Did you know Wheaton is south of Chicago?

Here's a humorous story that took place last night. I attended the Pine Bluff Villagepalooza as I have tried to do for most of the summer. Villagepalooza is basically a semi-humorous way of saying "village meeting" where the campers are introduced to the counselors and other staff members in the village and where they learn the essential rules of village living. Anyway, we staff members were going around introducing ourselves, where we were from, what our favorite cheese is, who are favorite superhero is, and what Biblical character we thought would make the best cabin counselor. We get to Seth Carlburg and the conversation goes something like this.

Seth: "Hi. I'm Seth. I live just south of Chicago."

Campers cheer loudly.

Seth: "Some of you live south of Chicago?"

Camper: "Yeah. I am."

Seth: "I'm from South Holland. Where do you live?"

Camper: "Wheaton."

At that reply I started hysterically laughing for the next three minutes. I have a very peculiar laugh and apparently there are several variations to it. Apparently, each one of the variations was heard during those three minutes as Mike Zoellner so kindly pointed out to all the campers. What a riot.

Camp Stuff

Last Saturday as we were cleaning the animals cages and feeding them, Packer got loose. Packer is a green and yellow parrot. She can be quite viscious at times, but she's treated me rather decently this summer. Anyway, we wear this heavy flannel shirt over our arms when moving Packer so when she bites, she doesn't bite us. On Saturday, as I was carrying Packer back to her cage, she bit through the shirt and ripped out a small piece of my flesh on my arm. It hurt, but I was really proud of myself because I didn't throw her off or anything. I used to watch those animal shows and wonder how animal trainers could let a creature bite them and not seem to have a care in the world. Now I know.
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This week is high school week and I've been given the opportunity to counsel again. It's been going great and I have an amazing group of high school juniors and seniors. This makes my 52nd week of cabin counseling here at Timber-lee. I've spent one entire year of my life doing this. It's a great way to have spent a year.
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One of my campers this week is a camper I've counseled before. He's quite eccentric and unique, but he's a very humrous and fun-loving guy. He has a lot of issues and has had to deal with a lot of major problems in his life at a fairly young age. I love this guy. I'll call this camper Dale.

Dale says a lot of random and funny things. Sometimes the things he says make no sense, but are funny. Other times they are almost morbid, yet not quite. Below are some of my favorite quotes that Dale has said this week.

After having only been at camp for a few hours and while we were waiting to start devotions, Dale points at me and says, "Tom, I want you to start writing the alphabet backwards but you'll need a co-signer. You, Ned, be the co-signer and pretend to be a mime who has his hair on fire." It was so random and hilarious.

We were making cardboard boats to race for the tournament on Thursday morning and as we were finishing our boat, Dale looks at the boat and says, "We need to put a number 3 on here." "Why three?" "Because that was Dale Earnhardt's number. He was a great racer. May he rest in pieces." "What did you say?" "I said Dale Earnhardt was a great racer, may he rest in pieces."

We were doing word associations and someone gives me the word "flannel". I said, "Spam" (I was thinking of the old Monty Python routine). Dale says, "I hate spam. Everytime I go to check my email there's a bunch of spam in there trying to tell me how to make my buttocks more beautiful."

"I want to dress up like Abe Lincoln and wear a beard of slugs while delivering the Gettysburg Address."

"My home is the insane asylum."

"My favorite movies are Jaws and Jackass."

"I hate that song 'Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.' Hollywood and the media takes a song like that and blows it out of proportion so we end up with things like BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN."
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"I've hated soccer ever since I was in the 8th grade when they made me play skins."
-----Aaron Leonard
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"I've never seen Josiah Hager sleep. I don't think he sleeps. I think Josiah's a vampire or something." ---Dan Pinkhaus

Lady In the Water

Tonight I had the opportunity to see LADY IN THE WATER. It's a movie about faith and hope and perseverance. I enjoyed it immensely. It's a fairy tale set in a modern setting. Since the death of Jim Henson, there hasn't been a director (Terry Gilliam could have, but he never has) who has brought a fairy tale to the screen the proper way. That has changed because M. Night Shyamalan has done it. I love movies intensely, probably even more than I love books. There are many movies I've seen that make me think, many more that make me feel good, and a few that do both. However, even if I feel good after watching a film, it is rare that I leave the theatre feeling happy. LADY IN THE WATER made me feel happy.

