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.

"You do homework right now"

When I was in the 5th grade I had a huge crush on a girl named Brandi Arnold. She was a smokin hottie. She was also probably the most popular girl in our class. Now I don't know how you all had your classrooms set up but ours was always the same. Usually there were groups of four desks spread throughout the classroom. On the first day it was important to position yourself in a group that was somewhat cool. Worst case scenario, I'm stuck with Janelle. Best case scenario, I'm stuck with Brandi. At the beginning of the school year Mrs. Masters had something different in mind. She went through the entire class and gave us seating arrangements. This is terrible news…unless…no…no…this is great news. Who is that on my left? Miss Brandi…smooth and aromatic like the drink. I later found out that I wasn’t her type. (I wasn’t her type because she thought I was from Hong Kong, that’s a true story)

Although Brandi and I never had a love connection, she did teach me something. Before class each day, I would see her working on her homework. Everyday like clock work. That didn’t make sense to me because my crazy Asian mom was like, “You do homework right now, no play now.” So one day I asked Brandi, “Why didn’t you do that yesterday at home?” Her response was simple, “I didn’t want to.” It is something I will never forget. Because on that day…I became a procrastinator. Everyday since then I have put things off till the last minute. I did this in high school, in college, and even now. And it always makes me mad because I know it affects the quality of my work…I know inside it could be better. I want to be different, yet my laziness always gets the upper hand. I tell you this because it’s 2 in the morning and I just finished my Sunday morning talk. All kidding aside, I’m really pissed at myself that I let this happen again…and again…and again.