a mighty force

Occasionally a slice of the ethereal slips through the cosmos and into our hands. As I picked up maia to place her in her highchair offerings of Unspoken Requests tinkled in my ears. This was a moment ripe with senzuqtian otherness… the music elevating the lifting of my daughter off the ground into an unending moment in time. Here she was. My daughter. The little life, the little person that I—along with my dear wife—am responsible for. As she started to cry, I corrected her, telling her not to fuss, that it was “time for dinner, maia, and we have to wash your hands”. But than I realized that her bottom was trembling and her cry was not one rank with protest so much as one implicit with need. She needed her diaper changed, but apparently she had needed it changed a while ago. The Rash had set in. So mommy and daddy went to work. Toiling over the needy little one year old, busying ourselves with paper towels, diapers and desitin. All the while, Maia feigning bravery the best she could. This has become routine for her in the midst of a diaper rash cleansing. She grasps for the things around her petitioning, “dis? Dis?” trying not to pay attention to the painful process. As daddy puts on the desitin, mommy proclaims, “daddy’s doing a good job, isn’t he?” and little Maia claps. But suddenly there is a more urgent need. Laying on the changing table, she reaches up for mommy with a slight whine (“ehh?... ehh?”). Kelli bows down and Maia takes her head into her arms. She smiles. I tell her to give mommy a kiss. So she tilts her head back, ever so slightly, and presses her closed mouth against Kelli’s cheek, topping it off with a quick, “mmmmm-muh”. Then she starts the whole process over again, this time reaching up for her daddy, grabbing his face, kissing his cheek and topping it off with another great “mmmmm-muh”… Suddenly, and without warning, an invisible and silent “pop” resonates throughout the room. A mighty force not to be reckoned with, it slams into my heart, the slice of timelessness breaking it to pieces. My tiny tear-ducts spill over vainly—in a brash attempt to comprehend. No matter. It’s not about me, her or us anyway… we’re just the innocent bystanders.

growing

Maia’s saying a lot of new words now. Among them: “Yes”, a much clearer “Mommy” and “Daddy”, “Bible”, “bubbles”, “ball”, “baby”, “boo-boo” and “Isaiah” (“zay-a”) and “Alec” (the two little boys next door). She also knows how to “neigh” and “roar” (like a bear). Also new? Testing our wills. Maia is busier than ever and, with that busyness, there are too many things to touch, grab and climb on. So, as a part of her initiation into the rites of childhood, she has begun to push her limits. Sometimes she’ll look right at Mommy as she pounds on the sliding door. The one Mommy just told her not to pound on. But at other times she’ll look right at Kelli, listening, while she explains to her why she just got a spanking. She’s learning… and, we pray, growing. As for Kelli and I, we’re learning more about the challenges, struggles and joys of parenting everyday. And we’re very thankful for the community of believers/parents that help us along the way.

little girl

one maia + random skipping across the living room = a full blown "little girl"

The whore sings a praise

Oh let the mountains shout and sing to our King!
Oh let the nations praise you, my God.

You triumph over your enemy, dressed in your garments of light
You free the captives, the sluggard, the drug-addict, the homeless.

You bring bread to the alcoholic and water to the bulimic.
You shed a tear for the cripple and you give him a place to rest.

Your mouth was filled with sand…for 40 days you ate nothing.
But, Oh!, you’ve broken the rock and you’ve poured out yourself!

So you’ve given out your roses, you’ve placed them one by one.
You’ve placed them in the hand of the whore, the pimp and the murderer.

You’ve placed a song on my lips and given me praise!
You’ve turned the hateful into life and given a name to the forgotten.

So sing your praises you widower, sing praises to God, you lost child!
His kingdom has come! His mercy makes the dark places bright!

The unwanted sings a praise and walks in open places.
The destitute finds pleasure in the cool gold beneath his feet.

Oh let the rivers shout to you, oh mighty King!
Oh let the people be glad, for you have redeemed them.

Breath in me, oh breathe of God.
Still my heart and, rending it, renew.

Peace to your own and for your good will…
Your saints are befuddled; are on the edge of death.

All reason is lost and hearts fall sick.
Wandering beneath, and floating adrift…

Awaken the sleepy head; awaken us to morn.
The songs we sing are dusted, broken and hollow.

Oh king, come fight, destroy the vestiges of sorrow!
Circle me ‘round and teach me the meaning of good.