Funerals

About a month ago, I went with some camp friends to get a late night snack. We were going to go to Taco Bell but the inside was closed so we went to Dominoes instead. Anyway, we were sitting there eating our food and a couple of the girls started talking about these two girls from Taylor University who were in a car accident about a month ago. One of them died and one has been in the hospital slowly recovering. It turns out the girl that "died" is actually alive and the girl that everyone thought was alive is actually dead. It's a major mix-up (and how it can happen in this so called age of technology with DNA and blood tests and all that jazz, I'll never know) and is getting national coverage. One of the girls that was talking about this made the comment, "You know when you think about who will show up at your funeral, well now she knows."

I asked, "Do people actually think about that?"


"Yeah. I've only thought about it a few times, but yeah. You've never thought about it."

I replied, "No."

I had never thought about that until last night. Last night I ended up thinking about it quite a lot. I basically reached the same conclusion I had before. I don't really care how many people show up at my funeral. I'm dead and when I'm in Heaven it will not matter to me how many people are there. Funerals aren't for the dead. Funerals are services for the living. We say we do them in rememberance and honor of the deceased and though that is partially true, it is more accurate to say we do them for ourselves. We hold funerals to bring closure to our own lives with someone. We hold funerals as a way to constructively deal with our grief. The dead don't care about that. Some of them probably yearn that loved ones left behind will believe the Truth that they rejected, but other than that I honestly don't think those who die really care who shows up to their funeral or how many people are there. I've thought a lot about that these past 12 hours and to be honest, I don't really care how many people show up at my funeral or who does. I just hope that whoever does, that the experience is a positive one that brings them a little closer to Jesus.

Indians Love Tom Varner.

Indians love Tom Varner. Why don't you?

Frustration and Desires.

About the first time I first graduated from college, I had this idea for a series of six short stories. Basically, each of the stories were going to look at a man's life at three different points in his life, but from the angle of a life lived with faith and a life lived without faith. The first story was going to be about a young man who committs suicide in despair. The next story would illustrate how that man's faith had saved him from that. The next would look at the man in his middle years and how he had grown to become a cynic with the parallel tale of how faith helped him avoid that, and the last pairing would have told of the man in old age and how he had grown into a bitter, cranky coot and concluded with the story of how his faith had helped him avoid that, too.

I am a man of deep faith. I have been blessed to know Jesus for most of my life. I have had very long conversations with God on a fairly regular basis since I was about ten. My faith prevented me from the fate of the man in the first story. Suicidal thoughts I once had, but I know that it is because of my relationship with Christ and the Holy Spirit that is a part of me that prevented those from transforming into anything more than thoughts. I know life has a purpose and has a meaning.

Yet, despite trying not too, I am afraid I am becoming the cynical young man. I used to believe and know that Bible versus such as Psalm 37:4-5 (Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him and he will do this.) were true. Now, even though I feel that I know they are true, I find myself doubting that I believe that. I am a sinner and I make mistakes and foul up. Yet, I keep pressing on. I do delight in God and all that he has given me and I find myself committing my way(s) to him often. Yet, I have yet to see the things I have desired most in my life come to be. The dreams I had for the first quarter century of my existence were swept away as I was carried to a new path. It is true that those dreams have been watered with hope recently. However, these things are still buds that are just beginning to poke out of the ground. They are not a deep rooted realization, yet. As for the other desires of my heart, they seem so remote and distant that I'm almost afraid to believe that they will ever come to be.

