I'm taking July off from the blog. Things are good here; I've got to concentrate on some other stuff for a bit. I'll save up all my smart remarks and share them, unhelpfully, in August.
By the way: THANK YOU for reading this blog, and for sharing your thoughts in comments.
I learn much from you and laugh a lot with you. I hope you come back.
P.S. -- You're a chump because I shot a 37 and you'll never get close so don't even click this.
No time to write...must instead try Larry King style...
This truly captures the courageous Tiger Woods story...I'd equate socialism with compassion if it actually worked...My advice: Never join a church that, if they have a paid "the pastor" office, seriously wouldn't hire a homeless, penniless guy to do it...
If this is true, I can promise I will never die...
Paul said any command you come up with can be summed up with "love one another", but people don't buy it, because we prefer unending complexity...Your Bluetooth does not make you look cool...I'm in a neighborhood garage band called "The Re-Uptake Inhibitors"...
I don't understand small talk, and never have, and I can't do it very well at all, and it's embarrassing...We'll always have the poor, but the American church could single-handedly wipe out "poverty as we know it", but we have other priorities...We watched "Bella" last week, and it's really good, but they yap too much, and they should have thrown in some explosions, at least in the background or something...
I own a for-real, professional-grade slide whistle, and it's sitting on my desk right now...We need critics of the religious right who aren't sell-outs to the political left...This toaster RULES: The "Moaster"...I came up with a new exercise plan, where I work-out for much shorter periods of time, but in brief sprint-intervals...It saves time...It also doesn't work...
I'm creeped out by clowns, and so is everybody, but I'm also creeped out by those mustache-guys with big bow ties and hats that rode around on those bicycles with one giant wheel and one tiny one...I'm excited that Danica Patrick has, once again, proven that women, too, can drive fast, and who knew?...Affluence makes people less interesting, plain and simple...There were ELEVEN empty urinals in this airport bathroom the other day and some guy walked in and used the one right next to me...
Daniel Radosh, a secular Jew, writing for the NYTimes, has a list of "Ten Great Christian Songs", and includes Kamp Krusty faves the 77's, Over the Rhine, and Andy Hunter, so he's smack-on...I hate golf, but had to play in a tournament, so I borrowed my friend's precious clubs, then accidentally destroyed his $300 driver...
The reason the media went overboard with Tim Russert coverage: It wasn't about him, it's about their own mortality...Indiana basketball is going to be hilariously bad this fall...I just finished Dostoeyevski's Crime and Punishment and you know what? It was downright okay...
I say "What in tarnation?" a lot, and I'm not sure what I'm saying, and I sometimes think 30% of my vocabulary is borrowed from Yosemite Sam...Pacifism can be profoundly unloving...I also say, "Egad!", which, I think, is from Unca Scrooge...I was on the treadmill the other day, looked up at the TV, and Oprah was talking to a guy who's like, six months pregnant...
My friend Paul is in a "Christian 'Call of Duty 4' League" online, where they snipe each other in the head and fire grenades at each other...At least he was in the league, until he got kicked out for saying, "That weapon is gay..." ...I can't believe how good God is to me. Honestly -- it's unbelievable...
Traffic is forgiveness practice...I'm embarrassed that I have hair on my fingers, and ironically, may be asked to do an endorsement for a laser-hair-removal place. But I'm going to leave the hair on my fingers, because I don't want my endorsements to say, "Wow, I feel GREAT after getting all that HAIR off my FINGERS..." ...I bowled a 206 the other day, and I can't see straight. It's all about foot placement...
I found a hat the other day in Key West that actually fit my dumb head. I should have bought it...The difference between capitalism and Marxism: "In capitalism, man exploits man, but in Marxism, it's the other way around."... If "What About Bob" isn't funny to you, we can love each other, but we probably aren't going to be friends...Evangelical guys in their mid-40s through 60s have ALL the answers, man...
