2013: the last post

2013 will be known as "The Year That Pretty Much Sucked." It's been a year of death, loss, hopes rendered null & void, and prayers returned empty. It's been a difficult year for so many, and I'm not alone in my eagerness for it to be over. My fingers are crossed for 2014.

Psalm 42 is one of my favorite passages of scripture, a hope-filled lament of David. David stands in the present, surrounded by adversity and trouble, panting after God the way a deer pants for water. He's parched, dried up, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth; he knows the only thing that can quench his thirst is God, and he's chasing after God, his hope in God resilient despite the current state-of-affairs. Psalm 42 stands against any idea that devotion to God sets us up for a rose garden experience in this life; the Christian life is marked by suffering, longing, and peace and joy amid sorrow. Far too often we forget that peace and joy is found in the midst of sorrow, not at the exclusion of it. David's confidence in God is bolstered by his own remembrances of how God has come through in the past, how God has been faithful, how he has tasted the goodness of God in days prior. He reflects on the ways God has come through in the past, and he's confident God will come through in the future. It's a beautiful psalm, echoing my "spiritual sentiments" in 2013.

Yes, 2013 has been difficult, but it isn't without its blessings. I still have my parents, my sister, and amazing friendships that most people don't get to experience. I'm blessed with a quaint and quiet hobbit hole, I have a great job helping people and sharing life with the marginalized and less fortunate, and I'm part of a wonderful community of Christ-followers and am excited to be getting involved. Best of all, I still have God, and my trust and hope is in him, no matter what 2014 may bring.

[books i've been reading]

I'm nearing the end of Jeff Shaara's World War Two series, this last book (No Less Than Victory) tracing the war from the Battle of the Bulge in the Ardennes to the fall of Berlin and the unconditional surrender of Germany. As a companion book, I read Stephen E. Ambrose's Citizen Soldiers, following the Western European Theater of Operations from the battle of Normandy on through to the end of the war in Europe. Ambrose paints a striking portrait of the Allied push across France following the German retreat through the Falaise Gap; the Allies overextended themselves and found themselves thrust against the stout Siegfried Line. In an epic and absurd gamble, the Germans launched an offensive--"The Watch on the Rhine"--into the thinly-stretched Allied troops in the Ardennes. The push, meant to reach the Meuse, failed, and the Germans found themselves stuck in a bulge (hence the name of the battle: "The Battle of the Bulge"). The Allies pushed the Germans back, and the Germans tried again in Alsace to the south, and failed once more. That was the last of the major German counteroffensives, and the Allies broke the Siegfried Line, pushed up against the Rhine in the Battle of the Rhineland, and after crossing the Rhine, they swept towards Germany, stopping at the Elbe River. The Yalta Conference gave Berlin to the Russians closing in from the east, and the Allies halted since (and this makes sense) there was no reason for the Americans, British, Canadians, French, and all the others involved in the west to spill their blood in Berlin only to hand it over to the Russians. Interestingly, the end of World War Two in Europe paved the way for decades fighting against communism, setting up the stage for the Cold War and paving the way to the Korean War and Vietnam.

An interesting quote from Citizen Soldiers (pg 47): "A common experience: the guy who talked toughest, bragged most, excelled in maneuvers  everyone's pick to be the top soldier in the company, was the first to break, while the soft-talking kid who was hardly noticed in camp was the standout in combat. These are the cliches of war novels precisely because they are true."

Next up is Shaara's The Final Storm, tracing the last year of the war in the Pacific Theater. The companion book will probably be Eagle Against the Sun, a history of the Pacific theater from Pearl Harbor to the surrender of the Japanese. It should be atomic (pun intended). 

[sunday meditations]

Blessed is anyone who endures temptation. Such a one has stood the test and will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him. No one, when being tempted, should say, 'God is tempting me,' for God cannot be tempted by evil, and he himself tempts no one. But one is tempted by one's own desire, being lured and enticed by it; then desire, when it has conceived, gives birth to sin, and sin, when it is fully grown, gives birth to death.  - James 1.12-15

Thomas a' Kempis in the early fifteenth century writes, "Temptation reveals out instability and our lack of trust in God; temptations reveal who we are. This is why we must pay attention to them." This is something I've been trying to do: pay attention not only to what tempts me, but why it tempts me. There are certain sins which carry a strong desire, but only under certain conditions; remove the conditions, emotional in nature, and that temptation is gone. This tells me that my desire for the sin isn't so much a desire for the sin itself as it is a remedy to the emotional conditions. Whether we are tempted by lust, by gossip, by drunkenness, we should ask ourselves, "Why am I being tempted in this manner? What's going on in my heart that's making me crave this sin?" So long as we focus only on the sin itself, without even giving thought to the underlying conditions, we'll be trapped in an endless cycle of trying to stave off wild weeds when what really needs to happen (to echo C.S. Lewis in an earlier post) is the resowing of the entire field.

Kempis paints a portrait of how temptation evolves, so-to-speak, into sin: "First, the thought is allowed to enter into our minds. Second, the imagination is sparked by the thought. Third, we feel a sense of pleasure at the fantasy, and we entertain it. Fourth and finally, we engage in the evil action, assenting to its urges. This is how, little by little, temptations gain entrance and overcome us if they are not resisted at the beginning. The longer we let them overcome us, the weaker we become, and the stronger the enemy against us." He pretty much nailed it, and anyone who's dealt with any sort of temptation (so, umm, everyone) can testify to that. The fight against temptation doesn't start with Step Three, right before we commit the act; it starts at Step One, by disallowing the thought to cement in our minds, by chasing off the thought, or letting it pass without giving it substance. "Fight the urge when it starts," Kempis says, "and break off bad habits, lest perhaps, little by little, they lead you into greater trouble."

To be honest, I haven't heard anyone talk about how to deal with temptation since my high school years. It seems that's something that youth ministers drill into you: "Fight temptation! Run from it like Joseph from Potiphar's wife!" (or at least that's how I remember it) Of course, we're weaker when we're young, and more susceptible to peer pressure, and there's lots of bad stuff going on around schools; but once you graduate high school, suddenly the whole idea of "fighting temptation" falls by the wayside, as if we'd already mastered it in high school (I sure as hell didn't), as if now that we're "grown up," we're somehow impervious to temptation. It really doesn't make sense to me. All this to say, what I do remember from high school is the constant analogy of fighting temptation to running from Potiphar's wife. It's always about running. "That," they tell you, "is how you resist temptation." But there are temptations you can't run away from, temptations that aren't geographically-bound. Running like hell doesn't do much when the temptation's stuck in your head, and it does even less when the temptation's bound up in your heart. Kempis writes, "Long-standing habits will resist, but they will be vanquished, in time, by a better habit--if you persevere! The flesh will cry out, but it will be restrained by the Spirit. The devil will try to stir you up and provoke you, but he will run away the moment you begin to pray." Sometimes (if not most of the time) all you can do is endure, and pray. And to be quite frank, endurance is damned hard; but, in the words of James, Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. Endurance has its own reward.