I've never been one to say that the Christian life is easy. Jesus never promised that in this life it would be that way. Yet, I see people who do seem more blessed than others. Often these are people of faith. This combines with the constant sermons I have heard preached of how if "you just do this" God will "bless your life abundantly." I often find myself frustrated when this happens. Part of it is because of my own sin--I find myself jealous of those blessings around me. Yet, part of it is just frustration. I said I am a man of faith, but that's not really true. I still can't command a tree to jump into the sea (and I have honestly tried that before) so I don't even have the faith of a mustard seed. My faith is so small especially when I think of those giant saints in my own life whose faith might have let them command a tree to jump. When I think of those saints, though, I remember that most of them had incredibly difficult lives.

This should provide comfort. It should, but usually it doesn't. I'm a sinful creature and I want to have the good life now. I want a decent job, a wife, maybe some children, and a nice house in a nice neighborhood. When I attend my next high school reunion I want to be like my classmates who are there and not the lone outcast who couldn't even convince the girl next door to come with him so he didn't have to show up dateless again. I want to teach for a little while. I want to write. I want to get a break in show business. I want to make a mark on this world and be a sign that points to my God. But, that is the crux of the matter. All the other desires in my life are subservient to that one: to love and serve my King and be a sign that points to him. I am a man of flesh and sometimes it is so difficult to keep that central desire in focus. But, that is the key. I just wish there could be an easier way to do it instead of working it out with fear and trembling all the time.

Here's to You, Brother!

I am the oldest of four siblings. I have two younger brothers and a younger sister. My youngest brother and I have always had a very strong bond. My sister and I get along alright. However, DW and I haven’t always gotten along. From the time he was born until he was about three, everything was fine. Then we started to fight and the fighting went on until I left for college. We seemed to hate each other and sometimes we fought so violently we had to go outside just so we literally wouldn’t kill each other. We are pretty much complete opposites: I love to read, DW only reads an occasional newspaper and the tv listings; I did well in school, DW didn’t (he could have but he was too apathetic); I wasn’t a very good athlete, DW was; though I’m a hick I’m a refined hick, DW is pretty much a straight-redneck; etc. Despite these differences we have grown closer the last several years. We’ve built upon the commonalities we share and have minimized the differences (perhaps the two major U.S. political parties should take lessons on how to work together from DW and I). We still live very different lives. But, that doesn’t really matter.

DW arrived home yesterday from a week-long training session near Chicago. He leaves for special training in three weeks. Two months later he’ll be going to Iraq for a year. I love my brother incredibly. I’ve told him this, but he hates that (at least he pretends to). I’m also incredibly proud of him. He got into a lot of trouble a few years ago. I was in college and he lost his two closest friends in one day in a non-alcohol related car crash. I sometimes think that if I had been around I would have been able to keep him from getting into the trouble with the law and everyone else that he did. It took awhile for him to get back on track, but he did. He walked away from God for awhile, too. But he came back. That fills me with hope. He’s got a lot of growing to do spiritually, but all of us do. The spiritual life is anything but stagnant. Christianity is all about freedom and growth. Anyway, I leave for the summer in five days. Once I leave, I might not ever see my brother again and that fills me with great sadness; so much sadness that tears well up in my eyes if I let myself think about it. At the same time, I’m really not worried. God is guiding both our paths and wherever our journeys will take us, I know that if nothing else in the end we will meet again. So, here's to you brother! I love you and I'm incredibly proud of you.