I have a Chinese friend with a ping-pong table in his ample living room. Do not challenge a Chinese man to a match on his own ping-pong table...I'm -- frankly -- kinda scared about my radio show going national here in a week or so...Gas prices would not be "the issue" if we'd put more thought into zoning. I'm always bugged by the anti-human urban "planning" we've embraced...THE best way, as you know, to enjoy fortune cookies: Whatever it says, insert the words, "...in bed." at the end...
When "First Things" arrives in my mailbox, my heart skips a beat...I can't believe I wrote about finger-hair up there...If a blog-writer were a person who enjoyed a cold beer every so often, he might be tempted to write here that "Bud Light Lime" is surprisingly good, maybe as good as Landshark, hypothetically speaking...I wish I had more time to blog. I'd probably produce better stuff than this. You deserve a purple heart if you finished this...
Today begins something called the 40 Day Fast, and you can click here to learn about it, and here to get the full roster. I tried to put a widget-linky-thing on my sidebar, but it doesn't work. This is onaccounta I'm a doofus.
Everyone involved wants to see God's Kingdom on earth as it is in Heaven, and we're convinced that sponsoring a child through Compassion International is a great way to help make that happen.
Below is something I wrote while visiting our Compassion girl in the slums of Nairobi. (You should watch the last two minutes of that video, if you haven't already...)
I didn't get to take Jesus into the slums. He was waiting for us.
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(First, before today's entry, let me note that I'm typing to the strains of a tuxedo-clad young Kenyan on the piano in our hotel. I'm sitting in the lobby, and he's regally playing -- of course -- "You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille", by Kenny Rogers. Many things don't translate cross-culturally, but -- make no mistake -- Kenny translates. Kenny crosses all boundaries.)
Susan leaned over, from her seat in the van.
"Notice where the children are playing -- look out the left window," she said. Susan knows this area well; she's worked for Compassion for years.
They were playing next to a pile of trash that's well over their heads, and seems to stretch for miles. The stench hit us immediately.
"They put all these schools next to the dump. All of Nairobi dumps its trash here," she said. Children of Dandora -- another sprawling, Where-the-Streets-Have-No-Name-type slum -- scavenge through the refuse, looking for food, or something to sell. Anything.
We stopped, and walked in a Dandora Baptist Church, where children at a Compassion project were singing. Their voices bounced off the walls, singing praises to God. Then we met about dozen people in the church who are suffering from AIDS. The whole community is suffering -- every family, one way or the other -- from AIDS.
A young man -- they called him "Timothy" -- stood up to introduce himself to us.
We could look out the windows to the right and left as he spoke, and see children in the filth. We could see dozens of vultures flying directly overhead, over the trash, over the dirt, over the disease-riddled, dark cardboard homes. Welcome to Dandora.
"Welcome to Dandora, where God lives."
Where God lives?
Circling vultures. Men, women, and children crying out with disease, children searching through stinking trash for anything...where God lives.
Timothy has lived his whole life here. Someone sponsored him through Compassion International, when he was four. He's now in his twenties. He now has a degree in Computer Science. He now teaches kids in the program about computers.
He knows where God lives. He knows God does not run away from suffering. He moves closer. Dandora is suffering, and God gets His mail here.
He also teaches the children -- who are where he once was --about the love of God.
"I understand the love of God. I understand how a God, whom I have not seen, can love me. This is because someone, whom I have not seen, loved me enough to sponsor me. I understand the love of God."
Where God lives.
I visited Bangkok recently. It is a neat city.
We had a "layover". We wanted to see the King's Palace! It was one (1) hour from the airport. We knew it would take one (1) hour to get back. That gave us a total of one (1) hour to spend touring the King's Palace in Bangkok. That's not much time!
We hurried! We took a REALLY fast taxi! We got there. It was hot. We were told we could not wear shorts into the palace. We were told we could rent pants at "that building over there."
