Me and Benjamin

Sunshine and 60 degrees. It's a good day! And I feel productive... I ordered my free credit reports online today, and am taking baby steps to eliminate my debt. The next step, I think, is to consolidate my debt with a bank or credit union... The shadow of my ignorance about finances has been stifling at times, and I hate being stuck under it. I can see a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel, though... So many things are coming about to help me take care of it: I'm moving in with Mike and Susanne in January, and they have graciously extended free rent to me. This means that the money I earn can go toward financial freedom. My friend and sister, Beth, just landed a great job in a restaurant in Nola, and said that she could probably hook me up... That, coupled with the odd day working construction, sound like a good possibility for debt-reduction. And I am going to go back to school in January. This will put my student loans into forbearance until I finish school. All in all, pretty excited for what's to come. More to come!

from my window

It's pouring down rain right now, and I am sitting inside Cafe Palio. Don Miller wrote a lot of Blue Like Jazz sitting right here, and I can see why the book was so good! This window lends a view to beautiful green-leafed trees gently shedding their foliage along with the rain, people come and go from the shop, cars circle the garden roundabout, and there is warmth inside. I feel like writing today, not about the struggle per se - just writing to write... It's a good feeling.

I read Colossians 3 today. Paul's letters are so heavy with layers and layers of theology. As I read the chapter, he was talking about not walking in the flesh anymore - getting rid of lust, sexual immorality, greed and the like. My immediate and visceral reaction was to grunt in frustration. He says that these things are a part of the old nature, and that we should "set our hearts on things above..." It's more easily said than done sometimes. I'm just being honest.

Paul goes on to talk about this in the context of the body - what we would call the Church, probably the local body of believers. He talks about forgiveness and clothing ourselves with kindness and compassion. Again, the frustrated grunt. Why? Because I feel so apart from community right now. I have a strong network of people in Seattle and in Nola, but not here in Portland. It's lonely here, and much easier to keep the old self...

We NEED community. We can do none of the things Paul mentions in the first half of the chapter without the people and posture portrayed in the last half of the chapter... We NEED mothers and fathers and young men and women, masters and slaves (managers and employees, if you will). Without the other parts, we cannot function as a whole. That's tough, because a lot of the time, I don't even LIKE the other parts! I'm just being honest.

My friend, Trippe, got on a plane the other day and flew to San Francisco. He needed to get away, be alone, sort some things out. That boy is growing. He's a man, now. He's making wise and difficult decisions and owning his muck. San Francisco has been good to him. He comes home around midnight tonight. I'm jealous, in a way. I want to get away, too. But after reading this, I just want to drown in community. I want intimacy - the kind where people know you... really know you. Where they see your muck and still love you. Where they hurt you and you have to forgive them, and you hurt them and they have to forgive you. Where love and humility and all that are real and true and DEEP!

I want to be with my tribe! I want Colossians 3 to be true for me... and so I look out the window, and I ask the God who is watering the earth with his driving rain and shading the sun with his big, puffy, pillowy clouds, who has turned the leaves to copper and with a breath blows them to the earth, to grant me the grace to live in holiness, as the New Man today, and to give me travelling companions on this road, other leaves to blow in this wind with, and may we prevail, and bud anew like the Springtime!

As I close my laptop and get ready for the next part of my day, I am thankful for the view from this window and the perspective it affords. I'm just being honest.

That Poor, Poor Man...

Jake Timmerman and I were roommates for a year. It was a good year. We were real, and became brothers. He's not the topic, though. Actually, he's very fortunate to be engaged to a beautiful woman - Erin - and is preparing for a life as a missionary to the kids of Compton.

No, the poor man I speak of is the man we witnessed gnarfing inside his half-empty pitcher of beer tonight at the Horse Brass Pub... Jake and I had decided to get together for a brew and a game of darts. Another good friend, Jaaron, also graced us with his presence. And as I was handing Jaaron the darts, this lumberjack of a man - we're talking over 300 lbs, big suspenders, wearing a jacket to make an Eskimo jealous - leans over the book he's reading, grabs his pitcher, and begins to spew like the fountains in front of the Bellagio! It all made it into the pitcher, and he wiped off his mouth and continued to read... For a minute. His second volley projectiled a good 10 feet - across his lap, book, table, beer, a rug, and the floor. I grabbed some napkins for him to wipe his mouth with, and asked him if he was all right. He grunted, cleaned up some, gathered his belongings, and left.

I wonder if he's okay. A moment at once comical, and yet sad. I hope he isn't too embarrassed to return to the Brass. Seemed like a decent chap!

(And I lost all 4 games we threw tonight)

Deepest Apologies...

the times, they are a'changin'...

So here we are, officially into Autumn. September 21 flew by, and as Summer stomped out the front door here in Portland, Autumn - that chilly, but oh-so-beautiful lady - sauntered in through the kitchen door that someone left open to catch the evening breeze. She has settled comfortably here in my neighborhood. I am beginning to see hints of oranges and reds. Soon, the trees will be the color of fire, and leaves will lose their grip on the twigs and brances where they live, and sashay a meandering path toward the ground, heeding the beckoning call of gravity, the sweeping of the rake, and the giggling that accompanies little bodies crashing into piles of the things.

As my time in Portland wanes, I feel like a Jackson Pollock of thoughts, whispered prayers, emotions. Sleepless nights and some mornings I can't get out of bed. I am wondering how to make sense of so much coming at me at once... Life is splattering all over my canvas, and all I can do is trust that the Artist knows what he's doing. I'll assuage fears right now - I am not depressed or unwell - just a bit overloaded. I feel a heavy weight to what I am preparing for, and I want to prepare well.

Somehow, despite my best efforts at progress, I feel as though the shore will never be reached. I am still treading water somewhere over the Marianas Trench. I am wrestling through setting a realistic budget, and though that is almost in place, the actual income versus projected is looking like the emaciated cows of Joseph's prophetic dream. More to come, as I am exhausted writing this much already...

To You Who Read

Thank you! I like to tell myself that I write mostly for me... And that's mostly true... Mostly! Ha! I have been reading and re-reading your comments this morning, and looking at the map I put on my page, and I am grateful that my small words and my experiences are somehow affecting people other than me - people reading in Nola, the Northwest, Idaho, Boston, New Zealand, Germany! Wow!

I am going to have some breakfast, and maybe I'll hammer out a few thoughts today. There's a lot tumbling around in my head right now, and my fingers are itching to peck the keys. Today could be big!

Love you all!

Ain't No Cookin' Like It!

If you ever go to New Orleans, there are 3 imperative culinary destinations. They can all be visited on a budget, but bring cash! Sleep in, and about 11am, make your way down to Magazine St. in the Uptown. You'll spend a lot of time in New Orleans walking. It's how you get to understand the people, appreciate the culture, and fall in love with this city.
It all starts with your stomach. Plan for brunch at Slim Goodie's. I had the Cuban Omelette with avocado, and a side of hash browns. Amazing. And filling. Pay cash, and leave a hefty tip. A general rule is, for every $5 you spend, tip $1. More if the service was good! You should walk it off, or it will make you tired. So, head up the street and window shop a little. After all, the word, "Magazine" comes from the French "magasin", which is a shop. Thus Magazine Street is where the boutiques and shops are.

