the day it turned around

So over the last three weeks Jill and I have been bickering with each other. Some of it has turned out kind of intense and some of it was just over exaggerated differences of opinion. It’s not like there is one fight I can look back on and say “this is the straw that broke and camels back”, but it’s simply been a steady season of conflict. It’s like there was a dark cloud over our household. Serious enough to where I spent hours talking to Israel about marriage and Jill came home with a bill from the counselor. During these seasons we don’t talk much, little things become big things, hugs are like embracing telephone poles, and worst of all, Jill would make a better friend than a lover if you know what I mean. So something changed on Monday…it was pretty dramatic how fast things turned around.

For those of you that don’t know I’ve got the best job in the world where I sell stuff to people. It’s always what I dreamed about doing when I turned 30. It’s awesome. On a more serious note, I do love working with my friend Kenny (aka Israel). It’s what makes the job so manageable. We carpool three days a week and usually spend the thirty minute drive to the dream-killing-cubicle-of-apathy talking about where we want to be. We dream about playing music, moving somewhere different, and starting new adventures. Who knows if it will ever come true but for that short time we trick ourselves into forgetting that we are driving to work at 4:30 in the morning. And let me tell you, morning and I don’t have a good relationship.

Monday morning Israel and I made it to work by 5am and it was time to start assisting our east coast customers. The morning was going really slow so we decided to start looking on craigslist at rental properties in San Diego. We would look at 7 bedroom 5000 sqft mansions and talk about how we could live their and split the rent. (like I said, Israel and I are dreamers) I was finishing up my first sale of the day at 6am when I felt my phone start to vibrate. Nobody is calling me at six in the morning unless it’s something serious. I grabbed my phone and saw Jill on the caller ID. I answered the phone and heard Jill say in a weak voice, “I’m not feeling well.” “What happened Jill?” “Dylan found me on the bathroom floor. I think I scared him…I must have passed out.” Jill didn’t even have the strength to get her own phone…she made Jett run downstairs to get it. I logged out of my computer, grabbed the keys from Israel, and bolted for the door. Kati went over to our house until I got home.

By the time I made it home Jill had regained the strength to make it back to the bed. I spoke to Kati briefly to get an update and then ran up stairs. Jill was curled up in a ball lying on her side. “How are you feeling?” “I’m feeling better now…I’m just a little scared. Will you lie next to me?” I crawled into bed, pulled the sheet over, put my arm around her, and told her that I loved her. Within a few hours Jill was feeling back to normal and to this day we don’t really know what happened that morning. That was the moment everything had turned around.

But it wasn’t what happened at home that made the difference; it’s what happened on the drive home. On the thirty minute drive back I spent the time thinking about all the ways that Jill fulfills me instead of nit picking at the ways I want her change. Instead of picking her apart with my own ideals, I spent time reflecting on the completeness of what makes her beautiful. We might have been fighting over the last three weeks but I realized some things about our marriage. Our love still has the strength to cut through anger. My heart still quivers when my wife is scared. Coming home is always better than going away. And my life is definitely more complete with her than without her. May I have more thirty minute drives home without the threat of loneliness.

I almost got fired

“Kenny (aka, Israel), some shit went down today. (pause) Bro, I think I almost got myself fired. (pause) Dude I hate it when I feel disrespected…there is nothing worse.” What is it about people in middle management that makes them feel powerful to talk down to the underling? I feel like I’m talking to that Will Ferrell character on SNL that yells, “I am manager of many people, I am a very powerful person and I drive a Dodge Stratus!” I just wanted to scream in this guys face. So if I could go off on this guy, this is what I would say.

There is more to my life than peddling worthless shit to people that they don’t need…but I get it if there isn’t anything more to your life. That is the only reason I can come up with for you to respond to me with such antagonism. Respect is earned, it is not taken. Do you think you are better than the rest of us because your cubicle is in the management area? Do you like it that we have to ask you for lunch breaks? Do you feel strong with your name in the “sales lead” area and not in “sales force”? Well enjoy, my middle management friend. Enjoy the power, enjoy the control, enjoy your royal d**kheadness. The only reason I can think that you would enjoy this so much is because it is the only good thing you have going for you in life. And if that is the best your life has to offer, then get drunk with power my friend because you are destine to party alone.
Okay so maybe not that harsh, but maybe something close like, “please don’t speak to me that way.” It really sucks that everyone knows I was a pastor. Aaaaaahhhhhhh!

I fought “the man” and “the man” won

I fought “the man” and “the man” won. Today for the first time in five years I started a job. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had jobs…just not a job job. You know the kind of job that has a human resource department, 401k pamphlets, and a security guard that stares at you as if to say “what the hell you lookin at…punk?” I got a badge with my name on a piece of tape…below the name it has the word temporary. I didn’t know if that represented the badge or me, oh the irony. I walked through the security door and saw the mass of people that seemed to fill the room like little worker bees. One guy sipping a cup of coffee. One girl listening to a story then ending it with fake laughter. One guy walking down the hall trying to avoid eye contact with me. This is a whole new world for me.

I make my way to the room filled with new employees. Everyone looks around and sizes each other up. It’s definitely a complete mix of personalities. There is the classic ass kisser, the know-it-all, the over achiever, the slacker, and the completely lost. The question is…which one am I. Probably a solid mixture of all of them. After an hour of new hire jargon they started into our training. Nothing too complicated, just a lot of information. I know this sounds strange but I just felt out of place. It’s like I stepped into the wrong class but didn’t have the courage to walk out and find the right one. The thing is, I’m confident I’ll be successful over the long haul. I won’t be the best but I’ll be better than average. I might even pull employee of the month or something on par. I’ll probably call Jill and be genuinely excited. Then I’ll say something like, “Jill let’s go to Olive Garden to celebrate. (pause) No no, they gave me a 25 dollar gift certificate. I know, it’s good to be the EoM.”

There is nothing wrong with success, nothing wrong with making money, nothing wrong with trying to be a great employee. But for me I found one major draw back. It came to me on my drive home. I was stuck in rush hour and the rain was pouring down. I was thinking about my day and trying to replay the information. I was trying to retain as much as I could. There were cars wall to wall and then it happened. I started to dream. Simple, perfect dreams. Stuff nobody else cares about, but I do. As I sat in my truck I started to get a lump in my throat because it leads to an obvious question. Wasn’t I meant for something more than this? Wasn’t I meant for more than pushing products and up-selling warranties? That is a hard question because maybe I ask with too much pride. Maybe I wasn’t…maybe this is it…that is what makes the lump in my throat so hard to swallow. I have passion but that doesn’t pay the bills. The problem with being a dreamer is that you always see the world the way that it should be and not the way that it is. And when the world tells you the way things are it doesn’t seem fair. I’m forced to be a realist in a dreamer’s body and it doesn’t feel good.

I feel like that girl in the movies. You know the one…it’s the girl that was born in a small town and only knew about country living. One day she caught an image of New York City and became obsessed with the desire to experience this magical way of living. She saw people every where, 24 hour restaurants, and unique fashions she wanted to try on. But you know the story, her parents were too poor and couldn’t afford to send her. In fact her whole community was so poor that nobody ever left that town. Everyone was born there, worked there, and died there. People around her were satisfied with continuing the cycle and didn’t see the need to rock the boat. But not this girl, she never let go of the image. Then one day while working for her parents she came to the conclusion, “I may have to work the fields today and I may have to work the fields tomorrow, but you mark my words, I’m getting the hell out of this town.” And she wasn’t satisfied until it happened. All she ever did was work and save…work and save. The day had finally come and she had all the money she needed. And in dramatic fashion she hops into a rusty beat up truck and starts driving east. The sunset hasn’t yet cleared the horizon but a tear streams down her face. That was the day that the realist became a dreamer. So here is my resolution, I may not have meaning today and I may not find it tomorrow, but someday I’m getting the hell out of this town. Someday my life will mean for something more than this.

Fantasy Camp

So every year for the last 5 years Israel and I have made our way to a major music festival to do the thing we love…listen to great music. These journeys have bought us to Coachella, Austin City Limits, and Lollapalooza. We have seen amazing acts like John Mayor, Coldplay, The Black Keys, Ben Harper, Muse, Oasis, Keane, Snow Patrol, Pearl Jam, Weezer, Cold War Kids, Buddy Guy, Franz Ferdinand, Tom Petty, Willie Nelson, Death Cab for Cutie, Kanye West, Lupe Fiasco, Radiohead, and Rage Against the Machine. I’m not even mentioning all the lesser known bands that are regulars on my play list. This year we went to Chicago to enjoy the sounds of Radiohead and Rage. I could go on and on about all the great music we heard but nobody wants to hear about that. It’s obvious that the music was going to be epic. People want to know what happened outside the festival.

Israel and I landed in Chicago at about midnight on Thursday. After we turned our phones on we both noticed that we were overwhelmed by text messages from Seth and Adam. It was apparent that they were at a place called Streeters Tavern and having a good time. A train ride, a cab ride, and an hour later Israel and I are standing toe to toe with this basement bar. With our luggage still in hand I look at Israel and say, “I think this is it.” We tip the bouncer 5 bucks to put our luggage in the office and our Chicago experience had officially begun. We didn’t make it home till 4am. I only mention the time because of all four nights that was the earliest time we got home. I’ll be honest and say that my body was not prepared for this kind of voyage. We ate breakfast at 3pm and dinner at 1am. We took showers at midnight preparing to go out and went to sleep when the sun was coming up. Water bottles were not used for drinking but rather as receptacles. One person forgot their credit card at a bar which turned out to be a good thing, one person took at nap at 12:30 am so he would be rested for our 1:30am departure, one person got tackled in the street and lost his phone, and one person woke up saying “guys seriously, tonight, can we turn it down a notch, just one click on the dial, my body can’t handle this.” Well that last guy was me. But I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world. These experiences are what make life so colorful.