Come, find me in newness and hold me up steadfast,
All is lost if not renewed; all is not you if not you.

summer days, dirty diapers, laughing memories

It’s been a quick and busy summer and our little Maia has grown a great deal. She is playing in more and more developed and “sophisticated” ways. Throughout the summer, as she would do different new things, I would jot a note down of what she was doing in hopes of composing some new blogs. Well, that list got pretty long. So I’m going to do something I don’t normally like to do. I’m simply going to share a large grouping of things with you about the what Maia has started doing. I’d love to string them together in a poetic, winsome and creative manner, but time simply doesn’t permit.

Before you do check out the “list” below, I did want to share a couple of other things with you. Maia was baptized at our church last week. It was a great service. My parents, Kelli’s mom and Kelli’s sister and her husband (Lynn and Nate, Maia’s godparents) were able to come out here for the service. Maia fussed for a good portion of the time she was upfront. She stopped fussing, however, when our Pastor walked her down the aisle, inviting the congregation to support us in raising her and when Pastor Andrew did the actual baptism. That part caught her completely off guard. The most dynamic part of the service, however, was the thunder. Just one clap. The lightening struck right before I handed Maia over to Andrew to be baptized. Very strange.

One of Maia’s baptism gifts was “The Big Picture Story Bible” by David Helm. I cannot recommend it enough to those of you who have children. It’s a great children’s bible. I just spent 10 minutes leafing through it to examine its contents. It is thoroughly biblical, well illustrated and redemptive at the core. The ending words/pictures on Revelation brought tears to my eyes. It even ends with “Amen. Come Lord Jesus!” If you have children or are looking for a good gift for a child you know, go get it. It may be a bit pricey, but it’s worth it. I’ve never seen a better children’s bible.

Make sure to check out the 150+ pics on the photo part of the site. When you enter onto the main page, you’ll see a bunch of new pictures and a listing of pages 2-4 in the upper right hand corner. You’ll find pictures of our parents’ visit, our visit to the butterfly house, Maia’s baptism, our trip to OBX and many others.

With that said and without any further adieu, here’s what Maia’s been up to this summer:
Climbing on everything. Kitchen chairs, coffee tables, bikes, ladders, slides…
Running around with different boxes and blankets on her head, laughing when she runs into things.
Grabbing mommy and daddy’s hands to either guide us somewhere herself or to follow us somewhere
Laughing and giggling
Learning, more and more, to say “Please” (“peas”), “Thank you” (“dank do”), “Yes” (“yesch”) and “momy/daddy”
Pointing at EVERYTHING, saying, “this?”
Looking, with great delight, at the planes in the sky as they take off/land at Lambert International
Running, running, running everywhere
Goes to her room if her diaper is dirty and mommy or daddy says, "Maia, do we need to change your hiney?" Alternatively, she’ll try to look into her diaper when asked the same question. One day Kelli walked into Maia room to get her out of her crib only to find her de-diapered, holding the diaper in hand…
Laughing and giggling
Bends down to kiss her parents, cats, dogs and other kids (she’ll gently nudge her forehead against the appropriate object to give a “kiss”)
On command, points at head, hands, feet, belly, ears, nose and, yes, her “hiney”
Will give you “five” whey you ask her for it
Gives good hugs
Laughing and giggling
Holds our hands to pray
Loves to dance to her kids’ songs music

when i come home

when i get home, i'll write you a sonnet
but i haven't left yet

when i get home, i'll sing you a song
and wrap it around your finger

you'll hear the mountain lion's roar
as it echoes in the valley

you'll see the fleeing eagle
as she brings food to her young

you'll see the sky split and thunder
when i come home

when i get home, i'll write you a sonnet
but i haven't left yet...

joe's place

just this summer my church, crossroads presbyterian fellowship, and it's area school superintendent have begun a collaborative effort to open a home for homeless high school students to live in. recently, an AP article covering "joe's place" has appeared on both msnbc/cnn's websites. thought you might be interested in checking it out. here are the links:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/14078785/default.asp
http://www.cnn.com/2006/EDUCATION/07/28/homeless.students.ap/index.html

more pics coming soon...

what's in a name...

the name "a bit of earth" comes from one of my favorite plays, "The Secret Garden". at one point the main character, Mary Lennox, asks for some land to garden. she inquires, "please sir, may i have a bit of earth?". i chose it as a title for my blog for two reaasons: one, i love the outdoors and two, i desire to use my words to help others obtain a different perspective on the world around them.

on a different note, i recently received another great post from our anonymous writer. if you'll all indulge me a bit; i have a quick question for him/her. do you wish to remain an anonymous writer on this blog? if so, i'm fine with that. however, i'm curious if you might at least share with the rest of us a reason (or reasons) for your anonymity. you have me terribly curious.

still kickin' it

hope your summer is going smoothly. its found me much busier than i had expected. window cleaning is full-time some weeks, part time others. been working on a lot of house projects: painting, "remodeling", organizing, etc. i've also started some internship stuff with church. we were without electricity for the past seven days (as you may have heard) and stayed with some friends.

the fam is doing well, with maia @ full toddler status. kelli got a job at st. john's medical and will start at the end of august.

i hope to write more soon and to post some photos. if you're interested, check out the new post from mr./mrs. anonymous. its in the comments section of the entry titled, "dear mr. anonymous".