The world of New Orleans is so far removed from the West Coast vibe - it's ridiculous. People actually greet each other on the sidewalk. They stop and chat, perfect strangers. They sashay on down the street, and go about their business. But that brief conversation allows people to lend dignity to each other, to build a sense of community, of camaraderie. In post-Katrina New Orleans, that basic element of life has become so necessary to the survival of the shell-shocked people. It's also just downright pleasant.

After walking Magazine St., head home for a siesta, and get out of the heat a little. Type a blog about brunch. It deserves it, I'm sure you'll agree!
Perhaps after a driving tour of the Ninth Wards, or a playtime at Audubon Park, you're feeling a little bit hungry... Head back to Magazine St. and look for Juan's Flying Burrito. This is the perfect mix of Creole, Cajun, and Mexican. You have to get the Flying Burrito (the Namesake)... It's chicken, steak, shrimp, and so much more! Get chips and guac and salsa to appetize with. If your theology allows, suck down a Negro Modelo dark Mexican beer with your burrito. Now we're talkin'! Remember to tip big... It's your server's livelihood - and get to know their name, too! I remember Matt served us at Slim Goodie's, but I confess I don't remember our server's name at Juan's.

Now it's dusk, the perfect time to go check out a... graveyard? New Orleans is built on soft, swampy ground, and since the beginning of the Vieux Carre (the Old City, now known as the French Quarter), the dead have been interred outside the city in walled cemeteries with above-ground crypts. A family will buy a small plot, build a crypt, and bury their own their. When someone dies, a funeral procession goes from the church to the graveyard, led by a jazz band playing a slow somber dirge. The family puts the casket bearing the bones of the dead is interred above the ground in this crypt - literally, a bone box. As the procession leaves the cemetery, the jazz band is still playing the dirge. Once they pass under the gate, the trumpet player blasts a celebratory tune, and the band takes up the joyful chorus line. The procession dances and celebrates its way to the house of the bereaved family. They have gone from mourning their loss of the departed, to celebrating their life, and their passing into eternity! A meal and drinks are provided, and people stay late to talk and laugh. Every year on November 1st (All Saints' Day), the families return to their plot in the graveyard to tend their crypt, remember their dead, and mingle with other families there to do the same. Just another aspect of the culture that truly fosters community, and a unique sense of remembering...The fact is, you're probably hungry again, and maybe a little tired from all that walking around. If you've gone to the first cemetery in the city (some people buried there lived during the Revolutionary War!), you're not far from the legendary Cafe du Monde. This reputable Euro-style cafe is open 24-7 just across the street from Jackson Square in the heart of the Vieux Carre. Walk on in under the awning, and sit at a table. Your server will come over and take your order. The menu is small and simple. Order a plate of beignet (fried dough topped with powdered sugar), and a cafe au lait apiece. Your server will fetch your order, and bring everone a water, as well. He or she will then tell you the total, and you will hand cash over. This is when you tip (remember the rule). Your server will not come back. Enjoy your beignet, coffee and conversation. People watch. Often there will be someone playing a saxophone or guitar out on the sidewalk. Enjoy the warm night, and that full feeling in your stomach.

Kickin' It in the Big Easy...

My good friend Matt O'Brien and I are down in New Orleans right now, enjoying the beignet and cafe au lait at Cafe Du Monde, meeting and getting to know Beth, and the Carlsons (Chad and Cindy), and just enjoying some down time. Pictures to come later, but for now, we are out on a city mapping tour today... Cheers!

Finally, An Update!

Dear Family and Friends,

I have attempted to begin this long-overdue letter several times. Each time I put fingers to keyboard, I feel as though words are inadequate to express what I have seen and experienced in New Orleans. So I will begin with the easy part... Thank you. To say that once is not enough, so I will say it again: Thank you. You are as much a part of my experience as the streets, food, jazz and beautiful people of New Orleans have been. Thank you for praying for me, for asking about me, for being excited for me, for sending money on my behalf. Thank you for your love. It is not unnoticed, or unappreciated.

As I went through the process of desiring to go to New Orleans for a 'visit', praying and applying for this team, attending meetings and raising funds - up to the minute I boarded the plane, and throughout the journey, the Lord time and again validated his desire for me to be there. Sometimes, it was little whispers. For instance, as I would pick up a shift, I would find myself making over 20% in tips. Two close friends got ahold of me to tell me they were sending me their monthly tithe. An expensive car repair was covered by my church... It worked out that I was able to pay my bills for July, eliminate some small debts, cover the funds for New Orleans, and pay for the several commutes between Seattle and Portland for meetings and flights. This is the providence and goodness of God!

As I prepared for, and embarked on this endeavor, I made a decision to not make any decisions while in New Orleans. My purpose was to taste and see, to learn about the city, about Mike's birthing movement, and to see if this was a place I could grow. "God, is this the next place you want me?" I have fallen in love with that city, in a strange way that I believe only the Lord could bring about in me. It is hellishly hot, so muggy that your shirt sticks to you even in Air-Conditioned vehicles. The areas we kept to are, for the most part, impoverished. There is trash everywhere. It doesn't have the beautiful skyline of Seattle. There are no mountains to speak of anywhere near the place. Ants and cockroaches invade the kitchens...

But the humidity forces people to walk slower; you sweat less when you do. Walking slower, you begin to notice other people, and conversations spark like a flame in dry kindling. As I watched people go about their lives, living in half-fixed houses that still smelled like Katrina, I began to love the people of the city. Not because the city is aesthetically pleasing, but because the people of New Orleans love it. Many of them have little or nothing to return to - yet here they are. And I am drawn to them.

In lieu of a recitation of facts and experiences here that would consume several pages, I would rather outline for you where I go from this point. If you would like to read further about my experiences in New Orleans, events and people that God used to lead me to my decision and conclusion (and view some photos), please visit my blog at www.confusionbreedsprogress. blogspot.com.

So here I am, like Bastian in The NeverEnding Story II (I'm a nerd), standing on the precipice and about to jump off... I don't know quite how it will end up, but I do know that I have to jump. What does that look like? After much discussion and prayer with Mike Brantley, Tom Cowan, Joe Rehfeld, Matt Chapman, my mom, and a few others, I have decided to move to New Orleans in January. I am committing to a year-long internship with Mike, as he plants a local church in Uptown New Orleans. I will work a part-time job, begin to attend classes in the Spring, and explore my calling and identity in Christ, with Mike as my guide, and the community of Communitas New Orleans as my tribe.

Because I think categorically, I will tackle each subject, and then attach a timeline at the end of the letter.