Commencements

My youngest brother graduated last night from high school. My sister graduated last weekend from college. Over the past few weeks and in the next couple weeks to come there will be thousands of other commencement ceremonies around the country. In honor of these celebration, here are some words delivered to a high school class many, many moons ago. It was in a different time and a different era. It's author was a mature, but bright-eyed high school kid. The student who wrote this was full of wisdom, but it was a wisdom tempered by innocence and lack of experience. Disillusionments, jadings of the heart, and beatings by the world wouldn't happen until a few months later. The speech is dated, but it's core message is still relevant today. Enjoy.
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Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to tonight’s graduation ceremony.
As the class historian, I believe we represent success in several different fields such as academics, music, dramatics, and athletics. Four valedictorians, a salutatorian, and a historian represent just a few of the many dimensions of our success and accomplishments.
One of the major reasons that our class has been so successful is because we are so adaptable to change. Many changes have taken place during our lifetime. We have seen the Vietnam War end and our nation’s bicentennial begin. We have watched the Space Shuttle Challenger explode. We have seen the end of the Cold War. We have lived through the Persian Gulf War. And we have been led by five different Presidents.
However, as we have grown and matured change has also occurred within our lives here at home. We have said farewell to Mr. Stout and welcomed Mr. Dillon as our principal. We have seen faculty come and go. We fought for the reinstatement of the senior trip. And one month ago over a third of our class enjoyed our victory at Chesterfield, Missouri.
As we leave these halls tonight we will be faced with the challenges of the world: genocide in the Balkans, the fight against drugs and crime in our cities, the search for cures for cancer and AIDS in our nation’s laboratories, and more personally what careers we will pursue and who we’ll date next Friday night.
I ask of you, my friends, that as you leave tonight and begin upon the great journey of life to remember our class motto: “Remember yesterday, dream for tomorrow, live for today.”
I congratulate us the class of 1994.

I Get Tired of Eating Dirt After Awhile

On Tuesday I had a job interview. I was really excited about it because it was at a school that I really, really wanted to teach at and it was probably going to be my last chance at getting a teaching job for the fall. Frankly, I'm not a great interviewee, especially when my entire future is at stake--I get nervous and my voice fluctuates and no matter what I try I can't seem to keep it in check. Nevertheless, I thought the interview went well and that I had a good chance at the job.

Apparently not because I got a call today and was informed that they had offered the job to someone else. Language cannot express how frustrated and angry that made me.
I have sent out around 30 different applications to schools that I know have open positions. I have had 7 interviews. The number of interviews should give me some comfort because I know that most applicants aren't offered that, but that knowledge provides me no comfort.

I really, really, really, really want to have a class of my own and be teaching English in the fall. I spent 2 1/2 years jumping through all sorts of hoops, spending precious time and money so that I could get the precious certification that the State of Illinois says you have to have to be able to teach. In December, I finally got that certification and in the process became stamped and approved by the government. I've been looking for a job since December and now it appears that come August, I'm not going to have one. I've done all the "proper" steps and I have the training. I've sent countless emails and have had numerous telephone conversations. I've followed up each of my interviews with a personal thank you letter. I've spent hours scouring the Internet and educational websites. I've talked to people I really didn't want to talk to just so I could get the experience. Always looking, looking, looking. And now it appears that it has all been to no avail. Language cannot describe how frustrated and upset I feel right now. I've not only done everything everyone has asked of me, I've gone far beyond it and still I am denied. I don't know what else I can do.

I should be encouraged somewhat because it will now be easier for me to move to Oregon. But I'm not. I wanted to teach so bad. I also shouldn't feel so bad because I'm quite used to rejection. Audition for enough shows and commercials and stuff and after awhile you develop rhinosaurous skin. But it's different with teaching. I'm a great teacher and a damn good English teacher. I know this. But knowing this only makes it worse. It really shouldn't bother me, I guess, because in the grand scheme of things it might not be that big of a deal and maybe it'll lead to a better opportunity. But, you know, it does bother me a lot right now. I always try to make the best out of a situation so it can be fun to play in the dirt and role around in it, but I get tired of eating dirt after awhile.

Short Passages From Anne Lamott

"Some people think that God is in the details, but I have come to believe that God is in the bathroom."--Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies, p. 161

I've discovered this myself. I have an idea for a book I want to write someday. It'll be entitled, The Annointing Is In the Bathroom.
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"But in the meantime I have learned that most of the time, all you have is the moment, and the imperfect love of people." --Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies, p. 168

Every moment is a Gethsemane. Press the best out.