Lullaby

Her father sits her down in his lap. It’s been a long day of climbing on top of things best not climbed on, of scattered toys and of soapy bubbles. The bath has been given, the bottle consumed. And the music begins. It’s a familiar tune, her father has sung to her many times before. Tonight it holds new meaning. “Goodnight my angel-- time to close your eyes and save these questions for another day.” Maia has begun to ask her parents new questions. Or one specific question… to be more exact. She raises her pointed finger in triumphant curiosity both at no particular object in front of her and at every single object in front of her. “ish?”, she asks, or “whas adt?” and “atch”; which, translated means, “this?”, “what’s that?” and “that?”.

As her father recalls the shared laughter from their before bed-time play, he continues the serenade. “Remember all the songs you sang for me, when we went sailing on an emerald bay?” While she does not yet sing, she has no trouble dancing. In fact, she will upon command. Her dancing once consisted of a knee squatting up and down motion, and then it was simply arms outstretched, pumping in the air… ghetto style. Now her dancing is much more lady like—she grasps her hands in front of her chest and swings them gracefully from side-to-side. The song continues, “And like a boat out on the ocean, I’m rocking you to sleep…” As the daddy rocks the little girl, nearly one year old already, she leans her back against her father’s chest. Sleep approaches quickly.

Now a new lullaby begins. This one by George Winston. Seated in his lap, she begins to dance. Then the father stands, daughter in his arms, and they dance together. As they twirl about the girl’s room, his gaze fixed on her; he realizes that it is really the room that moves while they remain stationary. And so, with the final waltzes concluding, the dance comes to an end, the day concluded with it. For now, it is time for rest. Time for her little teddy, Slim, and for dreams of a brand new day filled with more toys, more bubbles and more dancing.

Dear anonymous commenter

Thanks for your thoughts (for those of you who need to be caught up, please see the response comments to Christianity on Pause). I suppose I allowed the conversation to drift away from it's original intent with my last comment. As a result I’m afraid there might be some misunderstandings. Allow me to attempt a reply/introduce some new thoughts...

The thoughts from Dr. Perry's lecture simply conveyed this: we have victory in Christ over the principalities of this dark world and over the ungodly thinking therein. Let us, therefore, exercise that power. By spoils I simply meant the victory of Christ's life and death… the final conquering of sin, death and temptation. As victors over such, we have the responsibility to live as victors. We are enabled to show forth the power of Christ in our daily lives. To both spiritual and physical forces we have the opportunity to proclaim the power of Christ. What does this look like? Simply living out our faith on a daily basis. It means living out our faith today, because our faith is not simply intended for tomorrow. We are called to, right now, live out our faith before all men, angels, demons and authorities.

However, as part of that victory I do hold firmly to a conviction that in Christ all of creation has been redeemed (for a great read on this idea see the work Creation Regained by Albert Wolters). Gnostic notions and Platonic ideals that have crept into the church over the past 2,000+ years insist that this is not true. Theses ideas insist that the physical is basically bad, therefore why is it worthy redeeming?

Contra these ideals, we have been given the freedom to live in freedom. But it remains true that while "all things are permissible, not all things are beneficial".

I also strongly believe that part of the wonder to be found in the gospel is the freedom has been given us to delight in God’s creation and in the created order. God wants us to delight in his trees, mountains, lilies, rhododendrons, and golden retrievers. Yes, nature is oft distorted into a pantheisitc warehouse of idol worship. Pantheism, by infusing everything with a god, devoids "god" of any meaning. Everything, then, is the same… there is no uniqueness in pantheism. It is a clear violation of the created order. God never intended us to be pantheists.

But he does intend for us to worship.

Here’s where the difficulty arises. God intended for us to worship him. But we’re constantly turning other things into gods. Our status as a nation, our beliefs as a church (whether a particular denomination or as a church whole) can become idols. Do we completely separate ourselves from all computers, creation and coffee as a result? I hope not. Men have fashioned many good tools and invented many wonderful creations with no direct intent for them to be “used for God’s glory”; can we then not use them for God’s glory? Again, I hope not. Man, as a creation created in God’s image, loves to create. Though he remains a non-christian, he still retains the image of God in him. He is a fallen, sinful creation and the image is, therefore, marred, but it is still a reflection of God’s image. How could it be anything less? This is how man was originally created. With that said, fallen man still creates beautiful things. He makes useful things. And while these things may have been created with worldly purposes in mind, God still owns them!