School
I have been looking at the three "big" colleges in town - Loyola, the Jesuit school, Tulane University of Louisiana, and the University of New Orleans. I am planning to enroll as at least a part-time student for the Spring Semester, and move toward full-time status as soon as I achieve state residency. I want to finish my degree as soon as possible. I am looking into night-school programs that are more accelerated in pace.

Job
Just about anyone can move to New Orleans and be hired to work construction within a day or two. I will probably do that full-time for a few months, until I start school. I have also been browsing Craigslist and Google Maps, looking for foodservice and hospitality part-time jobs for when school starts.

Internship and Living
My primary focus is to be interned and discipled by Mike as I engage in life with the community emerging in the neighborhood. I will be focusing on deepening my understanding of my personal calling, growing closer to Jesus as I walk with him, and learning how to live sacrificially and missionally.

Timeline

September 5-8
Recon Visit - I will be getting an idea of the prices for apartments in Mike's neighborhood. I will be visiting the schools to set the wheels in motion for applications for the Spring. I will be spending quality time getting to know Chad and Cindy (Mike and Susanne's neighbors and fellow members of Communitas). One of my closest friends, Matt O'Brien, will be travelling with me, to get his own taste of New Orleans...

September 8-December 15
I will return to Portland and work like a dog to save money for a trip to New Zealand, and my move to New Orleans. I will begin to sell my unnecessary belongings, ideally paring it down to laptop, clothes, guitar, toiletries and a few books... I am praying about whether to sell my car, and fly to New Orleans, eventually purchasing a newer and more reliable vehicle there, or to sell my car, buy a newer one here and drive out???

December 6
My lease ends on my apartment.

December 15-December 29
I will be in Seattle, spending time with my family for the Holidays, and celebrating Andrew and Arthur's birthdays. I will see Seattle friends and mentors, and rest.

December 29-January 15
I will be travelling in New Zealand, to be the Best Man at my best friend's wedding. Nick Ippolito has been living there since January 2005, and has met the love of his life. I get to share in his joy, and see the land of Middle Earth (that nerd thing again)!

January 15-20
Rest in Seattle and prepare to go...

January 20
I enter a new phase in life.

(More details will be posted later. There will be several revisions and additions, I'm sure!)

Please pray for me. I am very much a broken piece of clay that the Lord has somehow seen fit to remold and reshape. I am his Image Bearer, with a dignity and a beauty that comes from the Maker. I have been struggling with my identity in Christ, and as I transition into this new lifestyle, I am wrestling with questions such as: Can I be used? Am I good enough? What about my failures and my sin? It is so stinkin' difficult for my to bring this knowledge the twelve or fifteen inches from my head to my heart!

Please pray for me. I have had difficulty controlling my finances, ever since I knew what a bank account was. Pray that the Lord would keep my mind focused on his desires for my money - to pay off my debt, to save expeditiously for my move, to give lavishly to those in need. Pray that the work hours increase, that I do my best job, that the tips are generous, and that I am frugal.

Please pray for me. There are several relationships that I need to address before I leave. The most notable among them is my relationship with my father. We have not spoken since August 2005, except for short conversations when it has been necessary. I feel an urgency to bring resolve to that.

Please pray for me. That I would not lose focus on the friends and workmates that are right here in Portland. I find it too easy to write people off because I'm moving. I won't be here later, so why should I care now? That attitude is wrong, and I want to continue to love the people around me, living missionally and incarnationally where I am right now - not waiting to incarnate until I move to New Orleans.

Please pray for me. I am having a hard time getting involved at Imago Dei, my local church in Portland. Pray that I would be able to attend regularly - that the Sunday AM shift I have been scheduled would be covered, so I can go. Pray that I would be able to attach to a person or group of people there that love Jesus and love people. That I would be able to journey with them between now and the time I take off.

Please pray for New Orleans. The city is still very much a shambles - two years after Katrina. The State of Louisiana is still a shambles, itself. There are moral and financial scandals among political figures, an understaffed, underpaid, and sometimes corrupt emergency response force. Drugs are ruining the lives of hundreds of young people in the poorer neighborhoods. Thousands and thousands still live in FEMA trailers the size of a small bedroom. Federal money is locked up in beauracracy and often misappropriated toward wealthier communities. And still, the people hold hope that their city, their neighborhood, and their family will rise out of the wreckage, and thrive.



Thank you for your love,


Adam
confusionbreedsprogress.blogspot.com

Also, Mike's blog:
out-on-a-limb.blogspot.com

A You-Tube video introducing Communitas New Orleans:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcXb9lAVko0&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fout%2Don%2Da%2Dlimb%2Eblogspot%2Ecom%2F

CRM - The Organization sending Communitas:
crmleaders.org

Katrina... 2 Years Later

Lord, two years to the day after the landfall of Hurricane Katrina, I lift up the still-broken city of New Orleans to you. A broken city full of shattered but resilient people. People who are in love with that unique place. People with a colorful and exciting history and culture. People who, in vast majority, do not know you or how much you love them - how much you love their city. God, houses are still in shambles. People still live in FEMA trailers. There is a shortage of teachers, firefighters, EMTs, moral police officers, electricians, builders... The people necessary to rebuild this community. The prices for drywall and copper are exorbitant. The laborers can name their price, and the homeowners must pay it - who else will build their house? God, my heart breaks for those people, those beautiful people.

You are not absent from there. You move among the people, you love them, and your heart breaks for them. Your rage burns against the politicians who practice corruption and evil, who abuse the trust placed in them by their constituents. You condemn the sin of those who have forgotten this city full of people made in your image. And you desire that New Orleans be a place where your love is shown and practiced, a place where you are manifest. Father, strengthen the Christians there to stand beside the poor, the orphan and the widow. Let your provision and justice be evident. Move us, your Church, your physical manifestation on earth, to love and serve this city, to wash her feet as you would. And may the people of New Orleans know that you are God, and that you love them. May they rise from the ashes to worship you.

Amen.

Coming soon...

New Blog on the Way... Please be patient. I have searched diligently for words that could convey what I saw, felt and experienced in New Orleans, and a way to frame my response. It should be up by Tuesday. I promise... And now I'm on record.

And I'm Gone

Thank you ALL for your prayers, your encouraging emails, your cash, your love and faith... Wheels up in 8 hours. I'm leaving Portland in an hour to drive to Seattle. Not much sleep ahead tonight. Please continue to pray for me, as I have caught something in the last 24-48 hours. I'll sleep plenty on the plane and get lots of fluids.

God has been merciful and lavish to provide for all of my needs for the trip, and I know he will continue to sustain me. Pictures and an update in two weeks...

