Excreta! Excreta! Read All About It!

As a stay-at-home dad, one of the things I hate is messes. Why? Because I am naturally lazy and it makes work. Because I'd rather be sailing. Because it is the instant interruption of anything I'm doing (blogging, writing, freelancing, cleaning, napping, being fed grapes while being fanned, placing bets, getting pedicures, etc.). It makes me boil. So I get anxious around mealtimes, knowing (the absolute knowledge kind of knowing) that I will have to clean up a spill: cheesy pasta, sugary milk and soggy cereal squishies, juice, peanut butter smears, jelly glops, bread crusts, crumbs, SpaghettiOs, or whatever may be on the menu.

It's so . . . out of control.

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Recently my little raccoon has taken to biting. He mainly bites the yellow-haired child - who takes things from him or tries to enforce her queenly rule over him - so my concern is not all that great at this point. All the same, I may lay off reading the Thomas Harris novels to him at bedtime.

To Be

To breathe a life, to live a breath,
Inhale, in deep, and put off death.
To be, to think, a being thought,
A light and salt, and seeing, sought.

To move in rhythm with the stars,
To dance with Venus and pierce Mars.
To laugh, to play, to be a song,
To do justice, to right what's wrong.

To write a poem poetically,
To run a race heroically.

But I am lost and helpless too,
Though found, though loved, though graced by you.
And I cry, and I hurt (I live).
And I'm breath, and I'm dirt (I live).

Sublimey!

It's 70 degrees here today - beautiful. Say Yes! to North Carolina.

On Becoming Different

2005 was a year of spiritual change for me. Changes, for the most part, precipitated by 2004's changes: Losing a semi-lucrative job, gaining a sans-filthy-lucre job (stay-at-home dad), and the ensuing struggle with my identity.

But instead of boring you with all of those sordid details, let me bore you with my ecclesial history instead. I was born and briefly raised Catholic. I left the church due to the many transgressions that I saw within it at the age of 10 (or thereabouts). I joined a non-denominational church, a house church of sorts, that over the course of several years evolved into an Eastern Orthodox church. I left again, and at the age of 13 or 14 began attending another non-/inter-denominational church. The pastor of that church was Dr. Emerson Eggerich - of rising marriage-counseling fame. Rob Bell attended the same church, but as I didn't attend Sunday School, alas, the two of us never met. Our common genius is more plainly seen and understood, I assume, however, at this point. (I so often brush against impending fame and miss it completely - what's up with that? Good news for those of you who almost know me. Bad news for those of you who know me well.)

When I left for college, I attended Grace College in Winona Lake, Indiana. It was the home of Larry Crabb (well, not by the time I got there). I did, however, have the privilege of sitting under Ted Hildebrandt who has done some excellent work in the book of Proverbs and Hebrew poetry (Ted is no longer at Grace, but now teaches at Gordon College). I met and married my wife who is the daughter of a Grace Brethren pastor and so my stint with the Grace Brethren Fellowship began. The Grace Brethren distinctives include trine immersion (triple dunking) and three-fold communion (foot washing, eucharist, and love feast).

My wife and I moved to a city without a Grace Brethren church and so we attended Southern Baptist churches for the next 9 years. We then joined and are now a part of an Evangelical Free Church (not, by the way, free of evangelicals) - grace rather than dogmatism - a good place, but not without its faults.

I grew up with a very ecumenical perspective. I understood, and understand, the value of different theological perspectives. I understand some of their strengths and many of their weaknesses. I remain frustrated with their inability to see one another as brothers and sisters in Christ with whom they can have communion.

2005, however, was my discovery of this renegade group of truthless megalomaniacs who called themselves emergent. People who asked questions of my certainties. Hell, people who asked questions just to ask questions - incessant questioning. People who talked of walking as an explication of their doctrine. People who I felt inexorably drawn toward. I sensed a grace about them. I sensed a love for Jesus in their hearts. And so, I stepped tip-toe onto the shore of this Island of Misfits with all of the natives' uncertainties, all of their quirks, and all of their graces. I stepped so lightly that the natives are mostly unaware of my presence.

Just before I was fired, I joined up with four other families to start a church plant. The pastor, a good friend, has shared my journey into emergent-hoodlum-dom, I believe. He was actually three or four steps ahead of me the entire time, but was patient and a good sounding board for some of my uncertainties and questions. He introduced me to Blue Like Jazz.

And finally, I discovered, by others' recommendations, N.T. Wright, who has explained a thing or two to me. I'm exceedingly grateful for the Lord Bishop's work and witness. I have yet to read anything by Brian McLaren, though I have listened to some mp3's. I only know a little about this emerging conversation, quite honestly, but I'm learning.

So I don't fit in with the family as well as I used to. So I'm a little more different in how I think about things. It's not as if I'm a non-conformist or something. I'm just trying to do my best to follow Christ. And while the emerging conversation is probably not my final destination, it's where I find myself today.

That's the generalized and boring version of my journey and it leaves out some of the more intimate details. But if you have any questions about it, let me know. I'll probably not have any answers, probably just an incessant string of annoying questions, but I'll do my best.