I'll end this "sunday meditation" with yet another word from Thomas a' Kempis on The Way of Peace and Rest. "Finally, I want to teach you the way of peace and true liberty. There are four things you must do. First, strive to do another's will rather than your own. Second, choose always to have less than more. Third, seek the lowest places in life, dying to the need to be recognized and important. Fourth, always and in everything desire that the will of God may be completely fulfilled in you. The person who tries this will be treading the frontiers of peace and rest."

from Blue Ash (III)

a snapshot of my saturday nights

It's 10:47 PM and the dishwasher's running and I'm sitting in the boys' kitchen trying to think of anything of substance I can write. Here's one, a nice highlight to my day: I got to see Jessie and Tony! I like it when their visits to Cincinnati are more frequent. Jessie just got a new car, and she may sell me her old one; the whole deal with Frank fell by the wayside when he moved to Saint Louis.

Jessie, Tony and I had lots of great talks, not least on spiritual disciplines. I told Jessie how I'm making an intentional effort to deepen my communion and "walk with God" by implementing spiritual disciplines into the fabric of my life. She was really encouraging, and she brought up how the disciplines have fallen by the wayside due to our tendency to legalize them following their mode-of-practice in the Middle Ages. It's easy to turn the disciplines into a sort of sociological badge, a performance, a rite of passage, or some sort of "law" that distinguishes the real Christians from the fake Christians. That's not the point at all. The point is knowing God more, and being changed by his Spirit in us. That's really what I'm after: I'm not trying to be a "better Christian," I just want to know God more, to keep knowing him in a richer and deeper way, and to be changed by him, to be conformed to the image of Christ. 

2 Corinthians 3.17-18 is ever-weighing on my heart and mind: Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit. Practicing the disciplines is about freedom, it's about "beholding the glory of the Lord," it's about "being transformed into the same image," it's about opening the window for the Spirit to come in and reshape you, rework you, give you life and liberty. There's an excitement to it, there really is, and I'm more eager than ever to grow in my faith and know Christ more.

I've been reading Richard Foster's Celebration of Discipline, albeit slowly, savoring it, pondering it, letting the words sink in and take root. His book examines lots of the "classical disciplines" of the Christian faith, "classical" since they've been practiced since the dawn of Christianity. He divides the disciplines into three "spheres": the inward, the outward, and the corporate. The inward disciplines are what I'm focusing on right now, and these come easier to me, since I'm naturally more contemplative and "mystic" when it comes to life in general. I don't want to bite off more than I can chew, and I want to take this step-by-step. Patience is a virtue here; this isn't something I want to "burn out" on.

My eyes are getting droopy.

They start to sting when I get really tired. It's annoying.

The sound of the dishwasher is soothing.

One more hour--and then I get to go home and pass out in my hobbit hole.

#snapshotswithfranz

"Horus Ruins Christmas"

How is Bill Maher going to get out of this one?

from the hobbit hole (II)

I have a sort of fetish for taking pics of Sky.
(Is 'fetish' the right word?)

Christmas has passed, and it could’ve been worse. Most Christmases find me in a rather dour mood, but yesterday was marked with joy, peace, and kinship. I’m thankful for that. Jessie has been sending me job openings in Illinois, asking me to move up there and share life with her and Tony. It does sound appetizing, but I’ve decided to stick things out here for a while. Corey and Mandy will probably be moving to Portland this spring, and I’d like to have as much time to hang out with them as possible (though, with working 50-60 hours a week, time is precious, and I don’t see them as much as I would like). I’m also trying to get involved at U.C.C., to break down those introvert barriers and stretch myself as much as possible. I’m getting involved in the Young Adult Group and will be volunteering to run the café on several Sundays, so that’ll help me (a) get involved and (b) meet people. I’ve even been going on time to make sure I’m there for the meet-and-greet (the most despised of all church traditions). That’s really a big deal for me, even if it seems fickle to you.

My father wrote me a “Christmas letter” that I’ll cherish for as long as I live. It contained lots of things that stir me as I read them now, and one thing stands out in particular: I can’t put into words how impressed I am with your mental toughness. I know you have faced many challenges over the past several years, and your perseverance is an example to me—I believe you are much stronger than I was at your age. Things have indeed been difficult over the past couple years, and though I often feel weak, I know I’m strong, stronger than I know: I haven’t called it quits, I hang onto hope, I keep going even when every experience tells me I should just stop and give up. I’m a resilient bastard, I really am. And I thank God for that.

I want you to know, he continued, that I pray for you every morning. I pray for your faith to grow, I pray for your protection, and I pray for your future wife. I’m not really sure why, but that last part really moved me. He prays for my future wife; whoever she is, she’s blanketed in prayers by a man who loves God and strives to serve him and honor him in all that he does, and I’m confident she’s better for it. I admire my father, for so many reasons, but not least for this: he’s a man after God’s own heart. He’s humble, he’s passionate, he’s devoted, he cares for others and is active in the community. He seeks God’s will in all things and makes Christ the center of his marriage to my mom. He stands as an example to me, and I hope that when I have a wife and a family, I will be even half the man he is. I know he’s hard on himself all the time, and I know he has his mistakes and sins just like anyone else, but his heart is good, changed by Christ. He’ll tell you that he’s entirely different than the man he used to be, and my mom will agree. I take it as an encouragement when people tell me, “You’re just like your father,” because in my case, that’s a cherished compliment.

christmas '13

Mom's in the kitchen fixing a holiday feast and Sky's curled up by the sofa and I'm snuggled up next to a roaring fireplace drinking steaming hot coffee. It's cozy, simplistic, and I like it. Last night Mom, Dad, Ams and I had our Christmas Eve dinner at Longhorn Steakhouse (8 oz sirloin with potatoes, a side salad, and Samuel Adams Winter Lager), and the evening culminated opening presents while drinking Great Lakes Christmas Ale. Mom went rather overboard this year (as she does every year), and I'm pretty pumped to have a George Forman, a coffee maker, and a microwave for my kitchen back home, amid other things (like a world map from 1941 to hang on my wall). 

Dad got both of us LCD lanterns for emergency lighting.

