New Chapters

In the "early years" of marriage, after a long day at work, we'd escape to the pub and grille down the street for dinner. It made us feel like kids again, it made us feel like adults.

In this last night stateside, we took our son there for the first time. He told us he wanted chicken before we even asked. He watched football and ate french fries. He announced he was done, wiped his hands with napkins, finished his chocolate milk, then danced in his seat. When we left, he said, "Fun! Eating!" He understood why we like the place so much.

We said goodbye to two brothers and a dad.

We talked about starting life with no friends nearby, no family, no network. Life will be different. And it simply won't make sense attempting to recreate our American life in France. Most everything will change. It's a new chapter.

But who has ever read a chapter and slowed down because it was too good to end? Instead, we race to finish, unable to put the book down. And a good chapter makes us eager to continue, discovering what the next one holds with delighted curiosity.

So, here we go.

Missing Documentaries

Last night's victorious return to both movie-watching and documentary-watching has given me the itch for more. It probably comes in conjunction with what feels like the first real day off I can remember in years. That sounds pathetically dramatic, but in many ways feels true.

I was under the impression that not many good documentaries are being made in recent years. At least not like the year that Spellbound, Winged Migration, and Bowling for Columbine were all running for the same Oscar, or the next year with the Fog of War and Capturing the Friedmans. Those were good years. Of course, they were also the years I was a college student and had nothing better to do than study Methods of Fingerpainting 101 and track down all the latest documentaries, decent or not. (I even wrote a little manisfesto for the school paper before graduating, trying to explain my fascination.)

But today's documentary itch made me stumble onto Paste Magazine's always enjoyable list of the day blog to find, first, this list of the 20 best documentaries of 2010. Your response is probably the same as mine: You mean, there were enough documentaries made in 2010 to pick 20 and call them the best? Apparently. I've only seen one of them, and many of the remaining 19 look pretty great, including one to add the list of art-world docs, Art of the Steal, which apparently took place in my back yard.

But that led to this list, a better place to start for someone a bit more casually interested in exploring some decent documentaries. The 25 best documentaries of the past decade. I've seen 17 of the 25, and haven't heard of 2. While some of my favorites are missing (Stevie being the most obvious), you can't go wrong with the majority of these. And if you still need help, I'll narrow it down to seven for you:

23. Gleaners and I
16. God Grew Tired of Us
11. Born into Brothels
8. Spellbound
6. King of Kong
4. Fog of War
1. Man on Wire

Let me know what you watch. And remember that documentaries are always better when discussed.

Join the Hype Wagon

I'll cut to the chase: I want all of my friends to watch Exit Through the Gift Shop.
It's a documentary by Banksy. If you don't know who he is, I'll skip the superlatives so often thrown around and just tell you, basically, he's a famous graffiti artist.

I'm sort of delighted by this street art thing. Not obsessed--because I really don't know all that much about it. But just curiously delighted. So clever and intriguing. Witty and exciting. So to learn more about some of it and see some of it in action is just a lot of fun.

Just that--the first 20 minutes or so--would be enough for me. But then we get the extra surprise of this character, this wonderfully complex documentary subject that Banksy finds. Or did he find Banksy? Or did Banksy create him? And to what degree did Banksy create him? And what exactly in the world is going on here? No one is really sure, but it's so much fun.

And from there it opens the floodgates yet again on the art world just like My Kid Could Paint That and Who the #$&% is Jackson Pollock?. And if I were sticking around, I'd hold an all-day controversial-art-world-documentary festival with these three. And no one would get tired watching three movies in a row because all three are just as engrossing and involving and entertaining and question-raising and debate-sparking. In Banksy's own words: "This is from the frontline, this is watching an art form self-combust in front of you. Told by the people involved. In real time. This is a very real film about what it means to ‘keep it real’."

And after you watch it (which you should, don't forget), you'd do well to read this interview.

(It feels good to write about a movie again.)

Advent 13: All is Not Yet Bright

Charlie Brown wants to be happy just once on Christmas, and he's still just as depressed as last year.

Sufjan Stevens sings about the "Worst Christmas Ever": Our father yells, throwing our gifts in the wood stove. My sister runs away, taking her books to the schoolyard.