Adam

Lilies and Sparrows, Today and Tomorrow

Lilies and Sparrows - A recap...
My car has been in the shop for a week. The fuel pump was shot, which meant a repair over $550. Definitely a curveball. The Lord is good to me, though, and my mechanic was paid. I was the recipient of grace. I've been reading in the Sermon on the Mount lately, and Jesus's words are at once very comforting, and very scary. They are always counterintuitive and counter-cultural. He tells people not to work for riches here, in this life, but to store up treasure in heaven. In the next breath, he points out the lilies and the sparrows, telling us not to worry. I'm in no danger of acquiring much earthly treasure. I live pretty hand to mouth, and for the most part, I'm content (I would like a new MacBook, but I'm doing okay with what I have!). Not worrying is the hard part for me, especially when stuff like a fuel pump happens. But he proves himself over and over to be right! So far, I have fared much much better than the birds and flowers, and I have a hunch that will continue to be the case!

Today and Tomorrow... A Look Ahead?
I leave for New Orleans in a week! Scary to think that there's so much yet to do (I can resonate with Steve and Stephanie Allen, though on a MUCH smaller scale!). I don't feel ready in the least. It's weird to think that I am going to a disaster area, and it's practically in my backyard. The chef at work was giving me a hard time the other day. He's half black, half Mexican, and his family has roots in Alabama. He doesn't think a white boy like me with a smile as big as a soccer goal will do much more than offend half the people of the Lower Ninth. He thinks that all I'm gonna do is "roll in with my Abercrombie, and be that white boy that thinks he's all that..." I am fervently praying that that is NOT how I am recieved or percieved. I am going just to hear stories, give out hugs and build a house. I pray that I won't come off as "Abercrombie", but as Jesus.

As I prepare to go, I would appreciate a LOT of prayer... Pray that I am open. I have a sort of "agenda" for this trip, to explore New Orleans as a possible long-term destination. Pray that I am able to relax that focus, and save the analyzing and decisions for a few weeks after the trip, once I've had time to come home and process. Pray that money comes in. I don't know where I am at as far as sponsor donations***, but I'm having a hard time scrounging up my portion of the expenses. I'm working straight doubles until we leave, and God has been gracious to me. I still need to pay rent, car insurance and my cell phone before I leave, as well. Lilies and Sparrows - and much prayer. Pray that I would be bold, but not cocky. I can't imagine what these people have gone through and are going through now. I don't have much to give, but I have Jesus, and maybe there's someone down there that wants to meet him. I don't want to shy from that, but I don't want to overpower, either. Pray for our leaders: Matt and Amy, Tami, Dan and Jenny... Wisdom, strength, courage, rest and inspiration. They will be working just as hard, if not harder, than us. Pray for Mike and Susanne. They are hosting us (in a way) while we're there. Mike travels a ton, and I know they're tired. Pray that we could minister to them while we're there.

I'm exhausted, and close to the pillow. More to come soon... Thank you.

***If you'd like to donate, send a check to the church with "New Orleans - Adam Nevins" in the memo. Their address is: 15815 SE 37th ST Bellevue, WA 98006

(My donor letter is below, if you'd like to read it... Cheers!)

Father's Day Weekend...

I am 2 hours early for my train back to Portland, by mistake. So I find myself here in the basement cafe of Elliot Bay Books in Seattle's Pioneer Square, reminsicent of Powell's Books in Portland. Older, more history, though not as enormous... The brick wall I am siting next to appears to be extremely old, and there is a not-unpleasant musty book smell in the air.

What a weekend! My brother Austin graduated from high school on Friday night, while I was stuck on a train in the middle of nowhere, one of several hundred people held up by a train collision further up the track (there was at least one fatality). I spent a night and the better part of a day bonding and considering with 13 other people the implications of missionality, as we studied Luke's Gospel and discussed Shane Claiborne's "The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical". I took my sister out on a date to Red Robin and the Lake Street Ben & Jerry's in Kirkland. We walked along the beaches and docks, and talked about life and family, relationships and value. It was a great time! I reconnected with a good friend from a few years ago over quick coffee, and met up with several more at a barbeque later. I attended church and saw a few men that have shaped me, was able to hug and thank them.

I forgot about Father's Day. This was a genuine forgetting, not intentional (at least consciously intentional). But it has been three years since I have had someone to call "Dad". I have mentors, some of them more like a dad than others, but nobody who I can hug and salute on this day, thanking them for raising me, for teaching me to be a man, for showing me what a good marriage is, for playing catch with me, or helping me with homework, for taking me to a baseball game and buying a hotdog, for taking me fishing, or teaching me to change the oil in my car. There are so many lost moments that could have happened, but haven't.

And now we are at odds. As I reflect back on the Father's days past, and on these last three years, day-in and day-out, I am grieving my loss. Remembering the pain and the fear, the sadness and the emptiness. And I am looking up. Romans reminds me that I have "recieved the Spirit of Sonship. And by Him we cry, "Abba, Father." The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children" (Romans 8:15,16). I am looking up to the Father who will one day wipe the tears from my eyes, and who has made me a man, and is continuing to make me the man he wants me to become.

So this Father's Day, I will thank a different Father, and I will strive to please him, because the only opinion that ever matters is Dad's!

Happy Father's Day also to Joe Rehfeld, Tom Cowan, Jayson Turner, Steve Allen, Mike Brantley, Jay Held, and Patrick Flynn, for modeling to me what an excellent husband and father looks like! Slainte, gentlemen.

Lilies and Sparrows

As I type this, I am sitting on the sidewalk in front of "A.J. Java" a local cafe here in Portland. It is on the corner of 42nd Ave and Prescott, just up the street from my apartment. Every fifteen minutes or so, the Number 75 bus goes past, heading South on 42nd, toward the Hollywood Transit Center. Likewise, its counterpart appears shortly after, heading North toward St. Johns.

It is warm outside tonight, with slight cloud cover, and the streetlights obscure much of my view of the heavens. Every so often, a police cruiser will fly past. Of course, the Portland Police are above traffic laws, though they enforce them. If the light at my intersection is red, the cruiser will flash his cherry lights, and floor it through. If it is green, he continues on without a thought.

I wonder if I am breaking the law right now? My purpose for sitting here on the sidewalk, my back slouched against a tall planter box, is to steal the wifi from the cafe. It is "free" wifi, meaning that paying customers may use it. I justify my use tonight by the $3.35 iced mocha I bought earlier (when the wifi was down) and the change from a five that I tipped the barista. I believe I am owed my time!

My roommate, Austin, and I are mostly moved in. That is to say that all of our belongings are in the apartment. My room is arranged and clean (miracle, short-lived to be sure). His bed, dresser and desk, and our kitchen table, are at his mom's house in Grant's Pass, southern Oregon. He will leave on Sunday night to get them.

The Comcast technician will arrive between one and four p.m. to install our internet service on Monday.

We have purchased a shower curtain, kitchen garbage can, and some groceries together. I think it is going to be an adventure, and I am excited to live here.

Life is full-speed-ahead, and that is a good thing.

I like our neighborhood. There's a little diversity, and the neighbors seem cordial enough. One old and cane-wielding black lady stopped me in the parking lot as I was carrying an armload of books and clothes. We said hello, and I smiled. She asked me if I was a Christian, said that I must be, because I smile so big! I was a little surprised at her straightforwardness, and stammered that, yes, I believe I am a Christian. I don't remember her name, but I look forward to running into her again.