"It's only for emergencies," he told me.

I told him that was fine, I already have lanterns for daily use.

I love spending time with Mom and Dad, I know it sounds cliche, but I really do have great parents, and I'm far more blessed by that than I'll ever know. Throw Ams into the mix, and you've got a good recipe for a good time. Our Christmas Eve last night was characterized by laughter and witty banter, by warmth and love and kinship. I value those things, and I value such moments. Christmas does indeed tend to be a hard time for me (it wasn't always the case, but as it is the case, so it is), and I'm thankful that this Christmas been marked by joy and thankfulness for all that I have and not in envy and jealousy over that which I don't. 

My ambitions for the rest of this day:

   (a) feast on Mom's Christmas lunch

   (b) reorganize my tiny kitchen for the kitchenware

   (c) finish Citizen Soldiers by Stephen E. Ambrose, and

   (d) write a few pages in The Procyon Strain: Book Two

Dad just came in from playing outside with Sky.

"Do you know your tire's flat?" he asks.

I'm not surprised, but I didn't know.

So add (e) inspect and replace right front tire.

blind boys of alabama (feat. Tom Waits)

This is a Christmas song I can get into.

Oh, and in case I forget:

[sunday meditations]

the porch at Winton Ridge, birthplace of quiet contemplations

Because the Young Adult Group is “on hold” through the holidays (which sucks, because I genuinely like it), the leader sent out an email with a quote from C.S. Lewis to be used as a “devotional” (or, as I like to put it, a “meditation”—that’s what monks would call it). It’s so on-par with much that has been consuming my thoughts and prayers, so I feel compelled to share it:

* * *

“The New Testament talks about Christians ‘being born again’; it talks about them ‘putting on Christ’; about Christ ‘being formed in us’; about our coming to ‘have the mind of Christ.’ Put right out of your head that these are only fancy ways of saying that Christians are to read what Christ said and try to carry it out—as a man may read what Plato or Marx said and try to carry it out. They mean something much more than that. They mean that a real Person, Christ, here and now, in that very room where you are saying your prayers, is doing this to you. It is not a question of a good man who died two thousand years ago. It is a living Man, still as much a man as you, and still as much God as He was when He created the world, really coming and interfering with your very self: killing the old natural self in you and replacing it with the kind of self He has. At first, only for moments. Then for longer periods. Finally, if all goes well, turning you permanently into a different sort of thing; into a new little Christ, a being which, in its own small way, has the same kind of life as God; which shares in His power, joy, knowledge, and eternity.”

* * *

The call of faith isn’t about supplementing our life with Jesus, tacking him on in such a way that we can go about our own business with a little bit of “good faith” to keep us on the right side of things. C.S. Lewis cuts to the heart of the matter, capturing Christ’s call to each and every one of us: “Give me All. I don’t want so much of your time and so much of your money and so much of your work: I want You. I have not come to torment your natural self, but to kill it. No half-measures are any good. I don’t want to cut off a branch here and a branch there, I want to have the whole tree down. Hand over the whole natural self, all the desires which you think innocent as well as the ones you think wicked—the whole outfit. I will give you a new self instead. In fact, I will give you Myself: my own will shall become yours.” The call of Christ isn’t about being an honest taxpayer and hoping to eat your cake, too; it’s about being totally remade, the Death of Self. “The terrible thing, the almost impossible thing, is to hand over your whole self—all your wishes and precautions—to Christ. But it is far easier than what we are trying to do instead. For what we are trying to do is to remain what we call ‘ourselves,’ to keep personal happiness as our great aim in life, and yet at the same time be ‘good.’ We are all trying to let our mind and heart go their own way—centered on money or pleasure or ambition—and hoping, in spite of this, to behave honestly and chastely and humbly. And that is precisely what Christ warned us you cannot do.”

Christ calls for us to die, and then to become new. Death to Self is a strange thing, in that by dying to ourselves, we find ourselves in the process. If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. Lewis accurately translated “taking up your cross” to being beaten to death in a concentration camp; ‘taking up your cross’ isn’t a trite little saying with religious undertones, it’s a stark and shocking call to truly and honestly die. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. These aren’t clever little sayings: they’re speaking to reality. Death to Self in submission and obedience to Christ invariably leads to being made a “new creation”—a new heart, a new spirit, new desires, new habits and new aims, new motivations and new inclinations, a new character; in short, a new personality (and not in the Meier-Briggs sense of the term).

That is what I’m after. That is what I crave. I’ve been told I’m hard on myself, but that’s not the case at all: I’m simply honest about what’s going on in my heart and in my spirit. I pay attention to the rhythms of my motivations and inclinations; I don’t shy away from acknowledging my own sinfulness. I’m in desperate need of a divine surgical strike into the depths of my heart, and the closer I draw to God, the more I submit myself to Christ, the more I’m filled with the Spirit, the more I see my need for grace and mercy, the more I comprehend my own fallenness, the more I’m aware of how truly wretched I am. And yet in that there is joy, for I’m like a field being sown over. “If I am a field that contains nothing but grass-seed, I cannot produce wheat. Cutting the grass may keep it short: but I shall still produce grass and no wheat. If I want to produce wheat, the change must go deeper than the surface. I must be ploughed up and resown.” I’m trying to exercise patience: the kingdom of God starts small, like a mustard seed, and grows into a vibrant tree where animals dwell. Meditating on these things, I’ve been constantly given an image, that of an orchard filled with withered trees and rotted limbs; and then there’s a tree in the midst, growing green, budding with spring, sprouting leaves and stretching to the sky. Change takes time, even change from the hand of God; as it is with the kingdom of God in our world, so it is with our own little selves. It takes time. The tree won’t sprout overnight; patience and persistence are required. 

2 1/2 years in the making

It’s taken 2 ½ years, but I’ve finally finished The Procyon Strain: Book One. And, really, 2 ½ years isn’t that bad: the Dwellers of the Night trilogy took me four years. I’m pretty content with the new ending. Although I finished the rough draft back in 2012, and though both Mandy and Ams said it was a pretty good book, Mandy convinced me the ending wasn’t as good as it could be, that the book wasn’t going anywhere. So I added a couple chapters, eliminated some fluff, and took the story exactly where I wanted it to end. Book Two will be markedly different from Book One: Book One’s style is more episodic, with bursts of action interspersed with reflective commentary. Book Two will be, through and through, a book centered on action. Another way to put it: Book One is character-driven, but Book Two will be story-driven. I’m sure I’ll have more to say on Book One once it’s ready for purchase, but to whet any appetites that may need whetting, here’s a snippet:

Excerpt from The Procyon Strain: Book One by Anthony Barnhart

from the hobbit hole

this is what I do when I'm bored at home

Work has been keeping me busy; and by “keeping me busy” let me put it this way: on Christmas Eve I’m finishing up a 15-day stretch of working every day, I have Christmas off, and then I start another 15-day stretch on the 26^th. So I’ll have one day off for a period over a month. I’m not even sure if I’m going to make it to all the holiday festivities with my extended family; I’m thankful, at least, that I’ll get to be with Mom, Dad, and my little sister on the evening of Christmas Eve and throughout Christmas Day.

