may she rest in peace

It's been a "good ride" like a really great rollercoast: big highs,
deep lows, and lots and lots of screaming.

Tazza Mia's last "Day of Business" was Thursday, and today Eric and I spent the morning and early afternoon boxing stuff up, cleaning out fridges, and (the best part) throwing things away. We shattered all of our dishes in a giant trashcan, hurling them down as hard as we could so that glass shards and powder blossomed upwards in a mushroom cloud. "I think I have a piece of glass in my eye..." Keith brought us $100 in Rock Bottom giftcards, so Eric & I ordered To-Go. He had a cheeseburger and fries, and I had the brewery nachos with chicken. Oh, and we also downed half a growler of Brown Bear. It was a bittersweet (but mostly sweet) moment walking out the revolving doors of Tower Place and heading to the parking garage to shell out eight dollars for the last time. Now I will have Tuesday and Wednesday mornings off, and Fridays off altogether! And if I get this preaching gig in the boondocks of eastern Ohio, I'll be making more than I was when I was working at Tazza Mia and Walk of Joy. Fingers crossed and prayers splurged!

Also, I treated myself to a couple mementos:

(without asking, "Why do I want to remember this?")

#rowewoods, et. al.

from Rowe Woods

I planned on going kayaking today, but the kayak rental place was closed when I got there. I'm guessing it's because it's been so overcast today? So instead I drove out to the nearby Rowe Woods and hiked a couple miles before ending with a half-mile run and sprinting up carved limestone steps. My legs were on fire. There's another kayak rental place I might try next week; it's on the Miami Whitewater. 

I spent yesterday evening at Winton Ridge.

"You know what I miss?" Brandy quipped. "When we used to take pictures."

So the two of us took some pictures:

I'm heading straight down to the Gorge after work on Friday and I'm pretty pumped about it. I'll be off by 2 PM and in the Gorge by 4 PM. My plan right now is to check in to the room I rented and head straight for Natural Bridge. Once I've done some considerable hiking and enjoyed the top of the Arch in 70-degree weather, I'll head over to either Miguel's Pizza or the Rock House for dinner. I'm taking my Green Study Bible (my favorite Bible, a great literal translation of the original languages, and it came courtesy from Blake), and in the back of the Bible they have a series of "devotions" on God and His creation. I plan on going through several of these Friday night and several more in the morning before hiking a couple smaller trails throughout the Gorge. Then I'll be zipping back up to Cincinnati for work Saturday and Sunday night.

The church contacted me again: they're bumping me up to the 21st of this month for my spot in the second circuit of candidates. I'm assuming that another candidate dropped out for the slot to be opened up again. Regardless, I'm pretty excited about preaching again. I said my sermon topic would be on forgiveness (namely, forgiving others), but I'm toying with a couple other ideas. I'll have to figure it out by next weekend though, so I have ample amount of time to prepare.

On my run the other day I listened to Mumford & Sons, and this song captures so much of what I feel. It's "the banjolin song":

she stole my heart and made me sing

she tore me limb from limb

i did not think that i could love

or be loved that way again

how glad i was to be myself

and use my heart once more

how glad i was to be a man

and love that girl that i adore

well my eyes shall see light again

and my heart shall bleed right again

oh my eyes shall see light again

and my heart shall bleed right again

in honor of koalas

little known fact: plantation owners in the antebellum south often used Mech warriors
to oversee the slaves in the fields. Mechs were also used by William T. Sherman to tear up
southern railroad lines during his infamous "March to the Sea." The Mechs were disbanded
when Bumblebee and his fellow autobots showed up with the ability to both
(a) look like a Mech and  (b) look like a car.

Did you know September is "Save the Koala Month" in Australia? It sure is! So here are some cool facts about my kindred spirit animal that you may or may not already know:

1) Koalas are native to Australia and have been around for about 20 million years. During the Miocene Era, they lived in the Australian rainforests that were eventually replaced by eucalyptus woodlands.

2) Koalas are not bears. We are beasts. Also we are marsupials.

3) Koalas eat eucalyptus leaves and almost nothing else. Eucalyptus, though poisonous to every other creature on the face of the planet, doesn't harm koalas; in fact, eucalyptus makes them high. So basically koalas live how I would live if I lived in Washington State.

4) The brain size of modern koalas has reduced substantially from their ancestors. Scientists speculate this is because of their eucalyptus diet. Thus being high DOES dramatically reduce brain function.

5) Koalas cannot be kept legally as pets, much like pit bulls in Cincinnati. Unlike pit bulls, koalas are not used by gangs in fighting rings. Yet.

6) Koalas breathe oxygen from the air. Why this was included on an online "cool koala facts" list beats me. I assumed that they did this, like every other warm-blooded animal. But it never hurts to double check.