We went to that building over there. They did not have pants for rent. They sent us to some another place for pant rental. That place was not a pant rental place, also. They sent us to another place for pant rental. That place was not a pant rental place, also. They sent us to another place for pant rental. That place was not a pant rental place, also.
We got frantic. We started asking people on the street where we could find pants. We had to say, "Pants? Rental Pants?" slowly. In Thailand, they speak Thai. So we talked louder.
We ran around. We wanted pants and yelled for them. People pointed in different directions.
I went to Bangkok. I ran around yelling about Rental Pants and did not find them and then went back to Florida.
Mike Taylor (not pictured at left) is a Friend of Kamp Krusty. He's one of those "I'm a worship leader, but I'm also a paleontologist" types. You know the cliche'.
He's also from England. England is a small country north of Europe that we so TOTALLY pwned in two wars.
Mike is very thoughtful on faith/science issues, and I love an answer he gives here on this blog dedicated to...something...science-y...that I...can't...understand. It's for scientists.
Scroll down to the last question, where Taylor starts his well-thought-out answer with, "First of all, I make no secret of the fact that I am a Christian..."
For the record, much as I respect and admire Taylor and his answer here: I'm not sold on NOMA. And don't bother dismissing my opinion purely because it's from a non-scientist. NOMA is not science, it's philosophy. It's not test-able; it's not falsifiable. It's more a religious view than a scientific one (Oddly, this might mean that scientists who preach NOMA are not particularly qualified to speak about the limits of science or religion. They should leave those sorts of discussions to philosophers.)
It occurs, too, that the Christian must believe that God, Himself, has, at least at times, overlapped the magisteria. I'm no scientist, of course, but for what it's worth, I suspect He's doing it even now. I do know Mike would agree with this: One needn't a philosophical commitment to materialism in order to pursue truth about the observable universe.
Anyway, Taylor's answer is well-put, and should give you insight into the mind of someone who, himself, is overlapping some magisteria in a way I think is graceful and winning.
Bill Kinnon is too negative. Bill Kinnon is throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Bill Kinnon is just way too critical. Bill Kinnon needs a haircut. Bill Kinnon's blog is too sarcastic. Bill Kinnon is Canadian.
So bear that all in mind. I'm offended by all of this, right there with you. But here's what he says "shepherds" need to remember about their calling:
Shepherds were decidedly lower class. Many writers call them a "despised class." Most were youngest sons or hirelings. (See Jesus' comments on sheep, shepherds and hirelings in John 10.) They lived with their sheep, smelled like their sheep, defended their sheep from prey (physically) and their world revolved around their sheep. They knew their sheep by name.
The rod and staff were tools of their trade. The hook on the staff would be used to pull sheep out of danger. The rod would be used for both protection and discipline. It is said that a sheep that constantly wandered away would have a leg broken by the shepherd's use of the rod. But then the Shepherd would carry that sheep while the leg healed - taking intimate care of it during the healing process - and the sheep would become so attached to the shepherd it would never run away again. (The leg-breaking part sounds a lot like church discipline - I haven't heard of many cases of care and love during the healing process, however.)
Shepherds only managed flocks to a size they could handle - probably in the 100 sheep range. Sometimes they would combine their flocks with those of other shepherds - and work together - while still remaining completely aware of which sheep they were responsible for. (Jesus' parable of the Lost Sheep would suggest the hearers of that parable understand the importance of each sheep.)
So. Present day Christian leaders (or wannabes) who want to be known as shepherds and want to call the rest of us sheep...if you want to be known as a shepherd - live the life. Recognize your humble station in life - decidedly lower class. Live amongst the sheep you've been called to. Smell like them. Know their names. Protect them. Carry them when necessary.
All the while realizing that you are but one of them.
Honestly, when I watched it the first time, by myself, it wasn't THAT bad.
I mean, it was bad, but not THAT bad. Not nearly so bad as it was when I just showed it at our house to some old and new friends.