I haven’t grown sick of all the Christmas songs like I do every year. Part of it may be that my brain has evolved so as to block out said music (“Microevolution!”); or it could be that since I don’t have a working radio in my car, I’m left with only my thoughts (which, although slightly dour at times, still beat Christmas music!). I will admit I have a soft spot for “Carol of the Bells,” but only when performed by John Williams or the Trans Siberian Orchestra. This holiday season is really rushing by, what with constantly working and all that, and I’m not too mad about it. As I wrote before, Christmastime doesn’t hold the same “flash” for single people working their asses off to pay bills and stay afloat. Christmas becomes yet another time of the year where you miss days of work (thereby losing money) and then buy a bunch of people stuff they don’t need in return for them buying you stuff you don’t need, and only because it’s “that special time of year.” It isn’t special, it’s consumerist and capitalistic, and I prefer the chaos to die down and life to return to normal the first week of January. “In time, Child, in time…”

Amid the chaos, I’ve had a few quiet nights at home, hours spent curled up on the sofa reading or hunched over my desk writing. As far as reading goes, I’ve catalogued *most* of my reading here on the blog. As far as writing goes, I’m proud to announce (and I’m really the only one who cares about this) that I’ve finally FINISHED the first book of my all-but-forgotten zombie apocalypse series. I started writing it on vacation in Hilton Head near the end of June 2011, and today (Thursday) I can finally sit back and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s 335 pages long (that’s a 415-page college paper for those who care), and I’m pretty excited to get the second book going. It’s time to do some scripting.

The Wisconsinite and I have had a “closure talk” of sorts, and I really do feel at peace with things. I said a lot of hurtful things born out of pain and anger, and though I have her forgiveness (for which I’m thankful), it still tears me apart: I’ve wanted only to protect her heart, and I hurt it. The truth is that she has meant much more to me than I’ll ever know, and she helped me through a series of dark times in my life more than she’ll ever know. She really is a wonderful person, and I could never and will never think otherwise. My hope and prayer is that one day we can meet again, and that we can laugh about all of this and share with one another how God has been moving in our lives. My prayer remains with her, for I wish the best for her and I always will.

Excuse me, do you have fish?

This guy has quite literally made my morning. 

books i've been reading

Shaara delivers yet again with The Steel Wave, a historical narrative of Operation Overlord, the Allied invasion of Normandy, and the subsequent seizing of the Cotentin Peninsula and the German army's escape from Patton and Montgomery's clutches (and escape that would come to haunt the Allies in the Ardennes). Paired with Shaara's novel I've read Stephen E. Ambrose's D-Day, one of the most comprehensive accounts of June 6, 1944. It's a really good read, but at times tiresome: Ambrose packs so much information that simply reading about what happened on Omaha Beach takes over 100 pages. Next up is Shaara's No Less Than Victory, which rounds up his "World War Two: Europe" trilogy from the liberation of France to the German surrender; and accompanying it is Ambrose's Citizen Soldiers, a chronological accounting of the American and British war effort in the western front following D-Day. 

[sunday meditations]

This is far less "meditation" and far more "rambling," so bear with me. 

Or quit reading. Up to you. 

Seeing as I've no idea where this post is going, I can't recommend either. 

I'm writing this from Blue Ash, and since I won't get home until 1 AM and have to be up at 6, I forewent my coffee from the U.D.F. down the street and am feeling as if these next two hours are going to draaag by (the triple A's emphasize said dragging). Thus my mind is a cloud and all but absent critical thought.

I've been reading a lot about spiritual transformation, spiritual disciplines, "the Christian life." Really great books and articles coupled with lots of pondering and prayer. The ultimate goal of spiritual transformation, in the Christian sense, is "conformity to Christ," "being like Christ," or "Christ-likeness" (semantics, friends, semantics). This isn't about conforming to a certain abstract standard, but about moving in increasing measure towards genuine humanness. The doctrine of sanctification is all about growth in our holiness, and growth in holiness is all about experiencing wholeness as human beings. You can say sanctification is about our movement towards "Christ-likeness," growing in conformity to Christ, growing in genuine human living. Sanctification is about growing in our devotion to God, and this, too, is part of what it means to be genuinely human, since we're created specifically as God's standard-bearers. Sanctification isn't droll or dreary; it's a gift, from God and by the Spirit, and not at all something we simply have to "put up with" since it comes with the Christian territory. Sanctification--growth in humanness, Christ-likeness, devotion to God, becoming more and more healed and whole as the Spirit works on our hearts and personalities--is something that's always couched in beautiful language in the New Testament, because it is something beautiful. 

Sanctification is one of the most hope-filled and joy-inducing aspects of what it means to "be a Christian," and I think it's something that needs to be pulled off the sidelines and brought center-stage. The letters of the New Testament speak much more about sanctification than justification, so that should tell us something.

from the anchor (II)

this is how I'm going to decorate my future house for Christmas

Mandy, Corey, Ams, Gambill and I spent Monday evening downtown: we grabbed drinks and dinner at Rock Bottom (I got nachos and Ams got pizza, and we split half-and-half), and then we went across the street to tour the Contemporary Arts Center. They had some awesome displays, featuring an artist who uses photography to catch the voice of the marginalized amid riots and wars. The children’s floor was the creepiest of all, highlighting a sculpture of “Shark Girl,” who was in an animated video that gave me goose-bumps because it was so akin to “Salad Fingers” of college fame. Why they featured “Shark Girl” on the children’s floor baffles me: I’m all but 27 years old, and she was really creeping me out. When it comes to art, I tend to be “old school,” and much of modern art goes right over my head (that’s a reflection on me, not on the art itself). What I’d really like to see is a display of Adolf Hitler’s art. Take, for example, this piece:

He was a solid painter, and the 1940s would’ve been far more pleasant had Hitler pursued a career in art rather than waging war against the known world. Yet another reason why our schools shouldn’t cut art programs; once you eliminate programs, you start ending up with progroms, and those never end well.