7) Koalas can run as fast as rabbits. And that one's actually pretty cool.

8) Koalas have been bred with men. Click HERE to see what I'm talking about.

this tuesday afternoon

Andy Dwyer nailed it.

The church I preached at contacted me. 

They want me to come back again in October. 

I think that means I passed the “first round” of candidates. 

My sermon topic? Forgiveness. 

I’ve been staying consistent with my workouts, though running itself has been hit-or-miss. The humidity is just too much; I feel like I’m being water-boarded when I take a breath. Because I’ve missed running a couple times (“I wouldn’t say I’ve been missing it, Bob…”), I’ve been trying to compensate by (a) harder, more strenuous workouts with free weights, and (b) cardio exercises in the relative comfort of the Hobbit Hole. There’s one workout that kills me every time: I do a squat, jump into the air, land in squat position, kick my legs back, fall to the ground (usually rather awkwardly), do a push-up, get back into squat position, and do it all over again. You’ve no idea the pain this causes my legs the next day. Stairs become insurmountable obstacles. I’ve been noticing that my shirts are fitting tighter; I think this is because my chest is getting better, with lots of assistance from my perky ribs. I don’t know if I like it. I mean, that’s what you should expect when your muscles get bigger; but I’m not sure if I like how it feels. I’ve already got big nipples; now I feel like I have T.H.O. wherever I go. 

Tyler recommended an app called “Headspace.” 

It’s basically a ten-minute-a-day meditation guide. 

I’ve been doing it in the mornings, and it’s been great. 

It helps me escape my thoughts and to just be present to myself. 

Perhaps it will enable me to reclaim some sanity. 

I’ve been moving forward with my narrative history of the War of Independence (not to be confused with the American Revolution: the Revolution, and its accompanying War, are considered by historians to be two different beasts rife with correlation). The “finished work” of this narrative history may end up taking a couple volumes: I’m already looking at around 200 pages covering events from the French & Indian War (1754-1760) to the Battle(s) of Lexington & Concord. The first volume, I’m thinking, will cover everything from the Seven Years War (of which the French & Indian War was its own theater) to the British evacuation of Boston in March 1776 following Washington’s “capture” of Dorchester Heights. The focus on the narrative history is on the battles themselves, and there are some good ones for the first volume: Point Pleasant (actually a battle in Lord Dunmore’s War against the western Indians), Lexington & Concord, Fort Ticonderoga, Bunker Hill, and the Siege of Boston. I’ll post the rough draft of the first chapter sometime this week (for the few none who are interested). 

I spent much of yesterday working on my bike.

I took it for a spin this afternoon: eight miles on the Miami Scenic Trail.

I usually aim for 25-30 miles, but I wasn't sure if my bike would work.

(I don't work on bikes that often)

No tires blew, the chains didn't break off, and I had a smooth ride.

Definitely feeling proud at my handiwork.

In other news, I’ve finished rereading two of my favorite books: The Dawkins Delusion and The Devil’s Delusion. 

The first is written by a Christian scientist (and by that I mean a Christian who happens to be a scientist, not the denomination), and he goes through much of Dawkins’ The God Delusion pointing out flaw-after-flaw in his logic. It’s funny that a lot of atheists have done the same thing with Dawkins; mainstream media loves him, the scientific community practically views him as a charlatan. The second book is written by a secular Jewish mathematician; he’s non-practicing, basically a theist, and he looks at some of the tenets of the New Atheism and shows how many of their robust claims are full of hot air. He has quite a litany of scientists on his side.

#anchor.reflections.

They may have a mural, but THIS is
the REAL face of The Anchor

I've been doing a lot of reflecting in the wake of preaching this past Sunday. Basically I've been asking, "What are the desires that lie so close to my heart?" My mind has been so muddled lately that the "atmosphere of discouragement" stains everything. What I do know is that preaching Sunday made me feel more alive than I have felt in months, as if my soul had been lit afire. Yesterday morning I went on a run through the woods listening to David Crowder's A Collision album (the eschatology in that album is spot on). Lots of thoughts came at me during the run, and before work in Blue Ash I went to Swaim Park and sat on a bench overlooking the pond, and I watched the ducks and put my thoughts to paper and let them blossom in my imagination.

The three desires that lie closest to my heart are easy to decipher: to advance God's kingdom and glorify Him in the way I live my life and treat other people, to be a godly husband who loves his wife as Christ loves the church, and to be a godly father who raises his children "in the way of the Lord." From these "pillars" I can concoct a "Vision for My Life." I've often been somewhat opposed to such visions, but the reason for my opposition is founded in doubt and fear: because nothing is certain, why aim at something concrete? if there are obstacles to be surmounted that always seem to bring you down, why keep trying? if life never goes according to plan, why plan at all? This logic isn't logic at all but the laments of a wounded heart. Perched up on that park bench with my pasty white legs crossed and the green moleskin journal unfolded in my lap, I began imagining what my desires would look like fleshed out.