So then, here is where the mystery of the gospel comes in. Our hearts have been made to worship—and we are prone to worship other things. But does God then MAKE us worship him? No. He allows us the opportunity to fail. He affords us the opportunity to disobey him and turn to other idols. He doesn’t make all things off limits, but he restores our mind, will and emotions (in our union with Christ) so that we may chose to worship him. In Christ he gives us the power to NOT worship other idols. And in Christ, he forgives us when we fail. It is also my firm belief that we do an injustice to one another if we seek to impose on one another what “things” we can/cannot use because we believe they will lead to idolatry. If any particular object leads its possessor to idolatry, then that person—and that person alone—can determine what sort of distance (whether completely or in moderation) he/she needs to keep from it. We cannot decide the limits for one another. When we do that, we create laws that God never created. This we do to the detriment of ourselves as well as one another.

Perhaps I’m not saying anything that you disagree with… I’m not quite sure. However, I’ll be interesting in hearing any responses you might have.

a history of violence

just saw a history of violence. in case you were thinking of seeing it.. don't. pretty crappy. i just finished watching it and have to cleanse my pallet by telling all you not to watch it.

there's not as much mystery to the plot as the previews seemed to indicate, ed harris is in it for a total of like 15 min. and too many violent images, etc, etc., etc. (all pretty unnecessary). The underlying premise seems to be "what is that 'evil other person' that's lurking inside all of us" (at least that's what some of the actors seem to indicate in the DVD). the movie is an examination of man's ability to do horrid things. and it questions whether man can become something different/something new after leaving a life filled with killing. but the possibility of redemption (an important quality for me as i watch a film) is very vague. the whole movie ends rather unresolved. the script apparently reads, "there is hope" at the end, but the actual movie (as you watch it) leaves you wondering whether or not that is the case.

if only i had known history of violence was made by the same guy who brought us the original Crash (1996)--the movie about people that get turned on by car wrecks. supposedly cronenberg is a complex director. perhaps. eXistenZ had some interesting elements. but his films often come at the expense of much moral discretion. there doesn't seem to be much question of showing blood/sex. its just a given. as i grow older i've noticed a growing sensitivity in my heart and mind to the glamorization of violent crimes in film. Godfather parts 1,2 are two of my favorite movies.. but the violence is handled differently there (if you've seen both history of violence and Godfather, please correct me if i'm wrong).

i've spent enough time on this. love to hear your thoughts if you've seen the movie. hope you can avoid it. my apologies to my buddy david who watched it with me tonight. what a waste of a $1 mickey d's movie... what a waste of film...

5:46 AM

studying in my basement at quarter till six, i hear her awaken. she beckons with her little calls of "da DA?... da da...da DA?" i go in to find her awake, and smiling, but not yet standing in her anticipatory, "I'm ready to play!" position. which is good. its not yet time to play. i change her diaper, packed with the obligatory morning deposit. its a messy one. as she lies on her changing table, her shadow catches her attention. she waves compulsively, her arm fixed high in the air while her hand wiggles up and down repeatedly. then, as she tries to grab the shadow, the phantom hand and the real hand only mesh together in a messy blob. so she resorts back to waving.

i finish changing her and pick her up. through her pacifier she smiles again. her tired, warm body flops limply onto my chest, her arms and hands resting on my shoulders. as i lay her down, wrap her in her blankets once more and walk to the door, her eyes never leave my face... and then its only a couple of blinks till she returns to the cozy land of sleep.

christianity on pause

from greg perry's lecture on ephesians:
much of Christianity is lived today "on pause". we're saved and then we simply wait for the end. but we have received the spoils of Christ's victory and it is our responsibility to share it. we must show the Lordship of Christ to all the prinicpalities and authorities of this dark world. we must show Christ's Lordship in all things. how do we embrace the imminence of God at school, in the shop and on the highways?

found on chalk-board

up here in my tree
newspapers mailing up to me
no more crowbars to my head
i'm trading stories with the leaves instead