My car is broken, and in the shop. Hans' Foreign Auto. Yep, he's German. Grew up there, working on Volkswagens since he was 12. I'm in good hands (hans, get it?). I spoke with one of his mechanics today (Brandon), who said that the engine's not sparking, and doesn't seem to be getting enough fuel. He's investigating the fuel lines, spark plugs and cam. To fix it will cost between 4 and 500 dollars that I don't have. Lilies and sparrows. They neither worry nor care. I know God loves me more than he does them, so I will trust for his provision and plan.

In the meantime, I have been taking the Number 75 bus, and the MAX light rail to work. It's not bad. I miss the comfort of my Passat, though.

I'm going to sign off now, and go home to bed. Hopefully. I did just open a Mountain Dew. Sleep well, friends and faithful readers. More thoughts soon.

The Art of Volkswagen Maintenance...

I just got home from having my car towed. It died yesterday, and I don't have towing on my insurance (liability only baby!) so my friend Jenn offered me a tow from her package. She wanted to take care of it after she got off work at 11pm. Note the time now is 3:32am. She met me at midnight, we went to my car and called Roadside by 1am, were quoted an hour and a half, and I am just getting home. Jenn still has to drive clear across town, and wake up at 7am to get her daughter to T-Ball. (Thanks, Jenn! Much love!)

This couldn't come at a worse time. May and June have been record slow months at the restaurant, and my shifts end up getting cut early, or altogether some nights. I just moved, and the deposits are hefty. Car insurance and numerous trips to Seattle this month (not to mention New Orleans at the end of the month) make this stretch a pretty rough one.

I started a book today by Shane Claiborne - "The Irresistible Revolution." Shane grew up a privileged white suburbanite in Tennessee, and now has almost no possessions, makes his own clothes, and ministers to homeless people in South Philly, Calcutta, Chicago, wherever he is. He takes Jesus seriously about the lily and the sparrow. Maybe I will, too.

Signing out for some shuteye... More later.

Road Trip...

Usually, when I drive from Portland to Seattle, or vice versa, I like to leave late at night. I like the pitch blackness stretching to infinity in front of me, with only my brights and the occasional tail lights of other cars piercing the darkness. I'll usually listen to some acoustic music, or the Braveheart soundtrack. Sometimes just the humming of my tires and the purring of my German engine. This is a selfish time for me. I crave the privacy and peace of the solo drive. Just me and my thoughts, Jesus riding shotgun.

Solitude, blessed solitude.

I switched up the routine slightly last Friday. I have been spending a lot of time at a coffeeshop in Portland called Coffeetime, kind of an urban rootsy place. It's in the Nob Hill (Northwest) neighboorhood, on 21st, just between Johnson and Irving. To the non-Portlander, this locale doesn't mean much, so I'll explain:

Portland is filled with the artsy, granola eating children of the union of Seattleites with San Franciscans, the leftover illegitimate children of the hippie movement of the 1960's and 70's. I don't say this derogatorily, because these are some of the most well-read, best-educated, and conversationally inclined people in the Northwest. I genuinely enjoy the conversations I have at this coffee shop.

The weather has been great the past couple of weeks, and I've been sitting at the sidewalk tables until the battery in my laptop goes dead. There's a guy named Ziggy who's been there almost every time I have, and we've had a few great conversations - politics (something Portlanders love to discuss), social justice, a little bit of faith and religion, and camp stoves. Ziggy's a big fan of camp stoves, which makes sense, because he's homeless.

I was there late on Monday last week, my day off, and about 10 o'clock, Ziggy sat down at the table next to me and we exchanged greetings. I had my nose buried in a book, so we didn't talk much. After a while, I noticed he was coloring in a cardboard sign with a fatty Sharpie. The sign said, "Seattle or the next rest stop." and "God Bless."

I asked him what he was going to do in Seattle. His plan was to sell the homeless paper on the Ave. Street News in Seattle, he explained, lets the seller keep 65 cents on the dollar, and it's easier to sell up there than in Portland. He also mentioned that a friend was going to drive to San Francisco in July from Seattle for a camp stove convention, and he was going to hitch a ride.

Without much of a second thought, I told Ziggy that if he didn't have a ride by Friday, I'd take him. Why not? I was going anyway. I thought it would be a great way to be Jesus to someone... (Enter selfish motive).

So, Friday came and Ziggy left me a voicemail. He hadn't found a ride, would I mind? I showed up at Coffee Time, and bought him a smoothie. I told him I wanted to be on the road by 4:30, and no smoking in my car.

At 5 o'clock, he finally managed to say goodbye to his girlfriend, and we loaded up. Then he unhitched his dog!

This dog is about 2 feet long and a foot.5 tall. Dirty, gross, smelly, loud, drooly, hyper and shedding. I said no way, and he said the dog goes where he goes. I said the dog had to stay on his lap the whole time.

So we got in, and I promptly rolled the windows down. We ran straight into the stop/go of North I-5 and crawled through Vancouver. Just after the traffic loosened up, Ziggy wanted to stop at the next rest stop for coffee and a cigarette. I explained that I had to be in Seattle by 9pm, to meet up with friends, and we'd stop in Kelso for a quick burger.

Two stops later, my car wreaking of homeless dog and burnt tobacco, we pulled up to Ravenna Park in the U-District. Ziggy was planning on sleeping here while he was in Seattle. We pulled up right in the middle of a bunch of Bellevue high school rich kids parking their daddy's luxury cars and classic Mustangs at the entrance and exchanging cash for weed. Two kids were lugging a keg of beer, and they were headed into the park to party. There were about 50 or 60 kids in the street, and we could hear more in the park.

Ziggy was freaked out, and it took an hour of waiting out the kids and reasoning with Ziggy to get him out of my car and into the park. So at 11 o'clock, 2 hours late for my plans with my friends, I showed up smelling like cigarettes and homeless dogs, to the Sea Sound Lounge (think ultra-yuppie, Dolce & Gabbana, trendy). Definitely out of place.

The rest of the weekend was great. I celebrated my 24th birthday with my family, and went to Crossroads' new college fellowship. I met the rest of the New Orleans Missionary Team, and hit Mars Hill's 5 o'clock with Ryan Flynn. Mark tore it up!

I got to hang out with a couple other friends, Febreezed the crud out of my car, vaccuumed and washed it, and still had a solo drive home. Not a bad weekend.

The thing of it is, I really was proud of myself, all the way up until Saturday morning, for "being Jesus" to Ziggy. How many of the people I know have given rides to homeless people, bought their food and coffee on the way, and been so accomodating. Really, I feel like the world's most prideful jerk. Sure, I helped someone in need, but I grumbled the whole time, and when I look at it, my motive was to be able to pat myself on the back. I got no crown in heaven for what I did, but I learned. The nails of it is, I want to spend my life helping the down-and-outs, and I couldn't even spend 4 hours with one without resenting it. I've got some work ahead of me!