I see myself being fit and healthy. I see myself practicing a vibrant, growing, and dynamic communion with God. I see myself using my skills at teaching and writing to advance God's kingdom, in whatever way that might be. I see myself as a minister at a small church, with my wife and our family in a close-knit community of encouragement, support, and admonishment. I see Sunday mornings filled with preaching the Word and praising God, and I see Sunday evenings filled with teaching on Christian doctrines. I see Youth Night Wednesdays and Young Adult Thursdays, and I see an adult bible study where we exegetically pour through books of the Bible (something we did at Forest Lake; it became insanely, not to mention surprisingly, popular). I see myself married to a beautiful, godly woman whom I love with all my heart, and I see myself leading her and cherishing her and loving her as Christ loves his church. I see us having children and raising them "to know and fear the Lord." This imaginative leap into my heart's desires is built upon the "3 Pillars" of what my heart craves most out of life: to be a tool in God's hand, to love my wife as she deserves and in a way that reflects the gospel, and to raise children to be decent human beings who love God with all their hearts. 

This is my dream.

This is my vision.

Everything with the Wisconsinite, when all is Said & Done, has done nothing more than confirm how deeply I desire not simply to love and be loved but to love and be loved in a way that honors and glorifies God. Everything we shared, the dreams we had, the future we were planning for... It was a future that fed into what I crave, and I'm sure that's a factor as to why things have been difficult in the wake of our dissolution. Whenever I preach the gospel, or teach on the scriptures, or even participate in such things as a bystander, my desire for such a vocation is reaffirmed. These things lie close to my heart, and they shouldn't be discarded or sidelined in light of discouragement. I must fight against disillusionment, I must believe that I am capable, by God's grace, of being the kind of person I want to be; and I can even go so far as to speculate that these noble and godly desires within me come straight from Him. Perhaps all that I have been through, the Wisconsinite included, is part of His story in my life, ways He is preparing me for my future ministry and, most important of all, my future marriage and family. 

I must forget the past and put it behind me.

I must enjoy the present and strive for the future.

I can't let myself be weighed down by defeat and discouragement.

I can't let the disappointments of life anchor me in my present circumstances.

God wants more for me than that. And I want more for me than that.

the 42nd week

 

Monday. On a whim I decided to crash at my parents' place last night, so I spent the morning hanging out with them. Dad worked on his bike, I helped Mom make cauliflower rice (I'm not a fan), and Skyler wasn't allowed to play fetch because she hurt her leg and has been limping since Friday. Mom and I fixed a fantastic lunch of stuffed portobello mushrooms and grilled chicken sandwiches topped with Canadian bacon and havarti cheeses. I headed back down to Cincinnati, stopping by Winton Ridge to play some Portal 2 with Amos. I forgot how fun (albeit frustrating) that puzzle-solving game can be. I spent my evening watching episodes of The Pacific before falling fast asleep.

Tuesday. I had the morning off work at Tazza Mia, so I did some writing at The Anchor, ran errands around town, and treated myself to Dusmesh Indian buffet. I swung by Swaim Park on my way to work for some scripture reading and prayer. I worked until past ten in Blue Ash: the guys and I made our usual run to UDF and the library, and then we went to Target so I could get a new journal (my current one only has about 2 1/2 pages left). When I got back home, I read An Army at Dawn and went to bed.

Wednesday. Not an exciting day: I worked my fourth-to-last shift at Tazza Mia and, after a bout at Swaim Park for coffee and scripture, worked until 10:15 in Blue Ash. I was home at 11 PM and in bed by 11:15. It doesn't get anymore exciting than this.

Thursday. I worked until 4:00 in Blue Ash. Sarah quit the organization; she came to the house to break the news to Ben and Jason. Jason was entirely apathetic; Ben had a meltdown. The new Thursday evening shift is none other than Mikaela J. (or Mikaela T. now, since she and Josh got hitched). It was pretty cool seeing her, and unexpected, and it was nice to catch up. I hadn't seen her since early 2011. "I heard you and Mandy were together!" All I could do was laugh. I headed up to Ams' place in Fairfield, and she made cookies and we watched a couple episodes of Criminal Minds after hanging out and just talking for an hour or two. These little visits are refreshing to my soul.

Friday. I worked until 12:30 at Tazza Mia, and after working on Sunday's sermon at The Anchor, I spent the evening at Winton Ridge: Amos and I played Portal, John grilled chicken and fixed mashed potatoes, and we played several circuits of Mario-Kart on the Wii. 