8 nightmares

As a young child, I was so scared of being abandoned. My dream was that
we were visiting D.C. We were at the Lincoln Memorial or the Capital
building (which ever has a lot of steps). On our way up the steps I
would trip. When I go up to gather myself, nobody I knew was around. I
remember vividly that there was a lot of people walking by me but no one
was willing to help. I remember myself panicing inside but was not able
to scream... I was the most helpless feeling ever.
Moon Phong

when I was little, I used to have a recurring nightmare. It doesn't actually sound that scary, but it terrified me. I dreamt that I was at the carnival, and I went up into that thing where you climb the net and crawl through the tunnels and then slide down a slide and land in a big bin of plastic balls. So, I'd climb, and crawl, and then sliiiiiide down, only I slid all the way down into a dark scary basement and landed into a giant pot where a witch wanted to eat me. She never ate me before I woke up, though. I seriously had it at least once a week for years. It scared the crap out of me.
Ashley Homans

Then, there was last night.... I dreamt I was back in Europe. I was
actually out walking on the tarmac at the airport and my bags popped open.
As I was bent over scooping stuff back in, my trip paperwork caught my eye. I realized that I had screwed up my days and was at the airport an entireday late. I was mortified, convinced I was trapped now in Europe since I missed my flight and soooooo angry at myself that I could have made such a huge mistake. I was grateful to wake up in bed on that one. Weird stuff, dreams.
John Seilback

I was walking down a dirt road way back in the woods by myself. There was nothing around including no houses. I heard a noise behind me and I turned around and there was a strange man running after me. I ran as hard and fast as I could. He had a glass bottle and when he got close to me, he broke the bottle on a stone. He held the bottle in his hand and cut the top of my head open in an "X" across the top of my head. I actually could feel the warm blood run down my face from my skull. When it reached my eyes, everything went black and I dropped to the ground and I woke up after that feeling my head. I really thought it had happened.
Deanna Knoppel

I have a recurring dream about showing up for a performance where I
have a substantial role, but I realize I haven't been to any of the
rehearsals. Often I am naked in this dream as I make my way through
the staring cast members back stage toward the curtain, where I know my
shame and embarrassment will be complete. Most of all I hope to avoid
my director, who I know will be profoundly disappointed in me. I want
to avoid the inevitability of the event, but I know that avoidance is
impossible.
The Performer

Well, I will tell you my best dream. This is going to sound really lame.
In my dream our family was just hanging around the house when we hear the doorbell ring. I go to answer it, and wouldn't you know it, it's Bono! He tells me he's giving out free ipods!
Eliza Becker

My worst dream was a recurring one I had when I was little. I used to dream that I was at a formal ball, like the one in Sound of Music. It was a huge room with a spiral staircase and balcony in the back. All of a sudden the front doors would burst open and lots of alligators, with teeth snarled and eyes glared, came charging in. Everyone ran up the stairs, but of course, I could only run in slow motion. Everyone was yelling and urging me to run, but no matter how I tried, I could not get out of slow motion. I was terrified. The alligators were nipping at my heels.......................the end.
I'm glad they never ate me before that dream was over:-))
Anonymous

I frequently dream that I'm talking with animals. It's not at all novel when it's happening. We just speak, yet they remain animals. It's usually domesticated dogs, seals, things with fur that I have to bend down to a bit.
One time Lucky, my friend Neil's dog, looked up at me and said with tilted head and longing eyes, "Little." She was referring to a picture of a chicken I had placed before her eyes. Neil's daughter told me that only pictures of chickens could calm Lucky down when she was spastic. Evidently, my chicken wasn't good enough.
I believe we were created to talk with the animals.
Tom Becker