Yesterday afternoon Frank came into Tazza Mia, and we were talking about how Facebook has become the new Myspace. Reflecting on the days of Myspace, I told him, “Remember how you could always have your Top 8 friends, and it was a sort of contest to see how much people liked you? I made profiles for the minor prophets and made them my Top 8.” I’m remembering it now: “Hi, I’m Amos from Tekoa, and I used to trim fig trees! Hi, I’m Obadiah, and the Edomites are assholes! Hi, I’m Hosea, and my wife’s kind of a whore…” Eric thought it was hilarious, and Frank just looked at me all whimsically, said, “I bet if I knew anything about the Bible, that’d be hilarious.”

This past Thursday I was FINALLY able to check out the Young Adult Group at U.C.C. You pass through Roh’s Street Café, go through the door with Gandalf on it—“You shall not pass!” he declares, but you pass anyways—and then up a flight of stairs and there’s a small cramped room filled with young adults. Wow, that description was highly unnecessary. Mostly I wanted to highlight the “Gandalf Door”. The discussion sprang from Isaiah 9 with the Assyrian conquest of northern Israel in the background. I was quiet for most of it, and then I decided to answer a question on the spiritual, syncretic nature of 8^th Century B.C. with the Baal-Melqart cult, and I got a lot of stares, as if everyone was wondering who this fifteen-year-old kid was. I really enjoyed it, and I’m definitely going back next Thursday. Also in U.C.C. news, I may be volunteering Sunday mornings by providing coffee. It’d be a good way to get involved, and I’d also be able to meet people. Brandon and I were talking at the Fountain, and I told him I was well aware that it might also be a way to meet some cute Christian girls, and he quipped, “Just make sure they’re reformed, so they put out.” I told him “Reformed” in Christian circles means something rather different than his meaning, and that I’m looking for someone who’s chaste, ‘cause (believe it or not) that’s what I’m into. Sometimes it feels like I’m looking for a needle in a haystack filled with needles, but I know what I want and what’s important to me. 

I'm a harmony-seeking idealist

Harmony-seeking Idealists are characterised by a complex personality and an abundance of thoughts and feelings. They are warm-hearted persons by nature. They are sympathetic and understanding. Harmony-seeking Idealists expect a lot of themselves and of others. They have a strong understanding of human nature and are often very good judges of character.

But they are mostly reserved and confide their thoughts and feelings to very few people they trust. They are deeply hurt by rejection or criticism. Harmony-seeking Idealists find conflict situations unpleasant and prefer harmonious relationships. However, if reaching a certain target is very important to them they can assert themselves with a doggedness bordering on obstinacy.

Harmony-seeking Idealists have a lively fantasy, often an almost clairvoyant intuition and are often very creative. Once they have tackled a project, they do everything in their power to achieve their goals. In everyday life, they often prove to be excellent problem solvers. They like to get to the root of things and have a natural curiosity and a thirst for knowledge. At the same time, they are practically oriented, well organised and in a position to tackle complex situations in a structured and carefully considered manner. When they concentrate on something, they do so one hundred percent - they often become so immersed in a task that they forget everything else around them. That is the secret of their often very large professional success.

Harmony-seeking Idealists are characterised by a complex personality and an abundance of thoughts and feelings. They are warm-hearted persons by nature. They are sympathetic and understanding. Harmony-seeking Idealists expect a lot of themselves and of others. They have a strong understanding of human nature and are often very good judges of character.

As partners, harmony-seeking idealists are loyal and reliable; a permanent relationship is very important to them. They seldom fall in love head over heels nor do they like quick affairs. They sometimes find it very difficult to clearly show their affection although their feelings are deep and sincere. In as far as their circle of friends is concerned, their motto is: less is more! As far as new contacts are concerned, they are approachable to only a limited extent; they prefer to put their energy into just a few, close friendships. Their demands on friends and partners are very high. As they do not like conflicts, they hesitate for some time before raising unsatisfactory issues and, when they do, they make every effort not to hurt anyone as a result.

Adjectives that describe your type: introverted, theoretical, emotional, planning, idealistic, harmony-seeking, understanding, peace-loving, sensitive, quiet, sympathetic, conscientious, dogged, complicated, inconspicuous, warm-hearted, complex, imaginative, inspiring, helpful, demanding, communicative, reserved, vulnerable.

Discipleship & Spiritual (Trans)formation

discipleship Martin Luther style

I’ve finished Dallas Willard’s “The Great Omission,” and like all of Willard’s works, it’s both encouraging and convicting. I’ve always liked Willard’s writings; The Divine Conspiracy and The Renovation of the Heart totally altered the way I see the Christian faith and practice. “The Great Omission” isn’t really a “book” in the technical sense of the word, though it has chapters; it’s really a collection of essays on Discipleship and Spiritual Formation, and on how the two are integrated. Usually in a post like this I would include a string of quotes, but to do that for this book would be to write a forty-page document! Rather, I’ve thrown together a little “essay” of sorts that gets to the crux of the matter, and so I present to you: On Discipleship & Spiritual (Trans)formation.

* * *

Discipleship to Christ isn’t just for super-Christians; rather, as Dallas Willard points out, it’s the basic level of entry into God’s kingdom. “[The] kind of life we see in the earliest church is that of a special type of person. All the assurances and benefits offered to humankind in the gospel evidently presuppose such a life [of discipleship] and do not make realistic sense apart from it. The disciple of Jesus is not the deluxe or heavy-duty model of the Christian—especially padded, textured, streamlined, and empowered for the fast lane on the straight and narrow way. He or she stands out on the pages of the New Testament as the first level of basic transportation in the Kingdom of God.” (The Great Omission, pp. 3) The “Christian life” has been reduced to believing a certain set of assumptions and (maybe) trying to live a life according to Christian standards. In the New Testament, the Christian life is one of discipleship, period. “The word ‘disciple’ occurs 269 times in the New Testament. ‘Christian’ is found three times and was first introduced to refer precisely to disciples of Jesus—in a situation where it was no longer possible to regard them as a sect of the Jews… The New Testament is a book about disciples, by disciples, and for disciples of Jesus Christ.” (3) The Great Commission wasn’t a call for the disciples of Jesus to make converts to a certain set of faith and practices but to make disciples. If you are not a disciple of Christ, you are not a Christian. Period.