Coming home is sometimes hard to do. I love taking trips like these with the guys but the truth is…it’s not real life. It’s like a fantasy camp…a fantasy camp for people who love music, going out late, sharing a beer, and being spontaneous. I’ve paid this money not just for music but for the experience. Now that I’m older coming home means something different. Not only do I have an awesome wife waiting for me, I’ve got two kids. One hour after I set my bags down at home, I started to check all my emails. I was interrupted by this scene. My wife has her arms stretched out like wings slightly leaning to the left as she skips around the kitchen island. In a high pitched squeal she says, “No, don’t get me.” About three feet behind is my son wearing a red bandana holding a gray plastic sword. He is flailing it around wildly showing no mercy for the innocent. His animated voice yells out, “You are Peter Pan and I’m a pirate!” This pursuit continues on for another five minutes but in this story the pirate wins. As I watched this scene play out I stopped checking my email. I just sat on the couch with a smile from ear to ear. It was something I couldn’t turn away from. Then I thought to myself, “I left this for Chicago…?” Who needs fantasy camp when I’ve got a real life like this? Coming home is not so hard after all.

Final Essay

So Sunday was our final service at onePlace. I can honetly say that I'm at peace. But being at peace doesn't mean I'm not broken hearted. This has been such an amazing journey, one that I never would have chosen, but one that I couldn't have lived without. I will probably write more about this community in the future, but I thought that I would start off by sharing my final essay to the church. This was the last one in a series of writings:


I've started writing something three times now, and every time I feel like the words I've written were not good enough. I guess there can only be one reason why…because they aren’t. How do I use words to describe this journey that I’ve had? How do I verbalize how much this church means to me? I don’t think it is possible. When I close my eyes I see a thousand images that make my heart tremble. I see Israel closing his eyes during worship and it looks as if nobody else is in the room except for him and God. I see Jeremiah playing spider bites with my son after the service. I see my wife standing in the back of the room with her arms stretched as wide as they will go and I know that whatever she is saying to God, it’s enough to move mountains. I see the medallion on Maggie’s wrist as she is dedicated to God. I see Errol with one arm around his kids and the other arm to the heavens during worship because old worship songs still make him cry. I see Kevin sitting around a table of community leaders as he lays his beliefs on the line and fights for social change. I see myself at the communion table begging God…broken, raw, and honest saying, “Don’t you dare forget about my wife, she has loved you for too many years. Don’t you let go of her. Not now, not ever.” How do I put these moments of my life into words? It’s not possible.

Three months ago when I closed the service I did something strange and accidental. Sometimes Kevin, Israel, or I would go up after the final worship set and say a closing. It would usually goes something like this, “Thank you for coming tonight. Don’t forget about blah blah blah. We’ll see you next week.” So on this particular Sunday night I decided to do a closing, nothing out of the ordinary, just the same spiel. So I go through the routine and I say, “Thank you for coming tonight. Don’t forget about blah blah blah. We’ll see you next week.” But this time I added in something by accident. I ended with “we’ll see you next week…and…I love you guys.” This was so strange; it was like an accidental…I love you. It wasn’t strange that I said it but that it came out like a reflex. Many pastors will give a benediction at the end of the service. My old pastor used to give a really good one that goes like,
“The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make his face shine upon you, and be gracious to you, the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.”
That is so beautiful but it’s not really me. This moment made me realize that my heart is so closely connected with my community that it only seems natural that my benediction comes out like…I love you. From that day forward, the I love you’s were no accident…my heart knew what it was saying. I thought for my final essay I would write a closing benediction…it may not be a beautiful one, but it’s coming from the real me. So here it goes.

May you lay your fears aside and pursue the things God has called you to with ferocity and persistence. May you tread lightly on the ground God has paved and when your steps get too heavy may God lay you low. May you find truth in the beautifully simple things and may the beautifully simple things make your life full. I pray you smile more often, laugh a little louder, and buy more flowers. And as I have said ten thousand times, may you not see God from afar, that you would not be satisfied with the shadow or silhouette of God. May you fight and struggle to climb the mountain because your heart is not satisfied with anything less than seeing him face to face. May you have many personal encounters with Christ over your lifetime. And it is no accident that I say this, but without a doubt, I love you guys. Thank you for loving me in spite of all my failures. Thank you for all the prayers. Thank you for serving with me. Thank you for the grandest adventure of my life. Thank you for letting me be…your pastor.

Jett is the best medicine

I woke up this morning around 7:30 and my back was aching like mad. Jill says to me, “go make an appointment with Alex, you know he can get you in today.” “Nah, it’s not that bad.” “Mark, why are you so stubborn?” “Ahhhhh……well…….why are you so stubborn?” “Nice come back.” So instead of going to see a chiropractor I decided to lie in bed and bemoan over my discomfort. At 8:00 I decided to lie down and try to relax…I was just feeling tense.

Fifteen minutes later Jett walks up to me and says, “are you going to sleep daddy?” I just nod my head yes. Then he says, “do you want me to snuggle with you?” Again, I nod my head yes. The next thing I know he bolts out of the room and returns about 10 seconds later. Jett grabbed one of the blankets out of the closet and hopped up on the bed. He moved some of the pillows around and put his head close to mine. I asked him, “will you hold my hand?” Jett grabs my left hand with both of his and just lies next to me for the next minute. Then he pops up and says, “oh I forgot something.” Again he bolts out of the room and returns about 10 seconds later. This time he hops up on the bed with nothing in hand. I asked him what he forgot, but he doesn’t say anything. A few moments later Jill walks in the door holding Cadence and she’s, “what did you need Dylan?” He responds with, “come snuggle with me and daddy.” So the four of us laid together and that is how I fell asleep. I woke up 2 hours later with no back pain at all. My conclusion, Jett is the best medicine.

short but sweet

Here is a short one for you guys.

Jill has been looking for new music to play while she and the kids are driving. She went through our cd case and found a kids sing along cd. She pops it in for some variety. As soon as it comes on, Jett says, "I don't like this music, I want more rock and roll songs." My son is already a music critic and I can't be more proud.

Nole and I came up with a plan to get our kids to form a band and then we can retire off their fame. Little nole on drums (obviously), Cadence on bass (because girls who play bass are awesome), Jett on electric guitar (we've been working on face melting solos as well as stage presence), and Maggie-mooberry-pie on lead vocals (she'll be known as the artist formerly known as "Dramatic Twist") It's going to be epic. I'm just living the dream, man.

Close, But No Cigar

“it says a five second stream, so don’t short change it.”
“well its not actually in my control”
“I want to make sure the proper amount of hormones get on it”
“alright leave me alone”
(15 seconds later)
“mark, don’t move it”
“just over here where I can see”
(30 seconds later)
“hovering over it won’t make it go any faster”
“jill, I’m not hovering, I’m just looking”
(30 seconds later)
“well, what does it say”
“it says you’re not pregnant”
“see, I told you so”

This morning turned out to be quite a thrill ride. Jett went to swim lessons with a friend and Cadence just laid down for her nap. Jill and I don’t get many opportunities to sit down and just talk without interruption. So we laid on the bed and started to talk about the day ahead. I was secretly hoping that it would lead to other things, wink wink. But instead, while Jill was in mid sentence, she jumps up and says “I’m going to throw up.” I thought, “maybe Jill is not in the mode for ‘other things’”. But my second thought was, “oh shit, Jill only gets like this when she’s prego.” Jill was dry heaving in the bathroom sink and I started yelling, “oh my gosh, you are totally pregnant!” Between heaves Jill mutters out, “no I’m not.” Then I said, “it’s totally obvious, how else do you explain your crazy mood swings…you know over…the last…few…” That was not a good idea. Jill’s face was not amused. “Well that’s not important any more, you’re pregnant!” Within seconds I’m driving down the street to CVS and picking up an EPT test. Well, an EPT test and a burrito from Carl’s Jr. I got home and Jill took the test right away. You know the result.

To be honest with you I’m kind of bummed. The thought of Jill being pregnant is kind of exciting. Well, exciting for me, because I don’t have to deal with carrying extra weight, always being hot, and having uncomfortable sleep. But the idea of celebrating new life at this point in our journey would be fitting. I always felt like our kids came at just the right moment…like God was sending us a special gift when we needed it most. Life is the most amazing thing…more amazing than the changing of seasons, more amazing than the formation of the mountains, more amazing than every star in the sky. Everything we do in life we bare witness to. But in this one special case, God has given to women the ability to create something eternal…that is unmatched in all the world. I never thought I would be this excited about having kids…about being a father. It may not be on this day…but maybe tomorrow.

Two years ago today...

Two years ago today I watched my baby boy Lincoln take his first breathe. Dylan was delivered by C-section and this was Jill’s first live birth. She was an absolute hero. Her water broke in the middle of the night. She didn’t want to be cooped up in a hospital room for hours so she decided to do most of her labor at home. The goal was to go to the hospital when contractions got close enough. Being that her water broke in the middle of the night, I decided to take a little nap before our big day ahead. Pretty much, I slept all night. I know I know, I can already hear the collective gasp…Jill’s mom was there the whole time. I don’t know if that makes it any better. The contractions were getting closer and closer by early morning. We called our midwife and decided it was time to head to the hospital.

