The Banzai Chronicles

Mostly keeping my head down and nose to the grindstone of late—we're in the throes of event season at work, which is exciting but takes lots of attention and effort. Pushed a few things back a couple of weeks because, while I could fit the meetings in to my schedule, there's no way I could really be present at anything beyond an operational level. The biggest of the events is this Sunday (our annual vision dinner), and though next week is full, they're all "objects in motion," so I'm hopeful that momentum can help.

Got lots of simple odds and ends done around the house today, which left me feeling settled enough to take in the last few moments of dusk on the Seattle skyline. The quiet is peaceful and centering. I'm spending so much of my days doing things (many self-imposed), and when I'm not, I'm strongly bent to let God have none of the rest of my time, often actively running from Him. Part of me believes He's the one who takes rather than the one who gives (and surely both are true, yet surely not as simply as my insecurities lead me to believe), so I hoard whatever of my time and energy I can claim for myself. It's childish and selfish, telling me so much about what I really believe and where I need to be transformed.

That all melts away with the sunset, not because I feel better, but because He is trustworthy. It's a gift to be able to see it, and I write it down because I'll forget again, all too soon. It's true regardless of my memory, but oh, how much better I can rest when I remember. The breeze rustles through the leaves just for me, a gentle shushing that reminds me of my place and my Father. My grasp of the truth is a tiny, tiny seed, but He can work with that.

Since the sun is rising later, I'm getting more time on clear mornings to sit outside and write before being blinded by it. Would love to learn to use that time well, because I'm just better when I'm regularly taking the time to write.

Spent the evening at Paul & Jenna's yesterday. Kind of a tough choice, since we were also invited to an end-of-summer party with lots of church friends, but A) it's always fun to hang out with Paul & Jenna, and 2) hanging with church folks in larger groups often feels like work to me, especially on Saturday nights (with Sunday morning so soon on its way). It's easy for me to assign the latter feeling to the "grumpy old man" category, but when I really think about it, the picture becomes more clear:

• I'm an introvert, so bigger gatherings always take more from me.
• That kind of thing is also often filled with small talk, another thing that's not a favorite. I need to use as much small-talk energy as I can muster each Sunday morning (I often go over what other people are going to want to talk about—weather, sports, current events, etc.—before work starts, because I find most of it mind-numbingly boring, but it's what others want), so I don't need to be depleting it the night before.
• Sometimes there are games. Yeesh.
• Other than the small talk, what most church people know how to talk with me about is, not surprisingly, work. It's possible some of that would change if I spent more time with them, but a party isn't a good venue for that and has too broad of an audience than can realistically know me well anyway.
• I do like smaller gatherings—having dinner together, etc. When I thought of having dinner with nearly anyone I might chat with at a party, I realized I would probably enjoy that. This was really helpful, as that realization countered my internal accusation that I "just don't like people."

Part of being both limited and semi-public is that I'll need to say no more often than I can say yes, and I'm not abandoning my Christian call to sacrifice for others by passing on some things that just don't fit. Neither do I want it to be all about my "living authentically," because I've seen so many people go completely off the rails in pursuit of that pseudo-psychological goal that it makes me angry just to think about it. There's a difference between boundaries and narcissism, and as in all things, I have Someone to follow who won't lead me astray.

Unless you experience the unpleasant symptoms of being wrong, your brain will never revise its models. Before your neurons succeed, they must repeatedly fail. There are no shortcuts for this painstaking process.

—Jonah Lehrer, How We Decide

Work day was promptly derailed by immovable printing problems, an external drive with wrong permissions, and a couple of lesser frustrations. Not what I'd have picked, but it didn't bother too much once I knew there was no way out but through (and found workarounds that could bail me out if not) and that the process wasn't likely to be brief. There's something soothing about the inevitable—scrambling and stressing don't make a lick of difference in such circumstances, so they're much easier to abandon.