time machine

Our time machine slowly descended onto the fertile plains of En Gedi. We found ourselves surrounded by the lush vegetation of this Israeli desert oasis. A thin, high waterfall echoed its song behind us. David once hid here from Saul and his men. We would hide our time machine here. We found a cove just the right size behind the wall of water. The recent modifications to our HoverGear allowed us to float over the river and into the cave. Once we had scampered down the face of the cliff, we began our hike into Jerusalem. We had dressed as inconspicuously as possible, basing our outfits on historical accounts we had collected from various books, magazines and old films about Jesus. It took us most of the day and part of the next to hike into the city. This was not our first trip into ancient Jerusalem (256 AD to be exact). A year previously we had gone to the year prior (that is to say in 2005, we went to 255 AD). We had made minimal contact then. Our sociological studies would continue on this trip with some significant one-on-one conversations with the natives.
We approached the city at about mid-day. The old city is far simpler, and more beautiful, than I had remembered. The open scar where the temple once sat upon its mount in the middle of the small city stood out like a hellish oasis. Still, when I first saw it last year, at sunset, it took my breath away. Our group of three, my teammate Richmond and our translator Gideon, entered the city by the Jaffa Gate. The market was bustling with people. I went up to one stand chock full of olives. The black ones looked like dark eyeballs, their coarse seed pupils looking up at my white skin with curiosity. Our translator struck up a conversation in Aramaic. We spoke with Jacob about the weather, about the current going rate on olives and particular fruits and about living in Jerusalem. While we stood there talking, I felt someone’s eyes boring through the side of my head. It turned out to be a man named Aaron. He was a young fisherman from Rome. Well, actually he was originally from Jerusalem and had returned for a couple months time. He seemed very interested in us, so we struck up a conversation with him and walked into a corner of a nearby alley, the walls of Jerusalem towering above our heads.
As part of our experiment, I pulled out a carefully wrapped package from my knapsack. While Aaron watched, I unraveled my brand new Apple iBook®, iPod® and iBrain® (The iBrain® is a product that will be invited by Apple in the year 2025. It’s a cell phone/palm pilot/mp5 player that expands into a regular sized laptop. It’s solar powered, satellite connected and even offers accessories to make coffee with. It remembers, and does, everything for you. I got it with the help of my time-machine). I was excited to record video of Aaron and the rest of us with the iBrain® video camera and play it back to watch. Aaron had a difficult time understanding that he was watching himself. He didn’t understand what all of the gadgets were for. He didn’t seem to appreciate my excitement.
Then Aaron started to get excited about something. He began talking so fast that our translator had great difficulty keeping up. He switched between Hebrew and Aramaic as he spoke. I began to pick up certain words. I heard Yeshua and Yahweh. Then, it dawned on me, This man is a Christian. He told us the story of his fiancée Claudia, a Roman girl who had become a believer through the testimony of a friend. Recently she was thrown to the lions at the Coliseum. Our research indicated that the persecution had restarted around this time, but Aaron’s story confirmed our speculation. As he continued, I looked down at my iBrain®. Raindrops were beginning to fall on its white plastic cover. I looked up into the clear blue Israeli sky. Not a cloud in sight. Suddenly I felt the warm moisture of tears on my cheeks. Then Aaron told us the story of the first time he had heard about Jesus. A close friend in Rome risked his life to tell Aaron about him. It was only a short time before he put his trust in “the Christ”. And now his fiancée was dead and the world seemed to be closing in on Christianity. But oddly enough, he said, there seemed to be more Christians then ever. Aaron faced almost certain death for so freely talking about his faith with us. But he couldn’t help himself. It oozed out of him like my excitement for future plastic-coated technology. Aaron was a fisherman, but he lived his life as a follower of Jesus.
We dined with Aaron that night. Through him, we met many other believers. They loved each other with a sincerity and a reality I had never seen before. They loved each other with purpose and meaning. They spoke of persecutions and they spoke of heaven. The next day, after spending more time in the city, we readied for an early departure. We had gathered more information than we had dared to hope for before we came. As we hiked back to En Gedi, my mind wondered to Aaron and then to the iBrain® in my backpack. I felt both great guilt and the strange pull of hope. We had been encouraged. We had witnessed something we never expected. But how would we carry Aaron’s heart into our world? Ours is so different. But I also realized that it is very similar. Christianity is still offensive. Eclecticism of religion is the norm. I must find ways to appeal to my fellow man in the ways that Aaron had with his fellow man. As I stepped in our time machine the tears were, again, streaming down my face. I had a vision from the past to take back with me to the present and a toy in my backpack to take back to the future.

household

7:00 PM april 12, 2006
kelli and matt: getting ready for matt’s parents to come over
kelli: cleaning the kitchen
matt: getting maia ready for bed
matt: paper due that night

kelli: microwaves maia’s milk, unknown to matt, doesn’t place lid on
matt: opens microwave, grabs milk… shakes

milk: everywhere…

the dream project

When I was a child I had a dream that I was walking through my parents woods. Suddenly, a giant thorny bush emerged on the path I was walking. Women's arms reached out of the bush and grabbed me from behind. Someone called to me in the distance (perhaps my mother). Clouds began to darken the sky. And I awoke.

My friend Vince is terrified of birds. Especially dead ones. One night he had a dream that he was visiting his aunt. On their way, they stopped at a park to play. His parents and brother got out of the car and began running, looking back and calling Vince to get of the car and follow. But Vince couldn’t move for the fear that gripped him. He lay in a jumbled mass in the back seat, petrified. You see, as Vince’s family trounced gleefully through the pretty park, they were treading on dead birds. Dead birds that covered all the ground in the park. Piles and piles of them. All the same, his family delightfully ran on.