What Was, What Is, and What May Someday Be...

Dear Friends and Faithful Readers,
Below is the text of a letter I sent out to several people via snail mail. If, after reading, you desire to be a part of the team financially, please leave a comment on the bottom of the blog with your snail mail address and I will send you the materials. If you prefer to just read, please, sit back and enjoy. Feel free to respond, critique, question... what have you!

Cheers!

What Was, What Is, and What May Someday Be...
Dear Friends,
Many of you remember when I was hospitalized in the Summer of 2004. "Deep Vein Thrombosis in the Upper Left Extremity requiring a First-Rib Resection" is what they told me I had. In plain English, that means that I had a blood clot, and they had to do surgery to fix it. What I heard was, "Adam. This is God. You asked me to make it clear, so here's the deal. You will not enlist in the Marine Corps. I want you to move to Portland, and enroll at Multnomah Bible College."

I moved to Portland in January 2005, and declared for Pastoral Ministries. In the course of three semesters at Multnomah, I have experienced the breakup of my family and cut off relationship with my father, lived through minor homelessness, accumulated a 0.8 GPA resulting in academic dismissal, racked up a hefty amount of debt, wrecked my best friend's car without insurance, lost my only appendix, battled with depression and self-isolation, and questioned my faith very seriously.

Since I was a kid, I have wanted to be in ministry. Initially, I wanted to be a youth pastor. When I moved to Portland, I began attending a church plant called Mosaic. It was the first time I can remember being exposed to the idea of church planting. Though the church was only 2 years old, they were already planting a sister church across the river from Portland, in Vancouver. I was intrugued with the concept, and began to "what if". My idea of what I wanted to do in ministry began to change.

That summer, I went home to Bellevue, and lived with Tom and Karla Cowan. I worked as a youth intern at Crossroads Bible Church. The speaker at the High School group's retreat that summer was Mike Brantley. Mike had spoken at the High School Camp my senior year, and we had really connected there. He and his wife, Susanne, were church planters in New Zealand. After the camp, Mike stayed a few nights at Tom and Karla's. I remember one night in particular. Mike and I stayed up late, and we started to talk about my family. He listened to me. He held me as I wept. He told me that he wished he could stay in Seattle and be a father to me.

I went back to school. During my last semester at Multnomah (Spring 2006), I began seeing a counselor to process through everything that had happened in the last two years. I was also taking classes - one of which was titled "Theology and Polity". In it, we were forced to answer two questions: "What is the Essence of the Church?" and "What is the Purpose of the Church?" Concurrently, I was involved in a discussion group led by a local planter and pastor that discussed the idea of Church and the Postmodern Culture. Despite failing most of my classes (including Polity), the things I was learning and being forced to consider were revolutionary to me.

During a visit home in July, 2006, Tom Cowan mentioned that Mike and Susanne were in Portland for the summer. He gave me Mike's cell number and email, and Mike and I got together in August. We met for coffee at a little hole-in-the-wall on Hawthorne Blvd, called Common Grounds Cafe. We caught up on life, and Mike filled me in on a new vision he had. He wanted to move to a United States city that was edgy and cultural, and plant a church centered around a neighborhood, specifically targeted to the people right there. He had the Hawthorne District in mind. (For those of you from Seattle, Hawthorne is a bit like Capitol Hill and Fremont or Ballard mixed up, with a dash of the Ave. It is populated mostly by indie-rock fans, vegans, hippies, struggling artists, and baristas.) Mike called this "infiltration". It is just the simple act of building relationships with people, and being Jesus to them. Simple.

Near the end of our conversation, Mike invited me to live with his family and become a part of their ministry as kind of a neo-monastic move, common life and ministry. Mike and Susanne left at the end of August, to visit family in New Orleans, and ended up deciding to begin their new life there. After seeing the devastation from Hurricane Katrina, they said they couldn't walk away. Their offer to me still stands. Knowing that I need to stay in Portland until I finish my degree, finish counseling, and pay my debt, I told Mike that it would be a while before I'd join him.

Since Mike invited me to New Orleans, I've spent much time praying and considering whether this is what I "should do"... What is my motive - Mike, or what he's doing? Why? How could I contribute? Is this a place I could use my gifts? What is it really like down there - am I over-romaticizing this idea? What about my family - am I willing to move that far away from them? Does my heart break for the people of New Orleans? How uncomfortable am I willing to be? What will I have to give up? Am I willing to give up everything for people who have already lost everything? I am "counting the cost". Mike has extended me an open invitation to visit - to come and see.

I am taking him up on the offer. On June 29, I am going as part of a team sent by Crossroads Bible Church, to experience the life of an urban missionary for a week. The purpose of the trip is to provide college students an opportunity to consider the mission field as a calling. I am already feeling that call. I go seeking the answers to questions: "Is this the place? Are these the people I will serve? Can I do this, or is this another of my 'dreams'?"

I am sending this letter to you because, in some way, the relationship I have had with you has shaped me, impacted me. As I go, I covet your prayer. Pray that my somewhat calloused heart is made fresh as I prepare for this experience. Pray that as I find myself face to face with people who have lost everything, I would be able and willing to give up everything for their sake.

This is the part of the letter that I hate writing. I hate asking for handouts. So I will put it into different terms. As someone who has had an impact on my life, would you consider partnering with me to have an impact on someone else's life? After I write this letter, I will go home and sleep in a warm bed, in a "clean" room in a house. There are hundreds of thousands who will sleep tonight in a FEMA trailer no bigger than most people's kitchens, in the front yard of their flooded house. While there, our team will be working demolition and construction in the Lower Ninth Ward. Before the hurricane, this was a poor neighborhood, and it is one of the areas that sustained the worst damage. Little has been accomplished to help the people living here.

The total cost of the trip is $14,000. It falls to each team member to raise $500 in partnering support, and to contribute $500 from our own pockets. Attached is a letter from Matt, our "Fearless Leader". This letter describes the purpose of the trip as it pertains to the team. I have told you the purpose of this trip for me, as a quest of sorts. Whether you contribute $5 or $50, or are not able to financially partner with me this time, please pray. I will post updates leading up to the trip on my blog: www.confusionbreedsprogress.blogspot.com, and will send another letter when I return.

Thank you for being in my life, for believing in me, and for loving me.

Pour la glorie du Pere, et pour les habitants de la Nouvelle Orleans,

Adam Orion Nevins

P.S.
Here are Mike's blogs. You can get an idea the kind of guy he is, and the ministry he is doing...
mikeandsusannesworld.blogspot.com
out-on-a-limb.blogspot.com
This is the website for Crossroads, the sending church for our team...
cbccross.org
My blog...
confusionbreedsprogress.blogspot.com
My church in Portland...
imagodeicommunity.com

PLEASE PRAY!!!!

Adam Morrell, one of my life-long friends, and his family are going through an incredibly scary time right now. His older brother Ben has been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. I don't know all the details - only that the prognosis is not good. Ben's life is literally in the balance right now... Here's an email from Adam:

"Hey guys,
I know that facebook really isn’t the place I would prefere to tell people about this, but I kinda have to, due to student teaching.