On the other side of stonewalling, I've had some conversations recently that resurrect my fear of leading in a way that hinders others rather than helping and empowering them. Most of us have had the value of "thinking outside the box" affirmed to mythic proportions, yet sometimes "the box" is well-considered and in place for good reason. Resetting and reminding others of boundaries isn't fun for anyone after a while, so I second guess myself when I have to do it. Just a good thing to have in mind; there's no one answer that always applies, and the responsibility for others' experiences doesn't lie solely with me.

Woke to a "we're taking a hiatus from church" email in my inbox. Hate that. Feels a bit like a gut punch every time.

Not that I have any real concern for our church's overall health—we're growing, not shrinking, and more people are connected to Community Groups and the like than ever before. And it's not my role to shepherd the congregation; God has called others to that duty. It's hard to articulate well what bothers me when people "take a break." Some of it is simply the feeling of being left and/or not being enough (which varies, of course, based on how close to someone I am); some of it is because I believe "breaks" from fellowship miss the mark of what we're called to. And as I've said before, seeing someone leave in order to be part of another congregation isn't nearly so troubling as the amorphous walk-aways—at least you're still acting as if you're part of the Body, even if I'll miss you.

One of the ways being part of the Church is hard for me is that I don't want to care whether you stay or go. "Do what you do." But I do care, and I hate that others can make me feel like crap by breaking fellowship. I should probably be thankful instead—not that people leave or "go on hiatus," but that I still care if they do.

I'm just tired of having sadness be such a regular part of my experience with others in the Church. I have trouble even trusting relationships anymore, because part of me sees others and says, "No matter how good of a game you may be talking right now, I don't know if or when you're going to flake out on me. And if that happens, you won't even give it or me a second thought."

Enjoying a communitygroup overnight at velouria73's family beach home on Camano Island. As is usually the case, it's challenging to stop (painting, of course) and rest, but it's also been so rewarding—not because of any amazing shared mountaintop experience, but simply to be with these friends. They're so wonderful, and spending time like this is part of living our lives together in Christ, even in the fumbling, stumbling steps we're able to take.

( Struggles with 'community' )

Thankfully, those aren't struggles I'm wrestling with in our Community Group—the contrast between what we're doing here and what I hear others go on about is just striking enough to bring them to mind. We're learning and trying to love one another as He has loved us, which may not be that sexy most of the time and will certainly be fraught with failure (and hopefully repentance and forgiveness). But it's what He commanded us to do, what He prayed for us to do (John 17), and what His Spirit is empowering us to do. And we're trying, which I have to believe is better than high-mindedly talking about it while turning our backs on the people God's placed in our lives. Perhaps this choice seems mundane, but I believe it's a faithful one.

More painting today. Readers can simply insert that phrase whenever I'm not updating, because that's what I'll be doing. We've got great help (Brian & Carolyn are coming over today, Carrie is helping Monday, and Jenna and the Verschuyls are up later in the week) and are making good progress; it's all simply a reminder that I don't want more than one job if I can help it. The painting itself is pretty easy, but the constant project management—figuring out and communicating about what's next, doing everything in the proper order, coordinating volunteer help, etc.—gets heavy and doesn't relent. Since that's the same energy and work as my job, it's taking a toll. Don't think there's an easier way (and trying to find one is yet more work along the same lines), so I just limp forward until I'm back to one job again. It's not that big of a deal, I remind myself, and it's true. I'm just really, really tired and won't have actual rest until the house stuff is done. The end of the month is my hope.

On the "good stuff" side (actually, it's all good stuff, there's just a lot of it, all the time), we had fun at Linda's annual bonfire last night at Golden Gardens. Been a long time since I did anything like that and it's great celebrating Linda's birthday while seeing her do something she absolutely loves with friends. We also finally had a breakthrough with Comcast (after a month) and are going to have cable and internet installed Tuesday. The latter is by far the most exciting for me (as we've been unreliably mooching from the landlords for all this time), but it'll also be fun to get the TiVo HD up and running (which we ordered just before deciding to move, so haven't used). Another good thing running through all of this has been the weather—much milder with regular cloud cover. It's made everything so much easier for me, and I'm thankful every morning.