A Few Words from TO OWN A DRAGON

The following passages are from Donald Miller's new book To Own a Dragon. (p. 139-145 ). I'm not saying that I agree with it all (and I'm not saying I don't), but it's really interesting to read and think about.
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"What happens when sex is cheapened?" somebody asked.

"A lot happens. The main thing is there is no sacred physical territory associated with commitment. There can still be emotional territory, but there isn't anything physical, experiential, that a man and a woman have only with each other. Sleeping around does something to the heart, to the mind. It leaves less commodity to spend on a sacred mate. But all of that sounds pretty fluffy. Let me break it down into practical stuff. Women saying no to men, not letting men have sex with them, causes men to step up. If, in order to have sex with them, women demanded you got a job and shaved every day and didn't dress like a dork or sit around playing video games, then all of us would do just that. We all want to have sex, right?'

"Amen," one of the guys said, which drew some laughter.

"So if a woman demanded that you acted like a gentleman," I continued, "that you were able to commit and focus, then everybody in this room would do that, if for no other reason than we want to have sex. And this in turn would be good for families, would be good for communitites. Let's face it, we're guys, and too often we are going to take the path of least resistance. Many of us are the way we are because women are attracted to a certain kind of man. We may not have realized this dynamic was shaping us, but it has been. Nobody is exempt. So, when sex gets cheapened, we are getting what we want without having to pay for it. That's not good for anybody, not in the long run anyway. It's a great system, you know."

"But women don't withhold sex. It doesn't work that way any more," a guy from the back of the room stated.

"That true," I said. "Women are imitating men, I think. The presupposition is that men are right, and in order for a woman to be successful, she should act not like a woman but like a man. Thanks for the compliment, but I disagree. I think men need women to be women, and we need to be made to jump through some hoops. If a woman withholds sex until she gets what she wants, we are all better for it."

"You know," I started in, softly, "I hate this as much as you guys do. You try to take away people's sex, try to make people feel guilty or something, and everybody hates you for it. I mean you're a geek, right? And I don't want to be that guy. I really don't. It's just that my dad left my mom when I was a kid, and I remember visiting him and he always had some girl living with him, or was sleeping around with a girl half his age, and that affected me. I think my dad just thought it didn't matter, that he should be able to sleep with whomever he wanted. But what I needed him to do was stay with my mom, love my mother, and be my father. I think we can think nobody is affected by our actions, by our habits, but they are. We aren't independent creatures, you know. We are all connected. And in a family, in marriage, it's important that sex be something special, and as men, it's important we take the initiative in protecting it. Those habits start now. Greg Spencer, a professor friend of mine, would say sex is the most psychologically involving of the physical acts. Men fantasize that sex is mere biology. Yet nothing seems to affect us quite as deeply as sex when it is abused. I hope you don't fault me for saying all of this."

The great argument, then, is not whether sex is good or bad outside a relational commitment, but whether sex is for anything other than the release of pleasure. There is no scientific evidence to suggest sex is for bonding. Common sense tells us sex bonds people, but science can't go into the poetic. The tendency, when pleasure drives logic, is to reduce sex to a dry Darwinian definition, ignoring the poetry of our bodies. And this doesn't sound like much of a crime, until we remember the argument about the value of the dollar. Poetics, then, matter. What we feel about something, what we agree about for the sake of health and progress becomes critical. I think of sex this way, not only because this is the way God thinks about sex, but because logically, even apart from some sort of Christian morality, the poetic interpretation has to be upheld. --Donald Miller

I Almost Cried

On the flight home from Portland I almost cried. The journey back to where I came always seems more difficult to me than the journey to a particular place; not to mention the exhaustion that comes from traveling over halfway across the country twice in three days, the sadness that comes when parting with close friends, and leaving a place where you feel at total peace to return to a place that is full of chaotic confusion.