Willard’s question is haunting: “Who, among Christians today, is a disciple of Jesus, in any substantive sense of the word ‘disciple’? A disciple is a learner, a student, an apprentice—a practitioner, even if only a beginner. The New Testament literature, which must be allowed to define our terms if we are ever to get our bearings in the Way with Christ, makes this clear. In that context, disciples of Jesus are people who do not just profess certain views as their own but apply their growing understanding of life in the Kingdom of the Heavens to every aspect of their life on earth.” (xi) A disciple is one who “sits under” a master, learning to live life as the master does, seeking to become like the master through diligence and, of course, the master’s help. If we are consistently pursuing conformity to Christ, by “putting on Christ” and “putting to death” all that is anti-God and anti-human within us, then we are Christ’s disciples. If we are NOT doing this, our discipleship—and thus our faith and “position” before God—is brought into question.

It’s no secret that the current state of Western Christianity is pathetic. For the most part, we are indistinguishable from our non-Christian neighbors in actual life, in our behaviors, dispositions, inclinations, thoughts and motivations, and in our character. The reason for this, Willard speculates (and I have to agree) is that we have substituted life with Christ for membership in country clubs. Western churches really are a lot more like country clubs than anything else: you “sign on,” profess a shared sentiment, make friends and do stuff together. The moral decay and sterility of the Western church is a sharp contrast to the church in Asia and Africa, where the Christian faith isn’t about social strata but about real life. Many of those who leave the Western church and Americanized version of Christianity do so because of an experienced disparity between the picture of “Christian life” in the New Testament and actual life. “There is an obvious disparity between, on the one hand, the hope for life expressed in Jesus—found real in the Bible and in many shining examples from among his followers—and, on the other hand, the actual day-to-day behavior, inner life, and social presence of most of those who now profess adherence to him… [The Christian life] is not meant to run on just anything you may give it. If it doesn’t work at all, or only in fits and starts, that is because we do not give ourselves to it in a way that allows our lives to be taken over by it.” (x) Of those disillusioned by the church and Christian faith, how many simply went through the motions of “church culture” but never really set themselves under Christ as his disciples? Many profess Christian thoughts and habits but never forsake their sin, never repent, never truly surrender themselves to Christ; and the “abundant life” Christ offers goes out to his disciples, those who take on his yoke and die to themselves. So long as we persist in clinging to our sin, even to ourselves, perhaps trying to supplement our lives with Christ rather than “giving up” our lives for him, we aren’t privy to the “abundant life” he offers. Real disillusionment comes not because the promise is invalid but because we simply haven’t taken Christ up on that promise.

The “abundant life” Christ offers is offered only to those who become his disciples, his apprentices. Disciples are disciples by virtue of living life alongside their master, putting into practice the master’s teachings and way-of-life, assisted by the master in their endeavors. We can’t physically walk around Galilee with our Master as the Original 12 did, but Jesus promised his spirit to those who follow him, and the Spirit indwells those who surrender themselves to him and truly make him their master. The Spirit in Jesus’ disciples has as his chief aim our conformity to Christ. He is “Christ with us,” and by his presence and power we are enabled not only to live life with Jesus but also to be changed by him. By living as his disciples—with the desire, intent, and seated decision to be conformed to him, to become “like him”—we are able to experience the “abundant life” Christ promised. Engaging with Jesus’ spirit in spiritual disciplines (“sitting under him,” so-to-speak) we find that our hearts and lives are changed as we’re being refashioned, from the inside-out, by the Spirit of God, the Spirit of Christ: And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.

Such “spiritual transformation” isn’t just handed to us, though that’s what we’d like most of the time. Disciples learn, by diligence and practice, and with many setbacks and screw-ups, how to live like their Master; and the Master is patient, and encouraging, and he steps in and helps the disciple move in the right direction. Transformation into Christ-likeness takes place over time, from “one degree of glory to another.” There’s no expectation in the New Testament of disciples finding their hearts, minds, and souls immediately transformed in a sonic boom or thunderbolt; it takes time, patience, and diligence. 2 Peter 1.3-11 gives us a picture of spiritual transformation towards Christ-likeness, and it’s for no small reason that St. Peter advocates diligence, self-control, and perseverance. If transformation came overnight, in the “blink of an eye,” such a description would be pointless. N.T. Wright comments in After You Believe, “Part of [our] have-it-all-now culture, as applied to Christian living, declares that now that you’re a Christian, indwelt by the Spirit, you ought to be instantly holy. You want to be like Jesus Christ—pray this prayer, have this experience, and it’s all yours. No, replies Patience, with Humility standing close beside; we shall learn the present lesson this week, the next one the following week, and so on. We shall practice the virtues, step by step, ‘putting them on’ with conscious thought and effort, even though the clothes don’t seem to fit us very well at the present moment.” (150)

The life Jesus offers to those who take up his yoke and die to themselves is an abundant life, and the picture the New Testament paints of this life stands in stark contrast to the self-centered, self-driven, self-worshiped lives we’re naturally inclined to live. Take, for example, the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. The contrast between a life dominated by such character and a life dominated by “the desires of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of riches” is black-and-white. Jesus doesn’t promise that his disciples will suddenly find themselves immersed in an “abundant life” characterized by material things and selfish dreams come true; rather, he gets to the heart of the matter. Our constant thirst for more things, for the fulfillment of our dreams and realizations of our ambitions, comes from a heart striving after something, and we think these things will take care of that deep-seated feeling of having to have more. The cure isn’t to indulge the heart but to change the heart, and in doing so we find “life abundant.” The fruit of the Spirit aren’t so much habits we embrace but changes that come into our heart, and as these changes take root, we experience life differently, and we find that it’s abundant regardless of the circumstances in which we live. But this change in our hearts and lives giving birth to an “abundant life” don’t come automatically. Wright points out elsewhere in After You Believe, “The nine varieties of fruit do not just suddenly appear because someone has believed in Jesus, has prayed for God’s Spirit, and has then sat back and waited for the fruit to arrive. Sure, there will be changes in thought, praxis, and heart upon conversion. But these are blossoms. To get the fruit you will have to learn to be a gardener. You have to discover how to tend and prune, how to irrigate the field, how to keep birds and squirrels away. You have to watch for blight and mold, cut away ivy and other parasites that suck the life from the tree, and make sure the young trunk can stand firm in strong winds. Only then will the fruit appear.” All too often we expect the fruit to come without any action on our part, and we pass our days “in malice and envy,” not taking the time—nor the work—to set ourselves at Jesus’ feet to learn from him the rhythms of life, and in that learning to be changed by his Spirit in us.