Next weekend is a Community Group retreat, which I'm at once looking forward to and too overwhelmed to think about. Coordinating another project puts a knot in my stomach, but that's what it means to love others well right now. And yet again, it's not that big of a deal; I just won't be able to deal with it as soon or as completely as I otherwise might. barlow_girl has been doing the lion's share of the planning and communication, and what remains will be OK whatever form it has to take (since everyone has directions, food plans, etc.). If it's not OK for me to model what it means to be limited, then I'm being an awful leader.

Off to finish my scone and get to painting—second coat on two walls and some trim, then taping things off for priming, then priming, then cutting in on two walls, then painting them with their first coat. Poor Amy has to go into the office today in addition to hearing me whine, so she has the harder part.

It's chilly enough that we had to close all the windows. Awesome.

Really looking forward to using our home as a home. That feels like a long way off. We've got three rooms left to paint (the first one is off to a good start, but the ceiling painting—my least favorite—feels never-ending due to patchiness), furniture to pick up (not that I'm complaining about free!), and I still can't get Comcast to transfer/install our service for TV and internet (been trying for nearly a month). I've mostly given up on any sense of "done," but that kind of sucks, and I don't want my unsettledness to be a downer, because that just slows everything down more and makes being done further away.

Fact is, we're doing what needs to be done as fast and as well as we can, and that just takes as long as it takes. I just don't like when there's not a workaround. I'll feel a lot better after diving into it some more, no doubt. And really, when I get over myself a bit, it's such a blessing to be able to do this, work, and have good stuff on our calendar all at once—I don't like having to "check out" of life (in part because it usually works badly), and we don't have to do that.

Best thing I can do right now is spread the word that we're looking for help to finish out the home stretch, so that's what I'll do.

It's record-breakingly hot in Seattle—5:00 am is one of the few tolerable times to be outside for any length of time. Finished the last few loose ends of our move in the early morning hours yesterday, then borrowed Rich & Anna's truck to move our patio stuff after work. Saw (500) Days of Summer as our next option to beat the heat, and barlow_girl was eagle-eyed enough to spot our friends Drew & Sara at the movie, making it that much more enjoyable. Today is expected to be a lot like yesterday, so more survival strategies will be in order.

Growing a bit concerned about my hearing, of all things. Lately I've been having trouble hearing and/or following others—I notice it most with Amy, but that's natural since we talk the most. I'm sure my ability to track what others say is affected by the heat messing with my head, and Amy and I are also still getting used to living in a house where we can't see and hear each other every moment. Even so, it's really uncomfortable to feel like I'm missing something so much of the time.

Off to the air-conditioned office soon, no doubt. That's a Godsend.

Do not take to heart all the things that people say, lest you hear your servant cursing you. Your heart knows that many times you yourself have cursed others.

—Ecclesiastes 7:21-22

Over the past few months, I've realized that a common thread in my relational struggles is trying to figure out how to take people seriously. Not that I don't; rather, I try, but regularly find that I'm hearing something different from what they may be saying or meaning (and to further the confusion, those two often aren't the same thing). Much of the time, I hear what it would mean for me to say what I'm hearing, and that's rarely the same. And though I don't want to be vain (or at least don't want anyone to believe I am), the truth is that, because of a heap of counseling training, I'm probably better equipped to listen than most. So when I hit a wall in the process, simple tips, tricks, and techniques rarely have much to offer.

What does it mean to really hear people, and how far am I really called to go in the effort? On the surface, it seems like one of those always-good, always-right, always-noble pursuits, but that assumption is worth examining rather than swallowing whole "just because." Right away, I have to acknowledge that I'm limited, which means A) I can't do everything, and 2) what I actually can do will also be imperfect and limited. That's a basic ground rule for life on Earth, one which clearly applies in listening. It doesn't preclude trying or being faithful—I'm called to trust in God's grace more than I trust in my own perfection.