"It's hilarious, and it's just puppets!" I said.
All I remembered was, you know, it was puppets, and there were valid political insights, and biting commentary, and there was a very adult puppet scene, but it was puppets, and I like puppets, and I remembered laughing so hard I cried. But watching it with a new crowd, through their eyes -- wow. No.
Wups.
Do not show this movie immediately following an evening of edification.
I used to work on a church staff. And we had this recurring joke, and it wasn't that funny, but it merited a snicker after an exhausting counseling session or grueling confrontation:
"You know, ministry would be GREAT if it weren't for the people."
Like I say, it was supposed to be funny. The idea of it, you know! There IS no "ministry" without people, no "ministry" without suddenly being called to dealing with people you don't really enjoy, no "ministry" without hanging out with energy-sappers, no "ministry" without the relational grime of it all.
It's a glorious mess. Fitting, since we're serving a God who chose to be born in a room with animal poop. "Ministry would be great, if it weren't for the people." Indeed.
I'm not sure it's a joke anymore.
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I get to watch a lot of churches in action, and I get to talk to hundreds of people, on an ongoing basis, involved with hundreds of churches. And here's something I hear a lot: "I love our pastor. He's funny, and he's a great teacher! He's such a man of God," and then, eventually, "He says he's not really a people person, though, and he's not a good counselor, so don't bring him your problems, and don't get upset if he doesn't know who I am, and stuff, and..."
As an introvert who's a pretty darn good teacher and a clumsy hallway-talker: That sounds like a neat gig, man. I'll take it.
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A new friend of mine, "Rick", describes himself as "too alone", and I can understand why. He's a single dad. A smart, kind guy who's raising a sweet, happy, eight-year old daughter. Rick was raised Catholic, but "wanted something more", and found an evangelical church down the street. He tried, but never made close friends. But, wow, he was inspired by The Pastor, who's a famous Man of God.
Rick was a little naive about how church can operate, and asked if he could meet The Pastor to talk. The staff eventually sent him a letter, saying yes, at such-and-such date, Pastor would be available, in the hallway, but for no longer than five minutes. Rick was disappointed. He wanted 20, maybe 30.
Rick thought the staff may have acted on its own, and maybe his Pastor would talk with him if he could just reach him directly. Rick decided to sit in the front row, next to a table where the Pastor sits. Rick wrote him a brief letter, telling him how thankful he was for the Pastor's sermons, and how the Pastor reminded him of his own dad, who had passed away, and how comforting it was for Rick to read The Pastor's books and listen to him, and could they please talk for a bit, because it would mean so much.
The Pastor took the note wordlessly, read it, folded it up, stuck it in his pocket, didn't look at him, and Rick never heard a word back.
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I get complaints nearly every day about me. And I get nervous emails, too -- the kind that start like, "I know you don't know me, and probably don't have time for this, but..." that continue with, "I don't know what else to do, my wife left me yesterday..." or, "I feel so alone..." or, "I want to love God, like you were talking about, but I just don't know how I can, because..." and so forth.
I try to write everyone back, or call them, and in some cases, get together with them. Everyone. I try.
This isn't impressive, really. I did start to think, once, "You know, I'm not a pastor, I'm just a radio guy, and these people need someone else, really, and why doesn't their church take care of this, and why are you writing a radio station, again?"
Then I read that C.S. Lewis responded to every letter he got. Half his day -- gone! -- because of all his correspondence. He could've been utilitarian about it. ("Well, shoot, my time would be best spent writing another trilogy.") But he didn't. Someone asked him why. "Because something I write in these letters might mean something to someone."
It's stupid to even write this, but for the record: I, small-time media feller and accordion hack,am no C.S. Lewis. A radio friend who does our evening show fields hundreds of emails, and spends much of his day engaged in long back-and-forths. He's on nationally. Does he have time for that?
"That's my job, man. That's where it happens."