Our churches plan quaint and warm Christmas Eve services while in the home across the street there is sadness, disappointment, grief, estrangement, abuse.

We talk about peace and joy and love and good will and everything being right. It's the most wonderful time of the year, after all. We drive past homes and imagine the scenes of joy happening inside, families opening gifts in front of the fireplace, when in reality, there may be an angry father burning presents in rage.

And in our hearts, it is made worse because it is Christmas. Maybe it's the talking heads telling us everything is supposed to be OK now. Maybe it's our hearts affirming that something is still wrong here, and in so doing, we affirm that there's something better that we're still missing. It's not supposed to be this way, we insist.

It might be as small as the nagging feeling of emptiness after opening the presents. Or it might be much more serious--illness, dysfunction. Regardless, there is still darkness in this world. All is not yet bright. Silent night, Holy night, Nothing feels right, Sufjan sings.

Our answers are many but always fall short. Lucy says more community involvement. Sally's hoping more presents help. Snoopy gets sucked into commercialism and money, showing off his house to the neighborhood. And exasperated from the search, Charlie Brown yells, "Doesn't anyone know the real meaning of Christmas?!"

"Great tidings of joy...for all people," Linus proclaims.

But my dad just threw the presents in the fire, Linus. How is this baby in a manger bringing me any joy? How does this two-thousand-year-old story bring me any hope when I'm cold and lonely, reading books in the schoolyard on Christmas morning?

Whatever my lot, this baby makes all things well with my soul. That's important. But all is not yet bright.

And so, we keep waiting. Waiting for him to reappear just as he left, and this time truly making all things right, when every eye will finally see him and every knee will rightfully bow and the trees of the field will clap their hands. Like a tired Jew waiting for deliverance from the cruelty of the Egyptians or the Babylonians or the Romans, we wait for full deliverance from the shadows of darkness in this life.

As one man puts it, He comes to make his blessings known far as the curse is found.

And as Sufjan concludes, In time the Lord will rise.

Like many other weary soujourners before us, we plead, How long O Lord?

In the last chapters of story, he tells us, Behold! I'm making all things new! and I am coming quickly!

And so like John we respond, Amen! Come Lord Jesus!

Advent 12: Adopting a Son

Day one was fear and trepidation.

Day two was nervous hesitation.

Christmas morning, as we watched Charlie Brown together, ate scones, and watched him run across the room in new PJs, he became my son. And it's been that way from that moment on.

I wonder how it went for Joseph.

Advent 11: All is Calm

Typically, the month of December is anything but calm. Each one of us is prone to joining the chorus echoing that tired and pathetic sentiment as if we have no control over our lives: "It's such a busy time of year!" I'm sick of hearing it, sick of saying it.

And obviously, this Christmas season, much like the last one for entirely different reasons, has been nothing short of completely exhausting for us.

But that ends for a moment on the 25th. I love the fact that the banks close early today, and everything is closed on Christmas Day. Even the grocery stores! And even some of the blogs or news sites I frequent warn their readers of the impending break. While E and I really should be continuing to run around our house, cleaning and organizing and packing and what-have-you, we'll be taking our own break tomorrow too.

Everything gets put on hold for this day. Everyone pauses with a great exhale of relief. Rest. All is calm.

Do we know why?

Why is it that, though people reject the supposed "true meaning" of Christmas, this day still holds some sort of permanent sway in society? It's as if it's almost sacred or something. Sure, we can skip saying Merry Christmas, but we'll still revere the day.

Maybe it's for the family, maybe it's just the vacation, maybe it's sentimental traditions, maybe it's the new stuff we'll be getting. But I love that when you dig deeper into each one of those on-the-surface-reasons, there's something greater to be found. Fingerprints to be traced.

Familial bonds, the need for rest, the meaning-creating, the satisfying good gifts, all having their source in a Father who made us in his image, then wants to adopt us, bringing us back into his loving family, through the preposterous act of sending the Glory of the One and Only into our neighborhood as flesh and blood.

Whether you want to believe the billboards declaring that "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" or not, your actions make it seem that he really just might be, regardless of your acknowledgment or agreement or approval.