My brother, Ben, has been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. This cancer is in his abdomen, which only shows up in young men (teens-20’s) and is said to be aggressive. He goes into Virginia Mason Hospital Tuesday morning to start chemotherapy.

If you could all pray for him, his wife, Lisa, my family (my parents are really taking this rough) and myself, that would be great. I really appreciate the prayer and I would love you talk to you guys, so if you want to call, please do. Thanks everyone.

-Adam"

Thank you. I will post updates here as I recieve them.

For Those of You Who Have Been Asking...

Some of you know already; I am no longer dating Saralyn. We broke up on Saturday, April 7. To put it briefly, I do not regret the 8 months we had together. It was real, it was good. However, we were not the right people at the right time. Each of us has a way to go before being ready to be with someone. It has been about a month and a half since we broke up, and things are good. I am thankful for where I am right now.

To Chase a Sunset

I chased a sunset tonight. As I was driving home from work, headed east on the Banfield Expressway with the sunroof and windows open and Beck oding his Black Tambourine, I happened to glance in my sideview mirror where I saw the sun loom large and clear, like it does in all the movies - you know, where the people are trekking across the desert in front of a perfectly outlined sun that is slowly sinking toward the horizon. This was that kind of sunset: not a cloud in the sky, a cool rush of air coming through my windows, but my seat and the steering wheel still warm from sitting in the sun all day on top of the parking garage at work and everything seemed right with the world. As I saw how near the sun was to the horizon, I pushed the pedal a little closer to the floor and felt my body settle back against the seat as I bee-lined for Rocky Butte. This a vantage point where lovers go to watch the sun set and watch planes land at the airport a few miles away and admire Portland's skyline and put their arms around each other and he'll whisper sweet nothings in her ear, and she'll swoon. You can see most of the valley from the top of the Butte. As I wound up the hill behind the too-slow SUV in front of me, I stole glimpses through the trees at the luminous disk, now halfway below the horizon. I muttered encouraging curses beneath my breath at the too-safe, too-law-abiding driver in front of me, and finally made the summit. I parked beneath the staircase and bounded up the steps, suddenly conscious of the fact that this is a vantage point where lovers go. I caught the last oranges and purples of what was surely one of the most majestic sunsets in the history of Portland, Oregon, and I thought of how close I had been. As I watched a plane land at the airport a few miles away, I wondered if the pilots had a longer sunset than the people on the Butte, and I thought how nice it would be to be one of those pilots, but not the one that had to concentrate on landing the plane, because watching this sunset would have been much cooler than landing a plane full of people, even though I would like to experience that, as well, at some point. The sun gone, and the night getting slightly chilly, I took a deep breath and walked down the steps past a family who saw it together, and the father's arm was around the mother and he was whispering sweet nothings in her ear and she was swooning, and their kids were running ahead and turning around as if to say, look at me. I climbed in my car and drove down the hill toward home, satisfied with the glimpses of beauty I witnessed, and my sunroof and windows were open and Beck was singing something about a Broken Drum, and I happened to glance in my sideview mirror, where I saw the sky fading slowly toward a deep purple mixed with dark blue and I let off the pedal a little bit so it would last just a little longer.

8 (and counting)...

8 months today... We're wrestling right now. The initial romance is "wearing off" and we are beginning to see each other for who we are, and where we come from. There's a lot of crap in both of our stories that is affecting how we relate right now. Truth be told, I have been very discouraged lately. Just trying to figure out what's healthy, and how to let God lead this. My heart has wanted to be so prideful lately, pointing out all her faults. I have heard about plenty of mine, and there are many more that remain unspoken. I don't know what it's going to look like, but we're learning to be honest. I need to find some clarity, and some peace. We're going to grab a bite tonight, and continue to talk and listen. Maybe after we can dump our feelings and observations out on the table, we can begin to sort through the mess, and find beauty. It's there, somewhere. What it will look like, I don't know, but right now, it feels like a Pollock...

Hello, Bellevue.

Bellevue. This town, this place - it's wonderful being home, though a bit unsettling, as well. I find myself looking over my shoulder often, wondering if I will have the pleasure/horror of running into someone I used to know. Will I recognize them? Will they ignore me? Will it be awkward?

I've gone and left this place behind. There's so much history here; tragedy and comedy, dark days and beautiful nights. When I return, I can't help but remember. I have yet to drive down my old streets and see the houses where I used to live. It's difficult to remember sometimes - I have scabs that I'm not ready to pick yet.

I've spent much time pondering my life in the last few weeks. Who was I, who am I, and who am I becoming? Where am I going? Will I ever be out of debt? When am I going back to school, and where? Where are Saralyn and I in our relationship? Where should we be? How do I model Christ to the people I work with, when I am so scattered I can barely see him? I feel like a soul in Limbo - neither here nor there. I have no city, no true home on this earth.

I can't honestly and objectively answer these questions right now. Now, I'm not having a quarter-life crisis. I will not be jumping into a cult, eloping with my girlfriend or selling a kidney (or worse) for debt relief. I'm just beginning to think a little more. I want my decisions and my relationships and focus to be weighty, heavy with meaning and impact. I want my life to count.

So I will keep on living, asking questions. I doubt I'll ever answer them all, but the beauty and the learning and painful growth is in the search.

Mazel Tov, Nick & Hannah!

Mazel, mazel! Good things.

I'm so proud of you, Nick, and so FREAKIN' happy for both of you! Welcome to the family, Hannah... Hobbit-style wedding, anyone? I get to be Faramir!

I have watched God change Nick into something awesome, and I know he's ready. As he and I are both products of failed marriage, part of me is nervous for him and Hannah, but I am seeing how God redeems all things.

I have never met Hannah, but I can see how the Lord brought them together, and can't wait to see what He will accomplish through them!

Grappling

Materialism. In the economic connotation, it has to do with the acquiring of stuff, but that is only one dimension of it...

The teacher John said it like this: "Do not love the world or anything in the world. If you love the world, love for the Father is not in you. For everything in the world - the cravings of sinful people, the lust of their eyes and their boasting about what they have and do - comes not from the Father but from the world. The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever." (1 John 2:15-17)

I watched a few episodes of "The O.C." tonight with my friend Chris (Crarey) - it seems I have an abundance of friends and acquaintances with that name! Must be a Portland thing. As we were watching the show, I was struck by the opulence of the cars and houses - even their clothes. These kids have a school that looks more like a luxury day spa! We sat down to watch this show AFTER we spent an hour or so playing with his new Apple MacBook Pro... Needless to say, I already had the envy bug at this point.

I grew up in Bellevue, where most kids inherit Dad's BMW if they're unlucky. I didn't get my first car until I turned 20. My whole life I've been the kid in last year's sale fashions, driving a beater or taking the bus...