I needed to hear that. I'd love to just go in my little room, my studio, and "minister" without the mess.
But the mess is the ministry.
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"It's not realistic to be spiritual shepherd thousands of people," -- I know, I know. And I agree. But if you're not my spiritual shepherd, why am I calling you my pastor? If it's just teaching them, I could do that on the radio. But I wouldn't be their shepherd.
I think it's really easy for Pastors, for any of us, really, to love people. At least, I should say, love People, capital "P", as in The People in Theory, the People Out There, the Sheep, the Idea of People.
It's real easy to love The People. It's much more difficult, much more challenging, much more exhausting, much more a test of the heart to love actual people: The people who work for you. The people in your home. The people who slip you a heart-rending note when you're getting ready to impress The People.
Ministry is loving people you didn't handpick.
It's easy to love The People. There's a long history of impressive leaders who loved People while abusing those actual humans walking around them. Rousseau, Russell, Marx (Marx abused his only employee, a woman who bore his child and whom he threw out in the street, along with the kid) -- there's a loooong list of intellectual and leadership titans, and tyrants; it goes on forever.
We have a name for those who find it so easy to love the idea of the people, to serve The People, while thinking themselves too busy for people: Elitists.
So here's to those with pastoral hearts, who love each inconvenient human around them -- each person who offers nothing but a mess. Blessed are those pastors, for theirs is not an ego trip.
Because I'm on the radio, I get attention for doing very little. But pastors -- paid, unpaid, titled, untitled -- who love whomever God brings across their paths? I have to believe your reward is coming, and it'll be much better than your picture in a seminar brochure. Lots, lots better.
You're probably already getting a taste of it.
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For the record, Rick found our motley little group. (We were helping a family move in his complex when we met him) and he told me last night he called his parents to let them know he'd finally found some friends. Called his parents!
Rick is fun to be around, and his daughter mixes right in with the other kids. She's a blessing, and Rick is, too.
I feel sorry for him. By "him", I mean The Pastor.
Friends of Kamp Krusty Paul and Maryanne Goldsmith just had their first baby! Congrats, and we love you!
His name is "Keaton", which makes sense aplenty, given Paul's political disposition and enthusiasms, which evoke Alex from Family Ties, except a bit more conservative.
Anyway, we managed to get a camera inside their home to watch the three of them in action, LIVE...
There's this one Pastor who doesn't like Pirate Pastors! Pirate Pastors are pastors who start competition where there are already churches!
This pastor started his church in the unreached area of Grapevine, Texas! He's expanded into other frontiers, like Dallas! And he's also now franchised in South Florida, where we didn't have any churches! I'm glad we've got one, now!
It's BAD when pastors take business away from other pastors! Like this Pastor says, if people did that in the corporate world -- stole business -- they'd be in JAIL!
Piracy is bad, because pirates take money that really doesn't belong to them -- and they use it for themselves! They pretend they're kings, but it's not their money! I hate pirates for doing that, and I'll bet you do, too!
I'm glad, at least, that his church hasn't been completely plundered! They still have enough of God's money to build an arcade and climbing wall and $16 million ultra-awesome Communications Building and they're building a Church Lake so that more dads will bass-fish with their kids on church grounds and they're asking people to give sacrificially for the new "Town and Country" program to build an awesome new retreat center and they also have a bookstore full of the Pastor's own books and videos and a cafe that has coffee cups printed with the Pastor's favorite recipes!
Stupid pirates haven't gotten everything, yet!
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In unrelated news, I've recently visited some Christian brothers and sisters who don'tt have enough of God's money to afford a single working toilet, and who don't get enough food, and another church trying to buy ARV drugs to keep its kids from being orphaned and another that's struggling to buy nets to cover their children and protect them from malaria. I hope God helps them sometime with His money!
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In still more unrelated news, the Pastor's church kindly requests your gold, land, coins, and jewelry. (scroll down...)