[books i've been reading]

Anyone who's read this blog knows how weird I am when it comes to reading history: I like to pair historical fiction with historical studies, and I found a pretty solid novel in Shelby Foote's Shiloh. His narrative style is epic, and it's one of the best Civil War novels I've ever read. He, like Michael Shaara in The Killer Angels, paints a stunning portrait of the battlefield and the psychological impact war has on those involved. As a companion book, Stokesbury's A Short History of the Civil War does a good job at capturing the many military campaigns throughout the war in the various theaters, and he doesn't neglect the "home front" and politics swirling around the war itself. 

[over]reacting to the "prosperity gospel"

It’s easy (not to mention hip) to hate on advocates of the “prosperity gospel,” who teach that God promises people health, wealth, and a “good life” if they trust in him. It’s right to react against the “prosperity gospel,” but we should be wary of going “too far,” as it’s equally easy to do. The prosperity gospel errors by placing our happiness at the center of God’s intentions for us, and it portrays God orbiting around us, when we orbit around him. God’s greatest concern isn’t our experience of life but his glory filling the cosmos. God’s overarching concern for us isn’t our happiness but our holiness, and his work in our lives is geared towards our holiness and his glory. When we demolish the tenets of the prosperity gospel by erecting in its place a “gospel of suffering,” we’re no less guilty of misconstruing the gospel. It’s wrong for us to believe that God’s biggest concern is giving us a comfortable, rose-garden experience on our march to consummation, and it’s just as wrong to deny that God gives us gifts and blessings along the way, for Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.

A good, loving father has his child’s best interests in mind and seeks to train his child to become a decent human being through reproof, correction, discipline, and encouragement. God, as a good and loving Father, seeks to train us into being decent human beings. The New Testament is adamant that God’s desire for his people is for them to be conformed to the image of his Son, Jesus Christ; Jesus Christ is portrayed, in the New Testament, as the model human being, setting the template, so-to-speak, for what genuine human living looks like. Conformity to Christ (becoming “like Christ”) is becoming, by the power of the Spirit and human diligence, a new sort of person in the world, a redeemed and ransomed sort of person, the kind of person who lives life as God intended it to be lived. Holy living is genuine, fully-flourishing life as God’s image-bearers, and this is God’s ultimate concern for us—and it is both for his glory and for our benefit. Because he is a loving father, he employs reproof, correction, and discipline to goad us in the right direction, to keep us on track. For [our parents] disciplined us for a short time as seemed best to them, but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share his holiness. We have his grace and mercy meeting us in our weakness and failures, for a good Father is patient, too.

A good, loving father trains his children into righteousness, and he gives good gifts to his children, too. The priority is holiness, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t give his children gifts, temporal as they may be. To deny this is to say that those “good gifts” aren’t gifts at all, but flukes. To call them flukes is to blind ourselves to the gifts he gives, and it cultivates an ungrateful heart: when a father gives a gift, and his child denies the source and sees it as a random, chance occurrence, this hurts the father’s heart. But when we’re grateful and thankful, acknowledging the source of the gift, we bring joy to our father. God enjoys giving gifts to his children: Jesus said as much, and the New Testament affirms it without making these gifts the point. The point remains conformity to Christ, holy living, being set apart in the world. The problem with the “prosperity gospel” could even be drawn out to a focus on the gifts as well as the misperception of God as, first and foremost, a father who dotes on his children. God does enjoy blessing us, does enjoy giving us good gifts, but that’s not his biggest concern. His chief aim isn’t to give us a “good life” but to make us “good people.”

The Bible is clear: those who pursue Christ-likeness, who take holiness seriously, these people find themselves more apt to experience and receive the temporal gifts of God. This isn’t some sort of transaction, weighing our holiness on a scale so that we can reap more and more gifts. When children consistently disobey, rebel, or fail to heed their father’s discipline, the father’s energies are focused on what matters most: holiness. When a child heeds discipline and pursues holiness, such a child opens herself up to receive more blessings, since she’s able to truly appreciate them and won’t abuse them. God isn’t seeking our holiness so that he can dote upon his with abandon once we reach a certain point on the “holiness meter.” Our lives should be lived with holiness and devotion to God as our first aim, and along the way we are to enjoy God’s gifts and be thankful for them without putting our hopes in these gifts and without falling prey to the egocentric idea that these gifts are what it’s all about. God’s concern for us is our holiness, and it’s for our benefit and his glory. We orbit around him, not the other way around. 

"Living like Jesus"

Blake gave me this book when he was clearing out his bookshelf, and after reading it cover-to-cover, I can see why. If I were into rating books (and I’m not), I’d give this one a C+, mainly because of its superficiality. By superficiality I mean it’s one of those books that skims the surface, so to speak, without plunging into the depths (and plunging is what I’m all about). The book is also full of clichés, and the thing I don’t like about clichés is that they don’t require any thought, and they don’t provoke any thought either. All that said, there are some pretty solid chapters, albeit surface-level, and here are a handful of quotes:

* * *

“The modern church wants to accept only half of God. It seeks to renegotiate God’s revelation. It substitutes a new covenant and a new God who offers forgiveness without holiness… The modern church wants a cosmic Santa Claus who produces wealth, health, and happiness to bolster our good feelings and self-esteem. We prefer a divine Buddy who smiles kindly at sin with an ‘Aw shucks, pal, we all mess up sometimes.’ The modern church wants to forget sin. We prefer to write our own guidelines for happiness. The modern church wants to neglect repentance and sanctification. We prefer to replace holiness with happiness. Is it really any wonder that so many contemporary Christians and churches are disastrously weak and disgracefully ineffective?”

“Biblical salvation is for more than just reconciliation with God. It must also transform the character and lifestyle of believers. Genuine faith in Christ brings repentance, a radical turning away from sin, and a new life of holiness. God’s standard, Jesus insisted, is clear: ‘Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.’ (Matt 5:48). We never quite arrive in this life, but in the power of the Spirit we can be wondrously changed. We can overcome sinful patterns. ‘Those who belong to Christ have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.’ (Gal 5:24). Paul teaches that Christ has bridged the vast gulf between a holy God and sinful people. Believers can now look directly into the holy, tender face of God and behold his glory. As we do that day by day, we ‘are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory.’ (2 Cor 3:18). As we keep our eyes fixed on Christ, the Holy Spirit actually remakes our broken personalities, conforming us more and more to the very pattern of Jesus of Nazareth. Nor is salvation merely an individual affair. The church is supposed to be a new, redeemed community—a little picture of what heaven will be like. Jesus Christ ‘gave himself for us to redeem us from all wickedness and to purify for himself a people that are his very own, eager to do what is good.’ The early church broke down the sinful dividing walls that created hostilities between women and men, Jews and Gentiles, slaves and masters. In Christ’s new transformed community, they were truly one. And their redeemed unity and mutual love was part of the gospel Paul preached (Eph 3:1-6).”