Another reason that I almost cried on the flight home was because I was in awe of creation. Portland is a beautiful city surrounded by nature. It’s a very green city, both literally and in the environmental sense of the word. But it was more than that. Every time I fly, I find myself in awe of what God has created. Soaring above an ocean of clouds while watching the various stages of the sun as it rises and sets fills me with awe every time. The One who created all of that loves us as His own children; I am His son.

At the same time, I felt incredibly lonely as the plane returned to the Midwest. I know that I am never alone. God is always with me. Despite knowing this (and knowing it in the fibers of all that I am), there are times I feel incredibly lonely. I love to travel and even though I haven’t traveled as much as I would like, I know that I am blessed to have gone to the places I have. However, it sure would be nice to have someone to share those experiences with: either someone to join me on those trips or to welcome me home when I return. But there isn’t.

Other than my desire to perform, the only other real desire of my heart has been to marry. Yet, I’m over a quarter of a century old and have never been in a relationship. Part of the reason for that is my own doing largely because of the antiquated way I view dating. But part of it is because just about every time I have attempted to start something, I have been turned down. My heart has been damaged quite a bit. I’ve become somewhat jaded about love. Yet, my longing to meet my wife and get married has not waned. In fact, it becomes stronger as time goes on. It doesn’t help that I don’t have many friends who aren’t involved in a serious relationship and just about all of my classmates from high school are married and have children (you don’t know the meaning of awkward until you show up at your high school reunion as the only single person attending). At my core, I’m a romantic and believe that someday love will come along. Someday I’ll share the bond that my friends in Portland share. Someday I will have my wife to share the journeys we take or to welcome me home when I have to travel alone. But someday could be a long way off. In the meantime, there are times when I feel incredibly alone.

I almost cried on the flight home from Portland. But I didn’t.

Return from the Promise Land and a Reminder to Self

I write this just after returning to the family homestead from a trip to Portland, Oregon. Two dear friends of mine live there and are getting married to each other this summer. I went there to spend some time with them one last time before they are married. I also went to Portland as a follow-up to my trip there last year. Last year I visited Portland for a week and fell in love with the area. It seemed like a place that I would enjoy living; a place where I felt completely at peace. I’m seriously thinking about moving there sometime in the relatively near future, but I wanted to make sure that the euphoria of my original trip wasn’t just because of being in a new place that I had also always dreamed of visiting. Having returned again, I believe I can safely say my initial feelings weren’t wrong. In fact, driving back from the airport in St. Louis, I spent most of the time trying to figure out how and when I could move. I needed to write this down as soon as I could because I know that as soon as I wake up tomorrow doubts will begin attacking and the comfort that existing offers will threaten to overwhelm me and my desire to live an adventurous and full life might become smothered by the invasion. In fact, it has already started to happen, but now my words are here to remind me and help me. As I’ve told my students several times, words are powerful. I truly believe that.

I had a great trip. It was only for a few days, but it was awesome. I went on a short hike, saw two mimes attempt to perform a mini-musical, listened silently to my echo in Pioneer Square, saw a couple of movies in theatre pubs, fell in love with the show ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT, ate some great food, drank some good beer, almost had my hand chewed off by a dragon boat, walked down a lane of childhood nostalgia filled with video games, partook in some wonderful conversations, attended a church where people really can and do meet Jesus, read some books, sat in awe of creation, and so much more. The best part of is that I was able to share almost all of it with three very dear friends.

There’s much more I could write, but at the moment I can’t. I’m too drained. Maybe later.

Semi-Randomness

I had another job interview today. It went really, really, really well. The only way it could have went better is if they had offered me the job on the spot. I'll find out next week if I get the position or not.

I leave for a 3 1/2 day trip to Portland, Oregon tomorrow morning at 4:30am. I'm so excited. I think I could pee my pants. Seriously.

My sister graduates from college next weekend. My brother graduates from high school the weekend after that. A week from that I leave for another summer at camp.

I need to get new contacts.

I started reading Don Miller's new book (TO OWN A DRAGON) yesterday; I'm halfway through.

SURVIVOR is on tonight.

Mosquitoes are attracted to the scent of bananas.