Q: How do I witness to my hell-bound friends after I'm raptured?
A: With this website.
Q: And does it automatically send out emails to my friends six days after the rapture?
A: Yes.
Q: And do the emails tell my friends that I got raptured, so that's why I didn't show up for pilates, and yes, you can borrow my iPod now?
A: Yes.
Q: And does it only charge me only $40 a year to reach my loved ones for Christ?
A: Yes.
Q: And can we edit our own outgoing memos, to say what we really mean, like, say, "RE: Boo Ya"?
A: Yes.
Q: Could the post-rapture, auto-send feature fail, thereby sending false "I love you, but I've been raptured, and you've been left behind" emails to the person currently sitting next to me in the cubicle?
A: Yes, quite easily.
Q: Is this for real?
A: It's for real.
Q: And, like Annie Dillard, do we sometimes wonder why God doesn't just blow our dancing bear act to smithereens?
A: Every day.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. But here it is, I got it on video.
Elephants. painting stuff! I mean, I knew they could slop paint on a canvas -- I'd seen that. But was I the only one who didn't know they could be trained like this? I had no idea.
Two questions: Who trained them to do this? And can they train me, too?
Also: Some elephant riding video from Thailand, if you care (you don't) and, obviously, Bonus Oxen.
You know that feeling, when God is right there, thisclose, and you can just feel His loving arms around you, and you can literally hear His voice, whispering in your ear, telling you how much He loves you?
I don't.
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Jesus said, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven." I'm not sure what that means. But I think Dallas Willard was the one writing about how "Blessed are the poor in spirit" really means, "Good news! In MY Kingdom, even the spiritually bankrupt get invites!"
Oh, man, I hope he's right. That would be great news for me. Because I'm not very spiritual. Never have been. I've tried. And I'll keep trying. But I'm just not. I don't feel much of anything a lot of the time. I'm sorry.
I know; I probably won't be writing old-school hymns: "And He walks with me, I think, and He talks with me, probably in some way, and He tells me I am His own, but generally not through an audible voice that I hear, at least in a non-metaphorical sense, and none other has ever known just how awkward it even is for me to talk about my faith, personally, and I know I should feel bad about that, too."
Maybe I'm still doing something wrong. I've never come by faith easily. I don't get swept up in swirling "powerful worship". Shoot, I'm not even comfy in it. I don't like praying out loud, even among friends.
Could Jesus have been talking to people like me, the spiritually dry, when He was talking about how great the Kingdom is? Maybe Jesus was saying, "Guess what? When I'm in charge, it's good news even for the people who aren't all spiritual-y."
It means even I can participate! I can get on this ride, even if I'm not as spiritually tall as this cut-out stand-up of Avalon.
I was thinking about this a lot this week, because I've been doing something ostensibly spiritual, presumably emotional, and -- surely! -- inspiring. But I haven't felt spiritual, haven't been emotional, and haven't been inspired.
Here I've been trying to help poor people with Compassion International, spending time in their homes, seeing their abject poverty, playing with little kids, all that stuff. And I haven't felt much of anything. I'm embarrassed telling you that. I just haven't.
Though no one has said as much, I feared my last blog (typed quickly in a busy airport) may come off as, "Check out what I did!" -- but the reality is quite the opposite. I feared the whole project would fail because I had little to say. Last time, from the slums of Nairobi, I cried during every call back to the radio station. I felt it, man. Every. Single. Call. -- I'm choking up. I couldn't help it. The first couple times, I'm sure listeners found it endearing, like, "Wow, this guy's really spiritual." By the end, after ten straight cry sessions, "Wow, this guy may not even be a guy."
Totally not normal for me, but it seemed to "work". But how can I expect people to be moved, to do the right thing, to care for the poor, when I'm right THERE and I'm not feelin' it? Answer: It's not really about me, never was, never will be.