With that understanding in mind, and in light of the Teacher's musing above, I have to admit that I can't figure out how to take people seriously much of the time, and that it's far from a universally good pursuit over which I should constantly exhaust myself. Being tired isn't the only cost, either—so often, I'm angry when I hear people say they value something, then live in an entirely different fashion. The more I try to take what I hear from people seriously, the more my nose is rubbed into that gap. And I hate it. Hate it.

None (or at best, few) of us are who we'd like to believe ourselves to be. I'm certainly not. Could it be that truth and grace sometimes (perhaps often) calls us to not take seriously what we hear from others? How do we do this in a way that's not dismissive, or is that simply the cost of our not speaking truthfully to one another (and indeed, to ourselves)?

Also, there's the question of scale: how many people should I try to hear at all? Of these, how many should I work to take seriously? The obvious starting point is "not everyone," but our culture still suggests I can do more than may be possible or good. At risk of being too "meta," online journals and blogs are great examples of this trend*: we can publish and read thoughts far outside the context of full relationship (or even personhood), then try to discern their meaning in the absence of relational cues (even with those we know), with as many "people" as we can jam into our browsers. When does that stop being scalable, and when does it stop being good? And how does intimacy factor in, knowing that our writings may reflect us at our most filtered and deluded, even when we might want to view them as authentic and raw?

No answers, just open questions, along with the slowly dawning realization that I may be regularly fighting the wrong battles on far too many fronts.


*I first met my wife through LiveJournal, so I'd be hard pressed to view this situation through a Luddite lens (can Luddites have lenses?). But I have to, have to consider the realities and their implications.

My friend Kendall has recently adopted a morning routine that includes journalling; hearing about that and its rewards reminds me of how rich that kind of simple discipline has been for me in the past. For years I've struggled with (and against) creating spaces for stillness in my life. Part of me would very much like to stop kicking against the goads, so this morning and this entry are initial steps in that direction.

Likewise, prayer and Scripture reading have been sporadic and/or anemic for me, in part because those disciplines have had their "home" in that space. I'm talking about quiet time, though I'm resistant to the term for all sorts of reasons (many good, many petty). And I don't know which deficiency has given rise to the other, only that they're obviously related. So I'm trying to create the space again, in the spirit of "if you build it, they will come."

Yesterday was full of things I'd rather avoid, to the point of feeling sick to my stomach time and again. From hearing friends rail against the church to having uncomfortable conversations to high-end clothes shopping, I just wanted to withdraw over and over again. When I think about it (from a safe distance), it seems this literal gut reaction may be a great indicator of where I need to be saved.

The need for salvation is ongoing for all people. As a Christian, I'm called to embrace this and to look to my Savior, crying out to Him for whatever I need and walking forward in faith. It's not the kind of life my flesh wants to live, but it's reality and it's the life I need to live because of that. When I struggle like this, I need to remember and be reminded that I am a man who needs to be saved. My wife barlow_girl is a gentle and loving encourager to me in this, and I thank God for her. Sometimes it takes a while for me to catch on to what He's doing (and often I never do), yet He holds me in my weakness, saving me long before I ever realize that I need it. That's always been His way.

I will extol you, O LORD, for you have drawn me up
    and have not let my foes rejoice over me.
O LORD my God, I cried to you for help,
    and you have healed me.
O LORD you have brought up my soul from Sheol;
    you restored me to life from among those who go down to the pit.

Sing praises to the LORD, O you his saints,
    and give thanks to his holy name
For his anger is but for a moment,
    and his favor is for a lifetime.
Weeping may tarry for the night,
    but joy comes with the morning.

—Psalm 30:1-5

The gospel is about church formation before it is about personal formation.

—Scot McKnight, Jesus Creed

Our annual church leadership offsite meeting seemed to go well yesterday. Always encouraging and exciting to hear how God is on the move. My nose has been pressed so hard to the grindstone recently (in part for this very event) that I don't keep a good perspective on the larger picture of what He's doing. Not surprisingly when I think about it, I need others to remind me of who He is and what He's doing on an ongoing basis. And perhaps more surprisingly until I think about it, these necessary others and the reminders God brings in and through them can be remarkably hard to come by for a church staffer.