Small Town Surprise

Like John Mellencamp sang in the song “Small Town”, “I was born in a small town” and I was raised in a small town. There are many who say they would hate living in a place like where I grew up. I can understand that, I used to hate it, too. But residing in a small town offers some incredible sublime blessings.

A few days ago, I returned to the family homestead after my night run. I really don’t enjoy running, but I’ve starting running about four times a week as a way to try to get back in shape and loose a few pounds. Actually, I really don’t run—I “fat man jog.” Anyway, the sky was completely clear and you could see stars and constellations from the backyard. I sat down on the steps of the patio. I remained still and listened. I heard dogs barking in yards half-a-mile away. I heard the different television programs people were watching a few blocks down the street. Just a block over, people were having some sort of dance party; the radio was turned up and I caught the glimpse of bodies rocking to the music. I heard sounds of rustling grass of an animal running through a plot of forested land nearby and I felt completely at ease as the wind rustled through the trees. I felt totally at peace. It was a moment of serene rest. I felt connected to all those around me. It was a small town surprise; something I needed but did not expect to receive.

Many people think that small towns are a total joke and that everyone who lives in one is either a hick or a redneck (there is a difference). There is some truth to that, but small towns aren’t a total joke and even though everyone who lives in one might be a hick or a redneck, some of them are quite classy and intelligent hicks. Small towns have been deconstructed and disrespected by the post-modern culture that surrounds us and threatens everyday to invade our lives. People look at the way Normal Rockwell and Frank Capra viewed the heart of America and say, “That’s nice. But that was a different time and in many ways a different place.” That’s not true. Places from a Rockwell painting or a Capra film are still around. In many instances they are thriving. Should you ever visit one, don’t take it for granted because small towns are full of surprises.

Small Things Matter

Yesterday, I was reading a blog by a friend. He has some very interesting ideas that he shares and sometimes he tells really fascinating stories. Like myself, he is wrestling through his salvation with fear and trembling to have an honest faith. He told a story about something he did when he was younger. The story kind of expressed guilt over what he had done. His story reminded me of a story from my own life. I wrote him back telling him about the story from my own life that his post reminded me of and suggested a small action he could take.

Today I found out that my little message inspired him to do the thing I suggested and resulted in something positive. When I learned of this, I was amazed. Quite frankly, I still am.

All we have in life is a moment. We are guaranteed nothing more. What we do with each one of those moments is up to us. There are thousands of different things we could do in those moments: write a letter, talk with a family member, send an email, go for a walk, take a drink, go on a drive, play a game, fly a plane, teach a life-lesson to a child, shoot a bird with a BB gun, jump off a bridge, watch television, steal a stop sign, sleep, make a sandwhich, each pankakes, work productively at a job, work unproductively at a job, eat at a buffet then force ourselves to vomit what we just eaten, follow our careers, etc., etc. etc. However, whatever it is we do, all we have is that moment. Once that moment is gone, we can never get it back. Some choose to use those moments for evil gains. Sometimes I do, too. But, I try very hard to press out the best from those moments that I can no matter what it is that I am doing.

I've tried very hard to live a life of meaning. I know that life has purpose and meaning, but living one's life so that that purpose(s) and meaning(s) happens is incredibly difficult. I mentioned this in a previous post, but life is hard. Anyone who tells you differently is lying to you. We all face hardships and trials. Bad things happen to good people. Many times bad people seem to prosper abundantly while very good people seem to struggle with no end in sight. Life is hard and living, that is truly living, is incredibly difficult. It is so much easier to just exist. Existence is easy. Existence doesn't require much work. That's what many people do during their lives. I've done more often than I would like to admit myself. But living, that requires so much work. In fact, to truly live requires one to "work" every moment of every day that is presented to us. It is far from easy, but it leads to a life most abundant.

Yesterday I had a moment to respond to story that a friend wrote. I could have taken that moment and done something else, but I felt led to respond. It was a small thing, perhaps one of the smallest. Today I learned that the little thing I did, led to a good thing happening. One small moment of my life that didn't take much time at all made a difference in someone's life who lives far away from where I reside. That is amazing.