Exhortation

Goodbyes make you try to say everything you've always wanted to say. There's a sense of urgency. So I wrote a letter to my elders on two minor points. It was mostly a letter of exhortation towards matters close to my heart.

I exhorted my brother-in-law the other week. He happens to also be my pastor. He said, "When did you start exhorting people?" I treated it as a rhetorical question.

But we received a letter from a friend recently that felt like exhortation. And it felt good. And it made me realize how much we need exhortation, and how rarely we get it.

And I wondered how much of that lack of exhortation is because now we've earned the title of "missionaries." Like we don't need it anymore and we should be the ones giving it.

But I will tell you now, if that's the common train of thought, it's ridiculous.

Hebrews 3:13 "But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called 'today,' that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin."

We know all too well that leaders are not immune to hardening or the deceitfulness of sin. So don't they need exhortation just as much--if not, more--than the rest of us? And isn't it our job as parishioners to give it to them?

So, go exhort someone, even if it's a leader of yours. They might not like it at first because they're not used to getting it. But don't worry, they'll get used to it. And don't forget they need it.

My sister read the letter to the elders since she is an elder's wife. She said she loves how "bold" I am getting. I guess I just kind of wish that exhortation would be a normal part of life together and not something that requires "boldness."

Advent 10: Affirmation, Consolation

Erica pointed out another role of those shepherds the other night.

Mary and Joseph, to put it mildly, are experiencing a roller coaster of emotions. And I'm sure there were many days filled with doubt: "Was that really an angel? Was this really a conception by the Holy Spirit? Is this baby really who they say he is?"

I'm sure that barn felt lonely that night. Some relief with pregnancy and labor finally over, but now with a screaming baby next to a bunch of animals, probably not much. I'd imagine questions swirling, like "Why here?" and "What next?" and "Really, God? Seriously?"

And breaking the isolation, here come the shepherds rushing in with a story just as preposterous as their own. "A bunch of angels told us about you! We're looking for a baby in a manger. We're looking for you."

To anyone else, they'd appear as a bunch of crazies. To Mary and Joseph, walking by faith, this was just odd enough and familiar enough that it couldn't have been coincidence. Dirty, crazy shepherds became timely affirmation and consolation: all this chaos is worth it, and it's not some delusion, either. Something bigger is in fact going on here. Puzzle pieces coming together.

With an unexpected baby arriving in our lives last Christmas, I know this feeling well. Just when you are scared out of your mind and doubting the whole thing, there is more affirmation. A "still, small voice" screaming through more wonderfully bizarre circumstances, or unexpected people showing up on the scene, something to the effect of,

"Take heart. This is by design. You're doing the right thing. Wait and see."

Walking by faith can be scary, a dig-your-heels-in-fear-and-trepidation kind of thing. But God often seems so timely and brilliantly creative in giving just enough needed for the next step of courage.

Transatlanticism

Not much time to sit and think these days and it gets to be a bit draining. Between momentary attempts to anticipate the future and fleeting advent reflections, there are glimpses of life a year ago, just as busy and hectic for entirely different reasons.

On this day, Erica was still doing homework for a masters degree, feverishly wrapping up the last of it. On the 12th, she dressed up in a funny cap, gown and hood, walked with some friends, and talked about going to Harvard for a doctorate on the way home. On the 13th, when we thought life couldn't be more exhausting, we got the phone call to change our lives. And we simultaneously think, "It's only been a year?" and "It's been a year already!"

These days the moments when we're saddest, the kid is his happiest. The optimist of the family, so easy-going, so up for anything, so ready for adventure. When we heavily explain the plans for yet another time, just for preparation's sake, he nods with ease and agrees, "Sure!" No sweat. It's these moments I'm most grateful for this gift we could not even imagine, and grateful to be reminded again by his middle name that, "God is with us."

Trying to picture the future is getting increasingly difficult. We've talked about this move in theoretical terms for six years. Putting it into action is another story. And as it becomes more real it seems to become harder to understand. "Day at a time" is a frustrating but necessary cliche.

And then there's this letter found this morning, the first transatlantic piece of airmail in 1919. "Just a hurried line." One of the most heard phrases in conversation lately is, "Well, these days you have email, Facebook, Skype." Yes and true, but both blessings and curses are hidden there. There's something meaningful and magical in a belabored, intentional, handwritten note that had to fly across the ocean. On Skype you can only see hugs without giving and receiving them.