Christ the Lord

I finished Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt by Anne Rice on Saturday. Anne Rice is the author who brought us Interview with a Vampire and a myriad of other books that do not often find their way into Christian libraries (though some of them made their way into mine). However, she has returned to her Catholic faith and her newness is beautiful. She remains a talented and poetic writer who has, through this project, garnered even greater respect from me for her and for her obvious talents.

In Out of Egypt, Rice explores the childhood of Jesus. The books opens in Egypt with a seven-year-old Jesus narrating to us the story of himself.

I was moved by Rice's portrayal of Yeshua's humanity. I have grown up viewing Jesus as God. Certainly I knew he was also fully man, but just as certainly I rarely imagined him as such. I have heard Tom Wright discuss Jesus' self-awareness and humanity. Rice, a great fan of Wright's, is accomplishing this re-humanization of Jesus for us through art.

I found Out of Egypt to be an excellent book that was deeply moving.

(For a more in-depth review of this book, see Jamie Arpin-Ricci's review at Emergent Voyageurs.)

There's a Difference

There's a difference between seeking to follow Holy God and seeking to be holy. Isn't there?

Theological Play: Deus ex Machina

Two of my daughters got angel Barbie dolls for Christmas. The daughter who did not receive an angel Barbie, Annie, has been making some fascinating play with them. The other day, She held the angel Barbie high above her head and she shouted over one of her horses, "Angel of God, make her better!" And this morning, while playing with the yellow-haired child, she yelled over a plastic horse that needed to be euthanized, "Fear of God, make her better!"

I truly don't know where she's picking up the Angel-of-God/Fear-of-God language, but it makes me smile. Sure the play's too god-from-a-machine for my taste, but she's young yet.

(By the way, for you doubters out there, both horses were miraculously healed.)

About the Boy

Last night the boy and I went shopping for some personal items (diapers and butt wipes - you know, the stuff we don't want little girls to know about). While at the store, I saw a POOF football and bought it for him. He'd gotten one for Christmas, but it was lost in my parents' house before we left. The boy is, after all, surrounded by pink and Barbie paraphernalia and purses. I almost cheer when he picks up a plastic bat and starts beating his siblings, or me, or the TV - it just seems a relief is all I'm saying. Anyway, this morning the football is lying on the floor, unloved, and the boy is sitting quietly in the living room with his blanket watching Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus with the yellow-haired child. I know, I know, I ought to count my blessings. At least this Barbie movie has swords and griffins and trolls and magic (though it's all still ver pink).

It's a New Year, Charlie Brown

I will be blogging less in the coming weeks. I know, I know, grab the tissue box. I've got freelance work that I have to attend to and I am also trying to be more intentional, more serious, about my non-blog writing.

My family and I met with Alison (I went to school with her and her husband) and her family on Christmas Eve and had an excellent time catching up and talking and eating. We talked about vocations and writing and how important it is to take seriously the tasks we believe are God-prods. I've been chewing on it since, mostly because I've been chewing on it for some time. Then, hearing a friend verbalize her feelings - some of the same thoughts of my own heart - was, well, confirmation, for lack of a better word. All that to say that I want to buckle down and write more.

Speaking of writing and writers, I just finished two Donald Miller books, Searching for God Knows What and Through Painted Deserts, that I've been reading over the past few days. Both are signed books my brother picked up at a Donald Miller sighting/signing in the Akron area. My brother is giving one to me, but I'm not sure which one I want to keep. I have Don's Blue Like Jazz as well (though not signed) and I believe it still remains my favorite. I love the language in Deserts, however, as well as the theologizing of Searching. But I think I love the language of Deserts more than the theologizing of Searching. I'll have to try to get out of my brother which book he prefers and then take that one. (He he he.) I mean "take the other" of course.

Miller's a year younger than me and so, obviously, I hate him as he has published three popular books. Only kidding, of course, Don. No hard feelings, man. Keep up the great work.

It's late again and here I am blogging. It's a love-hate thing. I'm going to be hard-pressed to keep pace with the pride tomorrow. Laura has a work day and so I have the distinct privilege of having all four kids with me. Life is grand. Can you feel it?

Any resolutions you'd like to share with a zeros-and-ones friend? Here are a few of mine:

1. Lose weight, of course: Re-instituting the walking habit and eating healthier. (For some reason, I thought the psi on this tire was less than it is. My bad.) We're vacationing with my family at Nag's Head in July and it would be nice to be able to lie on the beach without a troop of granolas trying to roll me back into the ocean.
2. Write, write, write. And write. I want to get past the fear and do the good, hard work this year.
3. Become more industrious around the house. (Don't share this one with my wife, please.) I want to enjoy the satisfaction of winning the fight against house-entropy by actually beginning to fight.
4. Love more, do more, be more. North Carolina's state motto is "To be rather than to seem." I want that to be true of me, and I want that truth to be displayed in ever-increasing love of God and people and creation. Sounds sappy, but it's true. It starts (and most days it ends) with wiping runny noses, powdering monkey butts, and doing laundry.

Grace and peace to the posse. And to auld lang syne, this one's for you. Cheers.

Sugar and Spice

This morning, Laura was writing some school notes in her notebook when Sophie, our oldest, came up to her and asked, "Mommy, are you writing in your diarrhea?"

Meanwhile, I was run out of our bathroom by the yellow-haired child in her footed, Hello Kitty pajamas. As she peeled off the warm, powder-blue pj's, she demanded that I Get Out so she could use her toilet.