Saturday. I didn't sleep well, so I perked up with coffee at The Anchor while going through the second draft of my sermon. I worked until 12:30 with Aaron in Delhi, and I spent the afternoon visiting Tyler in Mason. We played some video games, watched some TV, made a Wendy's run (Tyler's addicted), and sat out on his back porch talking about meditation, how pornography affects the brain, and all sorts of other interesting stuff. I worked until midnight in Blue Ash: I tried my hand at cooking ribs yet again with a gourmet barbecue sauce. It turned out pretty good, if Jason's moans are indicative of anything (I'm afraid they're not). I went through a couple practice runs for my sermon tomorrow. Fingers crossed and prayers sent that I won't make a fool out of myself!

Sunday. I went by the cafe for a couple shots of espresso before the hour-and-twenty minute drive into the eastern hills of Ohio to preach at Mayhill Church of Christ. I preached on Romans 8 and 2 Corinthians 5, and it was a great experience. It really solidified my desire to be involved in ministry and to preach the gospel; doing so in the countryside would be pretty nice, too. I don't know if I will hear back from the church; they had lots of other preachers who "tried out," and many of them are far more experienced than I am (and with me being young, and the church being *mostly* older folk, they'll probably lean more towards someone older). If I hear back from them, that'd be awesome; and if not, that's cool, too. It's good to know that I still enjoy it, and it's good to be reminded of my heart's desires. I spent my afternoon back in Cincinnati sleeping and writing, and I worked 8-Midnight in Blue Ash before a long drive home immersed in prayer about my future.

PostScript: the sermon

The morning went well, and to be honest, I was pretty nervous about it. I haven't preached, nor much less done any sort of formal public speaking, in about five years, if memory serves me (though half the time it doesn't). I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to remember what I wanted to say, or that I'd be so anxious that my face would blossom redder than usual, or that the congregation would be bored out of their minds. As I drove down the winding country roads to this podunk church in eastern Ohio, I prayed that God would calm frayed nerves, that He would grant me the words to say, and that He would spare me from looking like a bumbling fool (two out of three wouldn't be bad!).

I posted the "sermon manuscript" last night. This is my sermon-writing process: first I throw together an outline, usually over a cup of coffee with a Bible beside me; then I go through the outline, talking free-form, feeling-out the flow and seeing what works and what doesn't. After that, I type out the rough draft, print it out, and each time I practice through the sermon, I make little changes in the margins. The end result is a final draft, usually remarkably different from the rough draft. I either take the manuscript or the outline to the pulpit, depending on how comfortable I am with the material. By that point, I usually don't need the manuscript: I know where the sermon is going, I know what I want to say, and I know where I want to say it. When I worked at Forest Lake Christian Church in the summer of 2008, the manuscripts were invaluable, since I would print out several copies so that the older members of the congregation with hearing problems could take it home and read over it if they liked. It was an idea on a whim, and it really caught: the manuscripts were consumed. Anyways, my preaching style tends to be informal rather than formal. Sometimes this can be good, sometimes it can be not so good. I didn't know how this morning would go, especially since I hadn't preached in a LONG time.

The church was small, maybe about forty people: an average-sized church in an old colonial-esque building nestling in a rippled carpet of rolling woodlands. When I got up to preach, I had absolutely no anxiety, my face remained its usual red hue without turning the color of a sunburnt turnip, and I preached the sermon with only a few glances at the manuscript. I preached for about fifty minutes on Romans 8 and 2 Corinthians 5, and the time just flew by. The experience reminded me how much I love preaching, how it energizes me and excites me. Some people are terrified of public speaking, but somehow it thrills me. I say "somehow" because, as an introvert, I tremble at the thought of talking with a small group of people; but take that group of four and swell it to forty, or even into the hundreds, and it goes from being terrifying to exhilarating. I'm an odd creature. Unrelated, here's a t-shirt I want to buy and wear wherever I go:

What I enjoyed most this morning was seeing the faces of the younger folk in the crowd: they way they leaned forward in their seats, eager to hear the Word preached; the way they consumed every word I said; the way their faces glowed when I took well-known passages and infused them with historical depth that shed, at least for them, hitherto-unknown light on well-worn passages. It's those faces of eagerness, of anticipation, those few who are hungry for scripture, that makes preaching so worthwhile.

I don't know if I'll hear back from the church. The elders all seemed to love the message and like me; but you can never tell if they're being genuine or just being nice to the guest preacher. Regardless, this morning confirmed for me yet again what I know, in the marrow of my bones, to be true: this is what I want to do. 

This is what quickens my pulse.

This is what inflames my heart with passion.

This is what makes me feel alive like nothing else does.

Also, it's good to be reminded that God can use someone as broken as me to give His words to His people. Jessie was right; she usually is. "Damn straight!" Tony says.