I wore my new jeans off and on for a while. It was actually a conscious decision,because I noticed quickly that even though they may supposedly look better on me, they were definitely less comfortable. However, if I put the effort into “dressing up” a bit, I noticed my attitude and bearing perked up correspondingly, which was odd. Over a few weeks, I relegated my “Arc jeans” to the back of the closet and wore my new jeans almost exclusively. I accepted that I looked better therein, and got used to the new fit. The slacks were similar – they fit better and I got used to the way they fit. Jenn was proud that I looked like I cared about my appearance and life was OK.

After several months, though, I noticed my preferences sliding back the other way. I'd pick up a pair of “new jeans”, consider, then put them down to grab something else. While they may have looked “fashionable” or whatever, they just weren't comfortable. A couple months ago, I was sorting through my closet and the “new jeans” went in the “probably take to Goodwill” pile. Have my dress habits changed at all? Probably. I wear a little less flannel and a few more button-downs and my pants waistline has dropped a bit from where it used to be, but I'm still in my $10/pair Arc/Savers/Goodwill jeans because they work out right for me.

It's not often I write a blog on fashion, so I'm sure you're wondering what pants have to do with anything. Application time now.

Once upon a time, my spiritual walk had stagnated as I was without a church. I got into the Vineyard and seemed to take root there. God did great work in my heart and I met people who had a very different outlook on God and life. As I got deeper into small groups and ministries, I met people who came at life from a totally different direction. For a while I was like “sure, I can fit in with this. Changing away from what I've known will be a good experience.” After a while, though, I seemed to be surrounded by people whose life goal would be to live in the inner city, listen to Sufjan Stevens, Sigur Ros, and all kinds of bands I've never heard of, and work part-time at Starbucks while they explored the idea of a Jesus-loving commune or something. I exaggerate slightly for comedic effect, for which I beg pardon.

After a while, it just didn't fit. I could slip my legs into the jeans of the hipster-ish church, but I just couldn't fit anything into the pockets and the button was just a bit too tight. I realized that I would much rather own my own home, live and work in the suburbs, listen to metal at work (don't judge – many hours have been spent with the likes of Pantera and In Flames), and go shooting on weekends in my spare time. Does that make my preferences better than “theirs”? No. Does it make my preferences un-Jesus-like? Boy, I can't see how. Nevertheless, I felt judged and slowly emotionally withdrew and eventually left for a church where I've found life again.

I don't want to discard the Vineyard or a certain lifestyle as valueless, because it isn't. I learned a lot and grew a lot. I learned many things and had many good life experiences. Just like my clothing preferences, there are some things that I've kept from the Vineyard. I probably quote Pastor Jay on an average of once per week, have learned the value of small groups, and do miss Vineyard worship music. (My new church has a strong preference for Hillsong, which is almost as good) However, I've found my general groove in life. It's different than many of the people I used to be in close contact with and I'm comfortable and happy.

If I would have written this when I should have, I could have stopped here with “and thus endeth the lesson”. My life was blessed by God and I felt content that I was in the center of His plan. Coincidentally, this is about the right length for a blog entry...so stay tuned for part 2.