The contractions at home were tickle fights compared to what Jill was experiencing during the drive to the hospital. You could visibly see the difference in Jill’s demeanor. Her brow would wrinkle, each breath seemed to consume her energy, and silence was necessary. As a husband I felt absolutely helpless, my protective instincts wanted to shelter my wife from suffering…but in the end, this was the only way. (side note: Jill opted not to take any drugs…she wanted to deliver naturally) By the time we made it to the hospital, Jill was having severe contractions. They checked her in immediately and the nurse did a preliminary check. The look on our nurse’s face was enough to tell us that we kind of cut it close. She jumps up and gets on the phone right away, “we need a bed now. Yeah…she’s a 10.” For those of you that don’t have kids that means Jill was dilated to 10 cm…that means its time to push.

One hour later I am staring into the eyes of my new baby boy. The idea of having two boys was so exciting. I think of my friend Errol who has two boys pretty close in age. I see the way they laugh and play…how they protect each other…how they make imaginary forts together and then collectively destroy it. These were things I would dream about for my own boys…life, love, laughter, protection, and of course, imaginary forts. All of these thoughts came to a stop the moment Dr. Jenny walked into our room.

Jill was laying on her bed talking to her mom and brother-in-law. The doctor said, “I have something I need to talk to you about, do you want everyone to stay?” My heart sank to the floor and I felt that my life was about to change. I knew it was a moment that we needed alone so we asked everyone to leave the room as the doctor talked to us. Her first words were, “I’m so sorry, I have some bad news.” I don’t remember much after that. After the doctor left the room I crawled into the hospital bed with Jill. Jill was trembling and shaking terribly. We just held each other and cried.

How do you fall in love with someone so deeply after only 18 days? I don’t know. But I can’t deny what my heart feels. Part of Lincoln’s condition was that he had heart problems. During his last day there would be moments when his heart would stop for up to a minute at a time. As you can imagine, this was the worst torture any parent can experience. I told Jill that I didn’t want to hold him much during that last day because I couldn’t deal with the pain of him passing in my arms. Jill completely understood and nurtured him like only Jill could…with tenderness, grace, peace, love, gentleness. I was sleeping on an air mattress in Lincoln’s bedroom when Jill came in. She asked me to hold him for a few minutes while she did something around the house. I cradled his small frame and rested him on my chest. He was such a peaceful person. He rested on me like a blanket, but better. I fell back to sleep within minutes. One hour later I woke up. I looked at my child that was curled in a ball on my chest and realized that sometime during my sleep, he took his last breath. I called for Jill, she came into the room and with quivering lips I said, “I think….” There was no need to finish the statement. She slowly walked over and picked up his fragile body. She sat on the floor rocking back and forth saying, “you’re my baby, you're my baby” over and over again. I just sat next to her…still, silent, and wrecked. It is something I will never forget.

This is the first time in months that I have cried about this moment in my life. Part of me wonders if I’m trying to forget unintentionally…like my subconscious has this protection mechanism. But I don’t think it’s true. There are moments that fade and memories that are lost, it is part of the human mind. But with the simple whisper of his name, my heart and soul feel…and it lays me low. That is something the mind will never forget. I made up a lullaby the day Jett was born and sang it to Lincoln on his birthday as well. It goes:

I know this song
It sings inside my heart
Saying I love you
Saying I love you
Thank you for being my baby boy
Thank you for being my baby boy

I miss him dearly, I will never forget two years ago today.

Regrets

Last night Miah and Shelly came over for dinner. It was so good to hang out with them. Jill and I did their premarital counseling and we really haven’t had any good quality time since then. They are still together so we figured that was cause to celebrate…and they are in love as well. (a tribute to epic counseling) I’m just kidding around…they are thriving in spite of scattered counseling. They just got back from Europe and we wanted to hear all about it…but we didn’t want to share them with any one else. Jill made chicken with stuffing and Shellamiah brought over chocolate whoopies. (this is my favorite dessert on earth and is also the perfect lead in to the statement, "that's what she said")

We talked about Europe and all the wonderful things they experienced. I saw pictures of huge art installations in the middle of cities, castles that are only seen in movies, and daisies fashioned in Miah’s beard. I heard stories of canoeing down channels and rivers, drinking on roof top bars, hitchhiking in the Alps, sleeping in train stations, and sipping wine at the base of the Eiffel Tower. I was absolutely fascinated by all of it. But nothing got my attention more than all the pictures of art in Shellamiah’s photo album. It was littered with images of art that Shelly and Miah stood face to face with. These are pieces that you see in books and magazines…like Andy Warhol originals and other famous people I don’t know. The thing that captured my attention was not the art itself, but the fact that these two got to have personal experience with something/someone they really respect. Not everyone can say that they have met their heroes. I’m jealous of that.

Later on in the evening the conversation took a left turn. We started to talk about regrets. I asked the question, “what is something from your past that you regret not trying?” I start it off by saying I wish I would have tried playing football in high school. I think I would have really enjoyed it. But my fear of failure was greater than my desire to experience. Jill chimes in and says that she wishes she would have tried doing sports. Most people don’t know this but Jill is a natural athlete. She has a perfect runners build and is naturally lean. During field day in elementary school, she would get first in all events she competed in…but never did anything after that. Maybe Jill is an Olympic athlete in hibernation. Shelly interjects and talks about always having the desire to become a hair stylist. Not just a super cuts stylist, but a “fancy” one. We all go on for about 20 minutes. Then we turn to Jeremiah and say, “what about you?” He responds with, “that’s a great question, I don’t know.” “Really nothing?” “Yah, I don’t know, I’m sorry, I’m really trying to think of something.”

Then it came to me. Maybe that says something about Jeremiah. What would your life look like if you didn’t have regrets of not trying? It really made me think. Jeremiah wasn’t being arrogant by saying he couldn’t think of anything. It was simply a testament to his character, “I guess I always tried.” So I ask myself the question, How would my life be different if I lived more like this? I think I would stop seeing life through books and magazines…I think I would try to meet some of my heroes face to face. Here is my final thought: When I’m old and dying, I think I would rather see my life full of failures than to have never tried…sometimes the most beautiful experiences are found in the wreckage.

i love being a dad

It's a really long video but you get to see his skills in about the first 30 seconds. This is why he makes me laugh at least once a day. (FYI, this is also his favorite song, I've probably listened to it 100 times...literally)

Jill's Blog entry

So I've been asking Jill to write a blog entry for about 6 months now. You know the old saying, the squeeky wheel gets the oil. She's finally agreed and this is what she wrote:

Mark has been asking me to do a blog entry forever. I have always told him no because well to be honest I don’t feel like I have a whole lot of interesting things to say. I actually have my own “secret” blog that no one knows about and I write in it every now and again. I like knowing that it is out there but also like knowing that no one that I know is reading it. I think I also don’t want to write because it makes me vulnerable. I am happy to be vulnerable talking to someone one on one…but writing something from my heart for whoever to read that is a bit tougher for me to allow myself to be exposed in that way.

So today I will write and what better to write about than whose blog this is and who I love dearly. Mark and I will be having our 10 year anniversary in a couple weeks (it is crazy to think that we have been married that long). If you have read any of Mark’s other entries you will know that we are not alike in most ways, in fact I would say that we see and experience life in the opposite way of each other. I think the beauty of our relationship is that we are such different people but are daily learning how to love each other in a better way. Allowing the other room to be who we are individually but coming together to support one another as a couple. Don’t get me wrong there have been definite periods of us wanting to force our own will on each other…it’s not easy giving to someone else. It takes sacrifice. The one thing that I do know from our marriage is that God is able to restore and start things new. To love richly.

It was told to us recently that there are people who think our relationship is unhealthy. People who are not apart of our life…just people who look through the window and cast judgment. I know that it shouldn’t bother me but it really does. I know how much Mark loves me and desires to see me be fulfilled in my life. In my life there has never been anyone who has given to me so deeply, challenged my thoughts & expectations of life, given me security, allowed me to be completely vulnerable and has put up with my insecurities & failures. It is the greatest thing to know that you are still loved in spite of all the imperfections and mistakes.

I know that I am loved and cherished. What more do I need. hfu

What to do?

What to do? Let’s say you have this room in your house that needs to be redecorated. It’s been used as a storage closet for the last couple of years but now it’s time to turn it into something different. You clear out the room, expose the walls, and box up the closet. Now you have this exposed room that is waiting for the masters touch. You stand at the entrance for a few moments and look around…trying to soak it all in. A few minutes go by of pure silence. In your stillness you feel the slight breeze of wind brush at your back. Your spouse has opened the back door letting the sunlight, the breeze and the size 4 shoes of a three-year-old scuttle across the floor. Your spouse sees you standing under the door frame and goes to stand by your side. The two of you stand in collective silence and stare at the empty space. You speak first and say something like, “what do you think we should do?” Your spouse responds, “I’m not sure.” “Well, I was thinking of painting it to something green.” “nah, no green.” “blue?” “nah, no blue.” “how about something in earth tones?” “nah, no earthtones…ohh, I got it, how about turning it into an arcade?” “What?” And then you think, how did my pleasant canvas of a room get turned into an arcade? And in summary…this is what it must be like to be my wife.

Jill and I recently got into a fight that was something similar to this scenario. Although I would love an arcade at my house, that’s not what the fight was really about. The fight was more about “that’s not what I want…well that’s not what I want…where do we go from here.” Well, deep down inside, and I mean deep, just between you and me…I really believe I could talk Jill into doing what I want. I can be a real smooth talking asshole sometimes. I once convinced Jill it was okay for me to buy a motorcycle (Yamaha YZF 600, it was awesome). I even shocked myself with that one. The problem is that I really do want Jill to have all that her heart wishes for. I love her…I love her a lot. But part of what her heart wishes for looks different than what I find desirable. My mind says, give her what she wants…but at the same time I can’t stop my heart from wanting something else. I truly believe that Jill feels the same way. There never was a conclusion to the argument other than, “I’m sorry, I wish I felt different for your sake.” “Me too.”