Who God is and what He's doing are so rarely what I hear about or am tuned into from others. I hear gripes and ideas, wounds and to-dos, evaluations and requests. I don't believe that means we're "doing church wrong" or any such thing; it's just something that can get seriously and hugely out of alignment. And looking at the church as a family system with my old counselor's cap, I'm absolutely part of the system and part of its dysfunction—what I hear is at least as much a function of how and to whom I'm listening as it is about what others are actually saying.

This story of the gospel and its reverberations into our time and culture, this person of Jesus Christ and His relationship with His Bride, this is what's worth working, loving, living, and dying for. Not goal lists or entertaining diversions, not constant churning activity and nitpicking evaluation of projects and people. God has saved His people to be His people, in glory and in the mundane of day-to-day. Choosing one aspect over the other means losing both—they're stitched together like the leather of a baseball.

Much as I love to dabble, design of communities, lifestyles, programs, and systems all takes a back seat to the larger story God is telling—how He's showing up and whether we're showing up. Even when we do so in body, we can still be absent in spirit (though I think the reverse can rarely be true). May I (and we!) be captivated by Him and His story today.

Communicating with people is a huge pain, and I see people who make little or no effort to do so get along just fine (and better than I do), so maybe I'll just quit for a while. No sense trying when it just buys me trouble and when people who don't try get better results.

Thoroughly enjoying the Memorial Day weekend, in large part because it's absent the debacle of last year's model. Relaxing and looking forward to time with friends just adds to the enjoyment, as does the great weather (though I'm completely over Seattlelites' obsession with weather as the fully external determinant of their moods).

Since shipping off my MacBook Pro for repair Tuesday—apparently it likes to act up every year or so, and I think this time might be the end of the line for sinking money into it—my work iMac has been here at home. It's felt pretty good to keep things running from here, and that might affect my rhythms, at least for the summer. Even when I'm a grump, something in me loves the challenge of adaptation.

Through the wonders of the internet, just read a far-away former student lament the ignorance he sees in others, noting how sad or frustrating it can be and how sometimes "it merely reveals how small minded they are." Yuck. Seeing it elsewhere makes me acutely aware of A) how much I don't want to see people that way, and 2) how often I do. It's grotesque, and so very far from the dignity God's image bearers should always hold in the eyes of His people. Change me, Lord.

My schedule's all out of whack trying to manage a longstanding issue with graphics artifacts and frequent freezes on my MacBook Pro. Folks at the Apple Store have been as helpful as they're able, but since it's passed stress testing and they haven't observed the problem firsthand (of course it behaves well for them, but crashes within an hour of coming home!), there's not much they've been able to do yet. Bringing it back today for another look—this means visiting University Village every day this week thus far, which is as close to Hell as I'd like to get.

Sucks that I've been such a grump lately, which isn't anyone's fault but mine. Thankfully there've been great times with barlow_girl and friends over the past few days, mostly untainted by my attitude. Think I'm trying to take on a life that would take at least two of me to manage, but I don't know what to drop (and/or don't know if I'd be willing to do so). Kill my television? Clear my schedule? Box my comics? Thin my friendship commitments? Unplug my internet? Restructure my job? Rhythm eludes me—my elementary school music teacher diagnosed the problem long ago.

The early sunrises are a bit intimidating when a long day lies ahead. My persistent fear of being used up and exhausted wakes up early, too. Yet, even though I'm tempted to mistrust it, something in me looks forward to the day. Sometimes hope breaks through the Red Rover lineup.

Lots of new things for friends this weekend: Seth & Adrianne married yesterday way up in Vanderhoof, BC, Zack & Gala welcomed their third son into the world, and Ben & Sara were sent home from the hospital, still pregnant with their first son and thankful for God's goodness in keeping him inside a bit longer (they went in for pre-term labor last week at 33 weeks). Thinking about all of their joy, I'm struck by the beauty of faith. We live in an age and culture that exalts the struggle and messiness of belief, and sometimes I forget how beautiful and compelling it is when people actually believe.