I didn't do a great job this time -- not at all. Never felt I had much to say. I was completely exhausted. And we wound up with 500 or so kids getting sponsored. Now I'm home, and I feel like I went oh-for-five in Game 7 of the Series, but my team won the whole thing. Praise the Lord and pop the cork.
The truth of Jesus is a two-edged sword, of course. "Happy are the spiritually bankrupt" -- if that's the correct interpretation -- would sure bug some religious people, some people who really think they're spiritually rich. But, hey, everything Jesus said bothers smug religious types.
And that, alone, makes me suspect Willard is on to something.
Plane is leaving here in Chang Mai.
It's been a grueling trip, in some ways. We've spent an average of 7-8 hours, each day, in the trucks, on our way to visit the sites.
We met hundreds of kids, and the GREAT news: All of them now have sponsors from South Florida. Very few are from homes that know anything about Jesus. It's apparent that entire communities are going to undergo major changes for the better.
Thanks for any prayers for these children. I can't believe what an honor it is to have ANY role in their lives, even for just a moment.
This internet time cost me ten baht. Thank you.
To get here to Chiang Mai, it took us seven airports. And 37 hours of airport-and-flying time.
Here's a compilation of the action, mainly for family. Not sure who else would choose to endure this. It features Justice, my boy, and Kurt Wallace, an old radio friend of mine from back in the day.
I'm warning you: This is painful.
Here's a video we made from today. It's for my job. We're trying to get people to sponsor these children in Thailand. The video has the traditional elements, including a rousing game of keep-away that nearly ends tragically. For me.
These children are the sweetest things. None have sponsors. They just opened these projects. Already, LOVE is changing people, bringing them to Jesus. Parents who are animist are seeing Jesus-folk give their kids hope, get them to school (first time ever, even for ten year olds here!) and the whole community is changing.
Of course, if you ask the government here, some of these children don't exist. And neither do their families. They have nothing, own nothing, and effectively, are nothing. They're too poor, too removed. They have no birth certificates, no citizenship, no meager government benefits. They are off the map, off the radar, uncool, unknown, and without meaning.
...and then there's God's economy, where they are kings and queens, princes and princesses. And this, friends, is why I love God.
Justice and I are now at the Palm Beach airport. He's my son, and I figure it's time for him to learn who he is. He is a bright young man, he is loved by God, and he, being my son, belongs in coach class. We are Coach People.
We will be crammed in with the masses for days; we will be unable to move, sleep, or eat decent food, and all the blood will flow downward, tripling the size of our feet before reaching our destination. And we will like it. We are Coach People.
We're setting off on a journey that will take us 35 hours, one-way. (I can't tell you where we're going, because it's a radio contest-thing to guess where we're headed.) .
He is, I must say, singularly gifted for this. I'm enormously proud of him. He has a supernatural ability to sit. And sit. For hours. Quietly. Reading. We used to get fed up with it and send him outside, but he'd smuggle a book out and work his way back into the garage, to sit and read. We gave up. He's a thinker, a writer, a logician, and he just bought his very own sunglasses.
Some kids do X-games. Justice loves nothing more than to sit in his room, reading, listening to Yo Yo Ma, and sipping Earl Grey.
And we're bringing our magnetic chess set. We're nerds. We embrace it.
Anyway, I'll keep you posted on the trip. If you want to win a trip of a lifetime, through Compassion International, check out the site I linked to -- it would be cool to have a blog reader win!
Q: Any problems finding the ship for the Big Christian Cruise? Did you go to the wrong port?
A: Did I go to the wrong port? That's kind of a strange question. Did I go to the wrong port? Whatever.
Q: Did you go to the wrong port?
A: I don't get why this question is relevant, and --
Q: Did you go to the wrong port?
A: Yes.
Q: When did you figure out that it wasn't the right port?
A: When there was no ship there.
Q: You didn't even find out before you left which port the cruise ship was leaving from?
A: I'm not a details guy. I'm up front about that.