The problem with this kind of discussion is that nobody is “wrong”. Usually I take my fair share of being erroneous. But with this scenario, no one is to blame. So I go back to the original question, what to do? Honestly I have no answer. The only thing that makes the discussion even reasonable is the fact that we truly love each other. I said these words on my wedding day and I believe them to be true today. It’s from the book of Ruth.
Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay.
Your people will be my people and your God my God.
Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried.
May the Lord deal with me, if anything but death separates you and me

seth runs over israel

Here is a funny video from our time at A-basin. Israel was going to attempt a jump and never really made it. Seth however was not going to be slowed down by Israel.

Only a one way journey - Happy Birthday Iz (Part 2)

Part 2
Saturday:
This was the main reason why we drove to Denver. We woke up early morning and headed to Arapahoe Basin for a day of snowboarding. (or A-basin as the locals say) It was the perfect conditions. Weather was in the mid forties and 9 inches of fresh powder over the last couple of days. What more can you ask for in May? Sam ate French toast in the lodge and studied for finals while the three of us tore up the mountain. Probably one of the best boarding days I’ve ever had. I called it quits a little bit early and went to the RV for a shower and nap. An hour later the whole crew was back together. We left the mountain and headed into Denver. We stopped over by the Red Rocks for dinner to meet up with some of Sam’s old friends. This was an interesting experience on many levels. The most intriguing was the fact that all his old friends are hard core republicans. This didn’t go over well when Sam unzipped his jacket and revealed an Arizonans for Obama t-shirt. It was quite humorous, well at least three of us were laughing, sorry Sam.

We drove into downtown Denver looking for a place to park the Majestic, that is the name of our RV. We drove in circles for hours looking for the right spot. First we were going to park on a street with no meters until we noticed all the broken glass on the ground. Yeah, it was from all the broken windows, that’s not a good sign. Then we were going to park at an abandoned building. It looked safe enough but we feared being towed. Finally Sam talked to a security guard about finding a safe place to park and he recommends the empty lot behind the building he is watching. We’re all grateful for the advise and drive to this empty lot. We negotiate through a really tight alley, remember I’m driving a huge RV in downtown Denver. We make it to this back lot and Seth is laughing, “I don’t know man, it looks kind of shady.” Shady is an understatement. There is graffiti everywhere, abandoned cars, broken dog kennels, and a chain link fence that somebody took a wire cutter to. We were all pretty frustrated but couldn’t help but laugh, it was all part of the experience. At last we decided to check out Union Station right off of 16th street. We had to pay 14 dollars to park but it was well worth it. The spot was even better than we thought…starbucks across the street, directly on 16th street, and much safer.

Sunday:
Sunday was the most laid back of all the days. Sam and I were the first to wake up. We walked over to Starbucks to get some coffee to go. We brought it back to the RV where we busted out the lawn chairs and just shared stories for about an hour. We woke the other guys up and walked to a breakfast spot right in downtown. The original plan was to rent scooters but all the places were closed. Instead Sam decided to go to the rockies game which was only four blocks away. And the rest of us went to Cinco De Mayo festival at the capitol. It kind of sucked but there was one highlight.

The three of us were sitting down eating lunch when a girl approached and asked for directions. We told her we didn’t know because we just got into town. That didn’t matter to her, because she decided to sit down and start a conversation. She was nice and all, but definitely kind of crazy. Two minutes later I realize why she asked for directions…it’s my man Seth she wants directions from. She’s throwin out the vibe but Seth definitely wasn’t catching. I decided to help move things along by asking Iz to throw the Frisbee with me…you know, for some alone time. Seth fires over a death stare. Five minutes later Seth turns around and says, “hey guys, sam is waiting for us.” Which translates to, get me out of here. I look at Seth with a huge smile and say, “nah man, he can wait. I’m in no hurry.” I thought Seth’s eyes were going to pop out of his head. Eventually we came to the rescue and headed back to the RV. We spent the rest of the afternoon in the Union Station parking lot relaxing on lawn chairs and throwing the frisbee.

Monday:
Our adventure was coming to a close. If this was a sitcom, we had one final episode. Renting a RV is an amazing experience that I recommend everyone doing at least once in a lifetime. But there is a major downside. The RV has a toilet and it gets used. It is the renters responsibility to return the RV with empty septic tanks. Normally you could take it to a RV park for dumping but we were running low on time. I looked at the fellas and said, “we gotta do it.” All agreed that there was only one way. We pulled up to an empty parking lot close to the freeway. (I’m apologizing to the ones that find this gross and offensive) The four of us looked at each other and said, “alright, who’s going to pull the lever.” The reason this is so risky is because the lever is right next to the opening where the “stuff” comes out. Israel says, “guys, I’ll do it.” Like a champion taking one for the team…we all say a prayer. Israel steps around to the driver side, leans down, and puts his hand on the lever marked “black water”. Three, two, one…pull. Whoosh goes the “black water”, Israel almost didn’t escape in time. It’s kind of illegal to do this so we didn’t stick around. We thought it was a better idea to drive down the street with black water streaming out. It was awesome.

Sam and Seth had noon flights while Iz and I weren’t leaving till 7. We made it to the airport and said our goodbyes. Iz and I had enough time to go to the Coors factory. We went on the tour and got our wives some t-shirts. (I’m sorry Jill if it’s too small) All in all this adventure is on my top 3 list of all time. I’m only sharing one tenth of the stories that live in my head. I’m mildly depressed that I might not get to experience this again in my lifetime. It is something I will always remember.

Final thought: This whole thing came together for one reason. It was for my friend Israel. Here is a portion of an email I sent to him about a year ago.

you are my brother from another mother. I have never been so honest and so close to another guy in my life. i could write a book of all our adventures, and then right two more sequels…that’s how many stories we share. Thank you for always loving and never judging. Thanks for the kick in the pants when I need it. Thanks for writing a song about my son. Thanks for your soft heart and gentle spirit. You have taught me so much over the years, more than a lifetime of learning.

Happy 30th Israel.

Only a one way journey - Happy Birthday Iz (Part1)

I’m currently flying home from a trip to Denver. I’m sunburned, I miss my family terribly, and I’m exhausted…that being said, it was one of the greatest adventures I’ve ever been on. This whole excursion was my way of saying happy 30th birthday to my friend Israel. This is a party I’ve been planning for about 6 months. It has taken many different forms but the final result is better than I imagined. I hope this doesn’t bore you…but I’ll attempt to bring you through our journey, it’s a long one so I broke it into two parts.

Thursday:
Six months of imagination has come to a climax on this very day. All the details and preparation have finally made it to physical form. I could call it a vacation, but the word adventure seems more appropriate. This is the day I load up the RV and prepare for our drive from Phoenix to Denver. It’s only a one way journey so everything we experience, everything we do, every decision we make…is happening for the first time every time. But this isn’t something that can be done alone, so I call on the assistance of a few others…namely Seth and Sam. I’ve spent the last hour pacing back and forth waiting for their arrival. I know that after they arrive the adventure has officially begun. I do a few last minute checks to kill time and it’s just enough. Seth and Sam show up and we load their stuff in about 20 seconds…okay maybe 30 seconds. We drive down the street to Israel’s house. (he only lives 6 houses away) I put the 25 foot beast into park and start to honk the horn like mad. The three of us are overflowing with excitement…like three girls going to a Miley Cyrus concert. Israel opens the door of his house, looks outside, and gets a huge smile on his face. He looks at Kati, then at the RV, then at Kati, then at the RV, then at Kati, then at the RV…this time he didn’t look back. It was time to hit the road. First stop, Flagstaff.

I will quote Israel when I say, “this was the quickest trip to Flagstaff I have ever had.” If this drive to Flagstaff was a drink, it would be one part belvedere, one part 50 cent, two parts testosterone, and one part “I can’t believe this is happening”. This is an expensive drink but the best I have ever had. I park the RV at the train station for the night and call it home. We got dinner at Beaver Street and played pool into the wee hours of the night.

Friday:
I told the guys if we do the most work on this day that we could spend more time relaxing. Seth, Sam, and I went to a coffee shop to plan out our route to Keystone Colorado. Sam charted a course and by 7:30 we were on the road…Israel still asleep of course. Three hours later Sam makes me a turkey sandwich without ever having to take my foot off the gas pedal…Israel still asleep of course. After six hours of conversation on topics such as religion, politics, marriage, and sex, we arrive in Moab Utah…Israel still asleep of course. We decided to get some lunch while in Moab. Israel slumbers out of bed and we settled on a microbrew restaurant. An hour and a half later we were back on the road.

The drive from Moab to Keystone was amazing. Most of it hugged the Colorado River which made for a very distracted driver…namely, me. The first part of the drive felt like I was driving through the Grand Canyon. It had the same kind of canyon walls on each side with the winding Colorado craving its way through. While driving I say to Seth, “this is so beautiful, how much for you to jump in the river right now?” I must tell you that it is about 55 degrees outside…so that would make the water around 45. Seth says, “100 dollars.” “No way man you’re crazy, that’s too much.” Israel says from the table, “I’ll do it for 20 bucks.” Five minutes later Israel is standing at the bank of the mighty Colorado in just his red boxers. I think his nerves were rattled by the signs that said, "no swimming/strong undercurrent". We just told him to stop being a “gi-na”. Israel didn’t disappoint, he dunked in the water and took it like a man. Six more hours and a total of 606 miles we made it to Keystone. We parked in a Starbucks parking lot and played it low key. It was like being in a hotel, wi-fi access and fresh coffee in the morning.