That's not to minimize the reality, importance, and beauty of struggling.* It's just so refreshing to see trust in God shining through in joy, not because of denial based in fear, but because God is truly worthy of our trust, and there's a freedom that comes with doing so. That faith is a gift from Him, and I want to look for it more often—inside and out.


*Blogging about faith and beauty almost requires such a disclaimer, which makes me a little sad that faith can't be simply proclaimed as beautiful these days. But I digress, hence the footnote.

Beautiful day—taking in some fresh air with a beer on the patio. Too often, I don't stop or slow down enough to get perspective. Even my laziness is too wired and distracted. But now there's a nice breeze blowing, and even the clamor of everyone commuting home is somehow comforting.

(Lots of people running. Why do they do that?)

Feel like I've been acting as my own counselor this week, asking why things get me bent out of shape that seem like they could be taken in stride. A few insights here and there, but most valuable perhaps is the simple discipline of questioning myself. Culturally, we're pretty comfortable questioning everything/one else at all times (often to our detriment and theirs), but we don't call our own responses into question nearly enough. At least I haven't been, resulting in a backlog of wacky knee-jerk crap that immediately gets a Whiskey Tango Foxtrot response when I stop for a moment and consider what I'm thinking, feeling, and doing. Time to get a grip.

The dandelions and I have been at war again this spring. Managing myself is a lot like that. It's never quite finished, but it's worth doing (it's work God's called me to, after all), and there are consequences for just letting things run wild.

More opportunities to die to myself today than most days in recent memory. Not exactly batting 1.000 on that.

Whoever isolates himself seeks his own desire;
    he breaks out against all sound judgment.

A fool takes no pleasure in understanding,
    but only in expressing his opinion.

—Proverbs 18:1-2

Funny that these proverbs are right next to one another—each applies to my life lately.

Not that I think there's anything wrong with solitude, but it's very obvious that many times when I pull back from relationship with others and even from God, it's simply because I want what I want, regardless of what is wise or good or true. Layered on that (above or underneath? both, perhaps…) is a lack of trust in God's goodness toward me and/or His power to make it so. I want what I want because I'm afraid, and if I have to throw God and others aside to get it, I'm just desperate enough to do that.

Ironically, there's good theology that I co-opt to my own pursuits: I know God will never leave me nor forsake me, that Jesus' sacrifice is sufficient to cover my disobedience and waywardness. Funny how solidly I can believe that when it serves me, but how little weight I'm willing to actively put on His love for me. Abuse of anything (like good theology) doesn't negate proper use, but neither does the truth of God's steadfast love excuse my rebellious attitude. As a friend recently told me, "There are more books in the Bible than Hosea."

My irritation at living in a culture of constant and loud expression of opinion is rooted first in me. Of course I have no shortage of opinions—that's kind of a no-brainer truth that doesn't add understanding by acknowledgement (i.e., "duh!"). And of course I need to apply the proverb liberally and often to my own actions. But further, I need to die to the notion that I somehow have the right to live a life free of this foolishness (as if I could escape my own anyway). It's how things are—the proverb just gives me the freedom to acknowledge the noise (internal and external) as what it is. I don't, however, have license to indiscriminately attack or withdraw because of it, and when I do, I am rarely (if ever) pursuing anything but my own desire.

Glad to be out of Lent and in Eastertide. I need as many reminders of risen, resurrected life as I can get.

A good word for me to take to heart, via dukesewell:

But flippancy is the best of all. In the first place it is very economical. Only a clever human can make a real Joke about virtue, or indeed about anything else; any of them can be trained to talk as if virtue were funny.

Among flippant people the Joke is always assumed to have been made. No one actually makes it; but every serious subject is discussed in a manner which implies that they have already found a ridiculous side to it.

If prolonged, the habit of Flippancy builds up around a man the finest armour plating against the Enemy that I know, and it is quite free from the dangers inherent in the other sources of laughter. It is a thousand miles away from joy; it deadens, instead of sharpening, the intellect; and it excites no affection between those who practise it.

—Senior demon Screwtape, from C.S. Lewis' The Screwtape Letters