Q: How Christian was the Christian cruise?
A: Well, the casino was open, and fully staffed, but no one went in there to gamble. There was a staff person at each table, all night, standing by him or herself. No one in there.
Q: What about drinking?
A: Very little drinking. We were told the bars would be open, but drinking might "confuse people" who see you do it, so don't do it. When Christians behave in ways that are unhealthy, it confuses people.
Q: Did you drink?
A: Can't answer. I don't want to confuse people.
Q: But doesn't maturity often confuse the immature? Shouldn't we welcome confusion if the dissonance yields eventual understanding and wisdom?
A: That's an insightful question. I have no answer for that.
Q: Well, maybe it's good to have a solid witness to avoid confusing people. Cruise ships have hundreds of staff, too, from other countries, who may be confused by seeing Christians using the bar.
A: The staff, it might be noted, weighed an average of 300 lbs less, per person, than the Christian passengers. Every staff person was slim. We passengers were even larger than the usual cruise crowd. I think they might find that confusing.
Q: But that's food. Jesus never said, "Don't eat food." He just told us, "Don't drink alcohol."
A: Yes, I remember that. I heard there would be some huge Christian music fans on board, and there sure were.
Q: Did you play any mini-golf in 100 MPH winds?
A: Funny you should mention that. Yes, yes, I did. The course was atop the ship, and it got stormy. No actual putting necessary. I just set the ball down, and watched it roll uphill. I may be the first-ever golfer, at any level, to score a hole-in-none.
Q; Wow. That sounds like a funny story, but it's really not.
A: I know.
Q: When you got your luggage delivered to your room, was anyone's underwear stuck to it?
A: Why...yes. Freaky. I got my luggage, and some guy's gray underwear was adhered to the outside of my suitcase.
Q: Sick.
A: I know. It confused me, so he shouldn't have done it.
Q: What did you do?
A: A bellhop-guy said he would take it, but first I wanted a picture with it, so Carolyn took a picture of me with it. Then I turned around and tried to get the bellhop's attention, since he was now facing the other way. I kept saying, "Here's the underwear. Here's the underwear. Excuse me, here's the underwear," and I was holding it out to him. "Here's the underwear." And he turned around, and it was a different guy.
Q: ...
A: Yep.
Q: What was your favorite part of the boat?
A: They had a library! I like libraries a lot.
Q: That's neat! I guess the idea that our culture is completely intellectually lazy is defeated by the presence of a library on board! Sure, there were large crowds hovering over the ice-cream machine 24 hours a day, but at least they had a library! Long live the life of the mind!
A: The library was open from 11 a.m. to 11:15 a.m.
Q: So was the whole thing a huge celebration of food?
A: There were some good concerts. "Tobymac" always puts on a good show, and Ayeisha Woods is really talented, among others. But food seemed to be the star, yes. When people weren't eating, they were talking about eating.
Q: What was the last thing you heard while leaving the boat?
A: Well, as we were walking through the hall on the way out, one lady was leaning in a cabin doorway, talking to someone inside the room whom I couldn't see. She was mad, and she said, "I thought you was gonna eat that on the deck."
Q: Was the cruise enjoyable?
A: I love being with my wife, and I get to work with some very, very cool people who were aboard. It's sure a neat job perk to be able to do that.
Q: What about the net affect of being around all that food, and the sight of all those people eating all the time, non-stop?
A: I lost two pounds.
So I'm back from our Christian Cruise. More on that later. Many observations about Christian Cruising to come. Meantime, stupid Typepad deleted two of my "time release" Disturbing Album Covers entries.
I'm not sure why, but my guess is "Slim Goodbody" was, in Typepad's view, over the line.
We begin our journey with Rick MicKnight, whose first single off this album was the joyous, yet haunting, "I'm a-Leapin' with My Bible While Simultaneously Proudly Staring Down with at Myself Using My Giant Disembodied Head in the Sky".
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