(to be continued)

A New Mentor

Last week I had a phone conversation that went something like this:

(ring ring, ring ring)

Me: Hello
Caller: Mark, what ups
Me: Hey man, what you been up to?
Caller: nothing really, just working
Me: Cool, what’s up?
Caller: Hey man, I kind of have a favor to ask. But before I ask I want to tell you this, please please don’t feel obligated. Don’t feel like you have to say yes, I totally understand if it doesn’t work out.

(Whenever somebody says something like this I think, oh great, this is going to cost me something.)

Me: alright, what is it?
Caller: It’s my nephew…

My old friend goes on to tell me about a situation that his cousin is having. He’s struggling at home. His parents and he are at odds and it’s come to a point where something has got to change. I’ve always thought of the military academy as the last resort but I believe they have already come to this point. So how am I involved, you ask? For this kid to get accepted into the academy he needs to have a mentor. I used to work in youth ministry and give guitar lessons to high school students so I guess my name was thrown into the hat. The best I could do is tell my friend that I would meet with the parents and kid. The day before our meeting Jill was asking me what my obligation would be…how many times do we have to meet, what kind of time commitment…stuff like that. I told her I had no idea. I honestly didn’t know how I would respond until I met with the family.

It was 3:30 in the afternoon and we met a Starbucks. I got more information on the situation. I learned about their backgrounds and what their expectations were. I would have to drive out to Queen Creek twice a month, email once a week, and plan social outings once a month. Honestly, and I mean honestly. This did not sound appealing to me. Not because I don’t like the kid, but because I am a selfish person. These outings sound like burdens instead of fun activities. I spent the first fifteen minutes figuring out how I can tell these guys “no”. Then after 30 minutes of conversation, something changed in me. Do you know what changed my heart? I looked at my friend’s cousin…his head held low, eyes buried in a hat, playing with the straw in his empty drink. After knowing what I was obligating myself to, the parents asked me if I would be willing to be his mentor. I thought for a second, looked at the kid, then just blurted it out “yah, I think he’s worth it.” How do I look this kid in the face and tell him he’s not worth my time? I don’t have the heart to do it…and in fact, the exact opposite is true. He deserves more than just my time, he deserves my compassion. Who knows if this kid has ever heard these words or if he will ever hear them again. But everybody deserves to hear it at least once in their lifetime.

Final thought: Tomorrow I leave for an adventure with my friend Israel to celebrate his 30th birthday. I’m so excited, it’s going to be epic. With epic adventures come epic stories. I’m sure I’ll have one or two when I get back.

ministry, a smoke, and an apology

Part 1 What I hate about being in ministry

The weekend before last oneplace had an awesome church event. In fact, it went ten times better than I thought it would. We had a oneplace bicycle road rally. It was epic. There was about 25 of us that started off from the church. The rally would lead us from oneplace to Steele Indian School Park. Sam and Nelson rode ahead and actually blocked off 2nd and 3rd street. I thought, “holy crap, this is so official.” Our trek north consumed one full lane of traffic for about 2 miles. We eventually came to our final destination where we met picnic tables of food. The weather was amazing, the grape soda was better than champagne, the conversations flowed easily, etc. To top it all off, we ended our bbq/rally with a kick ball game…wombats vs. the pterodactyls. It was neck and neck all the way down to the last inning. It ended with Sam gunning the ball at Chad as he was running home…when at the last second Chad leaps like a gazelle and the wisps under his feet. There were many cheers.

So what is the thing I hate about ministry? The reality is about half the people at the rally will not be at oneplace in two years. onePlace has seen an unusually high turn over rate since its birth. It’s not a bad thing, just something I hate. We minister to many young people who are just trying to navigate their way through life, discover passions, and pursue dreams. I love seeing others challenge themselves with new experience and a part of me is even jealous. Every month I hear that somebody is moving away. And because our demographic is so transient, some people that you think are totally committed just don’t come back. It’s the strangest thing. I love my church but that is something I definitely hate…being close to someone and seeing them move so far away.

Part 2 Jesse wants a smoke

This last weekend Rise Up had its grand opening in downtown Phoenix and it was a marathon of events. A bunch of people came in from out of town to celebrate the flagship store. Jesse, the founder of Rise Up International, is one of those guys that you can talk to for about 60 seconds and feel like you’ve been friends for years. On Thursday night a small group of people decided to gather at the store to share some drinks before the weekend festivities. (for those not present, there was also a promo party on Friday night and a grand opening party at the san carlos) Jesse and I share a hug, talk about the family, and admire the store. Five minutes later Travis goes outside to have a smoke and Jesse says, “that sounds good, I’ll go with.” A few of us head outside and all is good…until jesse says, “my wife is going to be so pissed, she hates it when I smoke.” We all laugh, then he says, “no really, she’s gonna be pissed.” Well now he’s just raised the anticipation of when this confrontation will happen. Sure enough Maria walks outside, sees Jesse smoking, shoots him a look, then goes back inside. Honestly it wasn’t that bad, I’ve had much worse. But jesse says, “oh man we’re going to be talking about this one later.” I turn to Jesse and offer a piece of advice. I say to him, “I to have gotten the stare before, and I to have had this same talk.” I told him a simple phrase that has helped me soften the ground. The phrase is, “I have a problem, I make bad choices.” Jesse just turns to me and starts laughing. He says, “I love it, it’s so honest.” I hope it helped Jesse.

Part 3 I’m sorry Brittany

Brittany has been on me the last two weeks about blogging. Who knows if anyone even reads this anymore. One of my fatal flaws is that I become obsessed and indifferent so quickly. I once went on a health kick and lost like 80 pounds in 6 months. I’ve now spent the last six years putting it back on. I once spent two hours every day practicing the guitar and now I barely play 2 hours a week. A year ago I played poker three days a week and now my desire to play has diminished. In fact I’m going to Vegas today and it will be the first time I’ve played in about three weeks. This has also carried over into my relationships. I’ve been a groomsman or best man in 8 weddings and I don’t have regular contact with any of them…that’s right, none of them. Don’t get me wrong, when I meet with old friends it usually takes about 30 seconds to get back to the way things were. But that doesn’t change the fact that people come and go from my life too easily. I haven’t blogged over the last couple of weeks because I just haven’t thought about. So I’m sorry Brittany, I’m trying to change. Maybe this my first step.

Favorite Oregon Story

Part of the reason we decided to go to Oregon was to spend some time with our friends Nole and Carrie. They live in Bend which is a beautiful community a lot like Flagstaff, just nicer and cleaner. There were many things I was looking forward to doing like going to the snow, playing poker with Nole, and sharing a beer with other friends in the area. We did all of those things but one story stands out above the rest.

“Hey Mark, I know this sounds weird, but I’ve got to go soak in the tub for 15 minutes” I say to Nole with a slight chuckle, “What?” He proceeds to tell me that it is part of the doctors orders. Now this next bit of information was probably meant to be kept quiet, but we’re all friends. Nole has hemorrhoids. Because of this Nole must soak in hot water three times a day. Usually his soak time happens after he gets home from school around 4 o’clock.

I was sleeping on the couch when Nole came home. In fact the whole family was sleeping. We exchanged hello’s for a second and talked about the game plan for the rest of the night. “Alright man, I’ve got to soak.” Nole exists the room. I hear the water turn on. I start to drift back to sleep. There is no question Nole is in full soak mode. What could possibly interrupt his 15 minutes of relaxation?

Then all of a sudden in the midst of my half conscious slumber I hear a 3 year old voice say, “I have to go pee.” Being half awake gives me the ability to think about saying “don’t go in the bathroom”, but being half asleep prevents me from getting the words out. Jett charges for the bathroom, pulls on the doorknob, and flings the door open. The next 5 seconds could be described as frozen horror…both Nole and Jett caught like deer in the headlights. They are both so shocked neither of them knows what to do. Jett still has to pee and it's not like Nole can get up and leave. Well it gets worse. Three year olds sometimes need help going to the bathroom. Jill sees Jett charge for the bathroom so it is her instinct to help him out. Five seconds after Jett arrives in the bathroom Jill does. All I hear is Jill say, “oh my gosh.” Nole again, caught in frozen horror. Jill yells for me and says can you help me, please come shut this door. I pop off the couch and walk towards the bathroom where I see Jill covering her mouth and laughing (or gagging, I can’t tell). I get to the bathroom and this is what I see. Nole is soaking in the tub, playing online poker, and using his laptop to cover his private parts. This is why Nole makes me laugh every time we talk.

Just got back from Oregon

I just got back from a week long trip to Oregon. I can’t wait to share some stories, but I’ll reserve that for the next post. Here some thoughts from the last week.

“The human heart is not designed to go that deep with a person just to back out.” This is a quote from my friend Quinn. He was speaking of a personal experience but I’ve found it to be universally profound. It makes me wonder about the risks we take in life. Not the risk of what school to go to or whether or not to move to Oregon. I’m talking about something much riskier. I’m talking about the risk of loving another. We humans like to throw ourselves into these situations where there is a strong likelihood of attachment and pain. This will exist on varying levels for all of our relationships. The pain might be mild like a daughter moving away from home or a fight with your husband over money. Or the pain could be great like illness or loss. It’s not something many people think about when giving love away. But there is an underlying reality. That is if love exists, pain will exist as well. And the greater you love, the greater possibility of pain. Even the couple who has shared a blissful marriage for fifty plus years knows that one day one of them will live without the other. We allow ourselves to attach knowing well that if that connection were to ever disappear, our world would start to unravel.