“It is a glorious paradox that the best way to happiness is not to seek it directly. Someone has rightly said that Christ ‘died not to make us happy, but to make us holy.’ But holy living is not dull and burdensome. When we make personal happiness and self-fulfillment our goal, we reap the stifling boredom and evil that come from ever growing self-centeredness. But when we seek holiness rather than happiness, we get happiness too.”

“Most Christians mimic the world. They are often as self-centered, as sexually promiscuous, as racist and materialistic as their unbelieving friends. They worship wealth, commit adultery, file for divorce, and destroy the environment like their neighbors…. Blatant, disobedient conformity to the world has plagued Christianity for centuries. We have launched vicious crusades to slaughter Muslims, we have fabricated ‘biblical’ arguments to justify slavery and racism, we have participated in programs—indeed even the Holocaust itself—against the Jews. Now, as the modern world redefines happiness as individual self-fulfillment and ever expanding material abundance, we construct new gospels of wealth and self-esteem. The world sneers at our hypocrisy, convinced that Christians, who largely defy the One they allegedly worship, have nothing to offer.”

“[Neglecting] prayer should be absurdly wrongheaded. The greatest Christians of the ages all tell us how important it was to them. Our Lord and Savior makes utterly astounding promises to those who pray. Still we struggle to squeeze out a few minutes for prayer… Like everybody else, I suppose, I comforted myself with the reminder to avoid legalism. It is not a sin to miss a day here and there. Then it dawned on me that when you are missing six mornings out of seven, legalism is no longer your problem.”

“Prayer is important because we are engaged in a life-and-death battle with Satan. Paul urges the Ephesians to ‘pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayer.’ (6:18) Why? Because he knows we are in a spiritual battle. ‘For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dork world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.’ (v. 12) Who are the rulers and authorities? When Paul uses these words, he is talking about two closely related things. He is referring to evil social systems and distorted cultural values that twist and corrupt people. But Paul also means that behind these distorted human institutions lie demonic spiritual powers that fight against the Creator and seek to destroy the good creation God made. Therefore, Paul knows that in every encounter with twisted cultural values and social systems, we are also doing battle with the hosts of Satan. And Satan can only be defeated through prayer."

“[At] the beginning of the twentieth century, one branch of Christianity—the ‘social gospel’ branch—realized the need to focus on social action. At the same time, another large group—the evangelicals—felt called to focus on evangelism. For decades they criticized each other. Social gospel people claimed that Jesus and the rest of the Bible compel us to care about the physical needs of people. And they were right. Evangelical folk insisted that according to Jesus and the Scriptures, nothing is as important as a living relationship with God in Christ. And they too were right. Tragically, foolishly, each side used the other side’s sinful neglect of one half of Christian mission to justify their own stubborn neglect of the other half. The result has been lopsided, ineffective churches.”

the *real* final week

the view from my window

Monday. I ran downtown to do the food order for Tazza Mia, and I enjoyed coffee at The Anchor before heading up to Park Avenue to continue gutting the apartment. We've gotten it mostly cleared out. I ran by The Anchor for a second time on my way back,a nd then went by Bakewell to see Corey, Mandy, and Andy. We went to Dubb's Irish Pub and I had the Great Lake Christmas Ale and we shot pool.

Tuesday. After opening with Eric I passed out back home until the evening. I recuperated with coffee and dinner at The Anchor and did some much-needed grocery shopping. Corey & Mandy came over for a little bit, and so did Sarah.

Wednesday. Miranda and I opened, and since my shift with Walk of Joy was cancelled, I spent my evening at Winton Ridge hanging out with Amos. I did some reading back home and went to bed.

Thursday. I woke at 7 AM, unable to fall back asleep, so I went to The Anchor before my shift in Blue Ash. I picked up Sarah downtown after work, and we went by Park Avenue so she could snatch-mo some dishes no one wants. Back in Covington we scoped out her new place, and her pal Ames came by. My evening was spent reading, and I cooked an awesome dinner after an hour-long workout. I was in bed by 9:00 with the winter winds rattling my stained glass windows.

Friday. I went to The Anchor to devour 2 Corinthians paired with coffee before opening Tazza Mia with Eric. We were slow because of the impending snowstorm, and on break I went to Rock Bottom and Keith hooked me up with a beer and two growlers of Winter Tartan on the house. The snow and ice started falling around noon, and after work I hurried home to beat the weather. Within hours the roads were gone, nothing but white; sirens everywhere, wrecks all over the place. Ams, Mandy and I were supposed to hang out, but what with the roads the way they were, that didn't happen. So I spent the evening locked up in my hobbit hole reading, burning incense, and I made tortellini for dinner. On a sad note, Great Aunt Charlotte passed away, probably a heart attack. "I had lunch with her today," Mom said, "and she was laughing and having a good time."

Saturday. Half a foot of snow fell overnight. I woke at 6 AM and went to The Anchor to read and write, and then I headed down the street to visit Corey and Mandy at Bakewell. I fixed bacon, eggs and toast for brunch, and then Blake and I met up at Park Avenue to toss all the stuff we're not keeping. I went back to Covington to read and cook dinner (baked chicken and roasted vegetables) before my 5-Midnight shift in Blue Ash. On my way home I swung by Park Avenue to pick up the last of my things, and I bid farewell, for the final time. End of an Era. But it wasn't that great of one. I've got higher hopes for Scott Boulevard.

Sunday. I woke and went to The Anchor for coffee before church at U.C.C. Attendance was sparse, a couple inches of fresh snow falling all morning and the roads turning to an icy mush. Mandy preached on the Syro-Ephraimitic War and Isaiah's prophecies of the coming Davidic King. You know, Christmas stuff. The "take-home" (if you can call it that; sure, I will) was that we should use our imagination to "look beyond" the transient, temporal world around us to perceive God at work in the world. The "keys" to such an imagination are keeping God before our eyes, giving Scripture room to work in our lives, and engaging God in prayer. I spent the afternoon polishing off my growler of Winter Tartan and reading Dallas Willard, and I went over to Bakewell House to see Corey & Mandy, John & Matt, and Ams before heading to Blue Ash for a 4-Midnight shift with Walk of Joy. Ams came by Blue Ash to visit me and one of my guys, and he put on a Keith Urban concert and showered her in affection. Once the guys were in bed, I spent the evening reading historical fiction and then headed back to Covington at the strike of midnight.