We get so caught up sometimes thinking about the big things. There's nothing wrong with that. The big things are important because they affect us all. However, if you choose that you want to live your life (and not just exist through it), don't forget the small things. Small things matter.

No Courtesy

Today I was informed that Teach for America doesn't want me as a member of their Corps. I received this notification by a form email.

It is kind of disappointing that they didn't select me, but not that much. The thing I find interesting is that they decided to tell me this by a form email. I've received lots of form letters in my life. I've also received a number of phone calls from people in power letting me know that they decided not to cast me in a show or that they had hired someone else for a job I had applied for and was really wanting. However, this is the first time in my life that I have ever received a form letter via email notifiying me of my rejection. Not only that, but there were these links included in the email that one should be able to click to get more information. Well after I click on those links I'm told I can no longer access that information because I've been deleted from the system. Good grief.

An Update of Sorts.

A few weeks ago I wrote about this enchanting woman I met. Here's the update in the story. Eventually, after some serious research on my part I was able to get her phone number. I called her and we had a very pleasant conversation. She said she wouldn't mind getting together for dinner of something, but because she had started a new job she wouldn't be able to do it that weekend. Well, fast forward a few phone calls and emails later and there has been no response. I think she was just being nice. I understand completely, but it was great for once to overcome some huge odds and take a chance. Too bad it didn't lead to something else. But such is the story of my life.

America's Pasttime is Past.

The new Busch Stadium in St. Louis opened this past week. The first Cardinals home game hasn't been held, yet but will be played very soon. The new stadium isn't even completely finished, yet. There are several sections of seats that won't be completed until about halfway through the summer. Once it is completed the new stadium will hold about 6,000 less seats than the old stadium. Not only that but there are more box seats and private seating rooms than in the old stadium which means more rich people can watch the game in private, but average Joes are out of luck. The cheapest ticket price is around $14 and at the old place you could get a ticket for about $9. A hot dog costs $5.50, a bag of peanuts $3.25, and a cup of beer is around $9. Also, the state of Missouri and the City of St. Louis gave huge tax incentives to the Cardinals organization to stay in St. Louis and build the new stadium. Oh, if you're hoping to come see a game in St. Louis this summer-unless you've already bought your ticket-you're out of luck because tickets were sold out the day they went on sale.

I love the game of baseball. It's one sport that I could have played for a very long time if I had wanted to. I grew up playing baseball and watching Cardinals games on tv. Baseball used to be America's past time. Fathers used to bring their sons to ball parks across the country on Saturday afternoons because even if they couldn't afford a ticket to get into the game they could watch the game from fences outsides the park. Going to a baseball game used to be a family affair. You could spend a day at the ballpark, buy a few souveniers, and if you made sure you didn't eat much until you left the stadium later that afternoon, an entire family of 5 or 6 could go to a baseball game for less than the ticket price for one person at an amusement park. That's not the case anymore. An average, blue-collar, hard-working famiy can't really afford to go to many ball games. Of course, even if they could they can't get in because all the tickets are sold out because the owners wanted to make more money so the put in less seats and gave more of those seats to people who could pay $100-$200 to watch a game.

It might not seem like all that big of a deal and maybe it's not. But, it's a sign, though--a sign of the times. A sign that we as a people are loosing our identity and national spirit. Baseball used to be as American as apple pie, but I'm afraid that now America's past time has past.

Bummed.

I found out today that I didn't get this one teaching job I applied and was interviewed for. It has bummed me out a bit. I had a great interview and I was really wanting this job. I'll just have to keep sending out those resumes, cover letters, and applications.

The book I'm reading, though, has cheered me up some. It's a comedy about the Apocalypse entitled GOOD OMENS and is written in the vein of THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY. It's not Biblical at all, but for some reason I have found it amusing. It's that warped sense of humor in me.