We had just gotten done with dinner on the first day of our trip to Oregon. We all made the easy decision to go get ice cream across the street. I was in the shop combing over the flavors when I realized Kati and Israel were standing outside in the cold. I didn’t know for sure, but it looked like they were praying. Kati got a phone call from a family member that there was an emergency at home. Kati’s cousin Shawn has a daughter named Paige. Kati didn’t have any details except for one. Paige collapsed and wasn’t breathing. I don’t even want to imagine the horror of being the father in this situation. I look at my son who is roughly the same age and began to tear up. On the drive back to the hotel Kati got another phone call. I don’t know any details but I can hear her weeping in the back seat. The sound of her cry makes my heart flutter for a second and puts a knot in my stomach. No words are shared…it’s the profound silence that tells the result.

My heart aches for Shawn and Kristy…to give this much love to another and to feel this much pain when she's gone. My experience was unique because Lincoln was an infant. My memories of him only span those 18 days. Shawn and Kristy have years of memories, more experiences than could fit into a mind. These words were never more fitting: the human heart is not designed to go that deep with a person just to back out.

The main reason I went to Oregon was to visit with friends. We did a bunch of stuff that I will blog about later but one of my favorites was playing heads-up poker with Nole. Most of our conversation centered on trying to outplay each other. But one time we took a break. Nole knew about the stuff Kati’s family was going through. He asked me about my past experiences and how I was doing. The conversation led to a question like this, “Were you scared to try and have kids again?” My response was, “yes, very scared. But my desire to love again far out weighs my fear of pain. I don’t know does that make sense?” Nole said, “Yah man, it makes perfect sense.”

Here is my prayer for Shawn and Kristy. I pray that you are not consumed by the hurt you feel inside. I pray that when the clouds start to break you will have hope. May God bring rest to your souls.

Dinner and a Novel

First off, I’m sorry it’s been so long. Wow, now that I think about it, that sounds really arrogant. It’s like I’m saying, you’ve been waiting for me to write this whole week. How could I do you the injustice of not writing a new entry? Well that’s not what I meant. I shall strike the first sentence from the record. Replace it with…I’ve missed writing and miss your great comments. That’s better.

It’s a Saturday night with nothing to do. Jill and I decided to hang out as a family and what better to do than go to dinner. Jill has been making most of our dinners lately so this was a real treat. That’s not how it sounds. I meant to say, Jill has been making a bunch of meals lately and it’s nice to give her a night off. For the record, I think Jill is a good cook. With the exception of the eggplant meal, I could live without that one again. We go back and forth for a little bit and then decided on Paradise Bakery. On the way there I tell Jill I need to make a stop at the gas station. We pull into the QT parking lot…not for gas, not for a drink, not for a snack. I stopped at the gas station to buy something ridiculous…a lottery ticket.

Jill has come to the point of just living with my antics. She tells me to hurry up because she’s really hungry. I buy the ticket and scamper back to the truck. I hop in and say to Jill, “What would you do with 200 million? Well, just 100 million after taxes.” Jill smiles at me and says, “I’d pay off my dad’s mortgage.” “Well, what else?” “I’d give it away.” I can’t really argue with that because I’d probably do the same thing. At dinner Jill and I daydreamed about who we would help and how we would distribute the money. Jill said that she would want a budget of how much she could give away each day. I then devised a way of investing the money and living off the interest. We talked about taking our friends on vacation, moving downtown and giving to the church. “Can you imagine what onePlace would do with millions?” We continued to share stories and joked about not telling anyone our secret. This conversation would seem silly to anyone else. But to Jill and I…it was our fantastic novel.

I’ll be the first to admit that money would not make us happier. Life is still risky and challenging. Money doesn’t solve all of life’s problems. The dream becomes exciting because it’s hard to imagine life without financial strain…not just for me but for all the people I know. The odds of winning are 146 million to one. Do I think I will ever win? No. But when I bought that ticket, I gave myself a chance to dream, a chance to imagine. The idea of not winning almost becomes irrelevant. Because for that short time the dreamer inside of me tells reality to wait until dinner is over. Sitting down at dinner and writing the novel with my wife… that’s what I bought for a dollar.

things I miss about me

Have you ever misplaced something you really enjoy only to find it some time later? Maybe it’s a shirt you left at a friend’s house. Maybe it’s a cd you lost in your car. Maybe it’s a love letter from the past. Everybody can relate to that feeling of excitement knowing that you recaptured this “thing”. Because it’s not just the object, it’s also the feelings associated with the object. It’s not any shirt, it’s the shirt you bought at your first concert. It’s the cd you always put in on road trips. It’s the love letter that made you realize that you were going to marry this person.

I was fifteen when my sister gave me a hat from the University of Arizona. I loved this hat. It was fitted. It had the basic logo. It had no insignia on the back. These are all the things that made this hat perfect. I probably wore this hat everyday for three years straight. But when I left for college I remember leaving this hat behind. I don’t even know why. I guess subconsciously I wanted something different. For years this hat was hidden somewhere at my parent’s house. My mom had cleaned out my room and stored a bunch of stuff in the garage…boxes and boxes of junk. Then one day, without even looking for it, my hat came back to me. I was looking for an empty box when I stumbled into some old clothes. The item at the very top was my U of A hat flattened like a pancake. I went to the nearest mirror, re-cranked the bill, and tried it on. It was old and familiar. I’ve been wearing it ever since.

I have gone through all of this to tell you that I’ve misplaced something very special to me. Something I’ve had since I was 19. I lost it a couple of years ago and can’t seem to find it anywhere. I’ve lost my desire to create music. Music has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. I’ve played all over and have had so many great experiences. I remember practicing until my fingers were about to fall off. I never knew what time it was and hours felt like minutes. I remember when my band was playing its first show. I think I only slept for a couple of hours. I remember playing at a midnight service for a local church. I got to play one of my originals in front of about 2500 people. I remember Israel coming over and sharing new hooks he was working on. My legs would jitter because I was so anxious to add a new layer that would compliment the melody. I remember when I would stay up late and play guitar in the bedroom closet. I played there because I didn’t want to wake anyone up but still sing with all my heart. These days are long over. I’ve lost it and now I’m trying to find it again.

Last week my friends Matt and Andrew asked me to come play music with them. No schedule, no agenda…just for fun. At first I didn’t know how to respond. The idea of playing for recreation was foreign to me. And you know what, it was amazing. I found something better than that ragged hat or concert t shirt. I found that part of me that loves music…the thrill of melodies filling a room…the presence of something beautiful created from my hands. (well, some beautiful, some not so beautiful) This experience has inspired me to rekindle a passion from the past. Like going to an old flame and saying, “can we try this one more time?” I played last night…I played for hours. Nothing significant came of it. It’s not like I wrote a hit song that is going to change the world. But the feelings of being able to express and create through music…yeah those things…those are the things I miss about me.

My Desk (Part 2)

My desk is a humble desk. It’s only two feet wide but it serves in many roles. It carries a heavy burden because it is the most versatile and used piece of equipment at onePlace. It must be flexible with the different jobs and has to be ready to adjust at any moment. I love my desk for many reasons. I wouldn’t change it for anything. Here is the reason why…if my desk could talk, this is what it would say:

“I got my first tattoo only a couple of months ago. It wasn’t something I really wanted but kind of just came to me. I was working a show for the venue when a teenage girl decided to make her mark. She wrote “Brittany J Andy J”. I don’t know either of them but she obviously thought it was important. It opened up Pandora’s Box because ever since that day everybody and their mother felt the need to give me more tattoos, more random statements, more personal declarations. At first it kind of bothered me, but the more it happened, the more I questioned its purpose. Why do people ‘tag’? I think the answer is rather profound. The artist wants to be noticed, wants to be seen, wants to be heard, wants to make an impact, and wants to belong to something. Can I be upset at a person who longs for those things? Not really. In fact, I want to be the object that displays the art of the unseen. I carry it with pride. Because when the day is done, I know that the marginalized man was noticed and the silent soul was heard.

My other job is being Mark’s desk throughout the week. He’s a brut of a man, handsome, intelligent, sophisticated, and stylish yet the sensitivity of a mother Teresa type. He makes me want to be a better desk. (maybe my desk didn’t say all those things, but it’s my fabled personification, just let me dream) My purpose here is practical. I support the work of a man who loves and serves the church. There is nothing glamorous about this job. I don’t get noticed. I don’t draw attention. I’m simply here to support the work of the guys who dream.

My favorite job throughout the week is the one I have on Sunday nights. That’s the night onePlace has church. It’s the most sacred job any one person can have. I sit in the back corner, I dress in black, I am the hand that holds communion. I see people focused on a time of remembering. I see people trying to reconnect with God. I see others with completely broken lives. I can’t tell you how many tears have been shed in my presence…men and women who have knelt in front of me begging for mercy. Their prayers came out in whispers but this is what I remember. I remember a young lady praying for her dad who was dying of cancer. I remember a man asking for God to restore his broken marriage. I remember a couple who just lost a child. I remember a young man who was devastated by his parents divorce. I remember a man who just lost his job. I remember a lady suffering from bouts with depression. I remember the man who was pleading for God’s forgiveness. I remember the lady that was shackled with fear. I remember all of them. I remember them because we shared communion together. They all come to this place of reckoning because of one thing. It’s not because of me. It’s not even because of what I hold. It’s because they want to meet with God, the true and living God. I don’t know if I told you, this is my favorite job.”