I forget who was telling me the story, and I even forget the story now. Something about a married couple becoming missionaries back then, leaving the ship in a small dinghy, rowing to Africa with their small trunk of possessions. Yes, times have changed, for better or worse.

But stories like those make me feel a little less crazy, like I'm somehow joining a rich heritage of transatlantic seafarers with something bigger on their minds. And then I stop and wonder if that actually makes me more crazy.

Maybe schizophrenia is the best way to describe all this.

It's settled

He's been using the litter box consistently since we've been home.
The vet saw him on moment's notice today and was able to take care of all requirements, including the "international microchip."
When leaving the house today, the kid said, "Bye Banjo! Love you!"
He's been sitting so contentedly on my lap for the past 30 minutes.
Well then, that's that. The cat's coming with us.

Have a safe trip, please.

How I spent my morning.

Advent 9: Mission, Surprises

I'm having a hard time separating the Christmas story from current life experiences this year.

I read about Mary receiving the news in Luke 1. Life-altering news, to say the least. Things will never be the same, and that's an understatement. She's greatly troubled at first, there are questions that follow, a mind racing, but ultimately a total submission, a sacrifice, a gutsy dying to self: "I am the Lord's servant." In essence, "Whatever he wants to do with me, I'll let him. He's got every right."

I guess there may be danger in comparing my current experience with the ordinary woman who gave birth to the Savior of the world and hasn't been forgotten since, but I read and hear a resonance with sentiments I've expressed recently. She expresses a willingness and God takes her for a serious ride. And all she can say is, like her Son will say later in life, "Not my will, but yours be done." Impressive and inspiring and motivating to me right now.

And as terrified as she probably is? She still can say, "My soul makes God big, my spirit leaps with joy."

Then there are those shepherds we heard about on Sunday. Years before those ordinary unschooled men take up the cause, and years before the smelly fishermen and corrupt tax collectors get recruited, there are the blue-collar shepherds going unnoticed in the hills, who all of a sudden are commissioned to be the ones to spread the news. Thrown into the mission. I love this upside-down God, full of surprises from the very beginning. If he chooses and uses shepherds to declare the glory, surely he can use two nobodies from small-town Pennsylvania, no?

Some things are harder to let go of than others.

(Free to a good home!)

Oh, Bumper Stickers

Pulled into a parking spot at the grocery store behind a car with two stickers on either side of the bumper.

"Follow Jesus. No Regrets. Ever."

and

"Your Obama Bumper Sticker might as well say, 'Yes, I'm Stupid.'"

In a rare moment of assertiveness, I quickly scribbled a note on a scrap piece of paper.

"From a fellow follower of Christ, a suggestion for you: If you want Obama supporters to follow Christ too, don't call them stupid."

Left it under the windshield wiper.

Went to DC today.

The cherry blossoms are beautiful this time of year.

Pretend

The kid's imagination has kicked in recently, and of course I couldn't be happier. It started one random day in North Carolina hiking in the woods, when he picked up a stick and all of a sudden it became an airplane once he declared it so and made it fly up and down, complete with advanced sound effects that I'm not sure can be transcribed intelligibly here.

But today I found him hiding in the back of the corner cupboard, squeezed behind the lazy-susan-type of shelves, and he called me over and told me to eat. (Power language--including all sorts of commands like "Eat!"--has also kicked in recently.) When I asked what we were eating, he said without hesitation, "Apple pie. And drinks." The apple pie was served on a plastic silver platter, the drinks in the blue and red plastic cups found on the top shelf.

Of course, I gobbled and guzzled. And that's when the smile widened and eyes twinkled.

And that moment is what I love most about kids at this stage and their pretend play, their imagination. When they offer invisible apple pie, they watch for a reaction, very clearly bluffing and knowing it. There's a pause, waiting for the unknown response. But when the adult all of a sudden accepts and gobbles it up, it's a delightful surprise, as if yes, there actually really is apple pie on that plastic silver platter, because Papa sees it too! And he's eating it! And it's delicious! So let's eat some more!