I'm not feeling sorry for myself (too much). If anything, I'm scared. I want to move to L.A. and live in a giant house, drive a sexy car, date a model, wear the labels. My heart scares me.

In Scripture, Christ tells parables to warn about this: The rich man who counted his money and reveled in it died that very night, a victim of his greed - judged and found guilty by the Lord. "It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom..."

Forget those forbodings for a minute, and look again at 1 John 2. "If you love the world, love for the Father is not in you!!!!

Tonight, I'm questioning what's in my heart. Do I love things more than I love the very God who created me? Am I that American?!

Lord, help me love you more than what I see around me.

Battle Cry, Huh?

I just read several articles from Google News regarding a "Christian" rally in downtown San Francisco, and I am disgusted. I am not disgusted with the press. I don't believe they made the protesters look foolish, or made them look anything. I believe these people made themselves look foolish, and they made Jesus look like the biggest jerk in history.

Comedians were cracking jokes about athiests. The speakers were telling the crowd how to have a superiority complex over gays and lesbians and athiests and the like, declaring a "culture war" and sounding a "battle cry."

I checked out the website for the event, and it all looks like marketing and profiteering to me. Tickets were upwards of $60 bucks a pop, almost $100 at the door!Justifying their merch sales as offering "products with a conscience," I wonder what kind of royalties the speakers made off this?

I'm not saying I have the corner on how to model Christ's love for people. I'm not saying I'm pro-gay. I've not back-slidden. But I definitely want to distance myself from people like this. People who contradict themselves by one minute firing war rhetoric, and the next minute saying they "love the sinner."

If you love the sinner, quit all the fancy showmanship and rallies! Quit expecting a post- or even pre-Christian culture to act Christian, and love them as individuals, where they are. Fighting a culture war gets you labeled as a bigot and a hater. It does nothing to prove to anyone that you love them.

If I wasn't mistaken, someone said, "They will know we are Christians by our love." Interesting thought. Here's the article:

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/03/10/BAG63OJ6V43.DTL

After further reading online, here's a piece about the Philadelphia version of this rally:

http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/20060513_battlecry_philadelphia/

No Mas Myspace!

I am done with Myspace. I've found too many opportunities in that forum to sin. I am uncomfortable with the stalker factor, as well. What a commentary on our culture, that we designate an abstract string of zeros and ones as a "place" to know and to become known. We've forsaken the lost forms of letter writing, conversations over coffee or dinner, and the time necessary to really engage someone to know them. It's ironic that to be known, we would isolate ourselves with our laptops, rather than clear an hour just to be in the presence of another person.

Now, I understand that distance can be a mitigating factor. I work with a guy whose daughter lives in Michigan, and he sees her once a year. Cellphones aside, Myspace is their forum for talking. That works for some people.

I'm sick of the glitz - graphics, wallpapers, friendslist, comments, etc. I'm sick of the trash - stalkers, porn... things no healthy mind needs.

For my purposes, this blog works much better. Read it. Know me. Leave a comment. Send me an email! Start your own blog and send me the link.

I am free!

Entertain me!

Today is my day off. I'm sitting in the back of Stumptown Coffee, reading Google News and alternately conversing with my good friend and former roommate Jake. And I am bored. I've been busy lately, working doubles, running errands, hanging out. But I am still bored.

Wikipedia defines boredom thus:

"Boredom is a state of mind in which one interprets one's environment as dull, tedious, and lacking stimuli. There is an inherent anxiety in boredom; people will expend considerable effort to prevent or remedy it, yet in many circumstances it is accepted as an inevitable suffering to be endured."

I feel that anxiety. I need to fill my time with something, some purpose. I guess, in a small way, this blog is an attempt at preventing/easing/remedying my boredom.

On a grander scale, however, I just miss school. I miss being forced to consider issues and write 'lofty' papers on theology or social issues. I miss reading thick books with lots of things to say.

I suppose my boredom stems from laziness. I need to challenge myself more while I am not in school. To that end, I've been trying to read "The Sun Also Rises" by Hemingway. It hasn't held my attention. I've started and put down a few other books, as well.

I'm thinking of writing some kind of memoir. Talking about life up til now, and pondering it a little along the way. A Donald Miller-esque work, I suppose.

Well, my coffee's getting cold and I am bored writing this, so I'm going now.

Wrist Pain and Trust Issues

I have tendonitis in my right wrist. I guess eight years of carrying trays finally caught up with me. The good news is, if I take care of myself and let it rest, it won't be permanent.

Then why am I typing?

Because I am seeing an opportunity in this to remind myself, and my one or two readers, of the encouragement and admonition Jesus gave in the Sermon on the Mount, and Paul (as well as others) echoes throughout Scripture.

I've been asking a few questions: "Why me? Why now? Will I be able to go back to work? When? What about my brakes and rent and my cell phone and food? I was just starting to get on top of my bills, and now this!" I've had a bit of a pity-me party.

I want to complain, really I do. And maybe in saying I want to complain, I am complaining. Hmm, deep.

As much as I would rather not, I have to see this as a blessing. I've not had a day off in over two weeks. I've been going non-stop between my jobs. I also have a girlfriend, church, roommates and various other commitments. Being unable to work has allowed me to rest, and to invest in these other things a little more.

I would be lying to say that I am not a little stressed out about the money. I do have legitimate need of it, in order to meet commitments (rent, cellie, utilities, debt payments, car insurance, etc.)

Ironically, our church has been meditating on Philippians this last month, and in chapter 4, as he thanks the Philippian church for their generosity toward him, Paul makes this profound statement, "...I have learned to be content, whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in every situation, whether well-fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength."

I want to learn that contentment, too. To know (not just cognitively, but in my heart) that I truly can make it. That it is not through my own power, but through the Lord's.

Paul also reminds the church to petition the Lord for their needs. He says, "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

He knows what I need, and he will provide.

The truth is, even if I don't have enough money to get my brakes done or buy a new book or take Saralyn out for dinner - I still have plenty. I am still well-fed. I have a roof over my head (at least until the next rent check is due). I have it better than at least 80% of the world's population. Look at the slums of Calcutta, where Mother Theresa labored her life away for the poor and forgotten. Look at the swollen bellies of African babies. Look at the shacks, diseases, poverty of these people. Look in their eyes, and tell them you don't have enough.

It is by the grace of God that I will have food in my belly, and a roof over my head. If he takes those things from me, as well, then "I can do everything through Him who gives me strength."

hello. from portland.

This is my city. For now. I live here, and in a lot of ways, I am restless. I don't feel quite at home. This place doesn't pull at me. I miss Seattle. I would like to visit New Orleans. San Diego and L.A. seem like fun. I want to travel: Beijing, Bangkok, Mogadishu, Beirut, Dublin, Glasgow, Sydney, Wellington, Marseilles, Rome, Jerusalem, Thermopylae, Athens... I could go on!

But I am here, and I am okay with it. I have business in Portland still. And that is okay.

So, hello from Portland - home, for now. Oh, and happy February 1st.