That is a whole lot for a desk to say, but I believe it to be accurate. In fact, my desk might be a better Christian than I am. These are simple yet profound goals; display the art of the unseen, support the guys who dream, and be the hands that help others commune with God. My desk is a humble desk, but I love what it teaches me.

My Desk (Part 1)

I remember going to the bathroom, washing my hands, and slowly making my way back to our leader meeting. For some bizarre twist of events, during my 3 minute absence my co-leaders had decided that I should pastor the church. How is this possible? I just left the room. Their words were flattering but this just wasn’t the sort of thing I felt capable of. It just didn’t seem like a perfect fit. So we as a team waited.

Three months later I started talking to Kevin. Kevin is a passionate follower of Christ and shows a sincere desire to bring hope to a hurting world. For the first time, I started to dream what it would be like to co-lead a church with somebody like Kevin. Kev and I have similar personalities but are uniquely different. The idea of pastoring in this type of role was exciting…fresh…“me”. I started to re-imagine a pastoral role where I wasn’t the sole provider. It would be a place where two people could share the burden. I've had many images and visions of what working together would look like...sharing ideas, working through theology, and serving our community. But the very first image I had in my mind was this.







It was the image of me working at the front of the stage and Kev working in the office. We would have separate space but still be close enough to tell haphazard jokes. I don’t know why this was so appealing, it just was. On our first day to work Kev asked me if I wanted to share the office. To me going back to an office is like taking a step backwards in my linear progression away from the grips of “the man”. I once had the corner office with the window, bookshelves made of rich mahogany, and many leather bound books. “The man” once had me until I kicked him in the kidney and said “can you capture the wind, can you hold the fire, such is mango.” I turned around and never looked back. That is why my desk at the front of the stage feels like home.

To be continued:

Blockbuster Trade

This whole thing started because I said I wanted to go snowboarding. It’s about 4:30 in afternoon and news is reporting record snowfall in Flagstaff. I can’t believe I’ve only gone twice this season. In the past I’ve gone multiple times in horrible conditions and in a shortened season. But with working at the church now, I have to be more responsible with my time. When the news was over I asked Jill, “Can I go boarding this next week?” She promptly said no and reminded me that I just got back from Vegas. I think her words were “the fun times are over, you have to work.” I’ve always been a stubborn person and “no” always seemed like a challenge instead of an answer. My response to her was, “alright, let’s make a deal.”

Her reply was typical. “I don’t want to trade anything.” “Surely there is something you want.” “Nope, there is nothing.” “Come on Jill, let’s be reasonable.” She said okay, I’ll tell you what I want. “I want two Saturdays all to myself to do whatever I want.” (Before I go on, Jill wants Saturdays to herself because she works really hard throughout the week taking care of the kids. I work five days a week and she rarely gets time to herself. Most of her time alone is when she’s working. If I get time alone, she wants time alone as well.) Now let me tell you, I’m not happy with the offer, but it’s definitely a starting point. It’s like I got her into the dealership, sat her down in my office, and got her to admit she really wants the car. I’ll show any offer to my manager if it means we can start the negotiating process. Her first offer is closer than she thinks but I can’t let her know that. In the words of flight of the concords, it’s business time.

Offer 2 (mark) One Saturday for one day of boarding
Offer 3 (jill) She’s a firm no, two Saturdays for one day of boarding

She’s obviously not moving so I’m forced to bring other elements into the equation. I have this degenerate friend that I’ve talked about in the past. His name is Vegas. Now the thing about Vegas is the more you hang out, the more things he wants to give you. And I’m not the kind of person to turn down one’s generosity. I got an offer where I received a couple nights free at the Wynn. When I first told Jill about it she said she would be interested in going. I love the idea because Jill rarely goes with me…she’s been twice to be specific. But the more I talked to her about it, the more I realized that she was just going because it’s free and wasn’t really that interested. If that is the case, might as well go with friends that would be fired up about the opportunity. So my next offer raised the stakes.

Offer 4 (mark) 3 Saturdays for an April trip to Vegas with friends

She laughs in my face, I’m quite certain she is insulted with my low ball offer…
“oh, you want Vegas, do you?”

Offer 5 (jill) 6 Saturdays for the trip to Vegas
Offer 6 (mark) 4 Saturdays for the trip to Vegas and snow boarding
Offer 7 (jill) 6 Saturdays for trip to Vegas and boarding

At this point, I can sense we are getting close but don’t want to do anything rash that would make her walk away completely. I delicately move forward.

Offer 8 (mark) 5 Saturdays for trip to Vegas and boarding
Offer 9 (jill) No deal, repeats offer number 7
Offer 10 (mark) 5 Saturdays and a back rub for trip to Vegas and boarding
Offer 11 (jill) Alright…I guess…that seems fair

After 30 minutes of talks, here are the final terms to the agreement.
Jill receives:
Five Saturdays to do whatever she wants
- must be redeemed by end of May
- a day is represented by the hours of 6am – 3pm (Jill set the hours)
- the Saturdays must be non consecutive
Back Rub
- 15 minutes
- Redeemable that night

Mark receives:
One day of snowboarding
Trip to Vegas with the guys
- redeemed in April

It honestly works out for both of us. Jill didn’t really want to go to Vegas and I think she deserves Saturdays without trading. So I guess it’s a win, win. But do you know what made this whole thing so awesome? The laughter we shared while making the trades. Because it wasn’t just about making compromises, it’s about having fun with the person you’re with. I smile when I think about this moment because it’s just another reminder that Jill and I still love having fun. I’ll take that over our trade any day.

It's 2:50am and once again I can't sleep

This is a post I wrote in the middle of the night:

It’s 2:50am and once again I can’t sleep. Sometimes I feel as if he has completely rearranged my life…like he’s come inside of my heart and simply moved the furniture around. It’s still my furniture, it’s just not where I left it. But now that I think about it, isn’t that the way it should be? Is it possible to lose something you love and not feel as if your life has been rearranged? If so, maybe it wasn’t really love. If that is the case, I welcome the new arrangement. Although unsettling, I have proof that I have experienced the result of true love. Some people will live a lifetime and not experience this type of rearrangement…I don’t know if I should count them blessed or pity them. Maybe a little of both.

The one year anniversary of Lincoln’s birth was especially hard. I remember being flooded with memories…memories of the hospital, coming home, watching Jill hold him, the funeral. But none was more painful than writing him a birthday card and leaving it at his grave. I remember going to Walgreens and looking through the cards for about an hour. I wanted to make sure I found the right one. This was a surreal experience because I knew he would never read it but I still felt like it needed to be done…like I still had some things to tell him. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t going to read it, because reality is my heart still bleeds, feels, loves and knows. I remember holding him at night and whispering in his ear, “I love you, I love you…I know you don’t understand what I’m saying but I can’t stop telling you.” Buying the card gives me this image of a teenager pulling away in his car when his dad suddenly realizes he forgot to tell him something important. The dad is waving his hands in the air, but the kid never sees him and keeps on driving. In this story the kid never returns.

I sat in my car at the cemetery for about 30 minutes before I ever wrote a word. I didn’t know how to start this kind of letter. So I just wrote the first thing that came to mind. “Your mom and I miss you.” After the words made it to page, I just sat there and wept…simply reduced to a whimpering child. I tried to think of something else to write but nothing else came to mind. So I just sat there content with my one line. Ten minutes later my hand starts on the next sentence. Then another. Then another. Before you know it I’ve run out of space. I wrote it all so fast that I had to go back and reread my own words. The line I remember most is, “mom hasn’t been the same since you passed away. I think when you passed, a piece of her passed as well.”

I used to think that the goal of healing after tragedy is to recapture this part of your self that is missing. You know, to go back to the way things were. I don’t know if that is true any more. I think I’ve finally become content that my life will never be the same…that the new furniture arrangement is the way it’s going to stay. I’ve come to embrace that a piece of my wife has passed as well. I once heard an amputee say that he was grateful to be alive and that he had adjusted to his new life. He had learned how to function in a society of non-handicaps. He began to laugh again, form new relationships, and even re-enlisted into the military. But no matter what, that didn’t change the fact that every time he looked in the mirror he saw his leg was missing. That is how I feel. That piece that’s missing, that piece that keeps me up at night, that piece that has rearranged my life, these things exist because…I loved my son…I loved him infinitely…and I can’t stop if I tried. That is what I’ve come to live with. One last thing, if I could somehow change the story it would go like this. My son was pulling away in his car when I remembered I forgot to tell him something. I waved my arms in the air as high as I could. He glanced in his rear view mirror and saw me standing there. He turned the car around and drove back towards home. My son pulled in the driveway, rolled down the window and asked, “what is it dad?” I would tell him this, “I love it when you’re home and hate it when you’re gone. Can you stay with me a little bit longer?”

Israel's post (titled: better late than never)

Israel has come through in the final seconds. Here are the thoughts of my friend Israel, aka. Izzy, Izzle, Sizzle, McSizzle, Siz, Sizzy, Kenneth, Kenny, Special K, K-Love, and bad ass pterodactyl:


So I am trying to write this blog thing and Mark has given me one rule. Be honest. So, in all honesty I don't know what to write about. I was trying to think of something deep and meaningful. I had what I thought was a great story full of wisdom and about 2 minutes into the story with my wife, she informed me that she was bored. Exactly what I needed. So I will try something else.

I need to apologize. The other day I was with a friend. And as they were going on and on and on and on about something, my inner voice kicked in...”hey Kati always says that I talk to much, that I don't let other people talk, that I tend to dominate the conversation. Wow, is he still talking, what is going on I just want to eat and leave. I wish I was going with Mark to Vegas, we have so much fun. Man it really is a nice day. Hey... do you think I can talk, I would like to say something as well. Remember me. I wonder if people hanging out with me feel this way. I should say something to them, apologize.” So here’s to that. If you have ever had this conversation in your head or felt this way around me, sorry. I hope I can talk less and listen more.