What is the worst dream you've had (or the best)? Drop a post or drop me an e-mail.

walking

“you’ll think of something to write”, she said. “all of those firsts…” and there have been many this year. First full-time seminary load, first big move, first new area that kelli and i moved into together, and first baby. And Maia has had many firsts of her own. Rolling over for the first time, crawling, standing… and now—yes, that big one—walking. And so another monumental first is added to the list. On March 28th, our little daughter (at just over 9 1/2 months old) started walking.

And now she’s walking everywhere.

Her walking started with an uneasy side stepping, arms outstretched. (one friend said it looked as if she were dancing). But now, only one week since her first steps, she is setting about with full, hearty steps; at times even breaking into a bit of a run. She loves to walk about with her little yellow stuffed ducky, a toy doll nearly half her size. At times, she may drop ducky on the ground and stoop to crawl. But ducky gets stuck in-between her legs and he shuffles along with her still. Today, as we played a game of "hide-and-go-seek" (aka, "go-and-follow-daddy-as-he-hides-around-the-corner-and-calls-'Maia'") she barreled around the corner to find me. When she did, her face burst into a giant smile, and with outstretched arms she "ran" into her father's arms for a little hug.

So, as little Maia walks about, I’ll sit and wonder, grappling for more ways to write about all these firsts. The first teeth now protruding through her lower gums, the first little walking shoes sitting at the base of our front door… and the list goes on…

sunday storm

i never knew going to church could be such a dangerous venture. it's not normally, at least not until last night. as we drove to the evening meal and service at crossroads, the sky descended on us. demented twirls of cotton candy churned above us in varying shades of grey. God was readying his set. his latest short film was about to commence. it was old and familiar. aged to perfection. but still, it was new, dangerous... and strangely inviting. the actors in place, the quickly unfolding plot teased us with the threat of a tornado. the sirens screamed around the state, "GET INTO YOUR BASEMENTS. COLLECT YOUR CHILDREN. YOU ARE NOT SAFE". so we drove on.

a women seeking shelter ran her double-wide stroller up the hill next to Washington University. lights flickered. the red, yellow and green robots lost power as we approached an intersection. power lines exploded and sparked. and then the rain came. the key grips, summer interns and special effects assistants dumped their buckets down on us. and we watched. we watched and drove as the water turned to frozen, white peas; pelting us and driving us off of historic route 66 and indoors.

so we eat, we sang, we listened and we prayed and then the sun came out. the rain was gone... and our house's electricity had left with it. we returned to the darkness seeking candles and flashlights and batteries. in the calm, cool night air (the temperature had dropped from 80 to 55 in a few short hours) i sat on the porch talking with my brother. UFO's orderly lined up across the horizon, lazily waiting to descend upon Lambert International Airport. all was calm. the tree laying across Midland Blvd. had spared the ancient U-City home behind it. in a distant park more trees lay dead and uprooted. underneath one lay a hiker, Kent Cross (only 20 years old) the breath of life crushed out of him. another man's spirit departed from him when the roof of a clothing store fell on top of him. he was Delancey Moore, 54 years old. all of them victims. casualties to the sudden, angry burst of an early spring storm in st. louis.

and as i sat there on my front porch, in my fold-up camping chair, all was faded to black. the film short was over. spectators had been claimed, but not to the surprise of the director. the timing was perfect... everything went just as he had planned. why had things gone the way they had? who knows. why had the set exploded, claiming two lives? same answer. but i am confident that the director remains the director. i am confident that the funding for his next piece will not be denied. in fact, i know that now, right now, even as i type and the after-shocks of blustery wind pulsate outside, he is still directing. the story continues on... and so must i...

2 Weeks

Maia continues to grow strongly and boldly. She is transforming into a toddler before our very eyes. Each morning she greets us with a hearty smile. Each new day of life is a tiny adventure encapsulated between the time she is lifted out of the crib and the time she is laid back down.

It’s been two weeks now since she pulled herself up for the first time. Right in front of us. She grabbed the trunk in the middle of the living room, the one that acts as our coffee table, and did a pull up from her knees. It was a struggle that first time, but it is second nature now. In fact, Kelli says that much of her playtime is spent doing nothing… except standing. There have been moments when Maia has stood, balancing herself, holding onto nothing, for nearly ten full seconds. It seems that she’s dangerously close to walking.

The most exciting feat of all has proved to be the delight of an early morning crawl. It started off as a bit of a “gimp crawl”, one leg shooting straight out while the other acted as the bending mover. But now… now she has rid herself of this slight handicap and tackled the challenge with full force. There is nowhere her little legs won’t take her. If she tires of the toys in the living room, she lumbers into the kitchen—with a slap, slap, clump, clump of her hands and knees—to amuse herself with the barn-animal magnets on the fridge. We must take great caution now.