Oh, and by the way my wife informed me this morning that I have gray hair.
Awesome.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Part 1:
So in my absence, Israel decided he was too important to post a blog entry. Apparently, he’s a big deal and doesn’t just slum it with us commoners. I apologize for giving such a responsibility to somebody who doesn’t value it as much as I do. Israel, if you read this, your reparation is two bud lights, a Reese’s peanut butter cup, and a twisty cone.

Part 2:
I had a great time in Vegas but don’t want to bore you with unnecessary details. I thought I would just give you some highlights. What happens in Vegas, goes on my blog.
1. I took third in a tournament at Caesar’s Palace.
2. I ate at the Bellagio buffet for the first time and it was amazing.
3. I watched Kev play Pai Gow poker for the first time and turn 50 into 95.
4. It was refreshing to hang out with an old friend of mine…somebody I have known for years but don’t see that much. In fact, I was Josh’s best man.
5. Favorite toast, “here’s to old friends being new again.”
6. I played the at most casinos I’ve ever played. (Luxor, MGM, New York New York, Flamingo, Harrah’s, Bellagio, Caesar’s Palace)
7. One of my guilty pleasures is watching the Hills. For you that watch the show, I ran into Brody. I’m embarrassed that I know that.
8. The second night I went to bed at 10:30pm and felt like a loser the next morning.

Would anybody be interested in going this summer? (Israel, you’re not invited)

Part 3:
Recently Jill switched real estate companies in order to save on monthly fees. I think this was a good decision because it saves us about 250 a month. But with switching companies comes the need to update all of your print materials, i.e. flyers, signs, business cards, etc. Before I go any further I want to say this, I think Jill is one of the best agents anywhere. She genuinely cares about her clients, she works hard, she stays on top of the all the details, she understands every branch of the process…not to mention she’s pretty smart. I’ve always told Jill that she should be a doctor or something.

So Jill asked me to make her a new business card. Of course I agreed and put it off for a week. But we finally sat down last night to work out the details. The problem is Jill and I don’t really see eye to eye on what her card should look like. Jill wants the standard red, white, and blue colors, picture on the right, and block lettering for her name. But that’s not good enough for me. I insist that it must be different. I want it to represent the things previously mentioned. But she won’t budge. It went down like this:
J: Can you just do it the way I asked?
M: The way you want it is boring. Everybody has it that way.
J: I don’t want it different.
M: Can you explain why that’s the best solution?
J: Because it’s what I want.
M: You want something that sucks?
J: I want it like I had it before.
M: (sigh) (then with a firm voice) all right…show me what you want, be specific
J: Forget it, I knew you couldn’t just make this easy. (Jill exits room)
10 minutes later
M: Can we work on this thing?
J: No, I’ll just hire someone.
M: Come on, seriously, don’t be like this.
J: Don’t be like this…?, you’re the one making a big deal about it.
M: Well, I’m over it, so let’s get this thing done.
J: Not with your attitude
5 more minutes
M: Please can we finish.
J: Fine, I don’t even care anymore.

30 minutes later we produce a business card. It looks basic, standard, simple, but Jill is pleased with the outcome. Best of all, the tension has subsided. At this point it’s pretty late, Jill gives me a kiss and heads for bed. But what she doesn’t know is that I stayed up and created a different card. The new card is the one I would have created if I had control. I think it looks cleaner and better represents her. I’m thinking about getting them printed and handing them out behind her back. Here is what we made

Viva Las Vegas

Later today I leave for Las Vegas. No convention, no business...just because I enjoy it. As a pastor, this is something I hate telling people who don’t know me. Whenever I mention going to Vegas I feel that I must give disclaimers. "I'm not there for the other stuff, I just enjoy playing poker." The "other stuff" is usually known as one of three things; drinking (usually excessively because it's free), gambling (defined as, where the house has the advantage), and sex (I don't think I need to explain this one). FYI, The sex stuff is the part I hate most about Vegas. I was talking to Israel about this once when he pointed to a flyer and said, "that girl is somebody's maggie." Maggie is the name of his daughter. It was powerful to think about.

Because of all the crazy stories people share about there Vegas experience (some friends, some acquaintances), I feel that I am guilty by association. For the ones who don’t know me, I avoid being honest…I just secretly enjoy Vegas. But I really do love staying up all night and getting breakfast at the Luxor around 6 am. I love sitting on the patio at the Irish pub in the New York, New York. I love playing poker at the Bellagio and seeing the best within feet. I love taking naps at 8pm because nole and iz are calling for an all night-er. I love traveling with friends. Vegas is like a degenerate friend. He’s the guy that everybody gets along with but sometimes just takes things too far. I love him and hate him. I love him because our personalities mesh well…both extroverts, laugh a ton, night owls, etc., but hate him because I know all the things he does. The key to our friendship is this…we both understand that we’ll have a blast going to baseball games, restaurants, and movies without fighting. But when it comes to where we go afterwards, we part ways. That is the balance to this friendship, knowing when to part ways.

FYI. In my absence, Israel is going to post a blog entry to keep this thing rolling. Look foward to that coming

Waiting in Line

So it’s lunch time and Quizno’s is on my mind…to be more specific, the prime rib and peppercorn sandwich. I yell to kevo, “I’m thinking Quizno’s for lunch, you in?” He gives the confirmation with a “yes-ir”. It’s a deal and we’re off to engage in magical prime rib and peppercorn heaven. We stand through the long line and order our food. “hey kev, let’s just eat in the church parking lot.” “yah man.” We sit in the back lot whenever our teeth start to chatter. Sometimes it does get that cold. We get in the truck, I throw it into reverse, then…knock, knock, knock. There is a tired looking man I had never met before standing next to my truck and before I roll down the window I know what he is going to ask. “hey man, can you break bread with me?” In my mind this automatically translates to, “can I have some money?”

When I first met Ace, our resident street friend, he seemed to be somebody I connected with…somebody I could be honest with and somebody who would be honest with me. I once asked him what he believed was the percentage of people living on the streets that have substance abuse issues. He flat told me “all of them.” I then asked him if the money they receive ever goes towards food and shelter. He told me almost never. Ace says, “You have to be an idiot to go hungry in Phoenix. There are so many places willing to get you food.” He then told me that if I wanted to help somebody out, don’t give money, take them to get food. So I adopted this philosophy. I’ve stopped giving out money, but have started providing meals. What I have found is most people asking for money turn down my offer for food.

I was quick to tell the man at Quizno’s that I would not give him money but I would get him a sandwich. Secretly, I was hoping he would just walk away. But instead his eyes lit up and pointed towards the street, “okay, I’ll be waiting right over there.” I didn’t want to wait in the line again. I was really hungry. And Quizno’s is the most expensive fast food available. But you know what happens next, I quickly threw it in reverse and got out of there. No no no, I’m just kidding. I reluctantly get out of the truck, look at Kevin and mutter under my breath, “I’m so carnal.” This guy is begging for a sandwich and I don’t want to wait in line again. What’s wrong with this picture? It’s easy to throw a couple of bucks at a guy. It eases my conscience and makes for a quick transaction. It’s clean…sanitary…convenient. But clean, sanitary, and convenient love is selfish love. I don’t want that kind of love from others, so it’s not the kind of love I should give. When it comes to the way I love, I have spent too much time in my truck. I think I need to get out and wait in line more often.

It's a fight!!

My wife hates it when I blog about our fights. The other day she said, “people must think we always fight.” I tried to put her at ease by telling her that we don’t fight that often and that other people go through the same things. Most people just don’t share it with the world. But what is it that makes watching a fight so interesting?

Israel has been working a ton lately trying to get his new business off the ground. We haven’t been hanging out as much, but it’s hard to blame him when I see how committed he is to supporting his family. So I made a plea to hang out some. I sent him a text message that read,
cats in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man on the moon, when you comin home Iz, “I don’t know when, we’ll get together then, you know we’ll have a good time then”

Later that day I get a call and Israel has responded well to my plea. “We need to get some food and drinks.” I’m not one to deny either. So we decide to meet up at 10pm which is after his Monday meeting. We settle on hanging out at the fox and hound. It was just like old times. Israel got the ace pear cider, I got a bud light, Israel got the pizza melt, I got the wings, Israel was desperate to win one game of pool, I continued to kick his ass. Everything was status quo until we looked towards the bathrooms and see a small crowd gathered. My fourth grade instinct came out and I was like, I have to see what’s going on…knowing full well that a fight was about to ensue. Then like a blaze of fury a guy comes from the bathroom vicinity and charges into the bar area. Oh dang, it’s on! Before I could blink an eye two dudes are on the ground exchanging blows. Waitresses are screaming. Guys are yelling. Glass is breaking. The manager is trying to break it up. And all the while, I’m caught in the trance of a spectacular train wreck. I couldn’t turn away if I wanted to. When it’s all over I walk back to our table, Israel and I simply resume our game. It made me think, what makes watching a fight so interesting?

I don’t really have an answer, but this is what I’ve come up with. I know that conflict is a basic human trait and tension between people can be unsettling. We long for balance and justice. I guess more than anything I want to see the result…as clean or ugly as it may be. So maybe it’s not the fight that’s interesting, but the outcome, the result, the resolution. That’s much more satisfying. I would like to think that I don’t blog about fights, but rather I blog about resolutions. Everybody can relate with that.