Every kitchen chair is a hazard, every unsuspecting picture frame or CD a swipe away from a catastrophic crash. When she stumbles and falls, she seldom cries anymore. She just picks herself up and keeps movin’. She is undaunted by redirection. If something is deemed off limits and her course changed, she’ll simply move onto the next thing. Of course, she often tests her limits, constantly returning to “no” territory. But it’s a joy to watch her continue to learn, to take the visually observed world to new levels with a new set of senses. So we’ll set up roadblocks as necessary, buy some spring-loaded hinges for the basement door and let the little baby go.

There’re Cheerios at the bottom of Maia’s highchair…

The other night, we introduced Maia to the child-hood favorite. That’s right, the famous General Mills “O”. As we place the first Cheerios before here, she’s not quite sure what to do with them. She struggles to pick one up, but, finally, manages to grasp one of the little “O’s” with her hand. Now she fumbles with both hands, fighting to get it into her mouth. Finally, after nine or ten innocent little hoops are sacrificed to the floor below, Maia gains success. The sensation of this solid food in her mouth is strange. With an uncertain frown, she cocks her head ever so slightly while chomping her gums and smacking her lips. She frowns a concentrated frown and stares with patient inquisitiveness at her mother and father, who are trying, rather hopelessly, to stifle intense laughter.

The cheerios have proven to be a new favorite for her. A couple of days later, Maia struggles with advanced proficiency to get them into her mouth. She uses her entire hand now to accomplish the task. But even then, she seems so enamored with the “o’s” that she can’t help but stick her finger back into her mouth, to play with the little thing. Inevitably it sticks to her finger and pops back out. No matter, it’s onto the next one.

So, our little daughter moves into the wild, crazy adventurous world of solid foods. The new tooth coming in on the bottom will probably prove to be frustrating at first, but the entire set that’s sure to soon follow will certainly prove to be more helpful in the long run.

toy barn

She fumbles with her little toy barn, banging together the small colored shapes, the impression of farm animals on the front of each. Blue triangle cow, green circle sheep, yellow pig star. She seems to know, with a faint understanding, that they somehow fit into the similarly shaped holes on the building’s façade. Then, exhausted from all the hard work, she grabs her water, grasping the cup with both her hands, and guzzles long and deep. When she no longer feels parched, she pulls the drink away quickly, nearly throwing it down to the ground and slamming it in front of her at the same time. But then she simply lets it slide out of her hands absentmindedly. While this is taking place, she gasps a sigh of relief, and catches her breath… “ahhhh….”. Then it’s back to work at the farm.

I think I’ll go get a drink myself…

Paige Avenue (or something like it)

It used to be that the main street leading from Rt-170 to our house on Gulf was a thoroughfare of complexes, warehouses and meaningless industry. But now it’s something more. Now it’s a passageway. For some it’s the passageway that leads from one major road to the next. For others it’s the space in between here and there. But for me it’s the passage from one world to the next. It’s the gateway to my home, and the entry into my land of solace. It’s the passage from what’s “out there” to what’s “in here”. It’s the entrance to a land of love, and of debates, a land of hope… and of growth. It’s the passage to a land where my Queen awaits me and my little Princess dances. It’s the passage to the Red Station, our home away from all that we’ve since called “home”.

It’s those around us that make this place a place of significance. Here, our little one continues to flourish and grow. She has long since discovered the wonder of existence. And now she is plagued with the obstinate power of discovery. It holds her, keeps her from sleeping and drags her eyes to every corner of the place. She rolls everywhere she can, but her mobility seems more an accidental side effect of dangerously focused play than any intentional exploration. Her playtime is almost always colored by squeals, sputters, screams, babbles, kicks and clapping. She digs deep into her overturned toy-basket to rediscover old treasures. While she drinks milk from her bottle, she examines, with careful consideration, her fingers and hands. Her feet and toes are no less a wonder to her mouth. Her sippy cup is her new best friend; she has learned quickly to drink water from it.

These experiences are her joy, but they are our delight. It’s what makes Red Station a home, instead of a house. It’s her mother’s love—both for her and for her father—that fills me with joy. It’s the love of this place that makes the portal through Paige more than a four-lane road. It’s what makes the industrial barrenness beautiful to me.

vegas

here's a few pics from our vegas trip. i hope to post more on the photobucket account soon. for now, here's what you see: dad huzzard gettin' funky on the dance floor (not alcohol induced), vegas at night, hoover dam, our hotel: Hyatt Regency Lake Las Vegas